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diff --git a/39549-h/39549-h.htm b/39549-h/39549-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23d477c --- /dev/null +++ b/39549-h/39549-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6179 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Carved Lions, by Mrs. Molesworth. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carved Lions, by Mrs. Molesworth + +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: The Carved Lions + +Author: Mrs. Molesworth + +Illustrator: L. Leslie Brooke + +Release Date: April 27, 2012 [EBook #39549] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARVED LIONS *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Google +Print archive. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;"> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="396" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h1>THE CARVED LIONS.</h1> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 321px;"><a name="ILL_002" id="ILL_002"></a> +<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" width="321" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">OUR CONSULTATION TOOK A GOOD WHILE.—p. 44.—<i>Frontispiece.</i></span> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>THE CARVED</h2> + +<h2>LIONS</h2> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>MRS. MOLESWORTH</h3> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATED BY L. LESLIE BROOKE</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" width="300" height="252" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h4>1895</h4> + +<h4>LONDON MACMILLAN & CO</h4> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1895,</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By MACMILLAN AND CO.</span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">Old Days</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">A Happy Evening</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Coming Events</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><span class="smcap">All Settled</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">An Unpromising Beginning</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">A New World</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">Gathering Clouds</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">"<span class="smcap">Nobody—<i>Nobody</i></span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">Out in the Rain</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">Taking Refuge</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">Kind Friends</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">Good News</span></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_002"><span class="smcap">Our consultation took a good while</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_004">"<span class="smcap">Good-bye</span>!"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_005">"<span class="smcap">Little girls must not contradict, and must not be rude</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_006">"<span class="smcap">My poor little girl, what <i>is</i> the matter</span>?"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_007"><span class="smcap">I crept downstairs, past one schoolroom with its closed door</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_008"><span class="smcap">The brother lions rose into the air</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_009"><span class="smcap">Myra came forward gently, her sweet face looking rather grave</span></a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h2> + +<h3>OLD DAYS.</h3> + +<p>It is already a long time since I was a little girl. Sometimes, when I +look out upon the world and see how many changes have come about, how +different many things are from what I can remember them, I could believe +that a still longer time had passed since my childhood than is really +the case. Sometimes, on the contrary, the remembrance of things that +then happened comes over me so very vividly, so very <i>real</i>-ly, that I +can scarcely believe myself to be as old as I am.</p> + +<p>I can remember things in my little girlhood more clearly than many in +later years. This makes me hope that the story of some part of it may +interest children of to-day, for I know I have not forgotten the +feelings I had as a child. And after all, I believe that in a great many +ways children are very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> like each other in their hearts and minds, even +though their lives may seem very different and very far apart.</p> + +<p>The first years of my childhood were very happy, though there were some +things in my life which many children would not like at all. My parents +were not rich, and the place where we lived was not pretty or pleasant. +It was a rather large town in an ugly part of the country, where great +tall chimneys giving out black smoke, and streams—once clear sparkling +brooks, no doubt—whose water was nearly as black as the smoke, made it +often difficult to believe in bright blue sky or green grass, or any of +the sweet pure country scenes that children love, though perhaps +children that have them do not love them as much as those who have not +got them do.</p> + +<p>I think that was the way with me. The country was almost the same as +fairyland to me—the peeps I had of it now and then were a delight I +could not find words to express.</p> + +<p>But what matters most to children is not <i>where</i> their home is, but +<i>what</i> it is. And our home was a very sweet and loving one, though it +was only a rather small and dull house in a dull street. Our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> father and +mother did everything they possibly could to make us happy, and the +trial of living at Great Mexington must have been far worse for them +than for us. For they had both been accustomed to rich homes when they +were young, and father had never expected that he would have to work so +hard or in the sort of way he had to do, after he lost nearly all his +money.</p> + +<p>When I say "us," I mean my brother Haddie and I. Haddie—whose real name +was Haddon—was two years older than I, and we two were the whole +family. My name—<i>was</i> I was going to say, for now there are so few +people to call me by my Christian name that it seems hardly mine—my +name is Geraldine. Somehow I never had a "short" for it, though it is a +long name, and Haddie was always Haddie, and "Haddon" scarcely needs +shortening. I think it was because he nearly always called me Sister or +"Sis."</p> + +<p>Haddie was between ten and eleven years old and I was nine when the +great change that I am going to tell you about came over our lives. But +I must go back a little farther than that, otherwise you would not +understand all about us, nor the meaning of the odd title I have chosen +for my story.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + +<p>I had no governess and I did not go to school. My mother taught me +herself, partly, I think, to save expense, and partly because she did +not like the idea of sending me to even a day-school at Great Mexington. +For though many of the families there were very rich, and had large +houses and carriages and horses and beautiful gardens, they were not +always very refined. There were good and kind and unselfish people there +as there are everywhere, but there were some who thought more of being +rich than of anything else—the sort of people that are called "purse +proud." And as children very often take after their parents, my father +and mother did not like the idea of my having such children as my +companions—children who would look down upon me for being poor, and +perhaps treat me unkindly on that account.</p> + +<p>"When Geraldine is older she must go to school," my father used to say, +"unless by that time our ship comes in and we can afford a governess. +But when she is older it will not matter so much, as she will have +learnt to value things at their just worth."</p> + +<p>I did not then understand what he meant, but I have never forgotten the +words.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was a very simple child. It never entered my head that there was +anything to be ashamed of in living in a small house and having only two +servants. I thought it would be <i>nice</i> to have more money, so that mamma +would not need to be so busy and could have more pretty dresses, and +above all that we could then live in the country, but I never minded +being poor in any sore or ashamed way. And I often envied Haddie, who +did go to school. I thought it would be nice to have lots of other +little girls to play with. I remember once saying so to mamma, but she +shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you would like it as much as you fancy you would," she +said. "Not at present at least. When you are a few years older I hope to +send you for some classes to Miss Ledbury's school, and by that time you +will enjoy the good teaching. But except for the lessons, I am quite +sure it is better and happier for you to be at home, even though you +find it rather lonely sometimes."</p> + +<p>And in his way Haddie said much the same. School was all very well for +boys, he told me. If a fellow tried to bully you, you could bully him +back. But girls weren't like that—they couldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> fight it out. And when +I said to him I didn't want to fight, he still shook his head, and +repeated that I wouldn't like school at all—some of his friends' +sisters were at school and they hated it.</p> + +<p>Still, though I did not often speak of it, the wish to go to school, and +the belief that I should find school-life very happy and interesting, +remained in my mind. I often made up fancies about it, and pictured +myself doing lessons with other little girls and reading the same +story-books and playing duets together. I could not believe that I +should not like it. The truth was, I suppose, that I was longing for +companions of my own age.</p> + +<p>It was since Haddie went to school that I had felt lonely. I was a great +deal with mamma, but of course there were hours in the day when she was +taken up with other things and could not attend to me. I used to long +then for the holidays to come so that I should have Haddie again to play +with.</p> + +<p>My happiest days were Wednesdays and Saturdays, for then he did not go +to school in the afternoon. And mamma very often planned some little +treat for us on those days, such as staying up to have late tea with her +and papa when he came in from his office, or reading aloud some new +story-book,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> or going a walk with her in the afternoon and buying +whatever we liked for our own tea at the confectioner's.</p> + +<p>Very simple treats—but then we were very simple children, as I have +said already.</p> + +<p>Our house, though in a street quite filled with houses, was some little +way from the centre of the town, where the best shops were—some years +before, our street had, I suppose, been considered quite in the country. +We were very fond of going to the shops with mamma. We thought them very +grand and beautiful, though they were not nearly as pretty as shops are +nowadays, for they were much smaller and darker, so that the things +could not be spread out in the attractive way they are now, nor were the +things themselves nearly as varied and tempting.</p> + +<p>There was one shop which interested us very much. It belonged to the +principal furniture-maker of Mexington. It scarcely looked like a shop, +but was more like a rather gloomy private house very full of heavy dark +cabinets and tables and wardrobes and chairs, mostly of mahogany, and +all extremely good and well made. Yes, furniture, though ugly, really +was very good in those days—I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> have one or two relics of my old home +still, in the shape of a leather-covered arm-chair and a +beautifully-made chest of drawers. For mamma's godmother had helped to +furnish our house when we came to Mexington, and she was the sort of old +lady who when she <i>did</i> give a present gave it really good of its kind. +She had had furniture herself made by Cranston—that was the +cabinet-maker's name—for her home was in the country only about three +hours' journey from Mexington—and it had been first-rate, so she +ordered what she gave mamma from him also.</p> + +<p>But it was not because the furniture was so good that we liked going to +Cranston's. It was for quite another reason. A little way in from the +front entrance to the shop, where there were glass doors to swing open, +stood a pair of huge lions carved in very dark, almost black, wood. They +were nearly, if not quite, as large as life, and the first time I saw +them, when I was only four or five, I was really frightened of them. +They guarded the entrance to the inner part of the shop, which was dark +and gloomy and mysterious-looking, and I remember clutching fast hold of +mamma's hand as we passed them, not feeling at all sure that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> would +not suddenly spring forward and catch us. But when mamma saw that I was +frightened, she stopped and made me feel the lions and stroke them to +show me that they were only wooden and could not possibly hurt me. And +after that I grew very fond of them, and was always asking her to take +me to the "lion shop."</p> + +<p>Haddie liked them too—his great wish was to climb on one of their backs +and play at going a ride.</p> + +<p>I don't think I thought of that. What I liked was to stroke their heavy +manes and fancy to myself what I would do if, all of a sudden, one of +them "came alive," as I called it, and turned his head round and looked +at me. And as I grew older, almost without knowing it, I made up all +sorts of fairy fancies about the lions—I sometimes thought they were +enchanted princes, sometimes that they were real lions who were only +carved wood in the day-time, and at night walked about wherever they +liked.</p> + +<p>So, for one reason or another, both Haddie and I were always very +pleased when mamma had to look in at Cranston's.</p> + +<p>This happened oftener than might have been expected, considering that +our house was small,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> and that my father and mother were not rich enough +often to buy new furniture. For mamma's godmother seemed to be always +ordering something or other at the cabinet-maker's, and as she knew +mamma was very sensible and careful, she used to write to her to explain +to Cranston about the things she wanted, or to look at them before he +sent them home, to see that they were all right. And Cranston was always +very polite indeed to mamma.</p> + +<p>He himself was a stout, red-faced, little, elderly man, with gray +whiskers, which he brushed up in a fierce kind of way that made him look +like a rather angry cat, though he really was a very gentle and kind old +man. I thought him much nicer than his partner, whose name was Berridge, +a tall, thin man, who talked very fast, and made a great show of +scolding any of the clerks or workmen who happened to be about.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cranston was very proud of the lions. They had belonged to his +grandfather and then to his father, who had both been in the same sort +of business as he was, and he told mamma they had been carved in "the +East." I didn't know what he meant by the East, and I don't now know +what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> country he was alluding to—India or China or Japan. And I am not +sure that he knew himself. But "the East" sounded far away and +mysterious—it might do for fairyland or brownieland, and I was quite +satisfied. No doubt, wherever they came from, the lions were very +beautifully carved.</p> + +<p>Now I will go on to tell about the changes that came into our lives, +closing the doors of these first happy childish years, when there +scarcely seemed to be ever a cloud on our sky.</p> + +<p>One day, when I was a month or two past nine years old, mamma said to me +just as I was finishing my practising—I used to practise half an hour +every other day, and have a music lesson from mamma the between +days—that she was going out to do some shopping that afternoon, and +that, if I liked, I might go with her.</p> + +<p>"I hope it will not rain," she added, "though it does look rather +threatening. But perhaps it will hold off till evening."</p> + +<p>"And I can take my umbrella in case it rains," I said. I was very proud +of my umbrella. It had been one of my last birthday presents. "Yes, +mamma, I should like to come very much. Will Haddie come too?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>For it was Wednesday—one of his half-holidays.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth," said mamma, "I forgot to ask him this morning if he +would like to come, but he will be home soon—it is nearly luncheon +time. I daresay he will like to come, especially as I have to go to +Cranston's."</p> + +<p>She smiled a little as she said this. Our love for the carved lions +amused her.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I am sure he will like to come," I said. "And may we buy +something for tea at Miss Fryer's on our way home?"</p> + +<p>Mamma smiled again.</p> + +<p>"That will be two treats instead of one," she said, "but I daresay I can +afford two or three pence."</p> + +<p>Miss Fryer was our own pet confectioner, or pastry-cook, as we used to +say more frequently then. She was a Quakeress, and her shop was very +near our house, so near that mamma let me go there alone with Haddie. +Miss Fryer was very grave and quiet, but we were not at all afraid of +her, for we knew that she was really very kind. She was always dressed +in pale gray or fawn colour, with a white muslin shawl crossed over her +shoulders, and a white net cap beautifully quilled and fitting tightly +round her face, so that only a very little of her soft gray hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +showed. She always spoke to us as "thou" and "thee," and she was very +particular to give us exactly what we asked for, and also to take the +exact money in payment. But now and then, after the business part had +been all correctly settled, she would choose out a nice bun or +sponge-cake, or two or three biscuits, and would say "I give thee this +as a present." And she did not like us to say, "Thank you, Miss Fryer," +but "Thank you, friend Susan." I daresay she would have liked us to say, +"Thank <i>thee</i>," but neither Haddie nor I had courage for that!</p> + +<p>I ran upstairs in high spirits, and five minutes after when Haddie came +in from school he was nearly as pleased as I to hear our plans.</p> + +<p>"If only it does not rain," said mamma at luncheon.</p> + +<p>Luncheon was, of course, our dinner, and it was often mamma's dinner +really too. Our father was sometimes so late of getting home that he +liked better to have tea than a regular dinner. But mamma always called +it luncheon because it seemed natural to her.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind if it does rain," said Haddie, "because of my new +mackintosh."</p> + +<p>Haddie was very proud of his mackintosh, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> father had got him for +going to and from school in rainy weather. Mackintoshes were then a new +invention, and very expensive compared with what they are now. But +Haddie was rather given to catching cold, and at Great Mexington it did +rain very often—much oftener than anywhere else, I am quite sure.</p> + +<p>"And Geraldine doesn't mind because of her new umbrella," said mamma. +"So we are proof against the weather, whatever happens."</p> + +<p>It may seem strange that I can remember so much of a time now so very +long ago. But I really do—of that day and of those that followed it +especially, because, as I have already said, they were almost the close +of the first part of our childish life.</p> + +<p>That afternoon was such a happy one. We set off with mamma, one on each +side of her, hanging on her arms, Haddie trying to keep step with her, +and I skipping along on my tiptoes. When we got to the more crowded +streets we had to separate—that is to say, Haddie had to let go of +mamma's arm, so that he could fall behind when we met more than one +person. For the pavements at Mexington were in some parts narrow and +old-fashioned.</p> + +<p>Mamma had several messages to do, and at some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> of the shops Haddie and I +waited outside because we did not think they were very interesting. But +at some we were only too ready to go in. One I remember very well. It +was a large grocer's. We thought it a most beautiful shop, though +nowadays it would be considered quite dull and gloomy, compared with the +brilliant places of the kind you see filled with biscuits and dried +fruits and all kinds of groceries tied up with ribbons, or displayed in +boxes of every colour of the rainbow. I must say I think the groceries +themselves were quite as good as they are now, and in some cases better, +but that may be partly my fancy, as I daresay I have a partiality for +old-fashioned things.</p> + +<p>Mamma did not buy all our groceries at this grand shop, for it was +considered dear. But certain things, such as tea—which cost five +shillings a pound then—she always ordered there. And the grocer, like +Cranston, was a very polite man. I think he understood that though she +was not rich, and never bought a great deal, mamma was different in +herself from the grandly-dressed Mexington ladies who drove up to his +shop in their carriages, with a long list of all the things they wanted. +And when mamma had finished giving her order, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> used always to offer +Haddie and me a gingerbread biscuit of a very particular and delicious +kind. They were large round biscuits, of a nice bright brown colour, and +underneath they had thin white wafer, which we called "eating paper." +They were crisp without being hard. I never see gingerbreads like them +now.</p> + +<p>"This is a lucky day, mamma," I said, when we came out of the grocer's. +"Mr. Simeon never forgets to give us gingerbreads when he is there +himself."</p> + +<p>"No," said mamma, "he is a very kind man. Perhaps he has got Haddies and +Geraldines of his own, and knows what they like."</p> + +<p>"And now are we going to Cranston's?" asked my brother.</p> + +<p>Mamma looked at the paper in her hand. She was very careful and +methodical in all her ways, and always wrote down what she had to do +before she came out.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I think I have done everything else. But I shall be +some little time at Cranston's. Mrs. Selwood has asked me to settle ever +so many things with him—she is going abroad for the winter, and wants +him to do a good deal of work at Fernley while she is away."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> + +<h3>A HAPPY EVENING.</h3> + +<p>Haddie and I were not at all sorry to hear that mamma's call at +Cranston's was not to be a hurried one.</p> + +<p>"We don't mind if you are ever so long," I said; "do we, Haddie?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course we don't," Haddie agreed. "I should like to spend a whole +day in those big show-rooms of his. Couldn't we have jolly games of +hide-and-seek, Sis? And then riding the lions! I wish you were rich +enough to buy one of the lions, mamma, and have it for an ornament in +the hall, or in the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>"We should need to build a hall or a drawing-room to hold it," said +mamma, laughing. "I'm afraid your lion would turn into a white elephant, +Haddie, if it became ours."</p> + +<p>I remember wondering what she meant. How could a lion turn into an +elephant? But I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> rather a slow child in some ways. Very often I +thought a thing over a long time in my mind if I did not understand it +before asking any one to explain it. And so before I said anything it +went out of my head, for here we were at Cranston's door.</p> + +<p>There was only a young shopman to be seen, but when mamma told him she +particularly wanted to see Mr. Cranston himself, he asked us to step in +and take a seat while he went to fetch him.</p> + +<p>We passed between the lions. It seemed quite a long time since we had +seen them, and I thought they looked at us very kindly. I was just +nudging Haddie to whisper this to him when mamma stopped to say to us +that we might stay in the outer room if we liked; she knew it was our +favourite place, and in a few minutes we heard her talking to old Mr. +Cranston, who had come to her in the inner show-room through another +door.</p> + +<p>Haddie's head was full of climbing up onto one of the lions to go a +ride. But luckily he could not find anything to climb up with, which was +a very good thing, as he would have been pretty sure to topple over, and +Mr. Cranston would not have been at all pleased if he had scratched the +lion.</p> + +<p>To keep him quiet I began talking to him about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> my fancies. I made him +look close into the lions' faces—it was getting late in the afternoon, +and we had noticed before we came in that the sun was setting stormily. +A ray of bright orange-coloured light found its way in through one of +the high-up windows which were at the back of the show-room, and fell +right across the mane of one of the lions and almost into the eyes of +the other. The effect on the dark, almost black, wood of which they were +made was very curious.</p> + +<p>"Look, Haddie," I said suddenly, catching his arm, "doesn't it really +look as if they were smiling at us—the one with the light on its face +especially? I really do think there's something funny about them—I +wonder if they are enchanted."</p> + +<p>Haddie did not laugh at me. I think in his heart he was fond of fancies +too, though he might not have liked the boys at school to know it. He +sat staring at our queer friends nearly as earnestly as I did myself. +And as the ray of light slowly faded, he turned to me.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "their faces do seem to change. But I think they always +look kind."</p> + +<p>"They do to <i>us</i>," I said confidently, "but sometimes they are quite +fierce. I don't think they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> looked at us the way they do now the first +time they saw us. And one day one of the men in the shop shoved +something against one of them and his face frowned—I'm sure it did."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if he'd frown if I got up on his back," said Haddie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do leave off about climbing on their backs," I said. "It wouldn't +be at all comfortable—they're so broad, you couldn't sit cross-legs, +and they'd be as slippery as anything. It's much nicer to make up +stories about them coming alive in the night, or turning into black +princes and saying magic words to make the doors open like in the +Arabian Nights."</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me stories of all they do then," said Haddie +condescendingly.</p> + +<p>"I will if you'll let me think for a minute," I said. "I wish Aunty Etta +was here—she does know such lovely stories."</p> + +<p>"I like yours quite as well," said Haddie encouragingly, "I don't +remember Aunty Etta's; it's such a long time since I saw her. You saw +her last year, you know, but I didn't."</p> + +<p>"She told me one about a china parrot, a most beautiful green and gold +parrot, that was really a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> fairy," I said. "I think I could turn it into +a lion story, if I thought about it."</p> + +<p>"No," said Haddie, "you can tell the parrot one another time. I'd rather +hear one of your own stories, new, about the lions. I know you've got +some in your head. Begin, do—I'll help you if you can't get on."</p> + +<p>But my story that afternoon was not to be heard. Just as I was beginning +with, "Well, then, there was once an old witch who lived in a very +lonely hut in the middle of a great forest," there came voices behind +us, and in another moment we heard mamma saying,</p> + +<p>"Haddie, my boy, Geraldine, I am quite ready."</p> + +<p>I was not very sorry. I liked to have more time to make up my stories, +and Haddie sometimes hurried me so. It was Aunty Etta, I think, who had +first put it into my head to make them. She was <i>so</i> clever about it +herself, both in making stories and in remembering those she had read, +and she <i>had</i> read a lot. But she was away in India at the time I am now +writing about; her going so far off was a great sorrow to mamma.</p> + +<p>Haddie and I started up at once. We had to be very obedient, what father +called "quickly obedient," and though he was so kind he was very strict +too.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My children are great admirers of your lions, Mr. Cranston," mamma +said; and the old man smiled.</p> + +<p>"They are not singular in their taste, madam," he said. "I own that I am +very proud of them myself, and when my poor daughter was a child there +was nothing pleased her so much as when her mother or I lifted her on to +one of them, and made believe she was going a ride."</p> + +<p>Haddie looked triumphant.</p> + +<p>"There now you see, Sis," he whispered, nudging me.</p> + +<p>But I did not answer him, for I was listening to what mamma was saying.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by the bye, Mr. Cranston," she went on, "I was forgetting to ask +how your little grandchild is. Have you seen her lately?"</p> + +<p>Old Cranston's face brightened.</p> + +<p>"She is very well, madam, I thank you," he replied. "And I am pleased to +say that she is coming to stay with us shortly. We hope to keep her +through the winter. Her stepmother is very kind, but with little +children of her own, it is not always easy for her to give as much +attention as she would like to Myra, and she and Mr. Raby have responded +cordially to our invitation."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am very glad to hear it—very glad indeed," said mamma. "I know what +a pleasure it will be to you and Mrs. Cranston. Let me see—how old is +the little girl now—seven, eight?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Nine</i>, madam, getting on for ten indeed," said Mr. Cranston with +pride.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said mamma, "how time passes! I remember seeing her when she +was a baby—before we came to live here, of course, once when I was +staying at Fernley, just after——"</p> + +<p>Mamma stopped and hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Just after her poor mother died—yes, madam," said the old man quietly.</p> + +<p>And then we left, Mr. Cranston respectfully holding the door open.</p> + +<p>It was growing quite dark; the street-lamps were lighted and their gleam +was reflected on the pavement, for it had been raining and was still +quite wet underfoot. Mamma looked round her.</p> + +<p>"You had better put on your mackintosh, Haddie," she said. "It may rain +again. No, Geraldine dear, there is no use opening your umbrella till it +does rain."</p> + +<p>My feelings were divided between pride in my umbrella and some +reluctance to have it wet! I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> took hold of mamma's arm again, while +Haddie walked at her other side. It was not a very cheerful prospect +before us—the gloomy dirty streets of Mexington were now muddy and +sloppy as well—though on the whole I don't know but that they looked +rather more cheerful by gaslight than in the day. It was chilly too, for +the season was now very late autumn, if not winter. But little did we +care—I don't think there could have been found anywhere two happier +children than my brother and I that dull rainy evening as we trotted +along beside our mother. There was the feeling of <i>her</i> to take care of +us, of our cheerful home waiting for us, with a bright fire and the +tea-table all spread. If I had not been a little tired—for we had +walked a good way—in my heart I was just as ready to skip along on the +tips of my toes as when we first came out.</p> + +<p>"We may stop at Miss Fryer's, mayn't we, mamma?" said Haddie.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, I suppose I promised you something for tea," mamma replied.</p> + +<p>"How much may we spend?" he asked. "Sixpence—do say sixpence, and then +we can get enough for you to have tea with us too."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Haddie," I said reproachfully, "as if we wouldn't give mamma something +however little we had!"</p> + +<p>"We'd offer it her of course, but you know she wouldn't take it," he +replied. "So it's much better to have really enough for all."</p> + +<p>His way of speaking made mamma laugh again.</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose it must be sixpence," she said, "and here we are at Miss +Fryer's. Shall we walk on, my little girl, I think you must be tired, +and let Haddie invest in cakes and run after us?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, please mamma, dear," I said, "I like so to choose too."</p> + +<p>Half the pleasure of the sixpence would have been gone if Haddie and I +had not spent it together.</p> + +<p>"Then I will go on," said mamma, "and you two can come after me +together."</p> + +<p>She took out her purse and gave my brother the promised money, and then +with a smile on her dear face—I can see her now as she stood in the +light of the street-lamp just at the old Quakeress's door—she nodded to +us and turned to go.</p> + +<p>I remember exactly what we bought, partly, perhaps, because it was our +usual choice. We used to think it over a good deal first and each would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +suggest something different, but in the end we nearly always came back +to the old plan for the outlay of our sixpence, namely, half-penny +crumpets for threepence—that meant <i>seven</i>, not six; it was the +received custom to give seven for threepence—and half-penny Bath buns +for the other threepence—seven of them too, of course. And <i>Bath</i> buns, +not plain ones. You cannot get these now—not at least in any place +where I have lived of late years. And I am not sure but that even at +Mexington they were a <i>spécialité</i> of dear old Miss Fryer's. They were +so good; indeed, everything she sold was thoroughly good of its kind. +She was so honest, using the best materials for all she made.</p> + +<p>That evening she stood with her usual gentle gravity while we discussed +what we should have, and when after discarding sponge-cakes and +finger-biscuits, which we had thought of "for a change," and partly +because finger-biscuits weighed light and made a good show, we came +round at last to the seven crumpets and seven buns, she listened as +seriously and put them up in their little paper bags with as much +interest as though the ceremony had never been gone through before. And +then just as we were turning to leave, she lifted up a glass shade<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> and +drew out two cheese-cakes, which she proceeded to put into another paper +bag.</p> + +<p>Haddie and I looked at each other. This was a lovely present. What a tea +we should have!</p> + +<p>"I think thee will find these good," she said with a smile, "and I hope +thy dear mother will not think them too rich for thee and thy brother."</p> + +<p>She put them into my hand, and of course we thanked her heartily. I have +often wondered why she never said, "thou wilt," but always "thee will," +for she was not an uneducated woman by any means.</p> + +<p>Laden with our treasures Haddie and I hurried home. There was mamma +watching for us with the door open. How sweet it was to have her always +to welcome us!</p> + +<p>"Tea is quite ready, dears," she said. "Run upstairs quickly, Geraldine, +and take off your things, they must be rather damp. I am going to have +my real tea with you, for I have just had a note from your father to say +he won't be in till late and I am not to wait for him."</p> + +<p>Mamma sighed a little as she spoke. I felt sorry for her disappointment, +but, selfishly speaking, we sometimes rather enjoyed the evenings father +was late, for then mamma gave us her whole attention,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> as she was not +able to do when he was at home. And though we were very fond of our +father, we were—I especially, I think—much more afraid of him than of +our mother.</p> + +<p>And that was such a happy evening! I have never forgotten it. Mamma was +so good and thoughtful for us, she did not let us find out in the least +that she was feeling anxious on account of something father had said in +his note to her. She was just perfectly sweet.</p> + +<p>We were very proud of our spoils from Miss Fryer's. We wanted mamma to +have one cheesecake and Haddie and I to divide the other between us. But +mamma would not agree to that. She would only take a half, so that we +had three-quarters each.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it kind of Miss Fryer, mamma?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Very kind," said mamma. "I think she is really fond of children though +she is so grave. She has not forgotten what it was to be a child +herself."</p> + +<p>Somehow her words brought back to my mind what old Mr. Cranston had said +about his little grand-daughter.