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+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: ASCII
+
+*** 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
+
+      Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Book Cover]
+
+
+
+
+THE CARVED LIONS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: OUR CONSULTATION TOOK A GOOD WHILE.--p.
+44.--_Frontispiece._]
+
+
+
+
+THE CARVED LIONS
+
+BY
+MRS. MOLESWORTH
+
+ILLUSTRATED BY L. LESLIE BROOKE
+
+[Illustration]
+
+1895
+LONDON MACMILLAN & CO
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1895,
+BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                                    PAGE
+  CHAPTER I.     OLD DAYS                                              1
+  CHAPTER II.    A HAPPY EVENING                                      17
+  CHAPTER III.   COMING EVENTS                                        33
+  CHAPTER IV.    ALL SETTLED                                          48
+  CHAPTER V.     AN UNPROMISING BEGINNING                             63
+  CHAPTER VI.    A NEW WORLD                                          81
+  CHAPTER VII.   GATHERING CLOUDS                                     98
+  CHAPTER VIII.  "NOBODY--_NOBODY_"                                  113
+  CHAPTER IX.    OUT IN THE RAIN                                     131
+  CHAPTER X.     TAKING REFUGE                                       148
+  CHAPTER XI.    KIND FRIENDS                                        163
+  CHAPTER XII.   GOOD NEWS                                           182
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+  OUR CONSULTATION TOOK A GOOD WHILE                      _Frontispiece_
+  "GOOD-BYE!"                                          _To face page_ 71
+  "LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT CONTRADICT, AND MUST NOT BE RUDE"            82
+  "MY POOR LITTLE GIRL, WHAT _IS_ THE MATTER?"                       108
+  I CREPT DOWNSTAIRS, PAST ONE SCHOOLROOM WITH ITS CLOSED DOOR       141
+  THE BROTHER LIONS ROSE INTO THE AIR                                154
+  MYRA CAME FORWARD GENTLY, HER SWEET FACE LOOKING RATHER GRAVE      174
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+OLD DAYS.
+
+
+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 _real_-ly, that I
+can scarcely believe myself to be as old as I am.
+
+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 like each other in their hearts and minds, even
+though their lives may seem very different and very far apart.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But what matters most to children is not _where_ their home is, but
+_what_ 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 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.
+
+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--_was_ 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+I did not then understand what he meant, but I have never forgotten the
+words.
+
+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 _nice_ 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, or going a walk with her in the afternoon and buying
+whatever we liked for our own tea at the confectioner's.
+
+Very simple treats--but then we were very simple children, as I have
+said already.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _did_ 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.
+
+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 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."
+
+Haddie liked them too--his great wish was to climb on one of their backs
+and play at going a ride.
+
+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.
+
+So, for one reason or another, both Haddie and I were always very
+pleased when mamma had to look in at Cranston's.
+
+This happened oftener than might have been expected, considering that
+our house was small, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"I hope it will not rain," she added, "though it does look rather
+threatening. But perhaps it will hold off till evening."
+
+"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?"
+
+For it was Wednesday--one of his half-holidays.
+
+"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."
+
+She smiled a little as she said this. Our love for the carved lions
+amused her.
+
+"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?"
+
+Mamma smiled again.
+
+"That will be two treats instead of one," she said, "but I daresay I can
+afford two or three pence."
+
+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
+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 _thee_," but neither Haddie nor I had courage for that!
+
+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.
+
+"If only it does not rain," said mamma at luncheon.
+
+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.
+
+"I don't mind if it does rain," said Haddie, "because of my new
+mackintosh."
+
+Haddie was very proud of his mackintosh, which 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.
+
+"And Geraldine doesn't mind because of her new umbrella," said mamma.
+"So we are proof against the weather, whatever happens."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Mamma had several messages to do, and at some 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"No," said mamma, "he is a very kind man. Perhaps he has got Haddies and
+Geraldines of his own, and knows what they like."
+
+"And now are we going to Cranston's?" asked my brother.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+A HAPPY EVENING.
+
+
+Haddie and I were not at all sorry to hear that mamma's call at
+Cranston's was not to be a hurried one.
+
+"We don't mind if you are ever so long," I said; "do we, Haddie?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+I remember wondering what she meant. How could a lion turn into an
+elephant? But I was 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+To keep him quiet I began talking to him about 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Yes," he said, "their faces do seem to change. But I think they always
+look kind."
+
+"They do to _us_," I said confidently, "but sometimes they are quite
+fierce. I don't think they 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."
+
+"I wonder if he'd frown if I got up on his back," said Haddie.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, tell me stories of all they do then," said Haddie
+condescendingly.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"She told me one about a china parrot, a most beautiful green and gold
+parrot, that was really a fairy," I said. "I think I could turn it into
+a lion story, if I thought about it."
+
+"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."
+
+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,
+
+"Haddie, my boy, Geraldine, I am quite ready."
+
+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 _so_ clever about it
+herself, both in making stories and in remembering those she had read,
+and she _had_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+"My children are great admirers of your lions, Mr. Cranston," mamma
+said; and the old man smiled.
+
+"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."
+
+Haddie looked triumphant.
+
+"There now you see, Sis," he whispered, nudging me.
+
+But I did not answer him, for I was listening to what mamma was saying.
+
+"Oh, by the bye, Mr. Cranston," she went on, "I was forgetting to ask
+how your little grandchild is. Have you seen her lately?"
+
+Old Cranston's face brightened.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"_Nine_, madam, getting on for ten indeed," said Mr. Cranston with
+pride.
+
+"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----"
+
+Mamma stopped and hesitated.
+
+"Just after her poor mother died--yes, madam," said the old man quietly.
+
+And then we left, Mr. Cranston respectfully holding the door open.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+My feelings were divided between pride in my umbrella and some
+reluctance to have it wet! I 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 _her_ 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.
+
+"We may stop at Miss Fryer's, mayn't we, mamma?" said Haddie.
+
+"Well, yes, I suppose I promised you something for tea," mamma replied.
+
+"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."
+
+"Haddie," I said reproachfully, "as if we wouldn't give mamma something
+however little we had!"
+
+"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."
+
+His way of speaking made mamma laugh again.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh no, please mamma, dear," I said, "I like so to choose too."
+
+Half the pleasure of the sixpence would have been gone if Haddie and I
+had not spent it together.
+
+"Then I will go on," said mamma, "and you two can come after me
+together."
+
+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.
+
+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
+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 _seven_, 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 _Bath_ 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 _specialite_ 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.
+
+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 and
+drew out two cheese-cakes, which she proceeded to put into another paper
+bag.
+
+Haddie and I looked at each other. This was a lovely present. What a tea
+we should have!
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+"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."
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Wasn't it kind of Miss Fryer, mamma?" I said.
+
+"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."
+
+Somehow her words brought back to my mind what old Mr. Cranston had said
+about his little grand-daughter.
+
+"I suppose children _are_ all rather like each other," I said. "Like
+about Haddie, and that little girl riding on the lions."
+
+Haddie was not very pleased at my speaking of it; he was beginning to be
+afraid of seeming babyish.
+
+"That was _quite_ different," he said. "She was a baby and had to be
+held on. It was the fun of climbing up _I_ cared for."
+
+"She wasn't a baby," I said. "She's nine years old, he said she
+was--didn't he, mamma?"
+
+"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 _her_ daughter, little Myra Raby, who is now nine
+years old."
+
+"Why did he say my 'poor' daughter?" I asked.
+
+"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----"
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+But just now my only interest in little Myra Raby's history was a
+present one.
+
+"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 perhaps. Do you think she
+will play among the furniture--where the lions are?"
+
+Mamma shook her head.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+But mamma only said,
+
+"We shall see."
+
+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.
+
+We were quite sorry when it was time to go to bed.
+
+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.
+
+"I'm not asleep, dear mamma," I said. "Do kiss me again."
+
+"That is what I have come for," she answered.
+
+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.
+
+"Dear mamma," I whispered sleepily, "I _am_ so happy--I'm always happy,
+but to-night I feel so _extra_ happy, somehow."
+
+"Darling," said mamma.
+
+And she kissed me again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+COMING EVENTS.
+
+
+The shadow of coming changes began to fall over us very soon after that.
+
+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.
+
+I don't fancy Haddie thought there was anything wrong--he was in a hurry
+to get off to school.
+
+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 and kissed me again--almost as she
+had done the night before.
+
+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.
+
+"Mamma," I said, still hesitating a little.
+
+"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.
+
+"Mamma," I repeated, "may I say something? I have a feeling that--that
+you are--that there is something the matter."
+
+Mamma did not answer at once. Then she said very gently, but quite
+kindly,
+
+"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 when I _don't_ 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."
+
+"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?"
+
+Again mamma hesitated.
+
+"Dear child," she said, "try to put it out of your mind. I can only say
+this much to you, I am _anxious_ 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 _terribly_--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."
+
+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 _could_ 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 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.
+
+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 _The
+Wide, Wide World_, 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
+_little_--a very little--for what was before me in my own life.
+
+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 _how_ we were told, for I am
+afraid of making my story too long.
+
+And of course, however good my memory is, I cannot pretend that the
+conversations I relate took place _exactly_ as I give them. I think I
+give the _spirit_ of them correctly, but now that I have come to the
+telling of distinct facts, perhaps it will be better simply to narrate
+them.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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,
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"If he accepts it," Mrs. Selwood wrote to mamma, "you, my dear Blanche,
+must go with him, and some arrangement would have to be made about the
+children for the time. I would advise your sending them to school."
+
+_Now_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+_This_ 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
+_us_. And the thought of separation was terrible.
+
+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 obliged to live carefully, _home_ was everything to us all.
+We four were the whole world to each other, and knew no happiness apart.
+
+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.
+
+It seems strange that I did _not_ 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.
+
+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 India, and on father's no one who could possibly have us regularly
+for our holidays.
+
+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 _sensitive_.
+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 _his_
+duty to put feelings aside and do so.
+
+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.
+
+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 _very_ seldom that we were left by ourselves.
+
+We did not mind it much. After all, it was only two nights and one
+_whole_ day, and that a Sunday, when my brother was at home, so we
+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.
+
+But when they were fairly off Haddie turned to me, and I saw that he was
+very grave. I was rather surprised.
+
+"Why, Haddie," I said, "do you mind so much? They'll be back on Monday."
+
+"No, of course I don't mind _that_," he said. "But I wonder why mamma
+looks so--so awfully trying-not-to-cry, you know."
+
+"Oh," I said, "I don't think she's quite well. And she hates leaving
+us."
+
+"No," said my brother, "there's something more."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Then Haddie, who really was a very good-natured, kind boy, looked
+sorry.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+Lydia had a sense of the beautiful!
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _me_--like what happened to "Ellen" in
+_The Wide, Wide World_, I simply could not believe; even though if any
+one had talked to me about it and said that troubles must come and _do_
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 _Allegories_, "The Dark River" and others, were great
+favourites, and so were Bishop Wilberforce's _Agathos_. Some of them
+frightened me a little, but it was rather a pleasant sort of fright,
+there was something grand and solemn about it.
+
+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.
+
+Still, I never look back to the quiet Sundays in the dingy Mexington
+street with anything but a feeling of peace and gentle pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+ALL SETTLED.
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+When we came in, cook sent us a little supper which we were very glad
+of; it cheered us up.
+
+"Aren't you thankful they're coming home to-morrow?" I said to Haddie.
+"I've never minded their being away so much before."
+
+They had been away two or three times that we could remember, though
+never for longer than a day or two.
+
+"Yes," said Haddie, "I'm very glad."
+
+But that was all he said.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Mamma was looking out to catch the first glimpse of me--of course she
+knew that my brother would 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mamma, dear," I half said, half whispered, "what is it?"
+
+Mamma gave a sort of gasp or choke before she answered. Then she said,
+
+"Why, dear, why should you think--oh, I don't know what I am saying,"
+and she tried to laugh.
+
+But I wouldn't let her.
+
+"It's something in your face, mamma," I persisted.
+
+She was silent for a moment.
+
+"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----"
+
+"Since that day I asked you--the morning after father came home so late
+and you had been crying?"
+
+"Yes, since then," said mamma.
+
+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.