</p> + +<p>"I suppose children <i>are</i> all rather like each other," I said. "Like +about Haddie, and that little girl riding on the lions."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>Haddie was not very pleased at my speaking of it; he was beginning to be +afraid of seeming babyish.</p> + +<p>"That was <i>quite</i> different," he said. "She was a baby and had to be +held on. It was the fun of climbing up <i>I</i> cared for."</p> + +<p>"She wasn't a baby," I said. "She's nine years old, he said she +was—didn't he, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"You are mixing two things together," said mamma. "Mr. Cranston was +speaking first of his daughter long ago when she was a child, and then +he was speaking of <i>her</i> daughter, little Myra Raby, who is now nine +years old."</p> + +<p>"Why did he say my 'poor' daughter?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Did you not hear the allusion to her death? Mrs. Raby died soon after +little Myra was born. Mr. Raby married again—he is a clergyman not very +far from Fernley——"</p> + +<p>"A clergyman," exclaimed Haddie. He was more worldly-wise than I, thanks +to being at school. "A clergyman, and he married a shopkeeper's +daughter."</p> + +<p>"There are very different kinds of shopkeepers, Haddie," said mamma. +"Mr. Cranston is very rich, and his daughter was very well educated and +very nice. Still, no doubt Mr. Raby was in a higher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> position than she, +and both Mr. Cranston and his wife are very right-minded people, and +never pretend to be more than they are. That is why I was so glad to +hear that little Myra is coming to stay with them. I was afraid the +second Mrs. Raby might have looked down upon them perhaps."</p> + +<p>Haddie said no more about it. And though I listened to what mamma said, +I don't think I quite took in the sense of it till a good while +afterwards. It has often been like that with me in life. I have a +curiously "retentive" memory, as it is called. Words and speeches remain +in my mind like unread letters, till some day, quite unexpectedly, +something reminds me of them, and I take them out, as it were, and find +what they really meant.</p> + +<p>But just now my only interest in little Myra Raby's history was a +present one.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," I said suddenly, "if she is a nice little girl like what her +mamma was, mightn't I have her to come and see me and play with me? I +have never had any little girl to play with, and it is so dull +sometimes—the days that Haddie is late at school and when you are busy. +Do say I may have her—I'm sure old Mr. Cranston would let her come, and +then I might go and play with her sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> perhaps. Do you think she +will play among the furniture—where the lions are?"</p> + +<p>Mamma shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No, dear," she answered. "I am quite sure her grandmother would not +like that. For you see anybody might come into the shop or show-rooms, +and it would not seem nice for a little girl to be playing there—not +nice for a carefully brought-up little girl, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Then I don't think I should care to go to her house," I said, "but I +would like her to come here. Please let her, mamma dear."</p> + +<p>But mamma only said,</p> + +<p>"We shall see."</p> + +<p>After tea she told us stories—some of them we had heard often before, +but we never tired of hearing them again—about when she and Aunty Etta +were little girls. They were lovely stories—real ones of course. Mamma +was not as clever as Aunty Etta about making up fairy ones.</p> + +<p>We were quite sorry when it was time to go to bed.</p> + +<p>After I had been asleep for a little that night I woke up again—I had +not been very sound asleep. Just then I saw a light, and mamma came into +the room with a candle.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not asleep, dear mamma," I said. "Do kiss me again."</p> + +<p>"That is what I have come for," she answered.</p> + +<p>And she came up to the bedside and kissed me, oh so sweetly—more than +once. She seemed as if she did not want to let go of me.</p> + +<p>"Dear mamma," I whispered sleepily, "I <i>am</i> so happy—I'm always happy, +but to-night I feel so <i>extra</i> happy, somehow."</p> + +<p>"Darling," said mamma.</p> + +<p>And she kissed me again.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> + +<h3>COMING EVENTS.</h3> + +<p>The shadow of coming changes began to fall over us very soon after that.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the very next morning at breakfast I noticed that mamma looked +pale and almost as if she had been crying, and father was, so to say, +"extra" kind to her and to me. He talked and laughed more than usual, +partly perhaps to prevent our noticing how silent dear mamma was, but +mostly I think because that is the way men do when they are really +anxious or troubled.</p> + +<p>I don't fancy Haddie thought there was anything wrong—he was in a hurry +to get off to school.</p> + +<p>After breakfast mamma told me to go and practise for half an hour, and +if she did not come to me then, I had better go on doing some of my +lessons alone. She would look them over afterwards. And as I was going +out of the room she called me back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> and kissed me again—almost as she +had done the night before.</p> + +<p>That gave me courage to say something. For children were not, in my +childish days, on such free and easy terms with their elders as they are +now. And kind and gentle as mamma was, we knew very distinctly the sort +of things she would think forward or presuming on our part.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," I said, still hesitating a little.</p> + +<p>"Well, dear," she replied. She was buttoning, or pretending to button, +the band of the little brown holland apron I wore, so that I could not +see her face, but something in the tone of her voice told me that my +instinct was not mistaken.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," I repeated, "may I say something? I have a feeling that—that +you are—that there is something the matter."</p> + +<p>Mamma did not answer at once. Then she said very gently, but quite +kindly,</p> + +<p>"Geraldine, my dear, you know that I tell you as much as I think it +right to tell any one as young as you—I tell you more, of our plans and +private matters and such things, than most mothers tell their little +daughters. This has come about partly through your being so much alone +with me. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> when I <i>don't</i> tell you anything, even though you may +suspect there is something to tell, you should trust me that there is +good reason for my not doing so."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, but I could not stifle a little sigh. "Would you just +tell me one thing, mamma," I went on; "it isn't anything that you're +really unhappy about, is it?"</p> + +<p>Again mamma hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Dear child," she said, "try to put it out of your mind. I can only say +this much to you, I am <i>anxious</i> more than troubled. There is nothing +the matter that should really be called a trouble. But your father and I +have a question of great importance to decide just now, and we are +very—I may say really <i>terribly</i>—anxious to decide for the best. That +is all I can tell you. Kiss me, my darling, and try to be your own +bright little self. That will be a comfort and help to me."</p> + +<p>I kissed her and I promised I would try to do as she wished. But it was +with rather a heavy heart that I went to my practising. What <i>could</i> it +be? I did try not to think of it, but it would keep coming back into my +mind. And I was only a child. I had no experience of trouble or anxiety. +After a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> time my spirits began to rise again—there was a sort of +excitement in the wondering what this great matter could be. I am afraid +I did not succeed in putting it out of my mind as mamma wished me to do.</p> + +<p>But the days went on without anything particular happening. I did not +speak of what mamma had said to me to my brother. I knew she did not +wish me to do so. And by degrees other things began to make me forget +about it a little. It was just at that time, I remember, that some +friend—an aunt on father's side, I think—sent me a present of <i>The +Wide, Wide World</i>, and while I was reading it I seemed actually to live +in the story. It was curious that I should have got it just then. If +mamma had read it herself I am not sure that she would have given it to +me. But after all, perhaps it served the purpose of preparing me a +<i>little</i>—a very little—for what was before me in my own life.</p> + +<p>It was nearly three weeks after the time I have described rather +minutely that the blow fell, that Haddie and I were told the whole. I +think, however, I will not go on telling <i>how</i> we were told, for I am +afraid of making my story too long.</p> + +<p>And of course, however good my memory is, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> cannot pretend that the +conversations I relate took place <i>exactly</i> as I give them. I think I +give the <i>spirit</i> of them correctly, but now that I have come to the +telling of distinct facts, perhaps it will be better simply to narrate +them.</p> + +<p>You will remember my saying that my father had lost money very +unexpectedly, and that this was what had obliged him to come to live at +Mexington and work so hard. He had got the post he held there—it was in +a bank—greatly through the influence of Mrs. Selwood, mamma's +godmother, who lived in the country at some hours' distance from the +town, and whose name was well known there, as she owned a great many +houses and other property in the immediate neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>Father was very glad to get this post, and very grateful to Mrs. +Selwood. She took great interest in us all—that is to say, she was +interested in Haddie and me because we were mamma's children, though she +did not care for or understand children as a rule. But she was a +faithful friend, and anxious to help father still more.</p> + +<p>Just about the time I have got to in my story, the manager of a bank in +South America, in some way connected with the one at Great Mexington,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +became ill, and was told by the doctors that he must return to England +and have a complete rest for two years. Mrs. Selwood had money +connection with this bank too, and got to hear of what had happened. +Knowing that father could speak both French and Spanish well, for he had +been in the diplomatic service as a younger man, she at once applied for +the appointment for him, and after some little delay she was told that +he should have the offer of it for the two years.</p> + +<p>Two years are not a very long time, even though the pay was high, but +the great advantage of the offer was that the heads of the bank at +Mexington promised, if all went well for that time, that some permanent +post should be given to father in England on his return. This was what +made him more anxious to accept the proposal than even the high pay. For +Mrs. Selwood found out that he would not be able to save much of his +salary, as he would have a large house to keep up, and would be expected +to receive many visitors. On this account the post was never given to an +unmarried man.</p> + +<p>"If he accepts it," Mrs. Selwood wrote to mamma, "you, my dear Blanche, +must go with him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> some arrangement would have to be made about the +children for the time. I would advise your sending them to school."</p> + +<p><i>Now</i> I think my readers will not be at a loss to understand why our +dear mother had looked so troubled, even though on one side this event +promised to be for our good in the end.</p> + +<p>Father was allowed two or three weeks in which to make up his mind. The +heads of the Mexington bank liked and respected him very much, and they +quite saw that there were two sides to the question of his accepting the +offer. The climate of the place was not very good—at least it was +injurious to English people if they stayed there for long—and it was +perfectly certain that it would be madness to take growing children like +Haddie and me there.</p> + +<p><i>This</i> was the dark spot in it all to mamma, and indeed to father too. +They were not afraid for themselves. They were both strong and still +young, but they could not for a moment entertain the idea of taking +<i>us</i>. And the thought of separation was terrible.</p> + +<p>You see, being a small family, and living in a place like Great +Mexington, where my parents had not many congenial friends, and being +poor were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> obliged to live carefully, <i>home</i> was everything to us all. +We four were the whole world to each other, and knew no happiness apart.</p> + +<p>I do not mean to say that I felt or saw all this at once, but looking +back upon it from the outside, as it were, I see all that made it a +peculiarly hard case, especially—at the beginning, that is to say—for +mamma.</p> + +<p>It seems strange that I did <i>not</i> take it all in—all the misery of it, +I mean—at first, nor indeed for some time, not till I had actual +experience of it. Even Haddie realised it more in anticipation than I +did. He was two years older, and though he had never been at a +boarding-school, still he knew something of school life. There were +boarders at his school, and he had often seen and heard how, till they +got accustomed to it at any rate, they suffered from home-sickness, and +counted the days to the holidays.</p> + +<p>And for us there were not to be any holidays! No certain prospect of +them at best, though Mrs. Selwood said something vaguely about perhaps +having us at Fernley for a visit in the summer. But it was very vague. +And we had no near relations on mamma's side except Aunty Etta, who was +in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> India, and on father's no one who could possibly have us regularly +for our holidays.</p> + +<p>All this mamma grasped at once, and her grief was sometimes so extreme +that, but for Mrs. Selwood, I doubt if father would have had the +resolution to accept. But Mrs. Selwood was what is called "very +sensible," perhaps just a little hard, and certainly not <i>sensitive</i>. +And she put things before our parents in such a way that mamma felt it +her duty to urge father to accept the offer, and father felt it <i>his</i> +duty to put feelings aside and do so.</p> + +<p>They went to stay at Fernley from a Saturday to a Monday to talk it well +over, and it was when they came back on the Monday that we were told.</p> + +<p>Before then I think we had both come to have a strong feeling that +something was going to happen. I, of course, had some reason for this in +what mamma had said to me, though I had forgotten about it a good deal, +till this visit to Fernley brought back the idea of something unusual. +For it was <i>very</i> seldom that we were left by ourselves.</p> + +<p>We did not mind it much. After all, it was only two nights and one +<i>whole</i> day, and that a Sunday, when my brother was at home, so we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +stood at the door cheerfully enough, looking at our father and mother +driving off in the clumsy, dingy old four-wheeler—though that is a +modern word—which was the best kind of cab known at Mexington.</p> + +<p>But when they were fairly off Haddie turned to me, and I saw that he was +very grave. I was rather surprised.</p> + +<p>"Why, Haddie," I said, "do you mind so much? They'll be back on Monday."</p> + +<p>"No, of course I don't mind <i>that</i>," he said. "But I wonder why mamma +looks so—so awfully trying-not-to-cry, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh," I said, "I don't think she's quite well. And she hates leaving +us."</p> + +<p>"No," said my brother, "there's something more."</p> + +<p>And when he said that, I remembered the feeling I had had myself. I felt +rather cross with Haddie; I wanted to forget it quite.</p> + +<p>"You needn't try to frighten me like that," I said. "I meant to be quite +happy while they were away—to please mamma, you know, by telling her so +when she comes back."</p> + +<p>Then Haddie, who really was a very good-natured, kind boy, looked +sorry.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said; "perhaps it was my fancy. I +don't want to be unhappy while they're away, I'm sure. I'm only too glad +that to-day's Saturday and to-morrow Sunday."</p> + +<p>And he did his very best to amuse me. We went out a walk that afternoon +with the housemaid—quite a long walk, though it was winter. We went as +far out of the town as we could get, to where there were fields, which +in spring and summer still looked green, and through the remains of a +little wood, pleasant even in the dullest season. It was our favourite +walk, and the only pretty one near the town. There was a brook at the +edge of the wood, which still did its best to sing merrily, and to +forget how dingy and grimy its clear waters became a mile or two farther +on; there were still a few treasures in the shape of ivy sprays and +autumn-tinted leaves to gather and take home with us to deck our +nursery.</p> + +<p>I remember the look of it all so well. It was the favourite walk of many +besides ourselves, especially on a Saturday, when the hard-worked +Mexington folk were once free to ramble about—boys and girls not much +older than ourselves among them, for in those days children were allowed +to work in factories<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> much younger than they do now. We did not mind +meeting some of our townsfellows. On the contrary, we felt a good deal +of interest in them and liked to hear their queer way of talking, though +we could scarcely understand anything they said. And we were very much +interested indeed in some of the stories Lydia, who belonged to this +part of the country, told us of her own life, in a village a few miles +away, where there were two or three great factories, at which all the +people about worked—men, women, and children too, so that sometimes, +except for babies and very old people, the houses seemed quite deserted.</p> + +<p>"And long ago before that," said Lydia, "when mother was a little lass, +it was such a pretty village—cottages all over with creepers and +honeysuckle—not ugly rows of houses as like each other as peas. The +people worked at home on their own hand-looms then."</p> + +<p>Lydia had a sense of the beautiful!</p> + +<p>On our way home, of course, we called at Miss Fryer's—this time we had +a whole shilling to spend, for there was Sunday's tea to think of as +well as to-day's. We had never had so much at a time, and our +consultation took a good while. We decided at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> last on seven crumpets +and seven Bath buns as usual, and in addition to these, three large +currant tea-cakes, which our friend Susan told us would be all the +better for toasting if not too fresh. And the remaining threepence we +invested in a slice of sweet sandwich, which she told us would be +perfectly good if kept in a tin tightly closed. The old Quakeress for +once, I have always suspected, departed on this occasion from her rule +of exact payment for all purchases, for it certainly seemed a very large +slice of sweet sandwich for threepence.</p> + +<p>We were rather tired with our walk that evening and went to bed early. +Nothing more was said by Haddie about his misgivings. I think he hoped I +had forgotten what had passed, but I had not. It had all come back +again, the strange feeling of change and trouble in the air which had +made me question mamma that morning two or three weeks ago.</p> + +<p>But I did not as yet really believe it. I had never known what sorrow +and trouble actually are. It is not many children who reach even the age +I was then with so sunny and peaceful an experience of life. That +anything could happen to us—to <i>me</i>—like what happened to "Ellen" in +<i>The Wide,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Wide World</i>, I simply could not believe; even though if any +one had talked to me about it and said that troubles must come and <i>do</i> +come to all, and to some much more than to others, and that they might +be coming to us, I should have agreed at once and said yes, of course I +knew that was true.</p> + +<p>The next day, Sunday, was very rainy. It made us feel dull, I think, +though we did not really mind a wet Sunday as much as another day, for +we never went a walk on Sunday. It was not thought right, and as we had +no garden the day would have been a very dreary one to us, except for +mamma.</p> + +<p>She managed to make it pleasant. We went to church in the morning, and +in the evening too sometimes. I think all children like going to church +in the evening; there is something grown-up about it. And the rest of +the day mamma managed to find interesting things for us to do. She +generally had some book which she kept for reading aloud on Sunday—Dr. +Adams's <i>Allegories</i>, "The Dark River" and others, were great +favourites, and so were Bishop Wilberforce's <i>Agathos</i>. Some of them +frightened me a little, but it was rather a pleasant sort of fright, +there was something grand and solemn about it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then we sang hymns sometimes, and we always had a very nice tea, and +mamma, and father too now and then, told us stories about when they were +children and what they did on Sundays. It was much stricter for them +than for us, though even for us many things were forbidden on Sundays +which are now thought not only harmless but right.</p> + +<p>Still, I never look back to the quiet Sundays in the dingy Mexington +street with anything but a feeling of peace and gentle pleasure.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> + +<h3>ALL SETTLED.</h3> + +<p>That Sunday—that last Sunday I somehow feel inclined to call it—stands +out in my memory quite differently from its fellows. Both Haddie and I +felt dull and depressed, partly owing no doubt to the weather, but still +more, I think, from that vague fear of something being wrong which we +were both suffering from, though we would not speak of it to each other.</p> + +<p>It cleared up a little in the evening, and though it was cold and chilly +we went to church. Mamma had said to us we might if we liked, and Lydia +was going.</p> + +<p>When we came in, cook sent us a little supper which we were very glad +of; it cheered us up.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you thankful they're coming home to-morrow?" I said to Haddie. +"I've never minded their being away so much before."</p> + +<p>They had been away two or three times that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> could remember, though +never for longer than a day or two.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Haddie, "I'm very glad."</p> + +<p>But that was all he said.</p> + +<p>They did come back the next day, pretty early in the morning, as father +had to be at the bank. He went straight there from the railway station, +and mamma drove home with the luggage. She was very particular when she +went to stay with her godmother to take nice dresses, for Mrs. Selwood +would not have been pleased to see her looking shabby, and it would not +have made her any more sympathising or anxious to help, but rather the +other way. Long afterwards—at least some years afterwards, when I was +old enough to understand—I remember Mrs. Selwood saying to me that it +was mamma's courage and good management which made everybody respect +her.</p> + +<p>I was watching at the dining-room window, which looked out to the +street, when the cab drove up. After the heavy rain the day before, it +was for once a fine day, with some sunshine. And sunshine was rare at +Great Mexington, especially in late November.</p> + +<p>Mamma was looking out to catch the first glimpse of me—of course she +knew that my brother would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> be at school. There was a sort of sunshine +on her face, at least I thought so at first, for she was smiling. But +when I looked more closely there was something in the smile which gave +me a queer feeling, startling me almost more than if I had seen that she +was crying.</p> + +<p>I think for my age I had a good deal of self-control of a certain kind. +I waited till she had come in and kissed me and sent away the cab and we +were alone. Then I shut the door and drew her to father's special +arm-chair beside the fire.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, dear," I half said, half whispered, "what is it?"</p> + +<p>Mamma gave a sort of gasp or choke before she answered. Then she said,</p> + +<p>"Why, dear, why should you think—oh, I don't know what I am saying," +and she tried to laugh.</p> + +<p>But I wouldn't let her.</p> + +<p>"It's something in your face, mamma," I persisted.</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>"We had meant to tell you and Haddie this evening," she said, "father +and I together; but perhaps it is better. Yes, my Geraldine, there is +something. Till now it was not quite certain, though it has been hanging +over us for some weeks, ever since——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Since that day I asked you—the morning after father came home so late +and you had been crying?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, since then," said mamma.</p> + +<p>She put her arm round me, and then she told me all that I have told +already, or at least as much of it as she thought I could understand. +She told it quietly, but she did not try not to cry—the tears just came +trickling down her face, and she wiped them away now and then. I think +the letting them come made her able to speak more calmly.</p> + +<p>And I listened. I was very sorry for her, very <i>very</i> sorry. But you may +think it strange—I have often looked back upon it with wonder myself, +though I now feel as if I understood the causes of it better—when I +tell you that I was <i>not</i> fearfully upset or distressed myself. I did +not feel inclined to cry, <i>except</i> out of pity for mamma. And I listened +with the most intense interest, and even curiosity. I was all wound up +by excitement, for this was the first great event I had ever known, the +first change in my quiet child-life.</p> + +<p>And my excitement grew even greater when mamma came to the subject of +what was decided about us children.</p> + +<p>"Haddie of course must go to school," she said;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> "to a larger and better +school—Mrs. Selwood speaks of Rugby, if it can be managed. He will be +happy there, every one says. But about you, my Geraldine."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma," I interrupted, "do let me go to school too. I have always +wanted to go, you know, and except for being away from you, I would far +rather be a boarder. It's really being at school then. I know they +rather look down upon day-scholars—Haddie says so."</p> + +<p>Mamma looked at me gravely. Perhaps she was just a little disappointed, +even though on the other hand she may have felt relieved too, at my +taking the idea of this separation, which to her over-rode <i>everything</i>, +which made the next two years a black cloud to her, so very +philosophically. But she sighed. I fancy a suspicion of the truth came +to her almost at once and added to her anxiety—the truth that I did not +the least realise what was before me.</p> + +<p>"We <i>are</i> thinking of sending you to school, my child," she said +quietly, "and of course it must be as a boarder. Mrs. Selwood advises +Miss Ledbury's school here. She has known the old lady long and has a +very high opinion of her, and it is not very far from Fernley in case +Miss Ledbury wished to consult<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> Mrs. Selwood about you in any way, or in +case you were ill."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad," I said. "I should like to go to Miss Ledbury's."</p> + +<p>My fancy had been tickled by seeing the girls at her school walking out +two and two in orthodox fashion. I thought it must be delightful to +march along in a row like that, and to have a partner of your own size +to talk to as much as you liked.</p> + +<p>Mamma said no more just then. I think she felt at a loss what to say. +She was afraid of making me unnecessarily unhappy, and on the other hand +she dreaded my finding the reality all the worse when I came to contrast +it with my rose-coloured visions.</p> + +<p>She consulted father, and he decided that it was best to leave me to +myself and my own thoughts.</p> + +<p>"She is a very young child still," he said to mamma. (All this of course +I was told afterwards.) "It is quite possible that she will <i>not</i> suffer +from the separation as we have feared. It may be much easier for her +than if she had been two or three years older."</p> + +<p>Haddie had no illusions. From the very first he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> took it all in, and +that very bitterly. But he was, as I have said, a very good boy, and a +boy with a great deal of resolution and firmness. He said nothing to +discourage me. Mamma told him how surprised she was at my way of taking +it, and he agreed with father that perhaps I would not be really +unhappy.</p> + +<p>And I do think that my chief unhappiness during the next few weeks came +from the sight of dear mamma's pale, worn face, which she could not +hide, try as she might to be bright and cheerful.</p> + +<p>There was of course a great deal of bustle and preparation, and all +children enjoy that, I fancy. Even Haddie was interested about his +school outfit. He was to go to a preparatory school at Rugby till he +could get into the big school. And as far as school went, he told me he +was sure he would like it very well, it was only the—but there he +stopped.</p> + +<p>"The what?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the being all separated," he said gruffly.</p> + +<p>"But you'd have had to go away to a big school some day," I reminded +him. "You didn't want always to go to a day-school."</p> + +<p>"No," he allowed, "but it's the holidays."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>The holidays! I had not thought about that part of it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I daresay something nice will be settled for the holidays," I said +lightly.</p> + +<p>In one way Haddie was very lucky. Mrs. Selwood had undertaken the whole +charge of his education for the two years our parents were to be away. +And after that "we shall see," she said.</p> + +<p>She had great ideas about the necessity of giving a boy the very best +schooling possible, but she had not at all the same opinion about +<i>girls'</i> education. She was a clever woman in some ways, but very +old-fashioned. Her own upbringing had been at a time when <i>very</i> little +learning was considered needful or even advisable for our sex. And as +she had good practical capacities, and had managed her own affairs +sensibly, she always held herself up both in her own mind and to others +as a specimen of an <i>un</i>learned lady who had got on far better than if +she had had all the "'ologies," as she called them, at her fingers' +ends.</p> + +<p>This, I think, was one reason why she approved of Miss Ledbury's school, +which, as you will hear, was certainly not conducted in accordance with +the modern ideas which even then were beginning to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> make wise parents +ask themselves if it was right to spend ten times as much on their sons' +education as on their daughters'.</p> + +<p>"Teach a girl to write a good hand, to read aloud so that you can +understand what she says, to make a shirt and make a pudding and to add +up the butcher's book correctly, and she'll do," Mrs. Selwood used to +say.</p> + +<p>"And what about accomplishments?" some one might ask.</p> + +<p>"She should be able to play a tune on the piano, and to sing a nice +English song or two if she has a voice, and maybe to paint a wreath of +flowers if her taste lies that way. That sort of thing would do no harm +if she doesn't waste time over it," the old lady would allow, with great +liberality, thinking over her own youthful acquirements no doubt.</p> + +<p>I daresay there was a foundation of solid sense in the first part of her +advice. I don't see but that girls nowadays might profit by some of it. +And in many cases they <i>do</i>. It is quite in accordance with modern +thought to be able to make a good many "puddings," though home-made +shirts are not called for. But as far as the "accomplishments" go, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +should prefer none to such a smattering of them as our old friend +considered more than enough.</p> + +<p>So far less thought on Mrs. Selwood's part was bestowed on +Geraldine—that is myself, of course—than on Haddon, as regarded the +school question. And mamma <i>had</i> to be guided by Mrs. Selwood's advice +to a great extent just then. She had so much to do and so little time to +do it in, that it would have been impossible for her to go hunting about +for a school for me more in accordance with her own ideas. And she knew +that personally Miss Ledbury was well worthy of all respect.</p> + +<p>She went to see her once or twice to talk about me, and make the best +arrangements possible. The first of these visits left a pleasanter +impression on her mind than the second. For the first time she saw Miss +Ledbury alone, and found her gentle and sympathising, and full of +conscientious interest in her pupils, so that it seemed childish to take +objection to some of the rules mentioned by the school-mistress which in +her heart mamma did not approve of.</p> + +<p>One of these was that all the pupils' letters were to be read by one of +the teachers, and as to this Miss Ledbury said she could make no +exception. Then,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> again, no story-books were permitted, except such as +were read aloud on the sewing afternoons. But if I spent my holidays +there, as was only too probable, this rule should be relaxed.</p> + +<p>The plan for Sundays, too, struck my mother disagreeably.</p> + +<p>"My poor Geraldine," she said to father, when she was telling him all +about it, "I don't know how she will stand such a dreary day."</p> + +<p>Father suggested that I should be allowed to write my weekly letter to +them on Sunday, and mamma said she would see if that could be.</p> + +<p>And then father begged her not to look at the dark side of things.</p> + +<p>"After all," he said, "Geraldine is very young, and will accommodate +herself better than you think to her new circumstances. She will enjoy +companions of her own age too. And we know that Miss Ledbury is a good +and kind woman—the disadvantages seem trifling, though I should not +like to think the child was to be there for longer than these two +years."</p> + +<p>Mamma gave in to this. Indeed, there seemed nothing else to do. But the +second time she went to see Miss Ledbury, the school-mistress +introduced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> her niece—her "right hand," as she called her—a woman of +about forty, named Miss Aspinall, who, though only supposed to be second +in command, was really the principal authority in the establishment, +much more than poor old Miss Ledbury, whose health was failing, realised +herself.</p> + +<p>Mamma did not take to Miss Aspinall. But it was now far too late to make +any change, and she tried to persuade herself that she was nervously +fanciful.</p> + +<p>And here, perhaps, I had better say distinctly, that Miss Aspinall was +not a bad or cruel woman. She was, on the contrary, truly conscientious +and perfectly sincere. But she was wanting in all finer feelings and +instincts. She had had a hard and unloving childhood, and had almost +lost the power of caring much for any one. She loved her aunt after a +fashion, but she thought her weak. She was just, or wished to be so, and +with some of the older pupils she got on fairly well. But she did not +understand children, and took small interest in the younger scholars, +beyond seeing that they kept the rules and were not complained of by the +under teachers who took charge of them. And as the younger pupils were +very seldom boarders it did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> not very much matter, as they had their own +homes and mothers to make them happy once school hours were over.</p> + +<p>Mamma did not know that there were scarcely any boarders as young as I, +for when she first asked about the other pupils, Miss Ledbury, thinking +principally of lessons, said, "oh yes," there was a nice little class +just about my age, where I should feel quite at home.</p> + +<p>A few days before <i>the</i> day—the day of separation for us all—mamma +took me to see Miss Ledbury. She thought I would feel rather less +strange if I had been there once, and had seen the lady who was to be my +school-mistress.