+
+And I listened. I was very sorry for her, very _very_ 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 _not_ fearfully upset or distressed myself. I did
+not feel inclined to cry, _except_ 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.
+
+And my excitement grew even greater when mamma came to the subject of
+what was decided about us children.
+
+"Haddie of course must go to school," she said; "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."
+
+"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."
+
+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 _everything_,
+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.
+
+"We _are_ 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 Mrs. Selwood about you in any way, or in
+case you were ill."
+
+"I am very glad," I said. "I should like to go to Miss Ledbury's."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+She consulted father, and he decided that it was best to leave me to
+myself and my own thoughts.
+
+"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 _not_ 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."
+
+Haddie had no illusions. From the very first he 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"The what?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, the being all separated," he said gruffly.
+
+"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."
+
+"No," he allowed, "but it's the holidays."
+
+The holidays! I had not thought about that part of it.
+
+"Oh, I daresay something nice will be settled for the holidays," I said
+lightly.
+
+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.
+
+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
+_girls'_ education. She was a clever woman in some ways, but very
+old-fashioned. Her own upbringing had been at a time when _very_ 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 _un_learned lady who had got on far better than if
+she had had all the "'ologies," as she called them, at her fingers'
+ends.
+
+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 make wise parents
+ask themselves if it was right to spend ten times as much on their sons'
+education as on their daughters'.
+
+"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.
+
+"And what about accomplishments?" some one might ask.
+
+"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.
+
+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 _do_. 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
+should prefer none to such a smattering of them as our old friend
+considered more than enough.
+
+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 _had_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+The plan for Sundays, too, struck my mother disagreeably.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+And then father begged her not to look at the dark side of things.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 not very much matter, as they had their own
+homes and mothers to make them happy once school hours were over.
+
+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.
+
+A few days before _the_ 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Then at last the door opened.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+AN UNPROMISING BEGINNING.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+I was, I suppose, a very shy child, but till now the circumstances of my
+life had not brought this out.
+
+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.
+
+We did not stay long. Miss Ledbury was not without tact, and she saw
+that the mention of the approaching parting, the settling the day and
+hour at which I was to come to Green Bank to _stay_, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 already got up to go, so I only said "Yes" rather
+vaguely, and Miss Ledbury kissed me somewhat coldly.
+
+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.
+
+And I remember replying that I thought Miss Ledbury must be very, very
+old--nearly a hundred, I should think.
+
+"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."
+
+I opened my eyes. I thought it would be very nice to be a hundred.
+
+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.
+
+I felt my cheeks grow red with excitement. I 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.
+
+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.
+
+When they had passed I turned to mamma.
+
+"Did you see that little girl with the rosy cheeks, mamma? The one with
+a red feather in her hat. _Doesn't_ she look nice?"
+
+"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
+_very_ sweet face," she went on, "I mean the young lady at the end--one
+of the governesses no doubt."
+
+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.
+
+"She must be one of the younger teachers, I 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."
+
+I promised I would.
+
+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.
+
+"How pleased father seems to be about going so far away," I said once to
+Haddie. But he did not answer.
+
+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
+ways. I think the first beginning of my troubles and disappointments was
+about Lydia.
+
+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.
+
+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 _really_ 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.
+
+Father turned at the sound of the door opening.
+
+"Miss Ledbury," he began.
+
+"Not Miss Ledbury. I am Miss Aspinall, her _niece_," said the lady; she
+was not pleased at the mistake.
+
+"Oh, I beg your pardon," said poor father. "I understood----"
+
+"Miss Ledbury is not very well this morning," said Miss Aspinall. "She
+deputed me to express her regrets."
+
+"Oh certainly," said father. "This is my little daughter--you have seen
+her before, I suppose?"
+
+"No," said the lady, holding out her hand. "How do you do, my dear?"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+So he said at last,
+
+"Well, I think that is all. Good-bye, my little woman, then. Good-bye,
+my darling. She will be a good girl, I am sure, Miss Aspinall; she has
+been a dear good child at home."
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "GOOD-BYE!"]
+
+"Good-bye, my own little girl," said father. One more kiss and he was
+gone.
+
+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.
+
+"Who----" she began, when I interrupted her.
+
+"It's Lydia," I said. "She's come to unpack my things. Mamma sent her."
+
+"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.
+
+Lydia grew very red.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Good-bye, dear Miss Geraldine," she said, half holding out her arms. I
+flew into them. I was beginning to feel very strange.
+
+"Good-bye, dear Lydia," I said.
+
+"You will write to me, Miss Geraldine?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+Lydia glanced at me.
+
+"I beg pardon," she said; and then she too was gone.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"This is your room," she said, as she went in.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+I stood still and silent.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+I did not pay very much attention to what she said. I don't think I
+clearly understood it, for, as I 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+The inclination to cry had left me--fortunately in some ways, though
+perhaps if I had made my _debut_ 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.
+
+The room felt airless and close, though it was a 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 _hums_ I should say, for there were two
+or three different sets of reading aloud, or lessons repeating, going on
+at once.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, _unless_ a child's hair was thick enough to make pretty
+ringlets. My face was rather thin and pale, and there 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Did Miss Aspinall send you here?" she said abruptly.
+
+I looked up at her. She seemed to me no better than our cook, and not
+half so good-natured.
+
+"Yes," I said.
+
+"Yes," she repeated, as if she was very shocked. "Yes _who_, if you
+please? Yes, Miss ----?"
+
+"Yes, Miss," I said in a matter-of-fact way.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Miss Aspinall sent you to my class, _Miss Broom's_ class," she said.
+
+"No, ma'am--Miss Broom--she didn't."
+
+The governess thought I meant to be impertinent--impertinent, poor me!
+
+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.
+
+"Silence, young ladies," she said, for some whispering was taking place.
+"Go on with your copying out."
+
+And then she turned to me with a book.
+
+"Let me hear how you can read," she said.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+A NEW WORLD.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 _her_ for anything but what she was--a
+native of Middleshire. She corrected me once or twice, then shut the
+book impatiently.
+
+"Very bad," she said, "very bad indeed for eleven years old."
+
+"I am not eleven, Miss Broom," I said. "I am only nine past."
+
+[Illustration: "LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT CONTRADICT, AND MUST NOT BE
+RUDE."]
+
+"Little girls must not contradict, and must not be rude," was the reply.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Even my French, which I now _know_ 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!
+
+Still, I was not unhappy. I thought it must be always like that at
+school, and I said to myself I 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+I can clearly remember most of that day. I have a vision of a long
+dining-table, long at least it 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And then--there re-echo on my ears even now 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."
+
+I stood in a corner by myself, staring, no doubt. I felt profoundly
+interested. This was a _little_ 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?
+
+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.
+
+"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 did not strike me as rude. Nor
+was it meant to be so. It was a mixture of curiosity and amiability.
+
+"My name," I repeated, rather stupidly. I was startled by being spoken
+to.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"I say," she went on again, "what _is_ your name? And are you going to
+stay to dinner every day, or only when it rains, like Lizzie Burt?"
+
+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.
+
+"I am going to be at dinner always," I said proudly. "I am a boarder."
+
+The girls drew a little nearer, with evidently increased interest.
+
+"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."
+
+"What are you saying about me?" said Harriet, who had caught the sound
+of her own name, as one often does.
+
+"Only that that pretty snub nose of yours is going to be put out of
+joint," said Miss Mellor mischievously.
+
+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.
+
+"What are you saying?" the child called out. "I'm not going to have any
+of your teasing, Joe."
+
+"It's not teasing--it's truth," said the elder girl. "You're not the
+baby any more. _She_," and she pointed to me, "she's younger than you."
+
+"How old are you?" said Harriet roughly.
+
+"Nine past," I said. "Nine and a half."
+
+"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Harriet. "I'm only nine and a month. I'm still
+the baby, Miss Joe."
+
+She was half a head at least taller than I, and broad in proportion.
+
+"What a mite you are, to be sure," said Miss Mellor, "nine and a half
+and no bigger than that."
+
+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,
+
+"You haven't told us your name yet, after all."
+
+"It's Geraldine," I said. "That's my first name, and I'm always called
+it."
+
+"Geraldine what?" said the red-haired girl.
+
+"Geraldine Theresa Le Marchant--that's all my names."
+
+"My goodness," said Miss Mellor, "how grand we are! Great Mexington's
+growing quite aristocratic. I didn't know monkeys had such fine names."
+
+Some of the girls laughed, some, I think, thought her as silly as she
+was.
+
+"Where do you come from?" was the next question.
+
+"Come from?" I repeated. "I don't know."
+
+At this they all did laugh, and I suppose it was only natural. Suddenly
+Harriet Smith made a sort of dash at me.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+Emma came bouncing forward.
+
+"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."
+
+"No," I said. "I don't want to do anything like that."
+
+"Well, then," said Harriet, "you'll be Emma's friend, not mine."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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, and Haddie had instilled into me a great horror of being a
+cry-baby at school.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+As we passed through the group of older girls standing about, one or two
+fragments of their talk reached my ears.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Then followed some remark about looking far ahead, and a laugh at the
+idea of "the monkey" ever developing into a governess.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"As bad as a boy," I repeated. "I don't know what you mean."
+
+"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."
+
+This was all very astonishing to me.
+
+"I have a brother," I said after a moment or two's reflection.
+
+"Then you know what it is. Why didn't you say so?" asked Harriet.
+
+"Because I don't know what it is. Haddie never teases me. I love being
+with him."
+
+"My goodness! Then you're not like most," said Harriet elegantly,
+opening her eyes.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+"Oh no," I said. "I had mamma."
+
+"Was she good to you," asked my new friend, "or was she very strict?"
+
+I stared at Harriet. Mamma was strict, but she was very, very good to
+me. I said so.
+
+"Then why are you a boarder?" she asked. "_We_'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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Then why have you come to school?" inquired Harriet.
+
+"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.
+
+"What's the matter?" she said wonderingly, as I opened my eyes and
+looked at her again.
+
+"I'd rather not talk about mamma just now," I said. "I'll tell you
+afterwards."
+
+"Up in our room," said Harriet, "oh yes, that'll be jolly. We've got all
+sorts of dodges."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Have you no work, my dear?" said Miss Fenmore gently. It was the first
+kind speech I had had from a governess.
+
+"It isn't unpacked," I said, feeling my cheeks grow red, I did not know
+why.
+
+Miss Fenmore hesitated for a moment. Then she took out a stocking--or
+rather the beginning of one on knitting-needles.
+
+"Can you knit?" she asked.
+
+"I can knit plain--plain and purl--just straight on," I said. "But I've
+never done it round like that."
+
+"Never mind, you will learn easily, as you know how to knit. Come and
+sit beside me, so that I can watch you."
+
+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.
+
+Miss Fenmore, if _she_ 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?"
+
+I nodded with a smile. I was burning to tell her everything. Already I
+felt that I loved her dearly--her 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.
+
+And my heart was won.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+GATHERING CLOUDS.
+
+
+After that first day at Green Bank, the remembrance of things in detail
+is not so clear to me.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+There first came by degrees the great _disappointment_ of it all--for
+though I am anxious not to exaggerate anything, it was a bewildering
+"disillusionment" to me. Nobody and nothing were 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Where can all my other things be?" I said to Harriet, who was greatly
+interested in my possessions.
+
+"What more have you?" she said, peering over my shoulder.
+
+I named several.
+
+"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.
+
+Emma, the most experienced of the three, shook her head.
+
+"I'm afraid," she was beginning, when the door opened, and Miss Broom's
+face appeared.
+
+"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
+it is _you_, Miss Marchant, it is a very bad beginning, disobedience the
+very first evening."
+
+"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."
+
+Under her protection I repeated the list of missing articles, but before
+I had got to the end the governess interrupted me.
+
+"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.
+
+I did not care so much about my clothes.
+
+"It's the other things I mind," I began, but Miss Broom, who was already
+at the door, again interrupted.
+
+"Nonsense," she said. "We cannot have the rooms littered with rubbish.
+Miss Aspinall left 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."
+
+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.
+
+I was not left quite without defence, however.
+
+"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 chalets are our ornaments, and there's quite room for some
+more."