</p> + +<p>I knew the house—Green Bank, it was called—by sight. It was a little +farther out of the town than ours, and had a melancholy bit of garden in +front, and a sort of playground at the back. It was not a large +house—indeed, it was not really large enough for the number of people +living in it—twenty to thirty boarders, and a number of day-scholars, +who of course helped to fill the schoolrooms and to make them hot and +airless, four resident teachers, and four or five servants. But in those +days people did not think nearly as much as now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> about ventilation and +lots of fresh air, and perfectly pure water, and all such things, which +we now know to be quite as important to our health as food and clothes.</p> + +<p>Mamma rang the bell. Everything about Green Bank was neat and orderly, +prim, if not grim. So was the maid-servant who opened the door, and in +answer to mamma's inquiry for Miss Ledbury, showed us into the +drawing-room, a square moderate-sized-room, at the right hand of the +passage.</p> + +<p>I can remember the look of that room even now, perfectly. It was +painfully neat, not exactly ugly, for most of the furniture was of the +spindle-legged quaint kind, to which everybody now gives the general +name of "Queen Anne." There were a few books set out on the round table, +there was a cottage piano at one side, there were some faint +water-colours on the wall, and a rather nice clock on the white marble +mantelpiece, the effect of which was spoilt by a pair of huge "lustres," +as they were called, at each side of it. The carpet was very ugly, large +and sprawly in pattern, and so was the hearth-rug. They were the newest +things in the room, and greatly admired by Miss Ledbury and her niece, +who were full of the bad taste of the day in furniture, and would +gladly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> have turned out all the delicate spidery-looking tables and +chairs to make way for heavy and cumbersome sofas and ottomans, but for +the question of expense, and perhaps for the sake of old association on +the elder lady's part.</p> + +<p>There was no fire, though it was November, and mamma shivered a little +as she sat down, possibly, however not altogether from cold. It was +between twelve and one in the morning—that was the hour at which Miss +Ledbury asked parents to call.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when I got to know the rules of the house, I found that the +drawing-room fire was never lighted except on Wednesday and Saturday +afternoons, or on some very special occasion.</p> + +<p>I stood beside mamma. Somehow I did not feel inclined to sit down. I was +full of a strange kind of excitement, half pleasant, half frightening. I +think the second half prevailed as the moments went on. Mamma did not +speak, but I felt her hand clasping my shoulder.</p> + +<p>Then at last the door opened.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> + +<h3>AN UNPROMISING BEGINNING.</h3> + +<p>My first sight of Miss Ledbury was a sort of agreeable disappointment. +She was not the least like what I had imagined, though till I did see +her I do not think I knew that I had imagined anything! She had been +much less in my thoughts than her pupils; it was the idea of companions, +the charm of being one of a party of other girls, with a place of my own +among them, that my fancy had been full of. I don't think I cared very +much what the teachers were like.</p> + +<p>What I did see was a very small, fragile-looking old lady, with quite +white hair, a black or purple—I am not sure which, anyway it was +dark—silk dress, and a soft fawn-coloured cashmere shawl. She had a +white lace cap, tied with ribbons under her chin, and black lace +mittens. Looking back now, I cannot picture her in any other dress. I +cannot remember ever seeing her with a bonnet on, and yet she must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> have +worn one, as she went to church regularly. Her face was small and still +pretty, and the eyes were naturally sweet, sometimes they had a twinkle +of humour in them, sometimes they looked almost hard. The truth was that +she was a gentle, kind-hearted person by nature, but a narrow life and +education had stunted her power of sympathy, and she thought it wrong to +give way to feeling. She was conscious of what she believed to be +weakness in herself, and was always trying to be firm and determined. +And since her niece had come to live with her, this put-on sternness had +increased.</p> + +<p>Yet I was never really afraid of Miss Ledbury, though I never—well, +perhaps that is rather too strong—almost never, I should say, felt at +ease with her.</p> + +<p>I was, I suppose, a very shy child, but till now the circumstances of my +life had not brought this out.</p> + +<p>This first time of seeing my future school-mistress I liked her very +much. There was indeed something very attractive about her—something +almost "fairy-godmother-like" which took my fancy.</p> + +<p>We did not stay long. Miss Ledbury was not without tact, and she saw +that the mention of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> approaching parting, the settling the day and +hour at which I was to come to Green Bank to <i>stay</i>, were very, very +trying to mamma. And I almost think her misunderstanding of me began +from that first interview. In her heart I fancy she was shocked at my +coolness, for she did not know, or if she ever had known, she had +forgotten, much about children—their queer contradictory ways of taking +things, how completely they are sometimes the victims of their +imagination, how little they realise anything they have had no +experience of.</p> + +<p>All that the old lady did not understand in me, she put down to my being +spoilt and selfish. She even, I believe, thought me forward.</p> + +<p>Still, she spoke kindly—said she hoped I should soon feel at home at +Green Bank, and try to get on well with my lessons, so that when my dear +mamma returned she would be astonished at the progress I had made.</p> + +<p>I did not quite understand what she said—the word "progress" puzzled +me. I wondered if it had anything to do with the pilgrim's progress, and +I was half inclined to ask if it had, and to tell her that I had read +the history of Christian and his family quite through, two or three +times. But mamma had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> already got up to go, so I only said "Yes" rather +vaguely, and Miss Ledbury kissed me somewhat coldly.</p> + +<p>As soon as we found ourselves outside in the street again, mamma made +some little remark. She wanted to find out what kind of impression had +been left on me, though she would not have considered it right to ask me +straight out what I thought of the lady who was going to be my +superior—in a sense to fill a parent's place to me.</p> + +<p>And I remember replying that I thought Miss Ledbury must be very, very +old—nearly a hundred, I should think.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no, not nearly as old as that," mamma said quickly. "You must +not say anything like that, Geraldine. It would offend her. She cannot +be more than sixty."</p> + +<p>I opened my eyes. I thought it would be very nice to be a hundred.</p> + +<p>But before I had time to say more, my attention was distracted. For just +at that moment, turning a corner, we almost ran into the procession I +was so eager to join—Miss Ledbury's girls, returning two and two from +their morning constitutional.</p> + +<p>I felt my cheeks grow red with excitement. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> stared at them, and some +of them, I think, looked at me. Mamma looked at them too, but instead of +getting red, her face grew pale.</p> + +<p>They passed so quickly, that I was only able to glance at two or three +of the twenty or thirty faces. I looked at the smallest of the train +with the most interest, though one older face at the very end caught my +attention almost without my knowing it.</p> + +<p>When they had passed I turned to mamma.</p> + +<p>"Did you see that little girl with the rosy cheeks, mamma? The one with +a red feather in her hat. <i>Doesn't</i> she look nice?"</p> + +<p>"She looked a good-humoured little person," said mamma. In her heart she +thought the rosy-faced child rather common-looking and far too showily +dressed, but that was not unusual among the rich Mexington people, and +she would not have said anything like that to me. "I did notice one +<i>very</i> sweet face," she went on, "I mean the young lady at the end—one +of the governesses no doubt."</p> + +<p>I had, as I said, noticed her too, and mamma's words impressed it upon +me. Mamma seemed quite cheered by this passing glimpse, and she went on +speaking.</p> + +<p>"She must be one of the younger teachers, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> should think. I hope you +may be in her class. You must tell me if you are when you write to me, +and tell me her name."</p> + +<p>I promised I would.</p> + +<p>The next two or three days I have no clear remembrance of at all. They +seemed all bustle and confusion—though through everything I recollect +mamma's pale drawn face, and the set look of Haddie's mouth. He was so +determined not to break down. Of father we saw very little—he was +terribly busy. But when he was at home, he seemed to be always +whistling, or humming a tune, or making jokes.</p> + +<p>"How pleased father seems to be about going so far away," I said once to +Haddie. But he did not answer.</p> + +<p>He—Haddie—was to go a part of the way in the same train as father and +mamma. They were to start on the Thursday, and I was taken to Green Bank +on Wednesday morning. Father took me—and Lydia. I was such a little +girl that mamma thought Lydia should go with me to unpack and arrange my +things, and she never thought that any one could object to this. For she +had never been at school herself, and did not know much about school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +ways. I think the first beginning of my troubles and disappointments was +about Lydia.</p> + +<p>Father and I were shown into the drawing-room. But when the door opened +this time, it was not to admit gentle old Miss Ledbury. Instead of her +in came a tall, thin woman, dressed in gray—she had black hair done +rather tightly, and a black lace bow on the top of her head.</p> + +<p>Father was standing looking out of the window, and I beside him holding +his hand. I was not crying. I had had one sudden convulsive fit of sobs +early that morning when mamma came for a moment into my room, and for +the first time it <i>really</i> came over me that I was leaving her. But she +almost prayed me to try not to cry, and the feeling that I was helping +her, joined to the excitement I was in, made it not so very difficult to +keep quiet. I do not even think my eyes were red.</p> + +<p>Father turned at the sound of the door opening.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ledbury," he began.</p> + +<p>"Not Miss Ledbury. I am Miss Aspinall, her <i>niece</i>," said the lady; she +was not pleased at the mistake.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I beg your pardon," said poor father. "I understood——"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Miss Ledbury is not very well this morning," said Miss Aspinall. "She +deputed me to express her regrets."</p> + +<p>"Oh certainly," said father. "This is my little daughter—you have seen +her before, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the lady, holding out her hand. "How do you do, my dear?"</p> + +<p>I did not speak. I stared up at her, I felt so confused and strange. I +scarcely heard what father went on to say—some simple messages from +mamma about my writing to them, and so on, and the dates of the mails, +the exact address, etc., etc., to all of which Miss Aspinall listened +with a slight bend of her head or a stiff "indeed," or "just so."</p> + +<p>This was not encouraging. I am afraid even father's buoyant spirits went +down: I think he had had some idea that if he came himself he would be +able to make friends with my school-mistress and be able to ensure her +special friendliness. But it was clear that nothing of this kind was to +be done with the niece.</p> + +<p>So he said at last,</p> + +<p>"Well, I think that is all. Good-bye, my little woman, then. Good-bye, +my darling. She will be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> good girl, I am sure, Miss Aspinall; she has +been a dear good child at home."</p> + +<p>His voice was on the point of breaking, but the governess stood there +stonily. His praise of me was not the way to win her favour. I do +believe she would have liked me better if he had said I had been so +naughty and troublesome at home that he trusted the discipline of school +would do me good. And when I glanced up at Miss Aspinall's face, +something seemed to choke down the sob which was beginning again to rise +in my throat.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 324px;"><a name="ILL_004" id="ILL_004"></a> +<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="324" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">"GOOD-BYE!"</span> +</div> + +<p>"Good-bye, my own little girl," said father. One more kiss and he was +gone.</p> + +<p>My luggage was in the hall—which was really a passage scarcely +deserving the more important name—and beside it stood Lydia. Miss +Aspinall looked at her coldly.</p> + +<p>"Who——" she began, when I interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"It's Lydia," I said. "She's come to unpack my things. Mamma sent her."</p> + +<p>"Come to unpack your things," repeated the governess. "There must be +some mistake—that is quite unnecessary. There is no occasion for you to +wait," she said to poor Lydia, with a slight gesture towards the door.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lydia grew very red.</p> + +<p>"Miss Geraldine won't know about them all, I'm afraid," she began. "She +has not been used to taking the charge of her things yet."</p> + +<p>"Then the sooner she learns the better," said Miss Aspinall, and Lydia +dared not persist. She turned to me, looking ready to burst out crying +again, though, as she had been doing little else for three days, one +might have thought her tears were exhausted.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear Miss Geraldine," she said, half holding out her arms. I +flew into them. I was beginning to feel very strange.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear Lydia," I said.</p> + +<p>"You will write to me, Miss Geraldine?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will; I know your address," I said. Lydia was going to her +own home to work with a dressmaker sister in hopes of coming back to us +at the end of the two years.</p> + +<p>"Miss Le Marchant" (I think I have never said that our family name was +Le Marchant), said a cold voice, "I really cannot wait any longer; you +must come upstairs at once to take off your things."</p> + +<p>Lydia glanced at me.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon," she said; and then she too was gone.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>Long afterwards the poor girl told me that her heart was nearly bursting +when she left me, but she had the good sense to say nothing to add to +mamma's distress, as she knew that my living at Green Bank was all +settled about. She could only hope the other governesses might be kinder +than the one she had seen.</p> + +<p>Miss Aspinall walked upstairs, telling me to follow her. It was not a +very large house, but it was a high one and the stairs were steep. It +seemed to me that I had climbed up a long way when at last she opened a +door half-way down a dark passage.</p> + +<p>"This is your room," she said, as she went in.</p> + +<p>I followed her eagerly. I don't quite know what I expected. I had not +been told if I was to have a room to myself or not. But at first I think +I was rather startled to see three beds in a room not much larger than +my own one at home—three beds and two wash-hand stands, a large and a +small, two chests of drawers, a large and a small also, which were +evidently considered to be toilet-tables as well, as each had a +looking-glass, and three chairs.</p> + +<p>My eyes wandered round. It was all quite neat, though dull. For the one +window looked on to the side-wall of the next-door house, and much +light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> could not have got in at the best of times, added to which, the +day was a very gray one. But the impression it made upon me was more +that of a tidy and clean servants' room than of one for ladies, even +though only little girls.</p> + +<p>I stood still and silent.</p> + +<p>"This is your bed," said Miss Aspinall next, touching a small white +counterpaned iron bedstead in one corner—I was glad it was in a corner. +"The Miss Smiths are your companions. They share the large chest of +drawers, and your things will go into the smaller one."</p> + +<p>"There won't be nearly room enough," I said quickly. I had yet to learn +the habit of not saying out whatever came into my head.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, child," said the governess. "There must be room enough for +you if there is room enough for much older and——" she stopped. "At +your age many clothes are not requisite. I think, on the whole, it will +be better for you not to unpack or arrange your own things. One of the +governesses shall do so, and all that you do not actually require must +stay in your trunk and be put in the box-room."</p> + +<p>I did not pay very much attention to what she said. I don't think I +clearly understood it, for, as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> have said, in some ways I was rather a +slow child. And my thoughts were running more on the Miss Smiths and the +rest of my future companions than on my wardrobe. If I had taken in that +it was not only my clothes that were in question, but that my little +household gods, my special pet possessions, were not to be left in my +own keeping, I would have minded much more.</p> + +<p>"Now take off your things at once," said Miss Aspinall. "You must keep +on your boots till your shoes are got out, but take care not to stump +along the passages. Do your hands want washing? No, you have your gloves +on. As soon as you are ready, go down two flights of stairs till you +come to the passage under this on the next floor. The door at the end is +the second class schoolroom, where you will be shown your place."</p> + +<p>Then she went away, leaving me to my own reflections. Not a word of +sympathy or encouragement, not a pat on my shoulder as she passed me, +nor a kindly glance out of her hard eyes. But at the time I scarcely +noticed this. My mind was still full of not unpleasant excitement, +though I was beginning to feel tired and certainly very confused and +bewildered.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>I sat down for a moment on the edge of my little bed when Miss Aspinall +left me, without hastening to take off my coat and bonnet. We wore +bonnets mostly in those days, though hats were beginning to come into +fashion for young girls.</p> + +<p>"I wish there were only two beds, not three," I said to myself. "And I +would like the little girl with the rosy face to sleep in my room. I +wonder if she's Miss Smith perhaps. I wonder if there's several little +girls as little as me. I'd like to know all their names, so as to write +and tell them to mamma and Haddie."</p> + +<p>The inclination to cry had left me—fortunately in some ways, though +perhaps if I had made my <i>début</i> in the schoolroom looking very +woe-begone and tearful I should have made a better impression. My future +companions would have felt sorry for me. As it was, when I had taken off +my things I made my way downstairs as I had been directed, and opening +the schoolroom door—I remember wondering to myself what second class +schoolroom could mean: would it have long seats all round, something +like a second-class railway carriage?—walked in coolly enough.</p> + +<p>The room felt airless and close, though it was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> cold day. And at the +first glance it seemed to me perfectly full of people—girls—women +indeed in my eyes many of them were, they were so much bigger and older +than I—in every direction, more than I could count. And the hum of +voices was very confusing, the <i>hums</i> I should say, for there were two +or three different sets of reading aloud, or lessons repeating, going on +at once.</p> + +<p>I stood just inside the door. Two or three heads were turned in my +direction at the sound I made in opening it, but quickly bent over their +books again, and for some moments no one paid any attention to me. Then +suddenly a governess happened to catch sight of me. It was the same +sweet-faced girl whom mamma had noticed at the end of the long file in +the street.</p> + +<p>She looked at me once, then seemed at a loss, then she looked at me +again, and at last said something to the girl beside her, and getting up +from her seat went to the end of the room, and spoke to a small elderly +woman in a brown stuff dress, who was evidently another governess.</p> + +<p>This person—I suppose I should say lady—turned round and stared at me. +Then she said something to the younger governess, nothing very pleasant, +I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> fancy, for the sweet-looking one—I had better call her by her name, +which was Miss Fenmore—went back to her place with a heightened colour.</p> + +<p>You may ask how I can remember all these little particulars so exactly. +Perhaps I do not quite do so, but still, all that happened just then +made a very strong impression on me, and I have thought it over so much +and so often, especially since I have had children of my own, that it is +difficult to tell quite precisely how much is real memory, how much the +after knowledge of how things must have been, to influence myself and +others as they did. And later, too, I talked them over with those who +were older than I at the time, and could understand more.</p> + +<p>So there I stood, a very perplexed little person, though still more +perplexed than distressed or disappointed, by the door. Now and then +some head was turned to look at me with a sort of stealthy curiosity, +but there was no kindness in any of the glances, and the young governess +kept her eyes turned away. I was not a pretty child. My hair was +straight and not noticeable in any way, and it was tightly plaited, as +was the fashion, <i>unless</i> a child's hair was thick enough to make pretty +ringlets. My face was rather thin and pale, and there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> was nothing of +dimpling childish loveliness about me. I was rather near-sighted too, +and I daresay that often gave me a worried, perhaps a fretful +expression.</p> + +<p>After all, I did not have to wait very long. The elderly governess +finished the page she was reading aloud—she may have been dictating to +her pupils, I cannot say—and came towards me.</p> + +<p>"Did Miss Aspinall send you here?" she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>I looked up at her. She seemed to me no better than our cook, and not +half so good-natured.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she repeated, as if she was very shocked. "Yes <i>who</i>, if you +please? Yes, Miss ——?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss," I said in a matter-of-fact way.</p> + +<p>"What manners! Fie!" said Miss ——; afterwards I found her name was +Broom. "I think indeed it was quite time for you to come to school. If +you cannot say my name, you can at least say ma'am."</p> + +<p>I stared up at her. I think my trick of staring must have been rather +provoking, and perhaps even must have seemed rude, though it arose +entirely from my not understanding.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know your name, Miss—ma'am," I said. I spoke clearly. I was +not frightened. And a titter went round the forms. Miss Broom was angry +at being put in the wrong.</p> + +<p>"Miss Aspinall sent you to my class, <i>Miss Broom's</i> class," she said.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am—Miss Broom—she didn't."</p> + +<p>The governess thought I meant to be impertinent—impertinent, poor me!</p> + +<p>And with no very gentle hand, she half led, half pushed me towards her +end of the room, where there was a vacant place on one of the forms.</p> + +<p>"Silence, young ladies," she said, for some whispering was taking place. +"Go on with your copying out."</p> + +<p>And then she turned to me with a book.</p> + +<p>"Let me hear how you can read," she said.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2> + +<h3>A NEW WORLD.</h3> + +<p>I could read aloud well, unusually well, I think, for mamma had taken +great pains with my pronunciation. She was especially anxious that both +Haddie and I should speak well, and not catch the Great Mexington +accent, which was both peculiar and ugly.</p> + +<p>But the book which Miss Broom had put before me was hardly a fair test. +I don't remember what it was—some very dry history, I think, bristling +with long words, and in very small print. I did not take in the sense of +what I was reading in the very least, and so, of course, I read badly, +tumbling over the long words, and putting no intelligence into my tone. +I think, too, my teacher was annoyed at the purity of my accent, for no +one could possibly have mistaken <i>her</i> for anything but what she was—a +native of Middleshire. She corrected me once or twice, then shut the +book impatiently.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very bad," she said, "very bad indeed for eleven years old."</p> + +<p>"I am not eleven, Miss Broom," I said. "I am only nine past."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 321px;"><a name="ILL_005" id="ILL_005"></a> +<img src="images/ill_005.jpg" width="321" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">"LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT CONTRADICT, AND MUST NOT BE RUDE."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Little girls must not contradict, and must not be rude," was the reply.</p> + +<p>What had I said that could be called rude? I tried to think, thereby +bringing on myself a reprimand for inattention, which did not have the +effect of brightening my wits, I fear.</p> + +<p>I think I was put through a sort of examination as to all my +acquirements. I know I came out of it very badly, for Miss Broom +pronounced me so backward that there was no class, not even the +youngest, in the school, which I was really fit for. There was nothing +for it, however, but to put me into this lowest class, and she said I +must do extra work in play hours to make up to my companions.</p> + +<p>Even my French, which I now <i>know</i> must have been good, was found fault +with by Miss Broom, who said my accent was extraordinary. And certainly, +if hers was Parisian, mine must have been worse than that of +Stratford-le-Bow!</p> + +<p>Still, I was not unhappy. I thought it must be always like that at +school, and I said to myself I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> really would work hard to make up to +the others, who were so much, much cleverer than I. And I sat +contentedly enough in my place, doing my best to learn a page of English +grammar by heart, from time to time peeping round the table, till, to my +great satisfaction and delight, I caught sight of the rosy-cheeked +damsel at the farther end of the table.</p> + +<p>I was so pleased that I wonder I did not jump up from my place and run +round to speak to her, forgetful that though I had thought so much of +her, she had probably never noticed me at all the only other time of our +meeting, or rather passing each other.</p> + +<p>But I felt Miss Broom's eye upon me, and sat still. I acquitted myself +pretty fairly of my page of grammar, leading to the dry remark from the +governess that it was plain I "could learn if I chose." As this was the +first thing I had been given to learn, the implied reproach was not +exactly called for. But none of Miss Broom's speeches were remarkable +for being appropriate. They depended much more on the mood she happened +to be in herself than upon anything else.</p> + +<p>I can clearly remember most of that day. I have a vision of a long +dining-table, long at least it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> seemed to me, and a plateful of roast +mutton and potatoes which I could not manage to finish, followed by rice +pudding with which I succeeded better, though I was not the least +hungry. Miss Aspinall was at one end of the table, Miss Broom at the +other, and Miss Fenmore, who seemed always to be jumping up to ring the +bell or hand the governesses something or other that had been forgotten +by the servant, sat somewhere in the middle.</p> + +<p>No one spoke unless spoken to by one of the teachers. Miss Aspinall shot +out little remarks from time to time about the weather, and replied +graciously enough to one or two of the older girls who ventured to ask +if Miss Ledbury's cold, or headache, was better.</p> + +<p>Then came the grace, followed by a shoving back of forms, and a march in +order of age, or place in class rather, to the door, and thence down the +passage to what was called the big schoolroom—a room on the ground +floor, placed where by rights the kitchen should have been, I fancy. It +was the only large room in the house, and I think it must have been +built out beyond the original walls on purpose.</p> + +<p>And then—there re-echo on my ears even now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the sudden bursting out of +noise, the loosening of a score and a half of tongues, girls' tongues +too, forcibly restrained since the morning. For this was the recreation +hour, and on a wet day, to make up for not going a walk, the "young +ladies" were allowed from two to three to chatter as much as they +liked—in English instead of in the fearful and wonderful jargon yclept +"French."</p> + +<p>I stood in a corner by myself, staring, no doubt. I felt profoundly +interested. This was a <i>little</i> more like what I had pictured to myself, +though I had not imagined it would be quite so noisy and bewildering. +But some of the girls seemed very merry, and their laughter and chatter +fascinated me—if only I were one of them, able to laugh and chatter +too! Should I ever be admitted to share their fun?</p> + +<p>The elder girls did not interest me. They seemed to me quite grown-up. +Yet it was from their ranks that came the first token of interest in +me—of notice that I was there at all.</p> + +<p>"What's your name?" said a tall thin girl with fair curls, which one +could see she was very proud of. She was considered a beauty in the +school. She was silly, but very good-natured. She spoke with a sort of +lisp, and very slowly, so her question<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> did not strike me as rude. Nor +was it meant to be so. It was a mixture of curiosity and amiability.</p> + +<p>"My name," I repeated, rather stupidly. I was startled by being spoken +to.</p> + +<p>"Yes, your name. Didn't Miss Lardner say what's your name? Dear +me—don't stand gaping there like a monkey on a barrel-organ," said +another girl.</p> + +<p>By this time a little group had gathered round me. The girls composing +it all laughed, and though it does not sound very witty—to begin with, +I never heard of a monkey "gaping"—I have often thought since that +there was some excuse for the laughter. I was small and thin, and I had +a trick of screwing up my eyes which made them look smaller than they +really were. And my frock was crimson merino with several rows of black +velvet above the hem of the skirt.</p> + +<p>I was not offended. But I did not laugh. The girl who had spoken last +was something of a tomboy, and looked upon also as a wit. Her name was +Josephine Mellor, and her intimate friends called her Joe. She had very +fuzzy red hair, and rather good brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"I say," she went on again, "what <i>is</i> your name?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> And are you going to +stay to dinner every day, or only when it rains, like Lizzie Burt?"</p> + +<p>Who was Lizzie Burt? That question nearly set my ideas adrift again. But +the consciousness of my superior position fortunately kept me to the +point.</p> + +<p>"I am going to be at dinner always," I said proudly. "I am a boarder."</p> + +<p>The girls drew a little nearer, with evidently increased interest.</p> + +<p>"A boarder," repeated Josephine. "Then Harriet Smith'll have to give up +being baby. You're ever so much younger than her, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"What are you saying about me?" said Harriet, who had caught the sound +of her own name, as one often does.</p> + +<p>"Only that that pretty snub nose of yours is going to be put out of +joint," said Miss Mellor mischievously.</p> + +<p>Harriet came rushing forward. She was my rosy-cheeked girl! Her face was +redder than usual. I felt very vexed with Miss Mellor, even though I did +not quite understand her.</p> + +<p>"What are you saying?" the child called out. "I'm not going to have any +of your teasing, Joe."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's not teasing—it's truth," said the elder girl. "You're not the +baby any more. <i>She</i>," and she pointed to me, "she's younger than you."</p> + +<p>"How old are you?" said Harriet roughly.</p> + +<p>"Nine past," I said. "Nine and a half."</p> + +<p>"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Harriet. "I'm only nine and a month. I'm still +the baby, Miss Joe."</p> + +<p>She was half a head at least taller than I, and broad in proportion.</p> + +<p>"What a mite you are, to be sure," said Miss Mellor, "nine and a half +and no bigger than that."</p> + +<p>I felt myself getting red. I think one or two of the girls must have had +perception enough to feel a little sorry for me, for one of them—I +fancy it was Miss Lardner—said in a good-natured patronising way,</p> + +<p>"You haven't told us your name yet, after all."</p> + +<p>"It's Geraldine," I said. "That's my first name, and I'm always called +it."</p> + +<p>"Geraldine what?" said the red-haired girl.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine Theresa Le Marchant—that's all my names."</p> + +<p>"My goodness," said Miss Mellor, "how grand we are! Great Mexington's +growing quite aristocratic. I didn't know monkeys had such fine names."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>Some of the girls laughed, some, I think, thought her as silly as she +was.</p> + +<p>"Where do you come from?" was the next question.</p> + +<p>"Come from?" I repeated. "I don't know."</p> + +<p>At this they all did laugh, and I suppose it was only natural. Suddenly +Harriet Smith made a sort of dash at me.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say," she exclaimed. "I know. She's going to sleep in our room. I +saw them putting sheets on the bed in the corner, but Jane wouldn't tell +me who they were for. Emma," she called out loudly to a girl of fourteen +or fifteen, "Emma, I say, she's going to sleep in our room I'm sure."</p> + +<p>Emma Smith was taller and thinner and paler than her sister, but still +they were rather like. Perhaps it was for that very reason that they got +on so badly—they might have been better friends if they had been more +unlike. As it was, they quarrelled constantly, and I must say it was +generally Harriet's fault. She was very spoilt, but she had something +hearty and merry about her, and so had Emma. They were the daughters of +a rich Great Mexington manufacturer, and they had no mother. They were +favourites in the school, partly I suspect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> because they had lots of +pocket money, and used to invite their companions to parties in the +holidays. But they were not mean or insincere, though rough and +noisy—more like boys than girls.</p> + +<p>Emma came bouncing forward.</p> + +<p>"I say," she began to me, "if it's true you're to sleep in our room I +hope you understand you must do what I tell you. I'm the eldest. You're +not to back up Harriet to disobey me."</p> + +<p>"No," I said. "I don't want to do anything like that."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Harriet, "you'll be Emma's friend, not mine."</p> + +<p>My face fell, and I suppose Harriet saw it. She came closer to me and +looked at me well, as if expecting me to answer. But for the first time +since I had been in my new surroundings I felt more than bewildered—I +felt frightened and lonely, terribly lonely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma," I thought to myself, "I wish I could see you to tell you +about it. It isn't a bit like what I thought it would be."</p> + +<p>But I said nothing aloud. I think now that if I had burst out crying it +would have been better for me, but I had very little power of expressing +myself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> and Haddie had instilled into me a great horror of being a +cry-baby at school.</p> + +<p>In their rough way, however, several of the girls were kind-hearted, the +two Smiths perhaps as much so as any. Harriet came close up to me.</p> + +<p>"I'm only in fun," she said; "of course we'll be friends. I'll tell you +how we'll do," and she put her fat little arm round me in a protecting +way which I much appreciated. "Come over here," she went on in a lower +voice, "where none of the big ones can hear what we say," and she drew +me, nothing loth, to the opposite corner of the room.</p> + +<p>As we passed through the group of older girls standing about, one or two +fragments of their talk reached my ears.