+
+But Miss Broom was by this time at the door, which shut after her
+sharply without her saying another word.
+
+"Horrid old cat," said both the Smiths.
+
+I said nothing, for if I had I knew I should have burst into tears. But
+after I was ready for bed and had said my prayers, I could not help the
+one bitter complaint.
+
+"I wouldn't mind anything else if only she'd let me have papa and
+mamma's picture," I said.
+
+"_Of course_ 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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+I wrote a long letter. This time, of course, it had 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.
+
+I was just closing the envelope when Miss Broom entered the room.
+
+"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."
+
+"It doesn't need sealing," I replied. "It is a gumming-down envelope."
+
+But she had come close to me, and drew it out of my hand.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 boarders," going home every Saturday
+at noon and staying till Monday morning.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: "MY POOR LITTLE GIRL, WHAT _IS_ THE MATTER?"]
+
+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,
+
+"My poor little girl, what _is_ the matter?" and looking up, I saw that
+the new-comer was Miss Fenmore.
+
+"Oh," I said through my tears, "it's my letter, and she's taken it
+away--that horrid, _horrid_ Miss Broom."
+
+And I told her the whole story.
+
+Miss Fenmore was very wise as well as kind. I have often wondered how
+she had learnt so much 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Suddenly she started up--steps were coming along the passage.
+
+"I must not talk to you any more just now," she said, "I came to fetch a
+book."
+
+After all, the steps did not come to the schoolroom. 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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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?
+
+I felt I _could_ 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.
+
+There was but one person I felt that I could 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.
+
+Yet she was far from selfish. Her caution was quite as much for my sake
+as for her own.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+"NOBODY--_NOBODY_."
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Nor did I win more liking among my companions. They gradually came to
+treat me with a sort of indifferent contempt.
+
+"It's only that stupid child," I would hear said when I came into the
+room.
+
+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.
+
+"She doesn't care for me," I thought.
+
+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.
+
+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 dared not _really_ 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, _ever_ come--when I should see her again, and feel her arms
+round me, and know that all the misery and loneliness were over!
+
+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."
+
+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,
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"No," I replied, "I'm much unhappier when I think about it. But I'm
+getting not to think, so I don't care."
+
+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.
+
+Miss Fenmore kissed me, but she sighed as she did so.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 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 _had_ been
+looking forward to the pretty young governess's return.
+
+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.
+
+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 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 _written_ 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.
+
+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.
+
+And though I tried more and more to prepare my lessons perfectly, things
+grew worse and worse.
+
+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 in my bursting into tears, which I had never done before in
+public since I had been at Green Bank.
+
+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.
+
+"Do you mean to defy me?" she said, so loud that I heard her plainly.
+
+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.
+
+"She doesn't hear; she's crying so," she said. "Gerry, dear, Miss Broom
+says you're to go up to your room."
+
+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.
+
+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 at me was all I wanted. So I lay there sobbing, though not loudly.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Oh, nonsense," said Emma. "You'd feel ever so much better if you had
+some tea. What _I_ think you're so silly for is _minding_--why need you
+care what that old Broom says? She daren't beat you or starve you, and
+once you're at home again you can snap your fingers at school and
+governesses and----"
+
+Here Harriet said something to her sister in a low voice which I did not
+hear. It made Emma stop.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"Very well," I said. But the moment the other girl had gone both Emma
+and Harriet began again.
+
+"That horrid old Broom," said Harriet, "just fancy her complaining to
+Miss Aspinall."
+
+And "Promise me, Gerry," said Emma, "not to mind what she says, and
+whatever you do, don't cry. There's nothing vexes old Broom so much as
+seeing we don't care--mean old cat."
+
+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 _not_
+much care what was said to me.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"And worst of all," continued the governess, "you 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 _had_ been told--there was something about your French
+poetry yesterday, which you _must_ have known you were to learn. Miss
+Broom says you positively denied it."
+
+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.
+
+"I never tell stories," I said very loudly; "and if Miss Broom says I
+do, I'll write to mamma and tell her. I _won't_ stay here if you say
+such things to me."
+
+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,
+
+"Go back to your room," she said. "I am sorry to say I must lay this
+before Miss Ledbury."
+
+I got up from my seat--Miss Aspinall had not kept me standing--and went
+upstairs again to my 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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_ mind it, whether you do or not. And I'm _going_ 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 _something_. 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."
+
+"I don't think he'll do that," said Harriet mysteriously.
+
+"What do you mean? What do you know about it?" I asked, for something in
+her voice struck me.
+
+"Oh, nothing--I shouldn't have said it--it was only something I heard,"
+she replied, looking rather confused.
+
+"Something you heard," I repeated, starting up in bed and catching hold
+of her. "Then you _must_ tell me. Do you mean there's been letters or
+news about father and mamma that I don't know about?"
+
+"No, no," said Harriet. "Of course not."
+
+"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 _will_ know."
+
+Harriet tried to pull herself away.
+
+"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."
+
+I clutched her more firmly.
+
+"You shall tell me, or I'll do what I said."
+
+Harriet looked really frightened.
+
+"You'll not tell Emma, then? You promise?"
+
+I nodded. "I promise."
+
+"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."
+
+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
+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, _never_ 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.
+
+What _should_ I do? If only Miss Fenmore had still been there, I felt
+she would have been sorry for me, but there was nobody--_nobody_.
+
+I turned my face away from my little companion, and buried it in the
+pillow. Harriet grew frightened.
+
+"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."
+
+"Never mind," I said. "I'm going to sleep."
+
+"And you won't tell Emma?" Harriet repeated.
+
+"Of course not--don't you believe my word? Do you too think that I tell
+stories?"
+
+I tried to get rid of my misery by letting myself grow angry.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+OUT IN THE RAIN.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 _very_ 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 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.
+
+My spirits rose a little with all this planning. I am afraid that the
+life I led was beginning to make 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+As soon as dinner was over Miss Broom came to me with a French poetry
+book in her hand.
+
+"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, if you
+choose, by three o'clock. Then you are to come downstairs to the
+drawing-room, where you will find her."
+
+"Very well," I said, as I took the book, "I will learn it."