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I'm sure it's the same. He's a bank clerk, I think. I've heard +papa speak of them. They're awfully poor—come-down-in-the-world sort of +people."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then, I expect when she's old enough she'll be a governess—perhaps +she'll be a sort of teacher here to begin with."</p> + +<p>Then followed some remark about looking far ahead, and a laugh at the +idea of "the monkey" ever developing into a governess.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>But after my usual fashion it was not till I thought it over afterwards +that I understood that it was I and my father they had been discussing. +In the meantime I was enjoying a confidential talk with Harriet +Smith—that is to say, I was listening to all she said to me; she did +not seem to expect me to say much in reply.</p> + +<p>I felt flattered by her condescension, but I did not in my heart feel +much interest in her communications. They were mostly about Emma—how +she tried to bully her, Harriet, because she herself was five years +older, and how the younger girl did not intend to stand it much longer. +Emma was as bad as a boy.</p> + +<p>"As bad as a boy," I repeated. "I don't know what you mean."</p> + +<p>"That's because you've not got a brother, I suppose," said Harriet. "Our +brother's a perfect nuisance. He's so spoilt—papa lets him do just as +he likes. Emma and I hate the holidays because of him being at home. But +it's the worst for me, you see. Emma hates Fred bullying her, so she +might know I hate her bullying me."</p> + +<p>This was all very astonishing to me.</p> + +<p>"I have a brother," I said after a moment or two's reflection.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then you know what it is. Why didn't you say so?" asked Harriet.</p> + +<p>"Because I don't know what it is. Haddie never teases me. I love being +with him."</p> + +<p>"My goodness! Then you're not like most," said Harriet elegantly, +opening her eyes.</p> + +<p>She asked me some questions after this—as to where we lived, how many +servants we had, and so on. Some I answered—some I could not, as I was +by no means as worldly-wise as this precocious young person.</p> + +<p>She gave me a great deal of information about school—she hated the +governesses, except the old lady, and she didn't care about her much. +Miss Broom was her special dislike. But she liked school very well, +she'd been there a year now, and before that she had a daily governess +at home, and it was very dull indeed. What had I done till now—had I +had a governess?</p> + +<p>"Oh no," I said. "I had mamma."</p> + +<p>"Was she good to you," asked my new friend, "or was she very strict?"</p> + +<p>I stared at Harriet. Mamma was strict, but she was very, very good to +me. I said so.</p> + +<p>"Then why are you a boarder?" she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> "<i>We</i>'ve not got a mamma, but +even if we had I'm sure she wouldn't teach us herself. I suppose your +mamma isn't rich enough to pay for a governess for you."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I said simply. I had never thought in this way of +mamma's teaching me, but I was not at all offended. "I don't think any +governess would be as nice as mamma."</p> + +<p>"Then why have you come to school?" inquired Harriet.</p> + +<p>"Because"—"because father and mamma have to go away," I was going to +say, when suddenly the full meaning of the words seemed to rush over me. +A strange giddy feeling made me shut my eyes and I caught hold of +Harriet's arm.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" she said wonderingly, as I opened my eyes and +looked at her again.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather not talk about mamma just now," I said. "I'll tell you +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"Up in our room," said Harriet, "oh yes, that'll be jolly. We've got all +sorts of dodges."</p> + +<p>But before she had time to explain more, or I to ask her why "dodges"—I +knew the meaning of the word from Haddie—were required, a bell rang +loudly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>Instantly the hubbub ceased, and there began a sort of silent +scramble—the elder girls collecting books and papers and hurrying to +their places; the younger ones rushing upstairs to the other schoolroom, +I following.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes we were all seated round the long tables. It was a +sewing afternoon, and to my great delight I saw that Miss Fenmore, the +pretty governess whom I had taken such a fancy to, though I had not yet +spoken to her, was now in Miss Broom's place.</p> + +<p>Mamma had provided me with both plain work and a little simple fancy +work, but as my things were not yet unpacked, I had neither with me, and +I sat feeling awkward and ashamed, seeing all the others busily +preparing for business.</p> + +<p>"Have you no work, my dear?" said Miss Fenmore gently. It was the first +kind speech I had had from a governess.</p> + +<p>"It isn't unpacked," I said, feeling my cheeks grow red, I did not know +why.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore hesitated for a moment. Then she took out a stocking—or +rather the beginning of one on knitting-needles.</p> + +<p>"Can you knit?" she asked.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can knit plain—plain and purl—just straight on," I said. "But I've +never done it round like that."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, you will learn easily, as you know how to knit. Come and +sit beside me, so that I can watch you."</p> + +<p>She made the girls sit a little more closely, making a place for me +beside her, and I would have been quite happy had I not seen a cross +expression on several faces, and heard murmurs of "favouring," "spoilt +pet," and so on.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore, if <i>she</i> heard, took no notice. And in a few moments all +was in order. We read aloud in turns—the book was supposed to be a +story-book, but it seemed to me very dull, though the fault may have +lain in the uninteresting way the girls read, and the constant change of +voices, as no one read more than two pages at a time. I left off trying +to listen and gave my whole attention to my knitting, encouraged by Miss +Fenmore's whispered "very nice—a little looser," or "won't it be nice +to knit socks for your father or brother, if you have a brother?"</p> + +<p>I nodded with a smile. I was burning to tell her everything. Already I +felt that I loved her dearly—her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> voice was as sweet as her face. Yet +there were tones in the former and lines in the latter telling of much +sorrow and suffering, young as she was. I was far too much of a child to +understand this. I only felt vaguely that there was something about her +which reminded me of mamma as she had looked these last few weeks.</p> + +<p>And my heart was won.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2> + +<h3>GATHERING CLOUDS.</h3> + +<p>After that first day at Green Bank, the remembrance of things in detail +is not so clear to me.</p> + +<p>To begin with, the life was very monotonous. Except for the different +lessons, one day passed much like another, the principal variety being +the coming of Sunday and the two weekly half-holidays—Wednesday and +Saturday. But to me the half-holidays brought no pleasure. I think I +disliked them more than lesson days, and most certainly I disliked +Sundays most of all.</p> + +<p>Looking back now, I think my whole nature and character must have gone +through some curious changes in these first weeks at school. I grew +older very rapidly.</p> + +<p>There first came by degrees the great <i>disappointment</i> of it all—for +though I am anxious not to exaggerate anything, it was a bewildering +"disillusionment" to me. Nobody and nothing were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> what I had imagined +they would be. Straight out of my sheltered home, where every thought +and tone and word were full of love, I was tossed into this world of +school, where, though no doubt there were kind hearts and nice natures +as there are everywhere, the whole feeling was different. Even the +good-nature was rough and unrefined—the tones of voice, the ways of +moving about, the readiness to squabble, though very likely it was more +a kind of bluster than anything worse, all startled and astounded me, as +I gradually awoke from my dream of the delights of being at school +surrounded by companions.</p> + +<p>And there was really a prejudice against me, both among teachers and +pupils. A story had got about that my family was very, very poor, that +father had had to go abroad on this account, and that my schooling was +to be paid for out of charity. So even my gentleness, my soft way of +speaking, the surprise I was too innocent to conceal at much that I saw, +were all put down to my "giving myself airs." And I daresay the very +efforts I made to please those about me and to gain their affection did +more harm than good. Because I clung more or less to Harriet Smith, my +room-mate, and the nearest to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> in age, I was called a little sneak, +trying to get all I could "out of her," as she was such a rich little +girl.</p> + +<p>I overheard these remarks once or twice, but it was not for some time +that I in the least knew what they meant, and so I daresay the +coarse-minded girls who made them thought all the worse of me because I +did not resent them and just went quietly on my own way.</p> + +<p>What I did want from Harriet was sympathy; and when she was in the +humour to pay attention to me, she did give me as much as it was in her +to give.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the real kindness she and Emma too showed me that +first night at Green Bank, when a great blow fell on me after we went +upstairs to go to bed.</p> + +<p>Some one had unpacked my things. My night-dress was lying on the bed, my +brushes and sponges were in their places, and when I opened the very +small chest of drawers I saw familiar things neatly arranged in them. +But there seemed so few—and in the bottom drawer only one frock, and +that my oldest one, not the pretty new one mamma had got me for Sundays +or any special occasion.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where can all my other things be?" I said to Harriet, who was greatly +interested in my possessions.</p> + +<p>"What more have you?" she said, peering over my shoulder.</p> + +<p>I named several.</p> + +<p>"And all my other things," I went on, "not clothes, I don't mean, but my +workbox and my new writing-desk, and the picture of father and mamma and +Haddie"—it was before the days of "carte-de-visite" or "cabinet" +photographs; this picture was what was called a "daguerreotype" on +glass, and had been taken on purpose for me at some expense—"and my +china dog and the rabbits, and my scraps of silk, and all my puzzles, +and, and——" I stopped short, out of breath with bewilderment. "Can +they be all together for me to unpack myself?" I said.</p> + +<p>Emma, the most experienced of the three, shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," she was beginning, when the door opened, and Miss Broom's +face appeared.</p> + +<p>"Young ladies," she said, "I cannot have this. No talking after the last +bell has rung. My dear Miss Smith, you are not usually so forgetful. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +it is <i>you</i>, Miss Marchant, it is a very bad beginning, disobedience the +very first evening."</p> + +<p>"She didn't know," said both the girls. "It isn't her fault." "And if +she had known," Harriet went on, "she couldn't have helped it. Miss +Broom, somebody's took such lots of her things. Tell her, Gerry."</p> + +<p>Under her protection I repeated the list of missing articles, but before +I had got to the end the governess interrupted me.</p> + +<p>"You are a most impertinent child," she said, "to say such a thing. +There are no thieves at Green Bank—what a mind you must have! Your +things are safely packed away. Such as you really need you shall have +from time to time as I or Miss Aspinall think fit. The frock you have on +must be kept as your best one, and you must wear the brown check every +day. You have far too many clothes—absurd extravagance—no wonder——" +but here she had the sense to stop short.</p> + +<p>I did not care so much about my clothes.</p> + +<p>"It's the other things I mind," I began, but Miss Broom, who was already +at the door, again interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," she said. "We cannot have the rooms littered with rubbish. +Miss Aspinall left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> it to me. You may have your Biblical dissected maps +on Sundays, and perhaps some of the other puzzles during the Christmas +holidays, but young ladies do not come to school to amuse themselves, +but to work hard at their lessons."</p> + +<p>I dared not say anything more. There may have been some reason in +putting away a certain number of my treasures, for dear mamma, in her +wish to do all she possibly could for my happiness, had very probably +sent more things with me than was advisable. But I was not a silly +spoilt child; I had always been taught to be reasonable, and I would +have given in quite cheerfully if Miss Broom had put it before me in any +kindly way.</p> + +<p>I was not left quite without defence, however.</p> + +<p>"I don't see but what you might let her have some things out," said +Emma. "Harry and I have. Look at the mantelpiece—the china figures and +the Swiss châlets are our ornaments, and there's quite room for some +more."</p> + +<p>But Miss Broom was by this time at the door, which shut after her +sharply without her saying another word.</p> + +<p>"Horrid old cat," said both the Smiths.</p> + +<p>I said nothing, for if I had I knew I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> have burst into tears. But +after I was ready for bed and had said my prayers, I could not help the +one bitter complaint.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind anything else if only she'd let me have papa and +mamma's picture," I said.</p> + +<p>"<i>Of course</i> you should have that," said Emma. "I'm sure Miss Ledbury +would let you have it. I think even Miss Aspinall would. Don't be +unhappy, Gerry, I'll see if I can't do something for you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>And with this consolation I fell asleep. Nor did Emma forget her +promise. The next day I found my daguerreotype installed on the +mantelpiece, where it stayed all the time I was at school.</p> + +<p>My happiest days were those of our French lessons, for then Miss Fenmore +was the teacher. She spoke French very well, and she was most kind and +patient. Yet for some reason or other she was not much liked in the +school. There was a prejudice against her as there was against me: +partly, because she did not belong to that part of the country, she was +said to "give herself airs"; partly, I think, because she was quiet and +rather reserved; partly, I am afraid, because some of the elder girls +were jealous of her extreme loveliness. She was as kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> to me as she +dared to be, but I had no lessons from her except French, and she has +since told me that she did not venture to show me anything like +partiality, as it would only have made my life still harder and +lonelier.</p> + +<p>The remembrances which stand out the most clearly in my mind will give a +fair idea of my time at Green Bank. The next great trouble I had came on +my first Sunday there.</p> + +<p>It had been settled that I was to write to mamma once a week—by every +mail, that is to say. The usual day for writing home was Wednesday, the +half-holiday, but as the South American mail left England that very day, +mamma had arranged with Miss Ledbury that I should be allowed to add a +little on Sundays to my letter, as otherwise my news would be a whole +week late before it left.</p> + +<p>So on the first Sunday afternoon I got out my writing things with great +satisfaction, and when Miss Broom asked me what I was going to do, I was +pleased to be able to reply that Miss Ledbury had given leave for a +Sunday letter. Miss Broom said something to Miss Aspinall, but though +they both looked very disapproving, they said no more.</p> + +<p>I wrote a long letter. This time, of course, it had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> to be a complete +one, as I had only come to Green Bank on the Thursday. I poured out my +heart to mamma, but yet, looking back now and recalling, as I know I +can, pretty correctly, all I said, I do not think it was exaggerated or +wrong. I tried to write cheerfully, for childish as I was in many ways, +I did understand that it would make mamma miserable to think I was +unhappy.</p> + +<p>I was just closing the envelope when Miss Broom entered the room.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" she said. "Dear, dear, you don't mean to say you +have been all this afternoon writing that letter? What a waste of time! +No, no, you must not do that. Miss Ledbury will seal it."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't need sealing," I replied. "It is a gumming-down envelope."</p> + +<p>But she had come close to me, and drew it out of my hand.</p> + +<p>"No letters leave this house without being first read by Miss Ledbury or +Miss Aspinall," she said. "Why do you stare so? It is the rule at every +school," and so in those days I suppose it was. "If you have written +nothing you should not, you have no reason to dread its being seen."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," I replied indignantly. Even the three or four days I had +been at school had made me months older. "I have," I repeated. "Nobody +would say to strangers all they'd say to their own mamma."</p> + +<p>I felt my face growing very red; I pulled the letter out of the envelope +and began to tear it across. But Miss Broom's strong hands caught hold +of mine.</p> + +<p>"You are a very naughty girl," she said, "a very naughty girl indeed. I +saw at once how spoilt and self-willed you were, but I never could have +believed you would dare to give way to such violent temper."</p> + +<p>She dragged the letter out of my fingers—indeed, I was too proud to +struggle with her—and left the room. I sat there in a sort of stupefied +indifference. That day had been the worst I had had. There was not the +interest of lessons, nor the daily bustle which had always something +enlivening about it. It was so dull, and oh, so different from home! The +home-sickness which I was too ignorant to give a name to began to come +over me with strides; but for my letter to mamma I felt as if I could +not have lived through that afternoon. For even the Smiths were away. +They were what was called "weekly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> boarders," going home every Saturday +at noon and staying till Monday morning.</p> + +<p>The indifference did not last long. Gradually both it and the +indignation broke down. I laid my head on the table before me and burst +into convulsive crying.</p> + +<p>I do not think I cried loudly. I only remember the terrible sort of +shaking that went through me—I had never felt anything like it in my +life—and I remember trying to choke down my sobs for fear of Miss Broom +hearing me and coming back.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 329px;"><a name="ILL_006" id="ILL_006"></a> +<img src="images/ill_006.jpg" width="329" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">"MY POOR LITTLE GIRL, WHAT <i>IS</i> THE MATTER?"</span> +</div> + +<p>Some one opened the door and looked in. I tried to be perfectly quiet. +But the some one, whoever it was, had seen and perhaps heard me, for she +came forward, and in another moment I felt an arm steal gently round me, +while a kind voice said softly, very softly,</p> + +<p>"My poor little girl, what <i>is</i> the matter?" and looking up, I saw that +the new-comer was Miss Fenmore.</p> + +<p>"Oh," I said through my tears, "it's my letter, and she's taken it +away—that horrid, <i>horrid</i> Miss Broom."</p> + +<p>And I told her the whole story.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore was very wise as well as kind. I have often wondered how +she had learnt so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> self-control in her short life, for though she +then seemed quite "old" to me, I now know she cannot have been more than +eighteen or nineteen. But she had had a sad life—that of an orphan +since childhood. I suppose sorrow had done the work of years in her +case—work that is indeed often not done at all! For she had a character +which was good soil for all discipline. She was naturally so sweet and +joyous—she seemed born with rose-coloured spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Dear child," she said, "try not to take this so much to heart. I +daresay your letter will be sent just as it is. Miss Broom is sure to +apply to Miss Aspinall, perhaps to Miss Ledbury. And Miss Ledbury is +really kind, and she must have had great experience in such things."</p> + +<p>But the last words were spoken with more hesitation. Miss Fenmore knew +that the class of children composing Miss Ledbury's school had not had a +home like mine.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she started up—steps were coming along the passage.</p> + +<p>"I must not talk to you any more just now," she said, "I came to fetch a +book."</p> + +<p>After all, the steps did not come to the schoolroom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> So after sitting +there a little longer, somewhat comforted by the young governess's +words, I went up to my own room, where I bathed my eyes and smoothed my +hair, mindful of Haddie's warning—not to get the name of a cry-baby!</p> + +<p>Late that evening, after tea, I was sent for to Miss Ledbury in the +drawing-room. It was a very rainy night, so only a few of the elder +girls had gone to church. Miss Ledbury herself suffered sadly from +asthma, and could never go out in bad weather. This was the first time I +had seen her to speak to since I came.</p> + +<p>I was still too unhappy to feel very frightened, and I was not naturally +shy, though I seemed so, owing to my difficulty in expressing myself. +And there was something about the old lady's manner, gentle though she +was, which added to my constraint. I have no doubt she found me very +dull and stupid, and it must have been disappointing, for she did mean +to be kind.</p> + +<p>She spoke to me about my letter which she had read, according to her +rule, to which she said she could make no exceptions. I did not clearly +understand what she meant, so I just replied "No, ma'am," and "Yes, +ma'am." She said the letter should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> sent as it was, but she gave me +advice for the future which in some ways was very good. Could I not +content myself with writing about my own affairs—my lessons, the books +I was reading, and so on? What was the use of telling mamma that I did +not like Miss Aspinall, and that I could not bear Miss Broom? Would it +please mamma, or would it make school-life any happier for me to take up +such prejudices? These ladies were my teachers and I must respect them. +How could I tell at the end of three days if I should like them or not?</p> + +<p>I felt I <i>could</i> tell, but I did not dare to say so. All I longed for +was to get away. So when the old lady went on putting words into my +mouth, as it were, about being wiser for the future, and not touchy and +fanciful, and so on, I agreed with her and said "No, ma'am" and "Yes, +ma'am" a few more times, meekly enough. Then she kissed me, and again I +felt that she meant to be kind and that it was wrong of me to disappoint +her, but somehow I could not help it. And I went upstairs to bed feeling +more lonely than ever, now that I quite understood that my letters to +mamma must never be anything more than I might write to a stranger—a +mere mockery, in short.</p> + +<p>There was but one person I felt that I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> confide in. That was Miss +Fenmore. But the days went on and she seemed to take less instead of +more notice of me. I did not understand that her position, poor girl, +was much more difficult than mine. If she had seemed to pet me or make +much of me it would only have made Miss Broom still more severe to me, +and angry with her. For, as was scarcely to be wondered at, Miss Broom +was very indignant indeed at the way I had spoken of her in my letter to +mamma. And Miss Fenmore was entirely at that time dependent upon her +position at Green Bank. She had no home, and if she brought displeasure +upon herself at Miss Ledbury's her future would look very dark indeed.</p> + +<p>Yet she was far from selfish. Her caution was quite as much for my sake +as for her own.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2> + +<h3>"NOBODY—<i>NOBODY</i>."</h3> + +<p>The history of that first week might stand for the history of several +months at Green Bank. That is why I have related it as clearly as +possible. In one sense I suppose people would say my life grew easier to +me, that is to say I got more accustomed to it, but with the "growing +accustomed," increased the loss of hope and spring, so I doubt if time +did bring any real improvement.</p> + +<p>I became very dull and silent. I seemed to be losing the power of +complaining, or even of wishing for sympathy. I took some interest in my +lessons, and almost the only pleasure I had was when I got praise for +them. But that did not often happen, not as often as it should have +done, I really believe. For the prejudice against me on the part of the +upper teachers did not wear off. And I can see now that I must have been +a disagreeable child.</p> + +<p>Nor did I win more liking among my companions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> They gradually came to +treat me with a sort of indifferent contempt.</p> + +<p>"It's only that stupid child," I would hear said when I came into the +room.</p> + +<p>The Christmas holidays came and went, without much improving matters. I +spent them at school with one or two other pupils, much older than I. +Miss Broom went away, and we were under Miss Aspinall's charge, for Miss +Ledbury had caught a bad cold and her niece would not leave her. I +preferred Miss Aspinall to Miss Broom certainly, but I had half hoped +that Miss Fenmore would have stayed. She too went away, however, having +got a "holiday engagement," which she was very glad of she told me when +she bade me good-bye. I did not understand what she meant, beyond +hearing that she was glad to go, so I said nothing about being sorry.</p> + +<p>"She doesn't care for me," I thought.</p> + +<p>I saw nothing of Haddie, though he wrote that he was very happy spending +the holidays at the house of one of his schoolfellows, and I was glad of +this, even while feeling so utterly deserted myself.</p> + +<p>It was very, very dull, but I felt as if I did not mind. Even mamma's +letters once a fortnight gave me only a kind of tantalising pleasure, +for I knew I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> dared not <i>really</i> answer them. The only thing I felt glad +of was that she did not know how lonely and unhappy I was, and that she +never would do so till the day—the day which I could scarcely believe +would ever, <i>ever</i> come—when I should see her again, and feel her arms +round me, and know that all the misery and loneliness were over!</p> + +<p>Some new pupils came after the Christmas holidays, and one or two of the +elder girls did not return. But the new boarders were older than I and +took no notice of me, so their coming made no difference. One event, +however, did interest me—that was the appearance at certain classes two +or three times a week of a very sweet-looking little girl about my own +age. She was pretty and very nicely dressed, though by no means showily, +and her tone of voice and way of speaking were different from those of +most of my companions. I wished she had come altogether, and then I +might have made friends with her. "Only," I said to myself unselfishly, +"she would most likely be as unhappy as I am, so I shouldn't wish for +it."</p> + +<p>One of the classes she came to was the French one—the class which, as I +have said, Miss Fenmore taught. And Miss Fenmore seemed to know her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +for she called her by her Christian name—"Myra." The first time I heard +it I felt quite puzzled. I knew I had heard it before, though I could +not remember where or when, except that it was not very long ago. And +when I heard her last name, "Raby"—"Miss Raby" one of the other +teachers called her—and put the two together—"Myra Raby"—I felt more +and more certain I had heard them spoken of before, though I was equally +certain I had never seen the little girl herself.</p> + +<p>I might have asked Miss Fenmore about her, but it did not enter into my +head to do so: that was one of my odd childish ways. And it was partly, +too, that I was growing more and more reserved and silent. Even to +Harriet Smith I did not talk half as much as at first, and she used to +tell me I was growing sulky.</p> + +<p>I took great interest in watching for Myra's appearance. I daresay if I +could make a picture of her now she would seem a quaint old-fashioned +little figure to you, but to me she seemed perfectly lovely. She had +pretty brown hair, falling in ringlets round her delicate little face; +her eyes were gray, very soft and gentle, and she had a dear little +rosebud of a mouth. She was generally dressed in pale gray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> merino or +cashmere, with white lace frilled round the neck and short sleeves—all +little girls wore short sleeves then, even in winter; and once when I +caught a glimpse of her getting into a carriage which was waiting for +her at the door, I was lost in admiration of her dark green cloth +pelisse trimmed with chinchilla fur.</p> + +<p>"She must be somebody very rich and grand," I thought. But I had no +opportunity of getting to know more of her, than a nice little smile or +a word or two of thanks if I passed her a book at the class or happened +to sit next her. For she always left immediately after the lesson was +over.</p> + +<p>Up to Easter she came regularly. Then we had three weeks' holidays, and +as before, Miss Fenmore went away. She was pleased to go, but when she +said good-bye to me I thought she looked sad, and she called me "my poor +little girl."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that?" I asked her. She smiled and answered that she did +not quite know; she thought I looked dull, and she wished I were going +too.</p> + +<p>"Are you less unhappy than when you first came to school?" she said, +looking at me rather earnestly. It was very seldom she had an +opportunity of speaking to me alone.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," I replied, "I'm much unhappier when I think about it. But I'm +getting not to think, so I don't care."</p> + +<p>She looked still graver at this. I fancy she saw that what I said was +true. I was growing dulled and stupefied, as it were, for want of any +one to sympathise with me or draw me out, though I did not know quite +how to put this in words. As I have said before, I was not a child with +much power of expression.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore kissed me, but she sighed as she did so.</p> + +<p>"I wish——" she began, but then she stopped. "When I come back after +Easter," she said more cheerfully, "I hope I may somehow manage to see +more of you, dear Geraldine."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I answered. I daresay my voice did not sound as if I did +thank her or as if I cared, though in my heart I was pleased, and often +thought of what she had said during the holidays, which I found even +duller than the Christmas ones had been.</p> + +<p>They came to an end at last, however, but among the returning +governesses and pupils there was no Miss Fenmore. Nor did Myra Raby come +again to the classes she used to attend. I wondered to myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> why it +was so, but for some time I knew nothing about Miss Fenmore, and in the +queer silent way which was becoming my habit I did not ask. At last one +day a new governess made her appearance, and then I overheard some of +the girls saying she was to take Miss Fenmore's place. A sort of choke +came into my throat, and for the first time I realised that I <i>had</i> been +looking forward to the pretty young governess's return.</p> + +<p>I do not remember anything special happening for some time after that. I +suppose Easter must have been early that year, for when the events +occurred which I am now going to relate, it was still cold and wintry +weather—very rainy at least, and Mexington was always terribly gloomy +in rainy weather. It seems a long stretch to look back upon—those weeks +of the greatest loneliness I had yet known—but in reality I do not +think it could have been more than three or four.</p> + +<p>I continued to work steadily—even hard—at my lessons. I knew that it +would please mamma, and I had a vague feeling that somehow my getting on +fast might shorten the time of our separation, though I could not have +said why. I was really interested in some of my lessons, and anxious to +do well even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> in those I did not like. But I was not quick or clever, +and often, very often, my hesitation in expressing myself made me seem +far less intelligent than I actually was. Still I generally got good +marks, especially for <i>written</i> tasks, for the teachers, though hard and +strict, were not unprincipled. They did not like me, but they were fair +on the whole, I think.</p> + +<p>Unluckily, however, about this time I got a bad cold. I was not +seriously ill, but it hung about me for some time and made me feel very +dull and stupid. I think, too, it must have made me a little deaf, +though I did not know it at the time. I began to get on less well at +lessons, very often making mistakes and replying at random, for which I +was scolded as if I did it out of carelessness.</p> + +<p>And though I tried more and more to prepare my lessons perfectly, things +grew worse and worse.</p> + +<p>At last one day they came to a point. I forget what the lesson was, and +it does not matter, but every time a question came to me I answered +wrongly. Once or twice I did not hear, and when I said so, Miss Broom, +whose class it was, was angry, and said I was talking nonsense. It +ended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> in my bursting into tears, which I had never done before in +public since I had been at Green Bank.</p> + +<p>Miss Broom was very annoyed. She said a great deal to me which between +my tears and my deafness I did not hear, and at last she must have +ordered me to go up to my room, for her tone grew more and more angry.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to defy me?" she said, so loud that I heard her plainly.</p> + +<p>I stared, and I do not know what would have happened if Harriet Smith, +who was near me, had not started up in her good-natured way.</p> + +<p>"She doesn't hear; she's crying so," she said. "Gerry, dear, Miss Broom +says you're to go up to your room."</p> + +<p>I was nothing loth. I got up from my seat and made my way more by +feeling than seeing—so blinded was I by crying—to the door, and +upstairs.</p> + +<p>Arrived there, I flung myself on to the end of my bed. It was cold, and +outside it was raining, raining—it seems to me now that it never left +off raining at Mexington that spring; the sky, if I had looked out of +the window, was one dull gray sheet. But I seemed to care for +nothing—just at first the comfort of being able to cry with no one to +look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> at me was all I wanted. So I lay there sobbing, though not loudly.</p> + +<p>After some little time had passed the downstairs bell rang—it was +afternoon, and the bell meant, I knew, preparation for tea. So I was not +very surprised when the door opened and Emma and Harriet came in—they +were both kind, Harriet especially, though her kindness was chiefly +shown by loud abuse of Miss Broom.</p> + +<p>"You'd better take care, Harry," said her sister at last, "or you'll be +getting into disgrace yourself, which certainly won't do Gerry any good. +Do be quick and make yourself tidy, the tea-bell will be ringing in a +moment. Hadn't you better wash your face and brush your hair, Gerry—you +do look such a figure."</p> + +<p>"I can't go down unless Miss Broom says I may," I replied, "and I don't +want any tea," though in my heart I knew I was feeling hungry. Much +crying often makes children hungry; they are not like grown-up people.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense," said Emma. "You'd feel ever so much better if you had +some tea. What <i>I</i> think you're so silly for is <i>minding</i>—why need you +care what that old Broom says? She daren't beat you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> or starve you, and +once you're at home again you can snap your fingers at school and +governesses and——"</p> + +<p>Here Harriet said something to her sister in a low voice which I did not +hear. It made Emma stop.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I can't help it," she said, or something of that kind. "It +doesn't do any good to cry like that, whatever troubles you have," she +went on.</p> + +<p>I got up slowly and tried to wash away some of the traces of my tears by +plunging my face in cold water. Then Harriet helped me to smooth my hair +and make myself look neat. Emma's words had had the effect of making me +resolve to cry no more if I could help it. And a moment or two later I +was glad I had followed her advice, for one of the elder girls came to +our room with a message to say that I was to go down to tea, and after +tea I was to stay behind in the dining-room as Miss Aspinall wished to +speak to me.</p> + +<p>"Very well," I said. But the moment the other girl had gone both Emma +and Harriet began again.</p> + +<p>"That horrid old Broom," said Harriet, "just fancy her complaining to +Miss Aspinall."</p> + +<p>And "Promise me, Gerry," said Emma, "not to mind what she says, and +whatever you do, don't cry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> There's nothing vexes old Broom so much as +seeing we don't care—mean old cat."</p> + +<p>I could scarcely help laughing, my spirits had got up a little—that is +to say, I felt more angry than sad now. I felt as if I really did <i>not</i> +much care what was said to me.</p> + +<p>And I drank my tea and ate my slices of thick bread and butter with a +good appetite, though I saw Miss Broom watching me from her end of the +table; and when I had finished I felt, as Emma had said I should, "ever +so much better"—that is to say, no longer in the least inclined to cry.</p> + +<p>Nor did I feel nervous or frightened when Miss Aspinall—all the others +having gone—seated herself in front of me and began her talk. It began +quite differently from what I had expected. She was a good woman, and +not nearly so bad-tempered as Miss Broom, though hard and cold, and I am +sure she meant to do me good. She talked about how changed I had been of +late, my lessons so much less well done, and how careless and +inattentive I seemed. There was some truth in it. I knew my lessons had +not been so well done, but I also knew I had not been careless or +inattentive.</p> + +<p>"And worst of all," continued the governess, "you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> have got into such a +habit of making excuses that it really amounts to telling untruths. +Several times, Miss Broom tells me, you have done a wrong lesson or not +done one at all, and you have maintained to her that you had not been +told what you <i>had</i> been told—there was something about your French +poetry yesterday, which you <i>must</i> have known you were to learn. Miss +Broom says you positively denied it."</p> + +<p>I was getting very angry now—I had wanted to say I was sorry about my +lessons, but now that I was accused of not speaking the truth I felt +nothing but anger.</p> + +<p>"I never tell stories," I said very loudly; "and if Miss Broom says I +do, I'll write to mamma and tell her. I <i>won't</i> stay here if you say +such things to me."</p> + +<p>Miss Aspinall was quite startled; she had never seen me in a passion +before, for I was usually considered in the school as sulky rather than +violent-tempered. For a moment or two she stared, too astonished to +speak. Then,</p> + +<p>"Go back to your room," she said. "I am sorry to say I must lay this +before Miss Ledbury."</p> + +<p>I got up from my seat—Miss Aspinall had not kept me standing—and went +upstairs again to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> room, where I stayed for the rest of the evening, +my supper—a cup of milk and a piece of dry bread—being brought me by a +servant, and with it a message that I was to undress and go to bed, +which I was not sorry to do.</p> + +<p>I lay there, not asleep, and still burning with indignation, when +Harriet came up to bed. She had not been told not to speak to me, very +likely the teachers thought I would be asleep, and she was very curious +to know what had passed. I told her all. She was very sympathising, but +at the same time she thought it a pity I had lost my temper with Miss +Aspinall.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how you'll get on now," she said, "with both her and Miss +Broom so against you. You should just not have minded—like Emma said."</p> + +<p>"Not mind her saying I told stories!" I burst out. Harriet did not seem +to think there was anything specially annoying in that. "Well," I went +on, "<i>I</i> mind it, whether you do or not. And I'm <i>going</i> to mind it. I +shall write to mamma and tell her I can't stay here any more, and I'm +sure when she hears it she'll do <i>something</i>. She won't let me stay +here. Or—or—perhaps father will fix to come home again and not stay as +long as two years there."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't think he'll do that," said Harriet mysteriously.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? What do you know about it?" I asked, for something in +her voice struck me.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing—I shouldn't have said it—it was only something I heard," +she replied, looking rather confused.</p> + +<p>"Something you heard," I repeated, starting up in bed and catching hold +of her. "Then you <i>must</i> tell me. Do you mean there's been letters or +news about father and mamma that I don't know about?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Harriet. "Of course not."</p> + +<p>"Then what do you mean? You shall tell me—if you don't," I went on, +more and more excitedly, "I'll—" I hesitated—"I'll tell you what I'll +do, I'll go straight downstairs, just as I am, in my nightgown, to Miss +Ledbury herself, and tell her what you've said. I don't care if she +beats me, I don't care what she does, but I <i>will</i> know."</p> + +<p>Harriet tried to pull herself away.</p> + +<p>"What a horrid temper you're getting, Gerry," she said complainingly. +"Just when I hurried up to bed as quick as I could to talk to you. It's +nothing, I tell you—only something I heard at home, and Emma said I +wasn't ever to tell it you."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>I clutched her more firmly.</p> + +<p>"You shall tell me, or I'll do what I said."</p> + +<p>Harriet looked really frightened.</p> + +<p>"You'll not tell Emma, then? You promise?"</p> + +<p>I nodded. "I promise."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, it was only one day—papa was talking about somebody going +to South America, and I said that was where your papa and mamma had +gone, and papa asked your name, and then he said he had seen your papa +at the bank, and it was a pity he hadn't been content to stay there. It +was such a bad climate where he'd gone—lots of people got ill and died +there, unless they were rich enough to live out of the town, and he +didn't suppose any one who'd only been a clerk in the bank here would be +that. And Emma said, couldn't your papa and mamma come back if they got +ill, and he said if they waited till then it would be rather too late. +There's some fever people get there, that comes all of a sudden. And +besides that, your papa must have promised he'd stay two years—they +always do."</p> + +<p>As she went on, my heart fell lower and lower—for a moment or two I +could not speak. All sorts of dreadful fears and imaginings began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +fill my mind; perhaps my parents had already got that terrible illness +Harriet spoke of, perhaps one or both of them had already died. I could +have screamed aloud. I felt I could not bear it—I must write to mamma a +letter that nobody should read. I must see somebody who would tell me +the truth—Haddie, perhaps, knew more than I did. If I could go to him! +But I had no money and no idea of the way, and Miss Aspinall would +never, <i>never</i> let me even write to ask him. Besides, I was in disgrace, +very likely they would not believe me if I told them why I was so +miserable; they had already said I told stories, and then I must not get +Harriet into trouble.</p> + +<p>What <i>should</i> I do? If only Miss Fenmore had still been there, I felt +she would have been sorry for me, but there was nobody—<i>nobody</i>.</p> + +<p>I turned my face away from my little companion, and buried it in the +pillow. Harriet grew frightened.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, Gerry?" she said. "Why don't you speak? Are you +going to sleep or are you crying? Very likely your papa and mamma won't +get that illness. I wish I hadn't told you."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," I said. "I'm going to sleep."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you won't tell Emma?" Harriet repeated.</p> + +<p>"Of course not—don't you believe my word? Do you too think that I tell +stories?"</p> + +<p>I tried to get rid of my misery by letting myself grow angry.</p> + +<p>"You're very cross," said Harriet; but all the same I think she +understood me better than she could express, for she kissed me and said, +"Do go to sleep—don't be so unhappy."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2> + +<h3>OUT IN THE RAIN.</h3> + +<p>It would be an exaggeration to say that I did not sleep that night. +Children often sleep very heavily when they are specially unhappy, and I +was unhappy enough, even before Harriet's telling me what she had heard. +But though I did sleep, I shall never forget that night. My dreams were +so miserable, and when I awoke—very early in the morning—I could +scarcely separate them from real things. It was actually not so bad when +I was quite awake, for then I set myself thoroughly to think it all +over.</p> + +<p>I could not bear it—I could not go on without knowing if it was true +about father and mamma. I could not bear my life at school, if the +looking forward to being with them again, before <i>very</i> long, was to be +taken from me. I must write a letter to mamma that no one would see; but +first—yes, first I must know how much was true. Whom could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> I ask? +Haddie? Perhaps he knew no more than I did, and it was just as difficult +to write to him as to mamma. Then suddenly another thought struck +me—Mrs. Selwood, old Mrs. Selwood, if I could but see her. Perhaps if I +wrote to her she would come to see me; mamma always said she was very +kind, though I know she did not care much for children, especially +little girls. Still I thought I would try, though it would be difficult, +for I should not like Miss Ledbury to know I had written to Mrs. Selwood +secretly. She would be so angry, and I did not want to make Miss Ledbury +angry. She was much nicer than the others. Once or twice the idea came +to me of going straight to her and telling her how miserable I was, but +that would bring in Harriet, and oh, how furious the other governesses +would be! No, I would try to write to Mrs. Selwood—only, I did not know +her address. I only knew the name of her house—Fernley—that would not +be enough, at least I feared not. I would try to find out; perhaps +Harriet could ask some one when she went home.</p> + +<p>My spirits rose a little with all this planning. I am afraid that the +life I led was beginning to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> me unchildlike and concealed in my +ways. I enjoyed the feeling of having a secret and, so to say, +outwitting my teachers, particularly Miss Broom. So, though I was +looking pale and my eyes were still very swollen, I think Harriet was +surprised, and certainly very glad, to find that I was not very +miserable or upset.</p> + +<p>A message was sent up to say I was to go down to breakfast with the +others. And after prayers and breakfast were over I went into the +schoolroom as usual.</p> + +<p>That morning did not pass badly; it happened to be a day for lessons I +got on well with—written ones principally, and reading aloud. So I got +into no fresh disgrace. It was a very rainy day, there was no question +of going out, and I was sent to practise at twelve o'clock till the +dressing-bell rang for the early dinner. That was to keep me away from +the other girls.</p> + +<p>As soon as dinner was over Miss Broom came to me with a French poetry +book in her hand.</p> + +<p>"This is the poem you should have learnt yesterday," she said, "though +you denied having been told so. Miss Aspinall desires you to take it +upstairs to your room and learn it, as you can do perfectly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> if you +choose, by three o'clock. Then you are to come downstairs to the +drawing-room, where you will find her."</p> + +<p>"Very well," I said, as I took the book, "I will learn it."</p> + +<p>They were going to let me off rather easily, I thought, and possibly, +just <i>possibly</i>, if Miss Ledbury was in the drawing-room too and seemed +kind, I might ask her to give me leave to write to Mrs. Selwood just to +say how very much I would like to see her, and then if I <i>did</i> see her I +could tell her what Harriet had said, without risking getting Harriet +into trouble.</p> + +<p>So I set to work at my French poetry with good will, and long before +three o'clock I had learnt it perfectly. There was a clock on the +landing half-way down the staircase which struck the quarters and +half-hours. I heard the quarter to three strike and then I read the poem +right through six times, and after that, closing the book, I said it +aloud to myself without one mistake, and then just as the clock began +"<i>burr</i>-ing" before striking the hour I made my way quietly down to the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>I tapped at the door.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come in," said Miss Aspinall.</p> + +<p>She was standing beside Miss Ledbury, who was sitting in an arm-chair +near the fire. She looked very pale, her face nearly as white as her +hair, and it made me feel sorry, so that I stared at her and forgot to +curtsey as we always were expected to do on entering a room where any of +the governesses were.</p> + +<p>"Do you not see Miss Ledbury?" said Miss Aspinall sharply. I felt my +cheeks get red, and I turned back towards the door to make my curtsey.</p> + +<p>"I—I forgot," I said, and before Miss Aspinall had time to speak again, +the old lady held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"You must try to be more thoughtful," she said, but her voice was +gentle. "Now give me your book," she went on, "I want to hear your +French verses myself."</p> + +<p>I handed her the book, which was open at the place. I felt very glad I +had learnt the poetry so well, as I wished to please Miss Ledbury.</p> + +<p>"Begin, my dear," she said.</p> + +<p>I did so, repeating the six or eight verses without any mistake or +hesitation.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>Miss Ledbury seemed pleased and relieved.</p> + +<p>"Very well said—now, my dear child, that shows that you can learn well +when you try."</p> + +<p>"Of course she can," said Miss Aspinall.</p> + +<p>"But more important than learning your lessons well," continued Miss +Ledbury, "is to be perfectly truthful and honest. What has distressed +me, Geraldine, has been to hear that when—as may happen to any +child—you have forgotten a lesson, or learnt it imperfectly, instead of +at once owning your fault, you have tried to screen yourself behind +insincere excuses. That was the case about these very verses, was it +not, Miss Aspinall?" (Miss Ledbury always called her niece "Miss +Aspinall" before any of us.)</p> + +<p>"It was," replied Miss Aspinall. "Miss Broom will tell you all the +particulars," and as she spoke Miss Broom came in.</p> + +<p>Miss Ledbury turned to her.</p> + +<p>"I wish you to state exactly what you have had to complain of in +Geraldine Le Marchant," she said. And Miss Broom, with a far from +amiable expression, repeated the whole—my carelessness and ill-prepared +lessons for some time past, the frequent excuses I made, saying that she +had not told me what she certainly <i>had</i> told me, my forgetting my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +French poetry altogether, and persisting in denying that it had been +given out.</p> + +<p>I did not hear clearly all she said, but she raised her voice at the +end, and I caught her last words. I felt again a sort of fury at her, +and I gave up all idea of confiding in Miss Ledbury, or of trying to +please any one.</p> + +<p>Miss Ledbury seemed nervous.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine has said her French poetry perfectly," she said. "I think she +has taken pains to learn it well."</p> + +<p>"It is some time since she has said any lesson perfectly to <i>me</i>, I am +sorry to say," snapped Miss Broom.</p> + +<p>Miss Ledbury handed her the book.</p> + +<p>"You can judge for yourself," she said. "Repeat the verses to Miss +Broom, Geraldine."</p> + +<p>Then a strange thing happened. I really wanted to say the poetry well, +partly out of pride, partly because again something in Miss Ledbury's +manner made me feel gentler, but as I opened my mouth to begin, the +words entirely left my memory. I looked up—possibly a little help, a +syllable just to start me, would have set me right, but instead of that +I saw Miss Broom's half-mocking, half-angry face, and Miss Aspinall's +cold hard eyes. Miss Ledbury I did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> not look at. In reality I think both +she and Miss Aspinall were afraid of Miss Broom. I do not think Miss +Aspinall was as hard as she seemed.</p> + +<p>I drew a long breath—no, it was no use. I could not recall one word.</p> + +<p>"I've forgotten it," I said.</p> + +<p>Miss Aspinall gave an exclamation—Miss Ledbury looked at me with +reproach. Both believed that I was not speaking the truth, and that I +had determined not to say the verses to Miss Broom.</p> + +<p>"Impossible," said Miss Aspinall.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine," said Miss Ledbury sadly but sternly, "do not make me +distrust you."</p> + +<p>I grew stony. Now I did not care. Even Miss Ledbury doubted my word. I +almost think if the verses had come back to me then, I would not have +said them. I stood there, dull and stupid and obstinate, though a +perfect fire was raging inside me.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine," said Miss Ledbury again, still more sadly and sternly.</p> + +<p>I was only a child, and I was almost exhausted by all I had gone +through. Even my pride gave way. I forgot all that Emma and Harriet had +said about not crying, and, half turning away from the three before me, +I burst into a loud fit of tears and sobbing.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>Miss Ledbury glanced at her niece. I think the old lady had hard work to +keep herself from some impulsive kind action, but I suppose she would +have thought it wrong. But Miss Aspinall came towards me, and placed her +arm on my shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine," she said, and her voice was not unkind, "I beg you to try +to master this naughty obstinate spirit. Say the verses again, and all +may be well."</p> + +<p>"No, no," I cried. "I can't, I can't. It is true that I've forgotten +them, and if I could say them I wouldn't now, because you all think me a +story-teller."</p> + +<p>She turned away, really grieved and shocked.</p> + +<p>"Take her upstairs to her room again," said Miss Ledbury. "Geraldine, +your tears are only those of anger and temper."</p> + +<p>I did not care now. I suffered myself to be led back to my room, and I +left off crying almost as suddenly as I had begun, and when Miss +Aspinall shut the door, and left me there without speaking to me again, +I sat down on the foot of my bed as if I did not care at all, for again +there came over me that strange stolid feeling that nothing mattered, +that nothing would ever make me cry again.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>It did not last long, however. I got up in a few minutes and looked out +of the window. It was the dullest afternoon I had ever seen, raining, +raining steadily, the sky all gloomy no-colour, duller even than gray. +It might have been any season, late autumn, mid-winter; there was not a +leaf, or the tiniest beginning of one, on the black branches of the two +or three trees in what was called "the garden"—for my window looked to +the back of the house—not the very least feeling of spring, even though +we were some way on in April. I gave a little shiver, and then a sudden +thought struck me. It would be a very good time for getting out without +any one seeing me—no one would fancy it possible that I would venture +out in the rain, and all my schoolfellows and the governesses were still +at lessons. What was the use of waiting here? They might keep me shut up +in my room for—for ever, perhaps—and I should never know about father +and mamma, or get Mrs. Selwood's address or be allowed to write to her, +or—or any one. I would go.</p> + +<p>It took but a few minutes to put on my things. As I have said, there was +a queer mixture of childishness and "old-fashionedness," as it is +called, about me. I dressed myself as sensibly as if I had been a +grown-up person, choosing my thickest boots and warm jacket, and arming +myself with my waterproof cape and umbrella. I also put my purse in my +pocket—it contained a few shillings.</p> + +<p>Then I opened the door and listened, going out a little way into the +passage to do so. All was quite quiet—not even a piano was to be heard, +only the clock on the landing sounded to me much louder than usual. If I +had waited long, it would have made me nervous. I should have begun to +fancy it was talking to me like Dick Whittington's bells, though, I am +sure, it would not have said anything half so cheering!</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 321px;"><a name="ILL_007" id="ILL_007"></a> +<img src="images/ill_007.jpg" width="321" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">I CREPT DOWNSTAIRS, PAST ONE SCHOOLROOM WITH ITS CLOSED DOOR.</span> +</div> + +<p>But I did not wait to hear. I crept downstairs, past one schoolroom with +its closed door, and a muffled sound of voices as I drew quite close to +it, then on again, past the downstairs class-room, and along the hall to +the front door. For that was what I had made up my mind was the best, +bold as it seemed. I would go right out by the front door. I knew it +opened easily, for we went out that way on Sundays to church, and once +or twice I had opened it. And nobody would ever dream of my passing out +that way.</p> + +<p>It was all managed quite easily, and almost before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a><br /><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> I had time to take +in what I had done, I found myself out in the road some little distance +from Green Bank, for as soon as the gate closed behind me I had set off +running from a half-nervous fear that some one might be coming in +pursuit of me. I ran on a little farther, in the same direction, that of +the town, for Miss Ledbury's house was in the outskirts—then, out of +breath, I stood still to think what I should do.</p> + +<p>I had really not made any distinct plan. The only idea clearly in my +mind was to get Mrs. Selwood's address, so that I could write to her. +But as I stood there, another thought struck me. I would go home—to the +house in the dull street which had never seemed dull to me! For there, I +suddenly remembered, I might find one of our own servants. I recollected +Lydia's telling me that cook was probably going to "engage" with the +people who had taken the house. And cook would be sure to know Mrs. +Selwood's address, and—<i>perhaps</i>—cook would be able to tell me +something about father and mamma. She was a kind woman—I would not mind +telling her how dreadfully frightened I was about them since Harriet +Smith had repeated what she had heard.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>I knew the way to our house, at least I thought I did, though afterwards +I found I had taken two or three wrong turnings, which had made my +journey longer. It was scarcely raining by this time, but the streets +were dreadfully wet and muddy, and the sky still dark and gloomy.</p> + +<p>At last I found myself at the well-known corner of our street—how often +I had run round it with Haddie, when we had been allowed to go on some +little errand by ourselves! I had not passed this way since mamma went, +and the feeling that came over me was very strange. I went along till I +came to our house, number 39; then, in a sort of dream, I mounted the +two or three steps to the door, and rang the bell. How well I knew its +sound! It seemed impossible to believe that Lydia would not open to me, +and that if I hurried upstairs I should not find mamma sitting in her +usual place in the drawing-room!</p> + +<p>But of course it was not so. A strange face met me as the door drew +back, and for a moment or two I felt too confused to speak, though I saw +the servant was looking at me in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Is—can I see cook?" I got out at last.</p> + +<p>"Cook," the maid repeated. "I'm sure I can't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> say. Can't you give me +your message—Miss?" adding the last word after a little hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather see her, please. I want to ask her for Mrs. Selwood's +address. Mrs. Selwood's a friend of mamma's, and I'm sure cook would +know. We used to live here, and Lydia said cook was going to stay."</p> + +<p>The servant's face cleared, but her reply was not encouraging.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "I see. But it's no use your seeing our cook, Miss. +She's a stranger. The other one—Sarah Wells was her name——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," I exclaimed, "that's her."</p> + +<p>"She's gone—weeks ago. Her father was ill, and she had to go home. I'm +sorry, Miss"—she was a good-natured girl—"but it can't be helped. And +I think you'd better go home quick. It's coming on to rain again, and +it'll soon be dark, and you're such a little young lady to be out +alone."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I said, and I turned away, my heart swelling with +disappointment.</p> + +<p>I walked on quickly for a little way, for I felt sure the servant was +looking after me. Then I stopped short and asked myself again "what +should I do?" The girl had advised me to go "home"—"home" to Green +Bank, to be shut up in my room again, and be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> treated as a story-teller, +and never have a chance of writing to Mrs. Selwood or any one! No, that +I would not do. The very thought of it made me hasten my steps as if to +put a greater distance between myself and Miss Ledbury's house. And I +walked on some way without knowing where I was going except that it was +in an opposite direction from school.</p> + +<p>It must have been nearly six o'clock by this time, and the gloomy day +made it already dusk. The shops were lighting up, and the glare of the +gas on the wet pavement made me look about me. I was in one of the +larger streets now, a very long one, that led right out from the centre +of the town to the outskirts. I was full of a strange kind of +excitement; I did not mind the rain, and indeed it was not very heavy; I +did not feel lonely or frightened, and my brain seemed unusually active +and awake.</p> + +<p>"I know what I'll do," I said to myself; "I'll go to the big grocer's +where they give Haddie and me those nice gingerbreads, and I'll ask +<i>them</i> for Mrs. Selwood's address. I remember mamma said Mrs. Selwood +always bought things there. And—and—I won't write to her. I'll go to +the railway and see if I've money enough to get a ticket, and I'll go +to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> Mrs. Selwood and tell her how I can't bear it any longer. I've got +four shillings, and if that isn't enough I daresay the railway people +wouldn't mind if I promised I'd send it them."</p> + +<p>I marched on, feeling once more very determined and valiant. I thought I +knew the way to the big grocer's quite well, but when I turned down a +street which looked like the one where it was, I began to feel a little +confused. There were so many shops, and the lights in the windows +dazzled me, and worst of all, I could not remember the name of the +grocer's. It was something like Simpson, but not Simpson. I went on, +turning again more than once, always in hopes of seeing it before me, +but always disappointed. And I was beginning to feel very tired; I must, +I suppose, have been really tired all the time, but my excitement had +kept me up.</p> + +<p>At last I found myself in a much darker street than the others. For +there were few shops in it, and most of the houses were offices of some +kind. It was a wide street and rather hilly. As I stood at the top I saw +it sloping down before me; the light of the tall lamps glimmered +brokenly in the puddles, for it was raining again more heavily now. +Suddenly, as if in a dream, some words came back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> me, so clearly that +I could almost have believed some one was speaking. It was mamma's +voice.</p> + +<p>"You had better put on your mackintosh, Haddie," I seemed to hear her +say, and then I remembered it all—it came before me like a +picture—that rainy evening not many months ago when mamma and Haddie +and I had walked home so happily, we two tugging at her arms, one on +each side, heedless of the rain or the darkness, or anything except that +we were all together.</p> + +<p>I stood still. Never, I think, was a child's heart more nearly +breaking.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h2> + +<h3>TAKING REFUGE.</h3> + +<p>For a minute or two I seemed to feel nothing; then there came over me a +sort of shiver, partly of cold, for it <i>was</i> very cold, partly of +misery. I roused myself, however. With the remembrance of that other +evening had come to me also the knowledge of where I was. Only a few +yards down the sloping street on the left-hand side came a wide stretch +of pavement, and there, in a kind of angle, stood a double door, open on +both sides, leading into a small outer hall, from which again another +door, glazed at the top, was the entrance to Cranston's show-rooms.</p> + +<p>I remembered it all perfectly. Just beyond the inner entrance stood the +two carved lions that Haddie and I admired so much. I wished I could see +them again, and—yes—a flash of joy went through me at the thought—I +could get Mrs. Selwood's address quite as well from old Mr. Cranston as +from the big grocer!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>As soon as the idea struck me I hurried on, seeming to gain fresh +strength and energy. It was almost dark, but a gas-lamp was burning +dimly above the lintel, and inside, on the glass of the inner door, were +the large gilt letters "Cranston and Co."</p> + +<p>I ran up the two or three broad shallow steps and pushed open the door, +which was a swing one. It was nearly time for closing, but that I did +not know. There was no one to be seen inside, not, at least, in the +first room, and the door made no noise. But there stood the dear +lions—I could not see them very clearly, for the place was not brightly +lighted, but I crept up to them, and stroked softly the one nearest me. +They seemed like real friends.</p> + +<p>I had not courage to go into the other show-room, and all was so +perfectly still that I could scarcely think any one was there. I thought +I would wait a few minutes in hopes of some one coming out, of whom I +could inquire if I could see Mr. Cranston. And I was now beginning to +feel so tired—so very tired, and so cold.</p> + +<p>In here, though I did not see any fire, it felt ever so much warmer than +outside. There was no chair or stool, but I found a seat for myself on +the stand of the farther-in lion—each of them had a heavy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> wooden +stand. It seemed very comfortable, and I soon found that by moving on a +little I could get a nice rest for my head against the lion's body. A +strange pleasant sense of protection and comfort came over me.</p> + +<p>"How glad I am I came in here," I said to myself. "I don't mind if I +have to wait a good while. It is so cosy and warm."</p> + +<p>I no longer made any plans. I knew I wanted to ask for Mrs. Selwood's +address, but that was all I thought of. What I should do when I had got +it I did not know; where I should go for the night, for it was now quite +dark, I did not trouble about in the least. I think I must have been +very much in the condition I have heard described, of travellers lost in +the snow—the overpowering wish to stay where I was and rest, was all I +was conscious of. I did not think of going to sleep. I did not know I +was sleepy.</p> + +<p>And for some time I knew nothing.</p> + +<p>The first thing that caught my attention was a very low murmur—so low +that it might have been merely a breath of air playing in the keyhole; I +seemed to have been hearing it for some time before it took shape, as it +were, and grew into a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> softly-whispering voice, gradually gathering into +words.</p> + +<p>"Poor little girl; so she has come at last. Well, as you say, brother, +we have been expecting her for a good while, have we not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, but speak softly. It would be a pity to awake her. And +what we have to do can be done just as well while she sleeps."</p> + +<p>"I don't agree with you," said the first speaker. "I should much prefer +her being awake. She would enjoy the ride, and she is an intelligent +child and would profit by our conversation."</p> + +<p>"As you like," replied number two. "I must be off to fetch the boy. She +will perhaps be awake by the time I return."</p> + +<p>And then—just as I was on the point of starting up and telling them I +<i>was</i> awake—came a sound of stamping and rustling, and a sort of whirr +and a breath of cold air, which told me the swing door had been opened. +And when I sat straight up and looked about me, lo and behold, there was +only one lion to be seen—the stand of his brother was empty!</p> + +<p>"I—please I <i>am</i> awake," I said rather timidly. "It was me you were +talking about, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i>—'it was <i>I</i>'—the verb to be takes the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> case after it as +before it," was the reply, much to my surprise and rather to my disgust. +Who would have thought that the carved lions bothered about grammar!</p> + +<p>"It was I, then," I repeated meekly. I did not want to give any offence +to my new friend. "Please—I heard you saying something—something about +going a ride. And where has the—the other Mr. Lion gone? I heard +about—a boy."</p> + +<p>"You heard correctly," my lion replied, and I knew somehow that he was +smiling, or whatever lions do that matches smiling. "My brother has gone +to fetch <i>your</i> brother—we planned it all some time ago—we shall meet +on the sea-shore and travel together. But we should be starting. Can you +climb up on to my back?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," I said quite calmly, as if there was nothing the least out of +the common in all this, "I'm sure I can."</p> + +<p>"Catch hold of my mane," said the lion; "don't mind tugging, it won't +hurt," and—not to my surprise, for nothing surprised me—I felt my +hands full of soft silky hair, as the lion shook down his long wavy mane +to help my ascent.</p> + +<p>Nothing was easier. In another moment I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> cosily settled on his back, +which felt deliciously comfortable, and the mane seemed to tuck itself +round me like a fleecy rug.</p> + +<p>"Shut your eyes," said my conductor or steed, I don't know which to call +him; "go to sleep if you like. I'll wake you when we meet the others."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I said, feeling too content and comfortable to disagree +with anything he said.</p> + +<p>Then came a feeling of being raised up, a breath of colder air, which +seemed to grow warm again almost immediately, and I knew nothing more +till I heard the words, "Here they are."</p> + +<p>I opened my eyes and looked about me. It was night—overhead in the deep +blue sky innumerable stars were sparkling, and down below at our feet I +heard the lap-lap of rippling waves. A dark, half-shadowy figure stood +at my right hand, and as I saw it more clearly I distinguished the form +of the other lion, with—yes, there was some one sitting on his back.</p> + +<p>"Haddie," I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, Geraldine, it's me," my brother's own dear voice replied. +"We're going right over the sea—did you know?—isn't it splendid? We're +going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> to see father and mamma. Hold out your hand so that you can feel +mine."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 319px;"><a name="ILL_008" id="ILL_008"></a> +<img src="images/ill_008.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">THE BROTHER LIONS ROSE INTO THE AIR.</span> +</div> + +<p>I did so, and my fingers clasped his, and at that moment the brother +lions rose into the air, and down below, even fainter and fainter, came +the murmur of the sea, while up above, the twinkling stars looked down +on what surely was one of the strangest sights they had ever seen in all +their long, long experience!</p> + +<p>Then again I seemed to know nothing, though somehow, all through, I felt +the clasp of Haddie's hand and knew we were close together.