+
+They were going to let me off rather easily, I thought, and possibly,
+just _possibly_, 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 _did_ see her I
+could tell her what Harriet had said, without risking getting Harriet
+into trouble.
+
+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
+"_burr_-ing" before striking the hour I made my way quietly down to the
+drawing-room.
+
+I tapped at the door.
+
+"Come in," said Miss Aspinall.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"I--I forgot," I said, and before Miss Aspinall had time to speak again,
+the old lady held out her hand.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Begin, my dear," she said.
+
+I did so, repeating the six or eight verses without any mistake or
+hesitation.
+
+Miss Ledbury seemed pleased and relieved.
+
+"Very well said--now, my dear child, that shows that you can learn well
+when you try."
+
+"Of course she can," said Miss Aspinall.
+
+"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.)
+
+"It was," replied Miss Aspinall. "Miss Broom will tell you all the
+particulars," and as she spoke Miss Broom came in.
+
+Miss Ledbury turned to her.
+
+"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 _had_ told me, my forgetting my
+French poetry altogether, and persisting in denying that it had been
+given out.
+
+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.
+
+Miss Ledbury seemed nervous.
+
+"Geraldine has said her French poetry perfectly," she said. "I think she
+has taken pains to learn it well."
+
+"It is some time since she has said any lesson perfectly to _me_, I am
+sorry to say," snapped Miss Broom.
+
+Miss Ledbury handed her the book.
+
+"You can judge for yourself," she said. "Repeat the verses to Miss
+Broom, Geraldine."
+
+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 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.
+
+I drew a long breath--no, it was no use. I could not recall one word.
+
+"I've forgotten it," I said.
+
+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.
+
+"Impossible," said Miss Aspinall.
+
+"Geraldine," said Miss Ledbury sadly but sternly, "do not make me
+distrust you."
+
+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.
+
+"Geraldine," said Miss Ledbury again, still more sadly and sternly.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+She turned away, really grieved and shocked.
+
+"Take her upstairs to her room again," said Miss Ledbury. "Geraldine,
+your tears are only those of anger and temper."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+[Illustration: I CREPT DOWNSTAIRS, PAST ONE SCHOOLROOM WITH ITS CLOSED
+DOOR.]
+
+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.
+
+It was all managed quite easily, and almost before 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.
+
+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--_perhaps_--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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+"Is--can I see cook?" I got out at last.
+
+"Cook," the maid repeated. "I'm sure I can't say. Can't you give me
+your message--Miss?" adding the last word after a little hesitation.
+
+"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."
+
+The servant's face cleared, but her reply was not encouraging.
+
+"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----"
+
+"Yes, yes," I exclaimed, "that's her."
+
+"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."
+
+"Thank you," I said, and I turned away, my heart swelling with
+disappointment.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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
+_them_ 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 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."
+
+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.
+
+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 me, so clearly that
+I could almost have believed some one was speaking. It was mamma's
+voice.
+
+"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.
+
+I stood still. Never, I think, was a child's heart more nearly
+breaking.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+TAKING REFUGE.
+
+
+For a minute or two I seemed to feel nothing; then there came over me a
+sort of shiver, partly of cold, for it _was_ 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.
+
+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!
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+And for some time I knew nothing.
+
+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 softly-whispering voice, gradually gathering into
+words.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"As you like," replied number two. "I must be off to fetch the boy. She
+will perhaps be awake by the time I return."
+
+And then--just as I was on the point of starting up and telling them I
+_was_ 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!
+
+"I--please I _am_ awake," I said rather timidly. "It was me you were
+talking about, wasn't it?"
+
+"_I_--'it was _I_'--the verb to be takes the same 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!
+
+"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."
+
+"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 _your_ 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Nothing was easier. In another moment I was cosily settled on his back,
+which felt deliciously comfortable, and the mane seemed to tuck itself
+round me like a fleecy rug.
+
+"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."
+
+"Thank you," I said, feeling too content and comfortable to disagree
+with anything he said.
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"Haddie," I exclaimed.
+
+"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 to see father and mamma. Hold out your hand so that you can feel
+mine."
+
+[Illustration: THE BROTHER LIONS ROSE INTO THE AIR.]
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Wake up, Geraldine," said Haddie's voice.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Where are the lions, Haddie?" I said.
+
+Haddie seemed to understand everything better than I did.
+
+"They're all right," he replied, "resting a little. You see we've come a
+long way, Geraldine, and so quick."
+
+"And where are we?" I asked. "What is this place, Haddie? Is it
+fairyland or--or--heaven?"
+
+Haddie smiled.
+
+"It's not either," he said. "You'll find out the 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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"It must be fairyland," I repeated to myself more than once, in spite of
+what Haddie had said.
+
+But suddenly all thought of fairyland or flowers, birds and garden, went
+out of my head, as Haddie stopped in his running.
+
+"Geraldine," he half whispered, "look there."
+
+"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!
+
+She started up as soon as she saw us and hastened forward, her arms
+outstretched.
+
+"My darlings, my darlings," she said, as Haddie and I threw ourselves
+upon her.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+She did not speak, but looking at Haddie I saw a change in his face.
+
+"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."
+
+And then there came over me the most agonising 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.
+
+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.
+
+"French poetry," I gasped, "oh, Haddie, how can you remind me of it?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 all cold on the lion's back, and in the garden it was lovelily
+warm."
+
+Then, as my waking senses quite returned, I started. It had been only a
+dream--oh dear, oh dear! But still, _something_ 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?
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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?
+
+My head grew dizzy again with trying to think, and a faint miserable
+feeling came over me and I burst into tears.
+
+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 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,
+
+"Geraldine, my poor little girl."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+KIND FRIENDS.
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+I felt soothed almost at once, but my curiosity grew greater.
+
+"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."
+
+The sound of my own voice surprised me, it was so feeble and husky, and
+though my throat did not hurt me much I felt that it was thick and
+swollen.
+
+Miss Fenmore thought I was still only half awake or light-headed, but
+she was too sensible to show that she thought so.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"The doctor," I repeated. Another puzzle!
+
+"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."
+
+But the doctor's name brought back too many thoughts for me to be
+content with only nodding my head.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"It doesn't hurt very much," I said, "only it feels very shut up."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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'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.
+
+Poor Miss Fenmore looked much distressed. No doubt she had been told to
+keep me quiet and not let me excite myself.
+
+"Geraldine, dear," she said, "do try to be calm. If you could tell me
+all about it quietly, the speaking would do you less harm than crying
+so. Try, dear. You need not speak loud."
+
+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.
+
+"He will understand," she said, "and he will explain to Miss Ledbury. I
+have seen Miss Ledbury this morning already, and----"
+
+"Was she dreadfully angry?" I interrupted.
+
+"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 known how anxious you were about your father and mother she
+would have tried to comfort you. I wish you had told her."
+
+"I wanted to tell her, but Miss Broom was there, and they thought I told
+stories," I repeated.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+Dr. Fallis listened attentively.
+
+"I wanted to write to Mrs. Selwood, and I thought 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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 was so thankful to hear what he said about father and
+mamma.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Did you mind?" I said eagerly. "And did your papa soon come home? And
+where was your mamma?"
+
+Miss Fenmore smiled, but there was something a little sad in her smile.
+
+"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."
+
+That was true. I felt very sorry for Miss Fenmore as I lay thinking
+over what she had been telling me. Then another idea struck me.
+
+"Is Mrs. Cranston your aunt?" I said. "Is that why you are living here?"
+
+Miss Fenmore looked up quickly.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: MYRA CAME FORWARD GENTLY, HER SWEET FACE LOOKING RATHER
+GRAVE.]
+
+Myra came forward gently, her sweet face looking rather grave. I put out
+my hand, and she smiled.
+
+"May she stay with me a little?" I asked Mrs. Cranston.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Mrs. Cranston looked at me rather anxiously.
+
+"Are you very tired, my dear?" she said. "Perhaps it would be better for
+Myra not to stay just now."
+
+"Oh, please let her stay," I said; "I like to see her."
+
+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.
+
+Mrs. Cranston left the room then, and Miss Fenmore 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.
+
+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. 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,
+
+"Are you going to sleep, Geraldine?"
+
+This brought me back to the present.
+
+"Oh no," I said, "I'm not sleepy. I was only thinking," and I told her
+what had come into my mind.
+
+She listened with great interest.
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+_shall_ 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?"
+
+Myra looked most sympathising and concerned.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 _Ornaments Discovered_."
+
+"Thank you," I said. "Yes, I should like it very much."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+"I wish you would go downstairs and tell the carved lions that they made
+me very happy last night, and I _am_ so glad they brought me back here
+to you, instead of taking me to Green Bank."
+
+"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.
+
+"I'll tell you all about it afterwards," I said. "It was beautiful. But
+it would take a long time to tell, and I'm rather tired."
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+GOOD NEWS.
+
+
+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.
+
+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 _lie_ up, for I was lifted on to the
+sofa and tucked in almost as if I were still in bed.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 _could_ 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.
+
+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 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 _home_, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Dear little Geraldine," said Myra--she often called me "little" though
+she was _scarcely_ 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!"
+
+"I know," I said, "I've felt like that too. But this is a _real_
+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?"
+
+"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 love her dearly, and to talk to her quite as readily as to
+kind Miss Fenmore.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, thank you," I replied, "I'm not tired."
+
+"She's only rather unhappy, granny," said Myra.
+
+"I think that's a very big 'only,'" said Mrs. Cranston. "Can't you tell
+me, my dear, what you are unhappy about?"
+
+I glanced at Myra, as if asking her to speak for me. She understood.
+
+"Granny," she said, "poor little Geraldine is unhappy to think of going
+away and going back to school."
+
+Mrs. Cranston looked at me very kindly.
+
+"Poor dear," she said, "you have not had much pleasure with us, as you
+have been ill all the time."
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, well, my dear, the troubles we dread are often those that don't
+come to pass. Try to keep 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."
+
+"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 _quite_ so much to
+think of going away myself in that case.
+
+"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."
+
+In my heart I thought Myra a most fortunate child--_two_ 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes," I said in the same tone, "but you did give them my message,
+Myra?"
+
+"Of course I did, and they sent you back their love, and they are very
+glad you're better, and they want you very much indeed to come to see
+them."
+
+Myra and I understood each other quite well about the lions, you see.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 let me do
+anything or be seen in any way which mamma could possibly have disliked.
+
+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.
+
+Myra and I never spoke of it. I tried to forget about it, and she seemed
+to enter into my feeling without saying anything.
+
+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 _quite_ strong and well, so
+put all troubling thoughts out of your head and be happy with your kind
+friends."
+
+That letter had come a month ago, and the last mail had only brought me
+a tiny little note enclosed 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.
+
+"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."
+
+For we had each chosen one lion as more particularly our own.
+
+"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."
+
+"Next week," I repeated. "Oh, Myra!"
+
+I could not speak for a moment. Then I remembered how I had made up my
+mind to be brave.
+
+"Do you mind going home?" I asked. "I mean, are you sorry to go?"
+
+"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 be unhappy, except for--you know, Geraldine--for
+leaving you," and my little friend's voice shook.
+
+"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."
+
+"I wish----" Myra was beginning, but a voice interrupted her. It was
+Miss Fenmore's.
+
+"I have brought you down a letter that has just come by the second post,
+Geraldine, dear," she said; "a letter from South America."
+
+"Oh, thank you," I said, eagerly seizing it.
+
+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.
+
+"Myra," I gasped, and Myra ran back to me, looking quite startled. I
+think I must have grown very pale.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"Geraldine, Geraldine, I can't believe it," she kept saying, and Miss
+Fenmore's pretty eyes were full of tears.
+
+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.
+
+It was to tell me this--that _till_ 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 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.
+
+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 _very_ 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.
+
+And oh, how happy it was when father and mamma at last came home--no
+words can describe it. It was not _quite_ 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!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+A NEW UNIFORM EDITION
+OF
+MRS. MOLESWORTH'S
+STORIES FOR CHILDREN
+
+WITH
+ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER CRANE AND LESLIE BROOKE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In Ten Volumes. 12mo. Cloth. One Dollar a Volume.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Tell Me a Story, and Herr Baby.
+      "Carrots," and A Christmas Child.