</p> + +<p>A beautiful light streaming down upon us, of which I was conscious even +through my closed eyelids, was the next thing I remember. It seemed warm +as well as bright, and I felt as if basking in it.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, Geraldine," said Haddie's voice.</p> + +<p>I opened my eyes. But now I have come to a part of my story which I have +never been able, and never shall be able, to put into fitting words. The +scene before me was too beautiful, too magically exquisite for me even +to succeed in giving the faintest idea of it. Still I must try, though +knowing that I cannot but fail.</p> + +<p>Can you picture to yourselves the loveliest day of all the perfect +summer days you have ever known—no, more than that, a day like summer +and spring in one—the richness of colour, the balmy fragrance of the +prime of the year joined to the freshness, the indescribable hopefulness +and expectation which is the charm of the spring? The beauty and delight +seemed made up of everything lovely mingled together—sights, sounds, +scents, feelings. There was the murmur of running streams, the singing +of birds, the most delicious scent from the flowers growing in profusion +and of every shade of colour.</p> + +<p>Haddie and I looked at each other—we still held each other by the hand, +but now, somehow, we were standing together on the grass, though I could +not remember having got down from my perch on the lion's back.</p> + +<p>"Where are the lions, Haddie?" I said.</p> + +<p>Haddie seemed to understand everything better than I did.</p> + +<p>"They're all right," he replied, "resting a little. You see we've come a +long way, Geraldine, and so quick."</p> + +<p>"And where are we?" I asked. "What is this place, Haddie? Is it +fairyland or—or—heaven?"</p> + +<p>Haddie smiled.</p> + +<p>"It's not either," he said. "You'll find out the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a><br /><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> name yourself. But +come, we must be quick, for we can't stay very long. Hold my hand tight +and then we can run faster."</p> + +<p>I seemed to know that something more beautiful than anything we had seen +yet was coming. I did not ask Haddie any more questions, even though I +had a feeling that he knew more than I did. He seemed quite at home in +this wonderful place, quite able to guide me. And his face was shining +with happiness.</p> + +<p>We ran a good way, and very fast. But I did not feel at all tired or +breathless. My feet seemed to have wings, and all the time the garden +around us grew lovelier and lovelier. If Haddie had not been holding my +hand so fast I should scarcely have been able to resist stopping to +gather some of the lovely flowers everywhere in such profusion, or to +stand still to listen to the dear little birds singing so exquisitely +overhead.</p> + +<p>"It must be fairyland," I repeated to myself more than once, in spite of +what Haddie had said.</p> + +<p>But suddenly all thought of fairyland or flowers, birds and garden, went +out of my head, as Haddie stopped in his running.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine," he half whispered, "look there."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There" was a little arbour a few yards from where we stood, and there, +seated on a rustic bench, her dear face all sunshine, was mamma!</p> + +<p>She started up as soon as she saw us and hastened forward, her arms +outstretched.</p> + +<p>"My darlings, my darlings," she said, as Haddie and I threw ourselves +upon her.</p> + +<p>She did look so pretty; she was all in white, and she had a rose—one of +the lovely roses I had been admiring as we ran—fastened to the front of +her dress.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, mamma," I exclaimed, as I hugged her, "oh, mamma, I am so happy +to be with you. Is this your garden, mamma, and may we stay with you +always now? Wasn't it good of the lions to bring us? I have been so +unhappy, mamma—somebody said you would get ill far away. But nobody +could get ill here. Oh, mamma, you will let us stay always."</p> + +<p>She did not speak, but looking at Haddie I saw a change in his face.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine," he said, "I told you we couldn't stay long. The lions would +be scolded if we did, and you know you must say your French poetry."</p> + +<p>And then there came over me the most agonising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> feeling of +disappointment and misery. All the pent-up wretchedness of the last +weeks at school woke up and overwhelmed me like waves of dark water. It +is as impossible for me to put this into words as it was for me to +describe my exquisite happiness, for no words ever succeed in expressing +the intense and extraordinary sensations of some dreams. And of course, +as you will have found out by this time, the strange adventures I have +been relating were those of a dream, though I still, after all the years +that have passed since then, remember them so vividly.</p> + +<p>It was the fatal words "French poetry" that seemed to awake me—to bring +back my terrible unhappiness, exaggerated by the fact of my dreaming.</p> + +<p>"French poetry," I gasped, "oh, Haddie, how can you remind me of it?"</p> + +<p>Haddie suddenly turned away, and I saw the face of one of the lions +looking over his shoulder, with, strange to say, a white frilled cap +surrounding it.</p> + +<p>"You must try to drink this, my dear," said the lion, if the lion it +was, for as I stared at him the brown face changed into a rather ruddy +one—a round good-humoured face, with pleasant eyes and smile, reminding +me of mamma's old nurse who had once come to see us.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>I stared still more, and sat up a little, for, wonderful to relate, I +was no longer in the lovely garden, no longer even in the show-room +leaning against the lion: I was in bed in a strange room which I had +never seen before. And leaning over me was the owner of the frilled cap, +holding a glass in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Try to drink this, my dearie," she said again, and then I knew it was +not the lion but this stranger who had already spoken to me.</p> + +<p>I felt very tired, and I sank back again upon the pillow. What did it +all mean? Where was I? Where had I been? I asked myself this in a vague +sleepy sort of way, but I was too tired to say it aloud, and before I +could make up my mind to try I fell asleep again.</p> + +<p>The room seemed lighter the next time I opened my eyes. It was in fact +nearly the middle of the day, and a fine day—as clear as it ever was in +Great Mexington. I felt much better and less tired now, almost quite +well, except for a slight pain in my throat which told me I must have +caught cold, as my colds generally began in my throat.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if it was with riding so far in the night," I first said to +myself, with a confused remembrance of my wonderful dream. "I didn't +feel at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> all cold on the lion's back, and in the garden it was lovelily +warm."</p> + +<p>Then, as my waking senses quite returned, I started. It had been only a +dream—oh dear, oh dear! But still, <i>something</i> had happened—I was +certainly not in my little bed in the corner of the room I shared with +Emma and Harriet Smith at Green Bank. When had my dream begun, or was I +still dreaming?</p> + +<p>I raised myself a little, very softly, for now I began to remember the +good-humoured face in the frilled cap, and I thought to myself that +unless its owner were a dream too, perhaps she was still in the room, +and I wanted to look about me first on my own account.</p> + +<p>What there was to see was very pleasant and very real. I felt quite sure +I was not dreaming now, wherever I was. It was a large old-fashioned +room, with red curtains at the two windows and handsome dark wood +furniture. There was a fire burning cheerfully in the grate and the +windows looked very clean, even though there was a prospect of +chimney-tops to be seen out of the one nearest to me, which told me I +was still in a town. And then I began to distinguish sounds outside, +though here in this room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> it was so still. There were lots of wheels +passing, some going quickly, some lumbering along with heavy +slowness—it was much noisier than at Miss Ledbury's or at my own old +home. Here I seemed to be in the very heart of a town. I began to recall +the events of the day before more clearly. Yes, up to the time I +remembered leaning against the carved lion in Mr. Cranston's show-room +all had been real, I felt certain. I recollected with a little shiver +the scene in the drawing-room at Green Bank, and how they had all +refused to believe I was speaking the truth when I declared that the +French poetry had entirely gone out of my head. And then there was the +making up my mind that I could bear school no longer, and the secretly +leaving the house, and at last losing my way in the streets.</p> + +<p>I had meant to go to Mrs. Selwood's, or at least to get her address and +write to her—but where was I now?—what should I do?</p> + +<p>My head grew dizzy again with trying to think, and a faint miserable +feeling came over me and I burst into tears.</p> + +<p>I did not cry loudly. But there was some one watching in the room who +would have heard even a fainter sound than that of my sobs—some one +sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> behind my bed-curtains whom I had not seen, who came forward +now and leant over me, saying, in words and voice which seemed curiously +familiar to me,</p> + +<p>"Geraldine, my poor little girl."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2> + +<h3>KIND FRIENDS.</h3> + +<p>It was Miss Fenmore. I knew her again at once. And she called me "my +poor little girl"—the very words she had used when she said good-bye to +me and looked so sorry before she went away for the Easter holidays, +never to come back, though she did not then know it, to Green Bank.</p> + +<p>"You remember me, dear?" she said, in the sweet tones I had loved to +hear. "Don't speak if you feel too ill or if it tires you. But don't +feel frightened or unhappy, though you are in a strange +place—everything will be right."</p> + +<p>I felt soothed almost at once, but my curiosity grew greater.</p> + +<p>"When did you come?" I said. "You weren't here when I woke before. It +was—somebody with a cap—first I thought it was one of the lions."</p> + +<p>The sound of my own voice surprised me, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> so feeble and husky, and +though my throat did not hurt me much I felt that it was thick and +swollen.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore thought I was still only half awake or light-headed, but +she was too sensible to show that she thought so.</p> + +<p>"One of the lions?" she said, smiling. "You mean the carved lions that +Myra is so fond of. No—that was a very funny fancy of yours—a lion +with a cap on! It was old Hannah that you saw, the old nurse. She has +been watching beside you all night. When you awoke before, I was out. I +went out very early."</p> + +<p>She spoke in a very matter-of-fact way, but rather slowly, as if she +wanted to be sure of my understanding what she said. And as my mind +cleared and I followed her words I grew more and more anxious to know +all there was to hear.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," I said, "and it hurts me to speak. Is this your +house, Miss Fenmore, and how do you know about the lions? And who +brought me in here, and why didn't I know when I was put in this bed?"</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore looked at me rather anxiously when I said it hurt me to +speak. But she seemed pleased, too, at my asking the questions so +distinctly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't speak, dear," she said quietly, "and I will explain it all. The +doctor said you were not to speak if it hurt you."</p> + +<p>"The doctor," I repeated. Another puzzle!</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Miss Fenmore, "the doctor who lives in this street—Dr. +Fallis. He knows you quite well, and you know him, don't you? Just nod +your head a little, instead of speaking."</p> + +<p>But the doctor's name brought back too many thoughts for me to be +content with only nodding my head.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Fallis," I said. "Oh, I would so like to see him. He could tell +me——" but I stopped. "Mrs. Selwood's address" I was going to say, as +all the memories of the day before began to rush over me. "Why didn't I +know when he came?"</p> + +<p>"You were asleep, dear, but he is coming again," said Miss Fenmore +quietly. "He was afraid you had got a sore throat by the way you +breathed. You must have caught cold in the evening down in the show-room +by the lions, before they found you."</p> + +<p>And then she went on to explain it all to me. I was in Mr. Cranston's +house!—up above the big show-rooms, where he and old Mrs. Cranston +lived. They had found me fast asleep, leaning against one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> of the +lions—the old porter and the boy who went round late in the evening to +see that all was right for the night, though when the rooms were shut up +earlier no one had noticed me. I was so fast asleep, so utterly +exhausted, that I had not awakened when the old man carried me up to the +kitchen, just as the servants were about going to bed, to ask what in +the world was to be done with me; nor even later, when, on Miss +Fenmore's recognising me, they had undressed and settled me for the +night in the comfortable old-fashioned "best bedroom," had I opened my +eyes or spoken.</p> + +<p>Old Hannah watched beside me all night, and quite early in the morning +Dr. Fallis, who fortunately was the Cranstons' doctor too, had been sent +for.</p> + +<p>"He said we were to let you have your sleep out," said Miss Fenmore, +"though by your breathing he was afraid you had caught cold. How is your +throat now, dear?"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't hurt very much," I said, "only it feels very shut up."</p> + +<p>"I expect you will have to stay in bed all to-day," she replied. "Dr. +Fallis will be coming soon and then we shall know."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—but," I began; then as the thought of it all came over me still +more distinctly I hid my face in the pillow and burst into tears. "Must +I go back to school?" I said. "Oh, Miss Fenmore, they will be so +angry—I came away without leave, because—because I couldn't bear it, +and they said I told what wasn't true—that was almost the worst of all. +Fancy if they wrote and told mamma that I told lies."</p> + +<p>"She would not believe it," said Miss Fenmore quietly; "and besides, I +don't think Miss Ledbury would do such a thing, and she always writes to +the parents herself, I know. And she is kind and good, Geraldine."</p> + +<p>"P'raps she means to be," I said among my tears, "but it's Miss Aspinall +and—and—Miss Broom. I think I hate her, Miss Fenmore. Oh, I shouldn't +say that—I never used to hate anybody. I'm getting all wrong and +naughty, I know," and I burst into fresh sobs.</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Fenmore looked much distressed. No doubt she had been told to +keep me quiet and not let me excite myself.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine, dear," she said, "do try to be calm. If you could tell me +all about it quietly, the speaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> would do you less harm than crying +so. Try, dear. You need not speak loud."</p> + +<p>I swallowed down my tears and began the story of my troubles. Once +started I could not have helped telling her all, even if it had hurt my +throat much more than it did. And she knew a good deal already. She was +a girl of great natural quickness and full of sympathy. She seemed to +understand what I had been going through far better than I could put it +in words, and when at last, tired out, I left off speaking, she said all +she could to comfort me. There was no need for me to trouble about going +back to Green Bank just now. Dr. Fallis had said I must stay where I was +for the present, and when I saw him I might tell him anything I liked.</p> + +<p>"He will understand," she said, "and he will explain to Miss Ledbury. I +have seen Miss Ledbury this morning already, and——"</p> + +<p>"Was she dreadfully angry?" I interrupted.</p> + +<p>"No, dear," Miss Fenmore replied. "She had been terribly frightened +about you, and Miss Aspinall and some of the servants had been rushing +about everywhere. But Miss Ledbury is very good, as I keep telling you, +Geraldine. She is very sorry to hear how unhappy you have been, and if +she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> known how anxious you were about your father and mother she +would have tried to comfort you. I wish you had told her."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to tell her, but Miss Broom was there, and they thought I told +stories," I repeated.</p> + +<p>"Well, never mind about that now. You shall ask Dr. Fallis, and I am +sure he will tell you you need not be so unhappy."</p> + +<p>It was not till long afterwards that I knew how very distressed poor old +Miss Ledbury had been, and how she had blamed herself for not having +tried harder to gain my confidence. Nor did I fully understand at the +time how very sensibly Miss Fenmore had behaved when Mr. and Mrs. +Cranston sent her off to Green Bank to tell of my having, without +intending it, taken refuge with them; she had explained things so that +Miss Ledbury, and indeed Miss Aspinall, felt far more sorry for me than +angry with me.</p> + +<p>Just as Miss Fenmore mentioned his name there came a tap at the door, +and in another moment I saw the kind well-known face of our old doctor +looking in.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," he began, looking at me with a rather odd smile, "and how +is the little runaway? My dear child, why did you not come to me, +instead of wandering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> all about Great Mexington streets in the dark and +the rain? Not that you could have found anywhere better for yourself +than this kind house, but you might have been all night downstairs in +the cold! Tell me, what made you run away like that—no, don't tell me +just yet. It is all right now, but I think you have talked enough. Has +she had anything to eat?" and he turned to Miss Fenmore. Then he looked +at my throat and listened to my breathing, and tapped me and felt my +pulse and looked at my tongue before I could speak at all.</p> + +<p>"She must stay in bed all to-day," he said at last. "I will see her +again this evening," and he went on to give Miss Fenmore a few +directions about me, I fidgeting all the time to ask him about father +and mamma, though feeling too shy to do so.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine is very anxious to tell you one of the chief causes of her +coming away from Green Bank as she did," said Miss Fenmore. And then she +spoke of the gossip that had reached me through Harriet Smith about the +terribly unhealthy climate my parents were in.</p> + +<p>Dr. Fallis listened attentively.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to write to Mrs. Selwood, and I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> Mr. Cranston would +tell me her address," I said, though I almost started when I heard how +hoarse and husky my voice sounded. "Can you tell it me? I do so want to +write to her."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Selwood is abroad, my dear, and not returning till next month," +said Dr. Fallis; but when he saw how my face fell, he added quickly, +"but I think I can tell you perhaps better than she about your parents. +I know the place—Mr. Le Marchant consulted me about it before he +decided on going, as he knew I had been there myself in my young days. +Unhealthy? No, not if people take proper care. Your father and mother +live in the best part—on high ground out of the town—there is never +any fever there. And I had a most cheerful letter from your father quite +lately. Put all these fears out of your head, my poor child. Please God +you will have papa and mamma safe home again before long. But they must +not find such a poor little white shrimp of a daughter when they come. +You must get strong and well and do all that this kind young lady tells +you to do. Good-bye—good-bye," and he hurried off.</p> + +<p>I was crying again by this time, but quietly now, and my tears were not +altogether because I was weak and ill. They were in great measure tears +of relief—I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> was so thankful to hear what he said about father and +mamma.</p> + +<p>"Miss Fenmore," I whispered, "I wonder why they didn't take me with +them, if it's a nice place. And then there wouldn't have been all these +dreadful things."</p> + +<p>"It is quite a different matter to take a child to a hot climate," she +said. "Grown-up people can stand much that would be very bad for girls +and boys. When I was little my father was in India, and my sister and I +had to be brought up by an aunt in England."</p> + +<p>"Did you mind?" I said eagerly. "And did your papa soon come home? And +where was your mamma?"</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore smiled, but there was something a little sad in her smile.</p> + +<p>"I was very happy with my aunt," she said; "she was like a mother to me. +For my mother died when I was a little baby. Yes, my father has been +home several times, but he is in India again now, and he won't be able +to come back for good till he is quite old. So you have much happier +things to look forward to, you see, Geraldine."</p> + +<p>That was true. I felt very sorry for Miss Fenmore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> as I lay thinking +over what she had been telling me. Then another idea struck me.</p> + +<p>"Is Mrs. Cranston your aunt?" I said. "Is that why you are living here?"</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore looked up quickly.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied; "I thought somehow that you understood. I am here +because I am Myra Raby's governess—Myra Raby, who used to come for some +lessons to Green Bank."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I exclaimed. This explained several things. "Oh yes," I went on, +"I remember her, and I know she's Mr. Cranston's grand-daughter—he was +speaking of her to mamma one day. I should like to see her, Miss +Fenmore. May I?"</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore was just going to reply when again there came a tap at the +door, and in answer to her "Come in" it opened and two figures appeared.</p> + +<p>I could see them from where I lay, and I shall never forget the pretty +picture they made. Myra I knew by sight, and as I think I have said +before, she was an unusually lovely child. And with her was a quite old +lady, a small old lady—Myra was nearly as tall as she—with a face that +even I (though children seldom notice beauty in elderly people) saw was +quite charming. This was Mrs. Cranston.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>I felt quite surprised. Mr. Cranston was a rather stout old man, with +spectacles and a big nose. I had not thought him at all "pretty," and +somehow I had fancied Mrs. Cranston must be something like him, and I +gave a sigh of pleasure as the old lady came up to the side of the bed +with a gentle smile on her face.</p> + +<p>"Dr. Fallis gave us leave to come in to see you, my dear," she said. +"Myra has been longing to do so all the morning."</p> + +<p>"I've been wanting to see her too," I said, half shyly. +"And—please—it's very kind of you to let me stay here in this nice +room. I didn't mean to fall asleep downstairs. I only wanted to speak to +Mr. Cranston."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure Mr. Cranston would be very pleased to tell you anything he can +that you want to know, my dear. But I think you mustn't trouble just now +about anything except getting quite well," said the old lady. "Myra has +been wanting to come to see you all the morning, but we were afraid of +tiring you."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 327px;"><a name="ILL_009" id="ILL_009"></a> +<img src="images/ill_009.jpg" width="327" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">MYRA CAME FORWARD GENTLY, HER SWEET FACE LOOKING RATHER GRAVE.</span> +</div> + +<p>Myra came forward gently, her sweet face looking rather grave. I put out +my hand, and she smiled.</p> + +<p>"May she stay with me a little?" I asked Mrs. Cranston.</p> + +<p>"Of course she may—that's what she came for," said the grandmother +heartily. "But I don't think you should talk much. Missie's voice sounds +as if it hurt her to speak," she went on, turning to Miss Fenmore.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't hurt me much," I said. "I daresay I shall be quite well +to-morrow. I am so glad I'm here—I wouldn't have liked to be ill at +school," and I gave a little shudder. "I'm quite happy now that Dr. +Fallis says it's not true about father and mamma getting ill at that +place, and I don't want to ask Mr. Cranston anything now, thank you. It +was about Mrs. Selwood, but I don't mind now."</p> + +<p>I had been sitting up a little—now I laid my head down on the pillows +again with a little sigh, half of weariness, half of relief.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cranston looked at me rather anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Are you very tired, my dear?" she said. "Perhaps it would be better for +Myra not to stay just now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, please let her stay," I said; "I like to see her."</p> + +<p>So Myra sat down beside my bed and took hold of my hand, and though we +did not speak to each other, I liked the feeling of her being there.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cranston left the room then, and Miss Fenmore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a><br /><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> followed her. I +think the old lady had made her a little sign to do so, though I did not +see it. Afterwards I found out that Mrs. Cranston had thought me looking +very ill, worse than she had expected, and she wanted to hear from Miss +Fenmore if it was natural to me to look so pale.</p> + +<p>I myself, though feeling tired and disinclined to talk, was really +happier than I had been for a very long time. There was a delightful +sensation of being safe and at home, even though the kind people who had +taken me in, like a poor little stray bird, were strangers. The very +look of the old-fashioned room and the comfortable great big four-post +bed made me hug myself when I thought how different it all was from the +bare cold room at Green Bank, where there had never once been a fire all +the weeks I was there. It reminded me of something—what was it? Oh yes, +in a minute or two I remembered. It was the room I had once slept in +with mamma at grandmamma's house in London, several years before, when I +was quite a little girl. For dear grandmamma had died soon after we came +to live at Great Mexington. But there was the same comfortable +old-fashioned feeling: red curtains to the window and the bed, and a big +fire and the shiny dark mahogany furniture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> Oh yes, how well I +remembered it, and how enormous the bed seemed, and how mamma tucked me +in at night and left the door a little open in case I should feel lonely +before she came to bed. It all came back to me so that I forgot where I +was for the moment, till I felt a little tug given to the hand that Myra +was still holding, and heard her voice say very softly,</p> + +<p>"Are you going to sleep, Geraldine?"</p> + +<p>This brought me back to the present.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," I said, "I'm not sleepy. I was only thinking," and I told her +what had come into my mind.</p> + +<p>She listened with great interest.</p> + +<p>"How unhappy you must have been when your mamma went away," she said. "I +can't remember my own mamma, but mother"—she meant her stepmother—"is +so kind, and granny is so sweet. I've never been lonely."</p> + +<p>"You can't fancy what it's like," I said. "It wasn't only mamma's going +away; I know Haddie—that's my brother—loves her as much as I do, but +he's not very unhappy, because he likes his school. Oh, Myra, what +<i>shall</i> I do when I have to go back to school? I'd rather be ill always. +Do you think I'll have to go back to-morrow?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>Myra looked most sympathising and concerned.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you'll be quite well to-morrow," was the best comfort she +could give me. "When I have bad colds and sore throats they always last +longer than one day."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to talk a great lot to keep my throat from getting quite +well," I said, "but I suppose that would be very naughty."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Myra with conviction, "I'm sure it would be. You really +mustn't talk, Geraldine; granny said so. Mayn't I read aloud to you? +I've brought a book with me—it's an old story-book of mamma's that she +had when she was a little girl. Granny keeps them here all together. +This one is called <i>Ornaments Discovered</i>."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I said. "Yes, I should like it very much."</p> + +<p>And in her gentle little voice Myra read the quaint old story aloud to +me. It was old-fashioned even then, for the book had belonged to her +mother, if not in the first place to her grandmother. How very old-world +it would seem to the children of to-day—I wonder if any of you know it? +For I am growing quite an old woman myself, and the little history of my +childhood that I am telling you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> will, before long, be half a century in +age, though its events seem as clear and distinct to me as if they had +only happened quite recently! I came across the little red gilt-leaved +book not long ago in the house of one of Myra's daughters, and with the +sight of it a whole flood of memories rushed over me.</p> + +<p>It was not a very exciting story, but I found it very interesting, and +now and then my little friend stopped to talk about it, which I found +very interesting too. I was quite sorry when Miss Fenmore, who had come +back to the room and was sitting quietly sewing, told Myra that she +thought she had read enough, and that it must be near dinner-time.</p> + +<p>"I will come again after dinner," said Myra, and then I whispered +something to her. She nodded; she quite understood me. What I said was +this:</p> + +<p>"I wish you would go downstairs and tell the carved lions that they made +me very happy last night, and I <i>am</i> so glad they brought me back here +to you, instead of taking me to Green Bank."</p> + +<p>"Where did they take you to in the night?" said Myra with great +interest, though not at all as if she thought I was talking nonsense.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you all about it afterwards," I said. "It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> was beautiful. But +it would take a long time to tell, and I'm rather tired."</p> + +<p>"You are looking tired, dear," said Miss Fenmore, who heard my last +words, as she gave me a cupful of beef-tea. "Try to go to sleep for a +little, and then Myra can come to sit with you again."</p> + +<p>I did go to sleep, but Myra was not allowed to see me again that day, +nor the next—nor for several days after, except for a very few minutes +at a time. For I did not improve as the kind people about me had hoped I +would, and Dr. Fallis looked graver when he came that evening than he +had done in the morning. Miss Fenmore was afraid she had let me talk too +much, but after all I do not think anything would have made any great +difference. I had really been falling out of health for months past, and +I should probably have got ill in some other way if I had not caught +cold in my wanderings. I do not very clearly remember those days of +serious illness. I knew whenever I was awake that I was being tenderly +cared for, and in the half-dozing, half-dreaming state in which many +hours must have been passed, I fancied more than once that mamma was +beside me, which made me very happy. And though never actually +delirious, I had very strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> though not unpleasant dreams, especially +about the carved lions; none of them, however, so clear and real as the +one I related at full in the last chapter.</p> + +<p>On the whole, that illness left more peaceful and sweet memories than +memories of pain. Through it all I had the delightful feeling of being +cared for and protected, and somehow it all seemed to have to do with +the pair of lions downstairs in Mr. Cranston's show-room!</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h2> + +<h3>GOOD NEWS.</h3> + +<p>I don't suppose there was anything really infectious about my illness, +though nowadays whenever there is any sort of sore throat people are +very much on their guard. Perhaps they were not so cautious long ago. +However that may have been, Myra was not banished from my room for very +long. I rather think, indeed, that she used to creep in and sit like a +little mouse behind the curtains before I was well enough to notice her.</p> + +<p>But everything for a time seemed dreamy to me. The first event I can +quite clearly recall was my being allowed to sit up for an hour or two, +or, more correctly speaking, to <i>lie</i> up, for I was lifted on to the +sofa and tucked in almost as if I were still in bed.</p> + +<p>That was a very happy afternoon. It was happy for several reasons, for +that morning had brought me the first letter I had had from dear mamma +since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> she had heard of my bold step in running away from school! Lying +still and silent for so many hours as I had done, things had grown to +look differently to me. I began to see where and how I had been wrong, +and to think that if I had been more open about my troubles, more +courageous—that is to say, if I had gone to Miss Ledbury and told her +everything that was on my mind—I need not have been so terribly unhappy +or caused trouble and distress to others.</p> + +<p>A little of this mamma pointed out to me in her letter, which was, +however, so very kind and loving, so full of sorrow that I had been so +unhappy, that I felt more grateful than I knew how to express. +Afterwards, when we talked it all over, years afterwards even, for we +often talked of that time after I was grown up and married, and had +children of my own, mamma said to me that she <i>could</i> not blame me +though she knew I had not done right, for she felt so broken-hearted at +the thought of what I had suffered.</p> + +<p>It had been a mistake, no doubt, to send me to Green Bank, but mistakes +are often overruled for good. I am glad to have had the experience of +it, as I think it made me more sympathising with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> others. And it made me +determine never to send any child of mine, or any child I had the care +of, to a school where there was so little feeling of <i>home</i>, so little +affection and gentleness—above all, that dreadful old-world rule of +letters being read, and the want of trust and confidence in the pupils, +which showed in so many ways.</p> + +<p>A few days after I received mamma's letter I was allowed to write to +her. It was slow and tiring work, for I was only able to write a few +lines at a time, and that in pencil. But it was delightful to be free to +say just what I wanted to say, without the terrible feeling of Miss +Aspinall, or worse still Miss Broom, judging and criticising every line. +I thanked mamma with my whole heart for not being angry with me, and to +show her how truly I meant what I said, I promised her that when I was +well again and able to go back to school I would try my very, very best +to get on more happily.</p> + +<p>But I gave a deep sigh as I wrote this, and Myra, who was sitting beside +me, looked up anxiously, and asked what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Myra," I said, "it is just that I can't bear to think of going back +to school. I'd rather never get well if only I could stay here till +mamma comes home."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dear little Geraldine," said Myra—she often called me "little" though +she was <i>scarcely</i> any taller than I—"dear little Geraldine, you +mustn't say that. I don't think it's right. And, you know, when you are +quite well again things won't seem so bad to you. I remember once when I +was ill—I was quite a little girl then,"—Myra spoke as if she was now +a very big girl indeed!—"I think it was when I had had the measles, the +least thing vexed me dreadfully. I cried because somebody had given me a +present of a set of wooden tea-things in a box, and the tea ran out of +the cups when I filled them! Fancy crying for that!"</p> + +<p>"I know," I said, "I've felt like that too. But this is a <i>real</i> +trouble, Myra—a real, very bad, dreadful trouble, though I've promised +mamma to try to be good. Do you think, Myra, that when I'm back at +school your grandmamma will sometimes ask me to come to see you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure——" my little friend began eagerly. But she was interrupted. +For curiously enough, just at that moment Mrs. Cranston opened the door +and came in. She came to see me every day, and though at first I was +just a tiny bit afraid of her—she seemed to me such a very old lady—I +soon got to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> love her dearly, and to talk to her quite as readily as to +kind Miss Fenmore.</p> + +<p>"What is my little girl sure about?" she said. "And how is my other +little girl to-day? Not too tired," and she glanced at my letter. "You +have not been writing too much, dearie, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," I replied, "I'm not tired."</p> + +<p>"She's only rather unhappy, granny," said Myra.</p> + +<p>"I think that's a very big 'only,'" said Mrs. Cranston. "Can't you tell +me, my dear, what you are unhappy about?"</p> + +<p>I glanced at Myra, as if asking her to speak for me. She understood.</p> + +<p>"Granny," she said, "poor little Geraldine is unhappy to think of going +away and going back to school."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cranston looked at me very kindly.</p> + +<p>"Poor dear," she said, "you have not had much pleasure with us, as you +have been ill all the time."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind," I said. "I was telling Myra, only she thought it was +naughty, that I'd rather be ill always if I was with kind people, +than—than—be at school where nobody cares for me."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, my dear, the troubles we dread are often those that don't +come to pass. Try to keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> up your spirits and get quite well and +strong, so that you may be able to enjoy yourself a little before both +you and Myra leave us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is Myra going away?" I said. "I thought she was going to live here +always," and somehow I felt as if I did not mind <i>quite</i> so much to +think of going away myself in that case.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said the old lady, "Myra has her own home where she must spend +part of her time, though grandfather and I hope to have her here a good +deal too. It is easy to manage now Miss Fenmore is with her always."</p> + +<p>In my heart I thought Myra a most fortunate child—<i>two</i> homes were +really hers; and I—I had none. This thought made me sigh again. I don't +know if Myra guessed what I was thinking of, but she came close up to me +and put her arms round my neck and kissed me.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine," she whispered, by way of giving me something pleasant to +think of, perhaps, "as soon as you are able to walk about a little I +want you to come downstairs with me to see the lions."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said in the same tone, "but you did give them my message, +Myra?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I did, and they sent you back their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> love, and they are very +glad you're better, and they want you very much indeed to come to see +them."</p> + +<p>Myra and I understood each other quite well about the lions, you see.</p> + +<p>I went on getting well steadily after that, and not many days later I +went downstairs with Myra to the big show-room to see the lions. It gave +me such a curious feeling to remember the last time I had been there, +that rainy evening when I crept in, as nearly broken-hearted and in +despair as a little girl could be. And as I stroked the lions and looked +up in their dark mysterious faces, I could not get rid of the idea that +they knew all about it, that somehow or other they had helped and +protected me, and when I tried to express this to Myra she seemed to +think the same.</p> + +<p>After this there were not many days on which we did not come downstairs +to visit our strange play-fellows, and not a few interesting games or +"actings," as Myra called them, did we invent, in which the lions took +their part.</p> + +<p>We were only allowed to be in the show-rooms at certain hours of the +day, when there were not likely to be any customers there. Dear old Mrs. +Cranston was as particular as she possibly could be not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> let me do +anything or be seen in any way which mamma could possibly have disliked.</p> + +<p>And before long I began to join a little in Myra's lessons with Miss +Fenmore—lessons which our teacher's kind and "understanding" ways made +delightful. So that life was really very happy for me at this time, +except of course for the longing for mamma and father and Haddie, which +still came over me in fits, as it were, every now and then, and +except—a still bigger "except"—for the dreaded thought of the return +to school which must be coming nearer day by day.</p> + +<p>Myra and I never spoke of it. I tried to forget about it, and she seemed +to enter into my feeling without saying anything.</p> + +<p>I had had a letter from mamma in answer to the one I wrote to her just +after my illness. In it she said she was pleased with all I said, and my +promise to try to get on better at Green Bank, but "in the meantime," +she wrote, "what we want you to do is to get <i>quite</i> strong and well, so +put all troubling thoughts out of your head and be happy with your kind +friends."</p> + +<p>That letter had come a month ago, and the last mail had only brought me +a tiny little note enclosed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> in a letter from mamma to Mrs. Cranston, +with the promise of a longer one "next time." And "next time" was about +due, for the mail came every fortnight, one afternoon when Myra and I +were sitting together in our favourite nook in the show-room.</p> + +<p>"I have a fancy, Myra," I said, "that something is going to happen. My +lion has been so queer to-day—I see a look on his face as if he knew +something."</p> + +<p>For we had each chosen one lion as more particularly our own.</p> + +<p>"I think they always look rather like that," said Myra dreamily. "But I +suppose something must happen soon. I shall be going home next week."</p> + +<p>"Next week," I repeated. "Oh, Myra!"</p> + +<p>I could not speak for a moment. Then I remembered how I had made up my +mind to be brave.</p> + +<p>"Do you mind going home?" I asked. "I mean, are you sorry to go?"</p> + +<p>"I'm always sorry to leave grandpapa and grandmamma," she said, "and the +lions, and this funny old house. But I'm very happy at home, and I shall +like it still better with Miss Fenmore. No, I wouldn't be unhappy—I'd +be very glad to think of seeing father and mother and my little brothers +again—I wouldn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> be unhappy, except for—you know, Geraldine—for +leaving you," and my little friend's voice shook.</p> + +<p>"Dear Myra," I said. "But you mustn't mind about me. I'm going to +try——" but here I had to stop to choke down something in my throat. +"After all," I went on, after a moment or two, "more than a quarter of +the time that father and mamma have to be away is gone. And perhaps in +the summer holidays I shall see Haddie."</p> + +<p>"I wish——" Myra was beginning, but a voice interrupted her. It was +Miss Fenmore's.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you down a letter that has just come by the second post, +Geraldine, dear," she said; "a letter from South America."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you," I said, eagerly seizing it.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenmore strolled to the other side of the room, and Myra followed +her, to leave me alone to read my letter. It was a pretty long one, but +I read it quickly, so quickly that when I had finished it, I felt +breathless—and then I turned over the pages and glanced at it again. I +felt as if I could not believe what I read. It was too good, too +beautifully good to be true.</p> + +<p>"Myra," I gasped, and Myra ran back to me, looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> quite startled. I +think I must have grown very pale.</p> + +<p>"No, no," I went on, "it's nothing wrong. Read it, or ask Miss +Fenmore—she reads writing quicker. Oh, Myra, isn't it beautiful?"</p> + +<p>They soon read it, and then we all three kissed and hugged each other, +and Myra began dancing about as if she had gone out of her mind.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine, Geraldine, I can't believe it," she kept saying, and Miss +Fenmore's pretty eyes were full of tears.</p> + +<p>I wonder if any of my readers can guess what this delightful news was? +It was not that mamma was coming home—no, that could not be yet. But +next best to that it certainly was.</p> + +<p>It was to tell me this—that <i>till</i> dear father and she returned, my +home was to be with Myra, and I was to be Miss Fenmore's pupil too. +Wherever Myra was, there I was to be—principally at her father's +vicarage in the country, but some part of the year with her kind +grandparents at Great Mexington. It was all settled and arranged—of +course I did not trouble my head about the money part of it, though +afterwards mamma told me that both Mr. and Mrs. Raby and the Cranstons +had been most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> exceedingly kind, making out that the advantage of a +companion for their little girl would be so great that all the thanking +should be on their side, though, of course, they respected father too +much not to let him pay a proper share of all the expense. And it really +cost less than my life at Green Bank, though father was now a good deal +richer, and would not have minded paying a good deal more to ensure my +happiness.</p> + +<p>There is never so much story to tell when people are happy, and things +go rightly; and the next year or two of my life, except of course for +the separation from my dear parents, were <i>very</i> happy. Even though +father's appointment in South America kept him and mamma out there for +nearly three years instead of two, I was able to bear the disappointment +in a very different way, with such kind and sympathising friends at hand +to cheer me, so that there is nothing bitter or sad to look back to in +that part of my childhood. Haddie spent the summer holidays with me, +either at Crowley vicarage, or sometimes at the sea-side, where Miss +Fenmore took care of us three. Once or twice he and I paid a visit to +Mrs. Selwood, which we enjoyed pretty well, as we were together, though +otherwise it was rather dull.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>And oh, how happy it was when father and mamma at last came home—no +words can describe it. It was not <i>quite</i> unmixed pleasure—nothing ever +is, the wise folk say—for there was the separation from Myra and her +family. But after all, that turned out less than we feared. Miss Fenmore +married soon after, and as father had now a good post in London, and we +lived there, it was settled that Myra should be with us, and join in my +lessons for a good part of the year, while I very often went back to +Crowley with her for the summer holidays. And never without staying a +few days at Great Mexington, to see Mr. and Mrs. Cranston and the lions!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Many years have passed since I went there for the last time. Myra's +grandparents have long been dead—my own dear father and mother are dead +too, for I am growing quite old. My grandchildren are older now than I +was when I ran away from the school at Green Bank. But once, while mamma +was still alive and well, she and I together strolled through the +streets of the grim town, which had for a time been our home, and lived +over the old days again in fancy. I remember how tightly I clasped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> her +hand when we passed the corner where once was the old Quakeress's +shop—all changed now—and walked down the street, still not very +different from what it had been, where we used to live.</p> + +<p>There was no use in going to Mr. Cranston's show-rooms—they had long +been done away with. But the lions are still to be seen. They stand in +the hall of Myra's pretty house in the country, where she and Haddon, +her husband, have lived for many years, ever since my brother left the +army and they came home for good from India.</p> + +<p>I spend a part of every year with them, for I am alone now. They want me +to live with them altogether, but I cling to a little home of my own. +Our grandchildren know the lions well, and stroke their smooth sides, +and gaze up into their dark faces just as Myra and I used to do. So I +promised them that sometime I would write out the simple story that I +have now brought to a close.</p> + +<h4>THE END.</h4> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>A NEW UNIFORM EDITION</h2> + +<h3>OF</h3> + +<h2>MRS. MOLESWORTH'S</h2> + +<h2>STORIES FOR CHILDREN</h2> + +<h3>WITH</h3> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER CRANE AND LESLIE BROOKE.</h2> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center">In Ten Volumes. 12mo. Cloth. One Dollar a Volume.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">Tell Me a Story, and Herr Baby.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">"Carrots," and A Christmas Child.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">Grandmother Dear, and Two Little Waifs.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">The Cuckoo Clock, and The Tapestry Room.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 29em;">Christmas-Tree Land, and A Christmas Posy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">The Children of the Castle, and Four Winds Farm.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">Little Miss Peggy, and Nurse Heatherdale's Story,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">"Us," and The Rectory Children.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">Rosy, and The Girls and I.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 29em;">Mary. Sheila's Mystery.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 31em;">Carved Lions.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center">THE SET, TWELVE VOLUMES, IN BOX, $12.00.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw +a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the only two men +of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success; at +least, if there was another who could, I must crave pardon of his happy +memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance of his name. Our own age is +more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger and far +nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the death of +George Eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite and +masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose +bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful +as Mrs. Molesworth's. Any chapter of <i>The Cuckoo Clock</i> or the +enchanting <i>Adventures of Herr Baby</i> is worth a shoal of the very best +novels dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults."—<span class="smcap">Mrs. +A. C. Swinburne</span>, in <i>The Nineteenth Century</i>.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>MRS. MOLESWORTH'S</h2> + +<h2>STORIES FOR CHILDREN.</h2> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"There is hardly a better author to put into the hands of children than +Mrs. Molesworth. I cannot easily speak too highly of her work. It is a +curious art she has, not wholly English in its spirit, but a cross of +the old English with the Italian. Indeed, I should say Mrs. Molesworth +had also been a close student of the German and Russian, and had some +way, catching and holding the spirit of all, created a method and tone +quite her own.... Her characters are admirable and real."—<i>St. Louis +Globe Democrat.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth has a rare gift for composing stories for children. +With a light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet +natural and strong, characters."—<i>Congregationalist.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth always has in her books those charming touches of +nature that are sure to charm small people. Her stories are so likely to +have been true that men 'grown up' do not disdain them."—<i>Home +Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"No English writer of childish stories has a better reputation than Mrs. +Molesworth, and none with whose stories we are familiar deserves it +better. She has a motherly knowledge of the child nature, a clear sense +of character, the power of inventing simple incidents that interest, and +the ease which comes of continuous practice."—<i>Mail and Express.</i></p> + +<p>"Christmas would hardly be Christmas without one of Mrs. Molesworth's +stories. No one has quite the same power of throwing a charm and an +interest about the most commonplace every-day doings as she has, and no +one has ever blended fairyland and reality with the same +skill."—<i>Educational Times.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories +for them are always charmingly interesting and healthful in +tone."—<i>Boston Home Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well +adapted to refined life. It is safe to add that Mrs. Molesworth is the +best English prose writer for children.... A new volume from Mrs. +Molesworth is always a treat."—<i>The Beacon.</i></p> + +<p>"No holiday season would be complete for a host of young readers without +a volume from the hand of Mrs. Molesworth.... It is one of the +peculiarities of Mrs. Molesworth's stories that older readers can no +more escape their charm than younger ones."—<i>Christian Union.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth ranks with George Macdonald and Mrs. Ewing as a writer +of children's stories that possess real literary merit."—<i>Milwaukee +Sentinel.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center">THE SET, ELEVEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $11.00.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>TELL ME A STORY, and HERR BABY.</h3> + +<p>"So delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope +she may soon tell us more stories."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>"CARROTS"; Just a Little Boy.</h3> + +<p>"One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good +fortune to meet with for some time. Carrots and his sister are +delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become very +fond of."—<i>Examiner.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>A CHRISTMAS CHILD; A Sketch of a Boy's Life.</h3> + +<p>"A very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest +throughout."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"This is a capital story, well illustrated. Mrs. Molesworth is one of +those sunny, genial writers who has genius for writing acceptably for +the young. She has the happy faculty of blending enough real with +romance to make her stories very practical for good without robbing them +of any of their exciting interest."—<i>Chicago Inter-Ocean.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's <i>A Christmas Child</i> is a story of a boy-life. The +book is a small one, but none the less attractive. It is one of the best +of this year's juveniles."—<i>Chicago Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth is one of the few writers of tales for children whose +sentiment though of the sweetest kind is never sickly; whose religious +feeling is never concealed yet never obtruded; whose books are always +good but never 'goody.' Little Ted with his soft heart, clever head, and +brave spirit is no morbid presentment of the angelic child 'too good to +live,' and who is certainly a nuisance on earth, but a charming +creature, if not a portrait, whom it is a privilege to meet even in +fiction."—<i>The Academy.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>THE CUCKOO CLOCK.</h3> + +<p>"A beautiful little story.... It will be read with delight by every +child into whose hands it is placed."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>GRANDMOTHER DEAR.</h3> + +<p>"The author's concern is with the development of character, and seldom +does one meet with the wisdom, tact, and good breeding which pervades +this little book."—<i>Nation.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>TWO LITTLE WAIFS.</h3> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's delightful story of <i>Two Little Waifs</i> will charm all +the small people who find it in their stockings. It relates the +adventures of two lovable English children lost in Paris, and is just +wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart."—<i>New York +Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>"It is, in its way, indeed, a little classic, of which the real beauty +and pathos can hardly be appreciated by young people.... It is not too +much to say of the story that it is perfect of its kind."—<i>Critic and +Good Literature.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are +always acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of +the adventures of the little waifs is as entertaining and enjoyable as +we might expect."—<i>Boston Courier.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Two Little Waifs</i> by Mrs. Molesworth is a pretty little fancy, +relating the adventures of a pair of lost children, in a style full of +simple charm. It is among the very daintiest of juvenile books that the +season has yet called forth; and its pathos and humor are equally +delightful. The refined tone and the tender sympathy with the feelings +and sentiments of childhood, lend it a special and an abiding +charm."—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. +Molesworth, detailing the various adventures of a couple of motherless +children in searching for their father, whom they had missed in Paris +where they had gone to meet him."—<i>Montreal Star.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth is a popular name, not only with a host of English, but +with a considerable army of young American readers, who have been +charmed by her delicate fancy and won by the interest of her style. <i>Two +Little Waifs</i>, illustrated by Walter Crane, is a delightful story, which +comes, as all children's stories ought to do, to a delightful +end."—<i>Christian Union.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>THE TAPESTRY ROOM.</h3> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth is the queen of children's fairyland. She knows how to +make use of the vague, fresh, wondering instincts of childhood, and to +invest familiar things with fairy glamour."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<p>"The story told is a charming one of what may be called the neo-fairy +sort.... There has been nothing better of its kind done anywhere for +children, whether we consider its capacity to awake interest or its +wholesomeness."—<i>Evening Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique than +<i>The Tapestry Room</i>. Like all of Mrs. Molesworth's stories it will +please young readers by the very attractive and charming style in which +it is written."—<i>Presbyterian Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth will be remembered as a writer of very pleasing stories +for children. A new book from her pen will be sure of a welcome from all +the young people. The new story bears the name of <i>The Tapestry Room</i> +and is a child's romance.... The child who comes into possession of the +story will count himself fortunate. It is a bright, wholesome story, in +which the interest is maintained to the end. The author has the faculty +of adapting herself to the tastes and ideas of her readers in an unusual +way."—<i>New Haven Paladium.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>CHRISTMAS-TREE LAND.</h3> + +<p>"It is conceived after a happy fancy, as it relates the supposititious +journey of a party of little ones through that part of fairyland where +Christmas-trees are supposed to most abound. There is just enough of the +old-fashioned fancy about fairies mingled with the 'modern improvements' +to incite and stimulate the youthful imagination to healthful action. +The pictures by Walter Crane are, of course, not only well executed in +themselves, but in charming consonance with the spirit of the +tale."—<i>Troy Times.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Christmas-Tree Land</i>, by Mrs. Molesworth, is a book to make younger +readers open their eyes wide with delight. A little boy and a little +girl domiciled in a great white castle, wander on their holidays through +the surrounding fir-forests, and meet with the most delightful +pleasures. There is a fascinating, mysterious character in their +adventures and enough of the fairy-like and wonderful to puzzle and +enchant all the little ones."—<i>Boston Home Journal.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>A CHRISTMAS POSY.</h3> + +<p>"This is a collection of eight of those inimitable stories for children +which none could write better than Mrs. Molesworth. Her books are prime +favorites with children of all ages and they are as good and wholesome +as they are interesting and popular. This makes a very handsome book, +and its illustrations are excellent."—<i>Christian at Work.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>A Christmas Posy</i> is one of those charming stories for girls which Mrs +Molesworth excels in writing."—<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></p> + +<p>"Here is a group of bright, wholesome stories, such as are dear to +children, and nicely tuned to the harmonies of Christmas-tide. Mr. Crane +has found good situations for his spirited sketches."—<i>Churchman.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>A Christmas Posy</i>, by Mrs. Molesworth, is lovely and fragrant. Mrs. +Molesworth succeeds by right to the place occupied with so much honor by +the late Mrs. Ewing, as a writer of charming stories for children. The +present volume is a cluster of delightful short stories. Mr. Crane's +illustrations are in harmony with the text."—<i>Christian +Intelligencer.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE.</h3> + +<p>"<i>The Children of the Castle</i>, by Mrs. Molesworth, is another of those +delightful juvenile stories of which this author has written so many. It +is a fascinating little book, with a charming plot, a sweet, pure +atmosphere, and teaches a wholesome moral in the most winning +manner."—<i>B. S. E. Gazette.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth has given a charming story for children.... It is a +wholesome book, one which the little ones will read with +interest."—<i>Living Church.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>The Children of the Castle</i> are delightful creations, actual little +girls, living in an actual castle, but often led by their fancies into a +shadowy fairyland. There is a charming refinement of style and spirit +about the story from beginning to end; an imaginative child will find +endless pleasure in it, and the lesson of gentleness and unselfishness +so artistically managed that it does not seem like a lesson, but only a +part of the story."—<i>Milwaukee Sentinel.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's stories for children are always ingenious, +entertaining, and thoroughly wholesome. Her resources are apparently +inexhaustible, and each new book from her pen seems to surpass its +predecessors in attractiveness. In <i>The Children of the Castle</i> the best +elements of a good story for children are very happily combined."—<i>The +Week.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>FOUR WINDS FARM.</h3> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's books are always delightful, but of all none is more +charming than the volume with which she greets the holidays this season. +<i>Four Winds Farm</i> is one of the most delicate and pleasing books for a +child that has seen the light this many a day. It is full of fancy and +of that instinctive sympathy with childhood which makes this author's +books so attractive and so individual."—<i>Boston Courier.</i></p> + +<p>"Like all the books she has written this one is very charming, and is +worth more in the hands of a child than a score of other stories of a +more sensational character."—<i>Christian at Work.</i></p> + +<p>"Still more delicately fanciful is Mrs. Molesworth's lovely little tale +of the <i>Four Winds Farm</i>. It is neither a dream nor a fairy story, but +concerns the fortune of a real little boy, named Gratian; yet the dream +and the fairy tale seem to enter into his life, and make part of it. The +farm-house in which the child lives is set exactly at the meeting-place +of the four winds, and they, from the moment of his birth, have acted as +his self-elected godmothers.... All the winds love the boy, and, held in +the balance of their influence, he grows up as a boy should, simply and +truly, with a tender heart and firm mind. The idea of this little book +is essentially poetical."—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + +<p>"This book is for the children. We grudge it to them. There are few +children in this generation good enough for such a gift. Mrs. Molesworth +is the only woman now who can write such a book.... The delicate welding +of the farm life about the child and the spiritual life within him, and +the realization of the four immortals into a delightful sort of +half-femininity shows a finer literary quality than anything we have +seen for a long time. The light that never was on sea or land is in this +little red and gold volume."—<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>NURSE HEATHERDALE'S STORY.</h3> + +<p>"<i>Nurse Heatherdale's Story</i> is all about a small boy, who was good +enough, yet was always getting into some trouble through complications +in which he was not to blame. The same sort of things happens to men and +women. He is an orphan, though he is cared for in a way by relations, +who are not so very rich, yet are looked on as well fixed. After many +youthful trials and disappointments he falls into a big stroke of good +luck, which lifts him and goes to make others happy. Those who want a +child's book will find nothing to harm and something to interest in this +simple story."—<i>Commercial Advertiser.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>"US."</h3> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's <i>Us, an Old-Fashioned Story</i>, is very charming. A +dear little six-year-old 'bruvver' and sister constitute the 'us,' whose +adventures with gypsies form the theme of the story. Mrs. Molesworth's +style is graceful, and she pictures the little ones with brightness and +tenderness."—<i>Evening Post.</i></p> + +<p>"A pretty and wholesome story."—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Us, an Old-Fashioned Story</i>, is a sweet and quaint story of two little +children who lived long ago, in an old-fashioned way, with their +grandparents. The story is delightfully told."—<i>Philadelphia News.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Us</i> is one of Mrs. Molesworth's charming little stories for young +children. The narrative ... is full of interest for its real grace and +delicacy, and the exquisiteness and purity of the English in which it is +written."—<i>Boston Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's last story, <i>Us</i>, will please the readers of that +lady's works by its pleasant domestic atmosphere and healthful moral +tone. The narrative moves forward with sufficient interest to hold the +reader's attention; and there are useful lessons for young people to be +drawn from it."—<i>Independent.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's story ... is very simple, refined, bright, and full +of the real flavor of childhood."—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>THE RECTORY CHILDREN.</h3> + +<p>"It is a book written for children in just the way that is best adapted +to please them."—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> + +<p>"In <i>The Rectory Children</i> Mrs. Molesworth has written one of those +delightful volumes which we always look for at Christmas +time."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<p>"A delightful Christmas book for children; a racy, charming home story, +full of good impulses and bright suggestions."—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p>"Quiet, sunny, interesting, and thoroughly winning and +wholesome."—<i>Boston Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"There is no writer of children's books more worthy of their admiration +and love than Mrs. Molesworth. Her bright and sweet invention is so +truthful, her characters so faithfully drawn, and the teaching of her +stories so tender and noble, that while they please and charm they +insensibly distil into the youthful mind the most valuable lessons. In +<i>The Rectory Children</i> we have a fresh, bright story, that will be sure +to please all her young admirers."—<i>Christian at Work.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>The Rectory Children</i>, by Mrs. Molesworth, is a very pretty story of +English life. Mrs. Molesworth is one of the most popular and charming of +English story-writers for children. Her child characters are true to +life, always natural and attractive, and her stories are wholesome and +interesting."—<i>Indianapolis Journal.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>ROSY.</h3> + +<p>"<i>Rosy</i>, like all the rest of her stories, is bright and pure and +utterly free from cant,—a book that children will read with pleasure +and lasting profit."—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p>"There is no one who has a genius better adapted for entertaining +children than Mrs. Molesworth, and her latest story, <i>Rosy</i>, is one of +her best. It is illustrated with eight woodcuts from designs by Walter +Crane."—<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></p> + +<p>"An English story for children of the every-day life of a bright little +girl, which will please those who like 'natural' books."—<i>New York +World.</i></p> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's clever <i>Rosy</i>, a story showing in a charming way how +one little girl's jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the +best, most suggestive and improving of the Christmas juveniles."—<i>New +York Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>Rosy</i> is an exceedingly graceful and interesting story by Mrs. +Molesworth, one of the best and most popular writers of juvenile +fiction. This little story is full of tenderness, is fragrant in +sentiment, and points with great delicacy and genuine feeling a charming +moral."—<i>Boston Gazette.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>THE GIRLS AND I.</h3> + +<p>"Perhaps the most striking feature of this pleasant story is the natural +manner in which it is written. It is just like the conversation of a +bright boy—consistently like it from beginning to end. It is a boy who +is the hero of the tale, and he tells the adventures of himself and +those nearest him. He is, by the way, in many respects an example for +most young persons. It is a story characterized by sweetness and +purity—a desirable one to put into the hands of youthful +readers."—<i>Gettysburg Monthly.</i></p> + +<p>"Jack himself tells the story of <i>The Girls and I</i>, assisted of course +by Mrs. Molesworth, whose name will recall to the juveniles pleasant +memories of interesting reading, full of just the things that children +want to know, and of that which will excite their ready sympathies. +Jack, while telling the story of the girls, takes the readers into his +own confidence, and we like the little fellow rather better than the +girls. The interest is maintained by the story of a lost jewel, the +ultimate finding of which, in the most unexpected place, closes the +story in a very pleasant manner. Jack, otherwise Mrs. Molesworth, tells +the tale in a lively style, and the book will attract attention."—<i>The +Globe.</i></p> + +<p>"A delightful and purposeful story which no one can read without being +benefited."—<i>New York Observer.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h3>MARY.</h3> + +<p>"Mrs. Molesworth's reputation as a writer of story-books is so well +established that any new book of hers scarce needs a word of +introduction."—<i>Home Journal.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h4>MACMILLAN & CO.,</h4> + +<h4>66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.</h4> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>MACMILLAN & CO.'S</h2> + +<h2><i>CATALOGUE</i></h2> + +<h3>OF</h3> + +<h2>BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG.</h2> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p><i>Messrs. MACMILLAN & CO. are the agents in the United States for the +publications of the Oxford and Cambridge University Presses, and for +Messrs. George Bell & Sons, London. Complete catalogues of all books +sold by them will be sent, free by mail, to any address on application.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p><b>ADVENTURE SERIES, THE.</b> Large 12mo. Fully Illustrated. $1.50 each volume.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Adventures of a Younger Son.</b> By <span class="smcap">John Edward Trelawny</span>. With an +Introduction by <span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Madagascar; or, Robert Drury's Journal</b> During Fifteen Years' +Captivity on that Island, and a Further Description of Madagascar +by the Abbé <span class="smcap">Alexis Rochon</span>. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, +by Captain <span class="smcap">S. Pasfield Oliver</span>, F.S.A., author of "Madagascar."</p> + +<p><b>Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp</b>, Late +Lieutenant in His Majesty's 87th Regiment. Written by Himself. With +an Introduction by Major <span class="smcap">H. M. Chichester</span>.</p> + +<p><b>The Adventures of Thomas Pellow</b>, of Penryn, Mariner, Twenty-three +Years in Captivity among the Moors. Written by Himself; and Edited, +with an Introduction and Notes, by Dr. <span class="smcap">Robert Brown</span>. Illustrated +from Contemporaneous Prints.</p> + +<p><b>The Buccaneers and Marooners of America.</b> Being an Account of the +Famous Adventures and Daring Deeds of Certain Notorious Freebooters +of the Spanish Main. Edited and Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Howard Pyle</span>.</p> + +<p><b>The Log of a Jack Tar; or, The Life of James Choyce, Master +Mariner.</b> Now first published, with O'Brien's Captivity in France. +Edited by Commander <span class="smcap">V. Lovett Cameron</span>, R.N., C.B., D.C.L. With +Introduction and Notes.</p> + +<p><b>The Story of the Filibusters.</b> By <span class="smcap">James Jeffrey Roche</span>. To which is +added "The Life of Colonel David Crockett." With Illustrations.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Roche has faithfully compared and sifted the statements of +those who took part in the various expeditions, and he has also +made effectual use of periodicals and official documents. The +result is what may safely be regarded as the first complete and +authentic account of the deeds of the modern Vikings, who continue +to be wonderfully romantic figures even after the gaudy trappings +of myth, prejudice, and fiction have been stripped away."—<i>Boston +Beacon.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Voyages and Adventures of Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, the +Portuguese.</b> Done into English by <span class="smcap">Henry Cogan</span>, with an Introduction +by <span class="smcap">Arminius Vambéry</span>.</p> + +<p>"It is decidedly reading of the most attractive kind, brimful of +adventure piquantly related, and of rare interest in its recital of +the experienced of the author, who 'five times suffered shipwreck, +was sixteen times sold, and thirteen times made a slave.'"—<i>Boston +Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p> + +<p><b>A Master Mariner.</b> Being the Life and Adventures of Captain Robert +William Eastwick. Edited by <span class="smcap">Herbert Compton</span>. With Illustrations.</p> + +<p><b>Hard Life in the Colonies, and Other Adventures by Sea and Land.</b> +Now first printed. Compiled from Private Letters by <span class="smcap">C. Caslyon +Jenkyns</span>. With Illustrations. Large 12mo. $1.50.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>ĈSOP'S FABLES.</b> Illustrated. 50 cents.</p> + +<p><b>ANDERSEN</b> (<span class="smcap">Hans Christian</span>). <b>Fairy Tales and Sketches.</b> Translated by <span class="smcap">C. C. +Peachy</span>, <span class="smcap">H. Ward</span>, <span class="smcap">A. Plesner</span>, etc. With numerous Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Otto +Speckter</span> and others. Seventh thousand. Handsomely bound. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"The translation most happily hits the delicate quaintness of +Andersen—most happily transposes into simple English words the +tender precision of the famous story-teller; in a keen examination +of the book we scarcely recall a single phrase or turn that +obviously could have been bettered."—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p><b>Tales for Children.</b> With 48 Full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Wehnert</span>, and +57 small Engravings on wood by <span class="smcap">W. Thomas</span>. Thirteenth thousand. +Handsomely bound. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p>This volume contains several tales that are in no other edition +published in this country, and with the preceding volume it forms +the most complete English edition.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>ARIOSTO. Paladin and Saracen.</b> Stories from Ariosto. By <span class="smcap">W. C. +Hollway-Calthrop</span>. With Illustrations. $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>ATKINSON. The Last of the Giant Killers.</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. C. Atkinson</span>, +author of "A Moorland Parish." <i>Shortly.</i></p> + +<p><b>AWDRY (F.). The Story of a Fellow Soldier.</b> A Life of Bishop Patteson for +the Young. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>BAKER. Wild Beasts and Their Ways.</b> Reminiscences in Asia, Africa, and +America. By Sir <span class="smcap">Samuel W. Baker</span>, F.R.S., etc., author of "Albert +Nyanza," etc. With numerous Illustrations. Large 12mo. Cloth extra. +Gilt. $3.50.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"A book which is destined not only to serve as a chart and compass +for every hunter of big game, but which is likewise a valuable +study of natural history, placed before the public in a practical +and interesting form."—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>BEESLY</b> (Mrs.). <b>Stories from the History of Rome.</b> 16mo. 60 cents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Of all the stories we remember from history none have struck us as +so genuinely good—with the right ring—as those of Mrs. +Beesly."—<i>Educational Times.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>BERTZ</b> (E.). <b>The French Prisoners:</b> A Story for Boys. $1.25.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Written throughout in a wise and gentle spirit, and omits no +opportunity to deprecate war as a barbaric survival, wholly +unnecessary in a civilized age."—<i>Independent.</i></p> + +<p>"The story is an extremely interesting one, full of incident, told +in a quiet, healthful way, and with a great deal of pleasantly +interfused information about German and French boys."—<i>Christian +Union.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>BUNCE</b> (J. T.). <b>Fairy Tales: Their Origin and Meaning.</b> 16mo. 75 cents.</p> + +<p><b>CARPENTER. Truth in Tale.</b> Addresses Chiefly to Children. By <span class="smcap">W. Boyd +Carpenter</span>, D.D., Bishop of Ripon. $1.00.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"These ingenious and interesting tales by Bishop Carpenter are full +of poetic beauty and of religious truth.... We would like to see a +copy in every Sunday-school library."—<i>Sunday School Banner.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>CARROLL.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by Lewis Carroll.</span></p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.</b> With 42 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Tenniel</span>. +12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>A German Translation. 12mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p>A French Translation. 12mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p>An Italian Translation. 12mo. $2.00.</p> + +<p>"An excellent piece of nonsense."—<i>Times.</i></p> + +<p>"That most delightful of children's stories."—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<p>"Elegant and delicious nonsense."—<i>Guardian.</i></p> + +<p><b>Through the Looking-glass and What Alice Found There.</b> 50 +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Tenniel</span>. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>"Will fairly rank with the tale of her previous +experience."—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>"Many of Mr. Tenniel's designs are masterpieces of wise +absurdity."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<p>"Whether as regarding author or illustrator, this book is a jewel +rarely to be found nowadays."—<i>Echo.</i></p> + +<p><b>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.</b> In +1 vol. With <span class="smcap">Tenniel</span>'s Illustrations. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Rhyme? and Reason?</b> With 65 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Arthur B. Frost</span>, and +nine by <span class="smcap">Henry Holiday</span>. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p>This book is a reprint, with additions, of the comic portions of +"Phantasmagoria, and other Poems," and of the "Hunting of the +Snark."</p> + +<p><b>A Tangled Tale.</b> Reprinted from the "Monthly Packet." With +Illustrations. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>Alice's Adventures under Ground.</b> Being a Fac-simile of the original +MS. Book afterward developed into "Alice's Adventures in +Wonderland." With 37 Illustrations. 12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p><b>The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits.</b> By <span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll</span>. +With nine Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Henry Holiday</span>. New Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Sylvie and Bruno.</b> With 46 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Harry Furniss</span>. 12mo. +$1.50.</p> + +<p>"Alice was a delightful little girl, but hardly more pleasing than +are the hero and heroine of this latest book from a writer in whose +nonsense there is far more sense than in the serious works of many +contemporary authors."—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Mr. Furniss's illustrations, which are numerous, are at once +graceful and full of humor. We pay him a high compliment when we +say he proves himself a worthy successor to Mr. Tenniel in +illustrating Mr. Lewis Carroll's books."—<i>St. James Gazette.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Nursery "Alice."</b> Containing 20 coloured enlargements from +<span class="smcap">Tenniel</span>'s Illustrations to "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," with +Text adapted to Nursery Readers, by <span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll</span>. 4to. $1.50.</p> + +<p>"Let the little people rejoice! the most charming book in the world +has appeared for them. 'The Nursery Alice,' with its wealth of +colored illustrations from Tenniel's Pictures, is certainly the +most artistic juvenile that has been seen for many and many a +day."—<i>Boston Budget.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>CHURCH.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by the Rev. A. J. Church</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Story of the Iliad.</b> With Coloured Illustrations. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Story of the Odyssey.</b> With Coloured Illustrations. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Stories from the Bible.</b> With Illustrations after <span class="smcap">Julius Schnorr</span>. +12mo. $1.50.</p> + +<p>"Of all the books of this kind, this is the best we have +seen."—<i>Examiner.</i></p> + +<p>"The book will be of infinite value to the student or teacher of +the Scriptures, and the stories are well arranged for interesting +reading for children."—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p><b>Stories from Bible.</b> Illustrated. Second Series. <i>Shortly.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Greek Gulliver.</b> Stories from Lucian. With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">C. O. +Murray</span>. New edition. 16mo. Paper. 40 cents.</p> + +<p>"A curious example of ancient humor."—<i>Chicago Standard.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Burning of Rome.</b> A Story of the Times of Nero. With +Illustrations. 12mo. $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>CLIFFORD</b> (Mrs. W. K.). <b>Anyhow Stories, Moral and Otherwise.</b> With +Illustrations. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>CRAIK.</b> Works by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Craik</span>, author of "John Halifax, Gentleman."</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Sermons out of Church.</b> New Edition. 12mo. $1.75.</p> + +<p><b>Children's Poetry.</b> Globe 8vo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Little Lame Prince and His Travelling Cloak.</b> A Parable for +Young and Old. With Illustrations. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>Little Sunshine's Holiday.</b> Globe 8vo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Adventures of a Brownie.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Alice Learmont.</b> A Fairy Tale. With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Our Year: a Child's Book.</b> Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Fairy Book.</b> The Best Popular Fairy Stories. Selected and +rendered anew. <i>Golden Treasury Series.</i> 18mo. $1.25.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>DEFOE. The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.</b> Edited from the Original +Edition by <span class="smcap">Henry Kingsley</span>. <i>Globe Edition.</i> $1.25.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>Golden Treasury Series.</i> 18mo. $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>DE MORGAN. The Necklace of Princess Florimonde, and other Stories.</b> By +<span class="smcap">Mary de Morgan</span>. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>. New and cheaper Edition, +cloth extra. $1.25.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"The stories display considerable originality, and Mr. Walter +Crane's characteristic illustrations combine with Miss De Morgan's +pretty fancies in forming a charming gift-book."—<i>Graphic.</i></p> + +<p>"A real gem."—<i>Punch.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>ENGLISH MEN OF ACTION SERIES.</b> 12mo. Cloth, limp, 60 cents; cloth, uncut +edges, 75 cents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"An admirable set of brief biographies.... The volumes are small, +attractive, and inexpensive."—<i>Dial.</i></p> + +<p>"The 'English Men of Action' promises to be a notable series of +short biographies. The subjects are well chosen, and the authors +almost as well."—<i>Epoch.</i></p> + +<p><b>Gordon.</b> By Col. Sir <span class="smcap">W. Butler</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Henry the Fifth.</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">A. J. Church</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Livingstone.</b> By <span class="smcap">Thomas Hughes</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Lord Lawrence.</b> By Sir <span class="smcap">R. Temple</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Wellington.</b> By <span class="smcap">George Hooper</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Dampier.</b> By <span class="smcap">W. Clark Russell</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Monk.</b> By <span class="smcap">Julian Corbett</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Strafford.</b> By <span class="smcap">H. D. Traill</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Warren Hastings.</b> By Sir <span class="smcap">Alfred Lyall</span>, K.C.B.</p> + +<p><b>Peterborough.</b> By <span class="smcap">William Stebbing</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Captain Cook.</b> By <span class="smcap">Walter Besant</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Havelock.</b> By <span class="smcap">Archibald Forbes</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Clive.</b> By Col. Sir <span class="smcap">Charles Wilson</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Drake.</b> By <span class="smcap">Julian Corbett</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Warwick, the King Maker.</b> By <span class="smcap">C. W. Oman</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Napier.</b> By Col. Sir <span class="smcap">William Butler</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Rodney.</b> By <span class="smcap">D. G. Hannay</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Montrose.</b> By <span class="smcap">Mowbray Morris</span>. <i>Shortly.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>EWING</b> (J. H.). <b>We and the World.</b> A Story for Boys. By the late <span class="smcap">Juliana +Horatio Ewing</span>. With seven Illustrations by W. L. Jones, and a Pictorial +Design on the Cover. 4th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<blockquote><p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"A very good book it is, full of adventure graphically told. The +style is just what it should be; simple but not bold, full of +pleasant humor, and with some pretty touches of feeling. Like all +Mrs. Ewing's tales, it is sound, sensible, and +wholesome."—<i>Times.</i></p> + +<p><b>A Flat Iron for a Farthing;</b> or, Some Passages in the Life of an +Only Son. With 12 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">H. Allingham</span>, and Pictorial +Design on the Cover. 16th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"Let every parent and guardian who wishes to be amused, and at the +same time to please a child, purchase 'A Flat Iron for a Farthing; +or, Some Passages in the Life of an Only Son,' by J. H. Ewing. We +will answer for the delight with which they will read it +themselves, and we do not doubt that the young and fortunate +recipients will also like it. The story is quaint, original, and +altogether delightful."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<p><b>Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances.</b> Illustrated with nine fine +full-page Engravings by <span class="smcap">Pasquier</span>, and Frontispiece by <span class="smcap">Wolf</span>, and +Pictorial Design on the Cover. 4th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"It is not often nowadays the privilege of a critic to grow +enthusiastic over a new work; and the rarity of the occasion that +calls forth the delight is apt to lead one into the sin of +hyperbole. And yet we think we shall not be accused of extravagance +when we say that, without exception, 'Mrs. Overtheway's +Remembrances' is the most delightful work avowedly written for +children that we have ever read."—<i>Leader.</i></p> + +<p><b>Six to Sixteen.</b> A Story for Girls. With 10 Illustrations by Mrs. +<span class="smcap">Allingham</span>. 7th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"It is scarcely necessary to say that Mrs. Ewing's book is one of +the best of the year."—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<p><b>A Great Emergency.</b> (A very Ill-Tempered Family; Our Field; Madame +Liberality.) With four Illustrations. 3d Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"Never has Mrs. Ewing published a more charming volume of stories, +and that is saying a very great deal. From the first to the last +the book overflows with the strange knowledge of child-nature which +so rarely survives childhood; and, moreover, with inexhaustible +quiet humor, which is never anything but innocent and well-bred, +never priggish, and never clumsy."—<i>Academy.</i></p> + +<p><b>Jan of the Windmill.</b> A Story of the Plains. With 11 Illustrations +by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Allingham</span> and design on the cover. 5th Edition. 12mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"The life and its surroundings, the incidents of Jan's childhood, +are described with Mrs. Ewing's accustomed skill; the village +schoolmaster, the miller's wife, and the other children, are +extremely well done."</p> + +<p><b>Melchior's Dream.</b> (The Blackbird's Nest; Friedrich's Ballad; A Bit +of Green; Monsieur the Viscount's Friend; The Yew Lane Ghosts; A +Bad Habit; A Happy Family.) With eight Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gordon +Browne</span>. 6th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper wrapper, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"'Melchior's Dream' is an exquisite little story, charming by +original humor, buoyant spirits, and tender pathos."—<i>Athenĉum.</i></p> + +<p><b>Lob-lie-by-the-fire; or, the Luck of Lingborough, and Other Tales.</b> +With three Illustrations by <span class="smcap">George Cruikshank</span>. 4th Edition. 16mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Ewing has written as good a story as her 'Brownies,' and that +is saying a great deal. 'Lob-lie-by-the-fire' has humor and pathos, +and teaches what is right without making children think they are +reading a sermon."—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Brownies.</b> (The Land of Lost Toys; Three Christmas Trees; An +Idyl of the Wood; Christmas Crackers; Amelia and the Dwarfs; +Timothy's Shoes; Benjy in Beastland.) Illustrated by <span class="smcap">George +Cruikshank</span>. 7th Edition. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Illustrated Edition. Fcap. 4to. In paper wrapper, 35 cents.</p> + +<p>"If a child once begins 'The Brownies,' it will get so deeply +interested in it that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget +the moral, and will weary its parents with importunities for just a +few minutes more to see how everything ends."—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>FREILIGRATH-KROEKER. Alice,</b> and other Fairy Plays for Children, +including a Dramatised Version (under sanction) of Lewis Carroll's +"Alice in Wonderland," and three other Plays. By Mrs. +<span class="smcap">Freiligrath-Kroeker</span>, with eight original full-page Plates. Cloth, extra +gilt. Gilt edges. 2d Edition. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"They have stood a practical ordeal, and stood it +triumphantly."—<i>Times.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>GASKOIN</b> (Mrs. H.). <b>Children's Treasury of Bible Stories.</b> Edited by the +Rev. <span class="smcap">G. F. Maclear</span>, D.D. 18mo. Each, 30 cents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>Part I. Old Testament. II. New Testament. III. Three Apostles: St. +James, St. Paul, St. John.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>GATTY</b> (Mrs.). <b>Parables from Nature.</b> With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Burne-Jones</span>, +<span class="smcap">Holman Hunt</span>, <span class="smcap">Tenniel</span>, <span class="smcap">Wolf</span>, and others. Two Series. Each, 35 cents.</p> + +<p><b>GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES.</b> Uniformly printed in 18mo, with Vignette Titles +by <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>, Sir <span class="smcap">Noel Paton</span>, <span class="smcap">T. Woolner</span>, <span class="smcap">W. Holman Hunt</span>, <span class="smcap">Arthur +Hughes</span>, etc. Engraved on Steel. 18mo. Cloth. Each, $1.00.</p> + +<blockquote><p>Also bound in half morocco, $2.50.</p> + +<p>Half calf, $2.50. Padded calf, $3.00.</p> + +<p>Or beautifully bound in full morocco, padded, solid gilt edges, in +boxes, $2.50.</p> + +<p><b>The Children's Garland from the Best Poets.</b> Selected and arranged +by <span class="smcap">Coventry Patmore</span>, with a Vignette by <span class="smcap">T. Woolner</span>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Patmore deserves our gratitude for having searched through the +wide field of English Poetry for these flowers which youth and age +can equally enjoy, and woven them into 'The Children's +Garland.'"—<i>London Review.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Pilgrim's Progress, from this World to that which is to come.</b> +By <span class="smcap">John Bunyan</span>, with a Vignette by <span class="smcap">W. Holman Hunt.</span></p> + +<p>"A beautiful and scholarly reprint."—<i>Spectator.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Fairy Book.</b> The best popular Fairy Tales. Selected and rendered +anew by the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman," with a Vignette by +Sir <span class="smcap">Noel Paton</span>.</p> + +<p>"Miss Mulock has the true instinct into the secret of a perfect +Fairy Tale ... delightful selection in a delightful external +form."—<i>Spectator.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.</b> Edited by <span class="smcap">J. W. Clark</span>, M.A., +with a Vignette by Sir <span class="smcap">J. E. Millais</span>.</p> + +<p>"This cheap and pretty copy, rigidly exact to the original, will be +a prize to many book buyers."—<i>Examiner.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Sunday Book of Poetry for the Young.</b> Selected and arranged by +<span class="smcap">C. F. Alexander</span>.</p> + +<p><b>A Book of Golden Deeds</b> of All Times and All Countries. Gathered and +Narrated Anew. By the Author of "The Heir of Redclyffe."</p> + +<p><b>Children's Treasury of English Song.</b> Edited by <span class="smcap">F. T. Palgrave</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Tom Brown's School Days.</b> By an <span class="smcap">Old Boy</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare.</b> Edited by the Rev. <span class="smcap">A. Ainger</span>.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>GOLDSMITH. The Vicar of Wakefield.</b> By <span class="smcap">Oliver Goldsmith</span>. With 182 +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>, and a Preface by <span class="smcap">Austin Dobson</span>. Uniform +with the Randolph Caldecott Edition of Washington Irving's "Bracebridge +Hall" and "Old Christmas." 12mo. Cloth extra. $2.00.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Mr. Thomson hits the exact line of humor which lies in Goldsmith's +creations. His work is refined, much of it graceful and dignified, +but the humor of the situation never escapes him. The work is +English line work, very beautiful, delicate, and effective, with a +very perceptible touch of old-time quality, life, and costume in +it. The volume itself is such as lovers of good books delight to +hold in their hands."—<i>Independent.</i></p> + +<p>"A more bewitching bit of book work has not reached us for many a +day."—<i>New York Tribune.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>GREENWOOD. The Moon Maiden, and Other Stories.</b> By <span class="smcap">Jessy E. Greenwood</span>. +12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"A collection of brightly written and distinctly original stories +in which fairy lore and moral allegory are deftly and pleasantly +mingled."—<i>Christian Union.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>GRIMM'S Fairy Tales.</b> The Household Stories. Translated by <span class="smcap">Lucy Crane</span>, +and done into pictures by <span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>HALLWARD</b> (R. F.). <b>Flowers of Paradise.</b> +Music—Verse—Design—Illustration. Printed in colors by Edmund Evans. +Royal 4to. $2.00.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"To our mind one of the prettiest—if not the prettiest—of this +year's picture books. The pages are very Blake-like in effect, the +drawings harmoniously blending with the music and words, and some +of the larger pictures are quite beautiful in thought and feeling +as well as in coloring. We ought soon to hear of Mr. Hallward +again; he shows much promise."—<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>HUGHES.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by Thomas Hughes</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Tom Brown's School Days.</b> New Illustrated Edition. 12mo. Cloth. +Gilt. $1.00 Pocket Edition, 50 cents. English Edition, $1.25.</p> + +<p>"The most famous boy's book in the language."—<i>Daily News.</i></p> + +<p><i>Golden Treasury Edition.</i> 18mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p>Cheap Edition. With 58 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Arthur Hughes</span> and <span class="smcap">S. P. +Hall</span>. 8vo. Paper. 25 cents.</p> + +<p><b>Tom Brown at Oxford.</b> New Illustrated Edition. 12mo. Cloth. Gilt. +$1.50. English Edition. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p>"In no other work that we can call to mind are the finer qualities +of the English gentleman more happily portrayed."—<i>Daily News.</i></p> + +<p>"A book of great power and truth."—<i>National Review.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>HULLAH</b> (M. A.). <b>Hannah Tarne.</b> A Story for Girls. With Illustrations. +16mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>KEARY.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by A. and E. Keary</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>The Heroes of Asgard.</b> Tales from Scandinavian Mythology. +Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Magic Valley; or, Patient Antoine.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. +$1.25.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>KINGSLEY.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by Charles Kingsley</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Madam How and Lady Why: First Lessons in Earth Lore for Children.</b> +$1.00.</p> + +<p>English Edition, $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>The Heroes; or, Greek Fairy Tales for My Children.</b> With +Illustrations. $1.00.</p> + +<p>English Edition. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p>"This lovely version of three of the most famous folk stories of +the old Greeks."—<i>Mail and Express.</i></p> + +<p>"Ought to be in the hands of every child in the +country."—<i>Christian Union.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby.</b> Illustrated. 12mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<p>English Edition. 12mo. $1.25.</p> + +<p>"They have included the admirable series of 100 illustrations by +Mr. Linley Sambourne, which have hitherto only been procurable in +the somewhat expensive Christmas edition of 1885. It is pleasing to +think that Sir Richard Owen and Mr. Huxley both survive to occupy +the same position in the world of science, which the author +assigned to them more than a quarter of a century ago. The artist's +portrait of the two professors on page 69 is a +masterpiece."—<i>Academy.</i></p> + +<p>"They are simply inimitable, and will delight boys and girls of +mature age, as well as their juniors. No happier combination of +author and artist than this volume presents could be found to +furnish healthy amusement to the young folks. The book is an +artistic one in every sense."—<i>Toronto Mail.</i></p> + +<p><b>Glaucus; or, The Wonders of the Seashore.</b> With Coloured +Illustrations. $2.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>LAMB. Tales from Shakespeare.</b> Edited, with Preface, by the Rev. <span class="smcap">A. +Ainger</span>, M.A. <i>Golden Treasury Series.</i> 18mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>MACMILLAN. The Gate Beautiful.</b> Bible Teachings for the Young. By the +Rev. <span class="smcap">Hugh Macmillan</span>, author of "Bible Teachings from Nature." <i>Shortly.</i></p> + +<p><b>MADAME TABBY'S ESTABLISHMENT.</b> By <span class="smcap">Kari</span>. Illustrated. $1.25.</p> + +<p><b>MARRYAT'S</b> (Captain) <b>BOOKS FOR BOYS.</b> Uniformly bound in blue cloth. 8 +vols. Large. 16mo. $1.00 each.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Masterman Ready; or, The Wreck of the Pacific.</b> With 93 Engravings +on Wood. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Poor Jack.</b> With 16 Illustrations. 22d Edition. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Mission; or, Scenes in Africa.</b> With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">John +Gilbert</span>. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Settlers in Canada.</b> With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gilbert</span> and <span class="smcap">Dalziel</span>. +$1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Privateersman.</b> Adventures by Sea and Land in Civil and Savage +Life, One Hundred Years Ago. With eight Engravings. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>The Pirate, and the Three Cutters.</b> Illustrated with eight +Engravings. With a Memoir of the Author. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Peter Simple.</b> With eight Full-page Illustrations. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Midshipman Easy.</b> With eight Illustrations. $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>MARSHALL. Winifrede's Journal.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Emma Marshall</span>, author of "Life's +Aftermath," "Mrs. Willoughby's Octave," etc. With Illustrations. 12mo. +<i>Shortly.</i></p> + +<p><b>MOLESWORTH.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by Mrs. Molesworth (Ennis Graham</span>). With Illustrations +by <span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>. 16mo. Uniformly bound. $1.00 each volume.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Herr Baby.</b></p> + +<p><b>Grandmother Dear.</b></p> + +<p><b>Tell Me a Story.</b></p> + +<p><b>The Cuckoo Clock.</b></p> + +<p><b>The Tapestry Room. A Child's Romance.</b></p> + +<p><b>A Christmas Child: A Sketch of a Boy-Life.</b></p> + +<p><b>Rosy.</b></p> + +<p><b>Two Little Waifs.</b></p> + +<p><b>Christmas-Tree Land.</b></p> + +<p><b>"Carrots," Just a Little Boy.</b></p> + +<p><b>"Us:" An Old-fashioned Story.</b></p> + +<p><b>Four Winds Farm.</b></p> + +<p><b>Little Miss Peggy. Only a Nursery Story.</b></p> + +<p><b>A Christmas Posy.</b></p> + +<p><b>The Rectory Children.</b></p> + +<p><b>The Children of the Castle.</b></p> + +<p><b>Nurse Heatherdale's Story.</b> With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">L. Leslie Brooke</span>. +$1.25.</p> + +<p>"There is no more acceptable writer for children than Mrs. +Molesworth."—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + +<p>"No English writer of stories for children has a better reputation +than Mrs. Molesworth, and none whose stories we are familiar with +deserves it better."—<i>New York Mail and Express.</i></p> + +<p>"Mistress of the art of writing for children."—<i>Spectator.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>NOEL. Wandering Willie.</b> By Lady <span class="smcap">Augusta Noel</span>. Globe 8vo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>OLIPHANT. Agnes Hopetown's School and Holidays.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Oliphant</span>. With +Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>PATMORE</b> (C.). <b>The Children's Garland from the Best Poets.</b> Selected. +<i>Golden Treasury Series.</i> 18mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>PROCTER</b> (A. A.). <b>Legends and Lyrics.</b> By <span class="smcap">Adelaide Anne Procter</span>. Original +Edition. First Series. With Introduction by <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>. 67th +Thousand. Second Series. 59th Thousand. 2 vols. 75 cents each. Also an +Edition. 4to. 2 Series. 35 cents each.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Legends and Lyrics.</b> New edition in one vol. With new Portrait +etched by <span class="smcap">C. O. Murray</span>, from a painting by E. Gaggiotti Richards. +16th Thousand. Large 12mo. Cloth, gilt edges, $1.00.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>RUNAWAY (THE).</b> By the author of "Mrs. Jerningham's Journal." $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>RUTH and Her Friends.</b> A Story for Girls. With Illustrations. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>St. JOHNSON. Charlie Asgarde.</b> A Tale of Adventure. By <span class="smcap">Alfred St. +Johnson</span>. With Illustrations. $1.50.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Will not prevent boys from reading it with keen interest. The +incidents of savage life are described from the author's personal +experience, and the book is so well written that we may reasonably +hope for something of much higher quality from Mr. Johnson's +pen."—<i>Academy.</i></p> + +<p>"Whoever likes Robinson Crusoe—and who does not like it?—is +pretty sure to like 'Charlie Asgarde.'"—<i>N. Y. Mail and Express.</i></p> + +<p>"The story is spirited and interesting, full of exciting incidents +and situations."—<i>Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p><b>SPENSER. Tales chosen from the Fairie Queene.</b> By <span class="smcap">Sophia H. Maclehose</span>. +$1.25.</p> + +<p><b>STEPHENSON.</b> <span class="smcap">Works by Mrs. J. Stephenson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><b>Nine Years Old.</b> With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>Pansie's Flour Bin.</b> Illustrated. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>When I was a Little Girl.</b> Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00.</p> + +<p><b>When Papa comes Home.</b> The Story of Tip, Tap, Toe. Illustrated. +$1.25.</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>STEWART. The Tale of Troy.</b> Done into English by <span class="smcap">Aubrey Stewart</span>. 16mo. +$1.00.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"We are much pleased with 'The Tale of Troy,' by Aubrey Stewart.... +The Homeric legend is given in strong, simple, melodious English, +which sometimes leaves one in doubt as to the distinction between +poetry and prose.... While the story delights them, it will ennoble +and strengthen their minds, and the form in which it is rendered +will teach them that love, which, for an American, should lie deep +in his heart,—the love of good English."—<i>Independent.</i></p></blockquote> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carved Lions, by Mrs. Molesworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARVED LIONS *** + +***** This file should be named 39549-h.htm or 39549-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/5/4/39549/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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