+          Grandmother Dear, and Two Little Waifs.
+              The Cuckoo Clock, and The Tapestry Room.
+                  Christmas-Tree Land, and A Christmas Posy.
+  The Children of the Castle, and Four Winds Farm.
+      Little Miss Peggy, and Nurse Heatherdale's Story,
+          "Us," and The Rectory Children.
+              Rosy, and The Girls and I.
+                  Mary. Sheila's Mystery.
+                      Carved Lions.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE SET, TWELVE VOLUMES, IN BOX, $12.00.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"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 _The Cuckoo Clock_ or the
+enchanting _Adventures of Herr Baby_ is worth a shoal of the very best
+novels dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults."--MRS.
+A. C. SWINBURNE, in _The Nineteenth Century_.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. MOLESWORTH'S
+STORIES FOR CHILDREN.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"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."--_St. Louis
+Globe Democrat._
+
+"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."--_Congregationalist._
+
+"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."--_Home
+Journal._
+
+"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."--_Mail and Express._
+
+"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."--_Educational Times._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories
+for them are always charmingly interesting and healthful in
+tone."--_Boston Home Journal._
+
+"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."--_The Beacon._
+
+"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."--_Christian Union._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth ranks with George Macdonald and Mrs. Ewing as a writer
+of children's stories that possess real literary merit."--_Milwaukee
+Sentinel._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE SET, ELEVEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $11.00.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TELL ME A STORY, and HERR BABY.
+
+"So delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope
+she may soon tell us more stories."--_Athenaeum._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"CARROTS"; Just a Little Boy.
+
+"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."--_Examiner._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A CHRISTMAS CHILD; A Sketch of a Boy's Life.
+
+"A very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest
+throughout."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+"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."--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth's _A Christmas Child_ 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."--_Chicago Tribune._
+
+"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."--_The Academy._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CUCKOO CLOCK.
+
+"A beautiful little story.... It will be read with delight by every
+child into whose hands it is placed."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+GRANDMOTHER DEAR.
+
+"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."--_Nation._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+TWO LITTLE WAIFS.
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth's delightful story of _Two Little Waifs_ 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."--_New York
+Tribune._
+
+"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."--_Critic and
+Good Literature._
+
+"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."--_Boston Courier._
+
+"_Two Little Waifs_ 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."--_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette._
+
+"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."--_Montreal Star._
+
+"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. _Two
+Little Waifs_, illustrated by Walter Crane, is a delightful story, which
+comes, as all children's stories ought to do, to a delightful
+end."--_Christian Union._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE TAPESTRY ROOM.
+
+"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."--_Athenaeum._
+
+"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."--_Evening Post._
+
+"Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique than
+_The Tapestry Room_. Like all of Mrs. Molesworth's stories it will
+please young readers by the very attractive and charming style in which
+it is written."--_Presbyterian Journal._
+
+"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 _The Tapestry Room_
+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."--_New Haven Paladium._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+CHRISTMAS-TREE LAND.
+
+"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."--_Troy Times._
+
+"_Christmas-Tree Land_, 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."--_Boston Home Journal._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A CHRISTMAS POSY.
+
+"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."--_Christian at Work._
+
+"_A Christmas Posy_ is one of those charming stories for girls which Mrs
+Molesworth excels in writing."--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+"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."--_Churchman._
+
+"_A Christmas Posy_, 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."--_Christian
+Intelligencer._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE.
+
+"_The Children of the Castle_, 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."--_B. S. E. Gazette._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth has given a charming story for children.... It is a
+wholesome book, one which the little ones will read with
+interest."--_Living Church._
+
+"_The Children of the Castle_ 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."--_Milwaukee Sentinel._
+
+"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 _The Children of the Castle_ the best
+elements of a good story for children are very happily combined."--_The
+Week._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FOUR WINDS FARM.
+
+"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.
+_Four Winds Farm_ 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."--_Boston Courier._
+
+"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."--_Christian at Work._
+
+"Still more delicately fanciful is Mrs. Molesworth's lovely little tale
+of the _Four Winds Farm_. 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."--_Literary World._
+
+"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."--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NURSE HEATHERDALE'S STORY.
+
+"_Nurse Heatherdale's Story_ 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."--_Commercial Advertiser._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"US."
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth's _Us, an Old-Fashioned Story_, 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."--_Evening Post._
+
+"A pretty and wholesome story."--_Literary World._
+
+"_Us, an Old-Fashioned Story_, 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."--_Philadelphia News._
+
+"_Us_ 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."--_Boston Advertiser._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth's last story, _Us_, 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."--_Independent._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth's story ... is very simple, refined, bright, and full
+of the real flavor of childhood."--_Literary World._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE RECTORY CHILDREN.
+
+"It is a book written for children in just the way that is best adapted
+to please them."--_Morning Post._
+
+"In _The Rectory Children_ Mrs. Molesworth has written one of those
+delightful volumes which we always look for at Christmas
+time."--_Athenaeum._
+
+"A delightful Christmas book for children; a racy, charming home story,
+full of good impulses and bright suggestions."--_Boston Traveller._
+
+"Quiet, sunny, interesting, and thoroughly winning and
+wholesome."--_Boston Journal._
+
+"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
+_The Rectory Children_ we have a fresh, bright story, that will be sure
+to please all her young admirers."--_Christian at Work._
+
+"_The Rectory Children_, 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."--_Indianapolis Journal._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ROSY.
+
+"_Rosy_, 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."--_Boston Traveller._
+
+"There is no one who has a genius better adapted for entertaining
+children than Mrs. Molesworth, and her latest story, _Rosy_, is one of
+her best. It is illustrated with eight woodcuts from designs by Walter
+Crane."--_Philadelphia Press._
+
+"An English story for children of the every-day life of a bright little
+girl, which will please those who like 'natural' books."--_New York
+World._
+
+"Mrs. Molesworth's clever _Rosy_, 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."--_New
+York Tribune._
+
+"_Rosy_ 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."--_Boston Gazette._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE GIRLS AND I.
+
+"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."--_Gettysburg Monthly._
+
+"Jack himself tells the story of _The Girls and 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."--_The
+Globe._
+
+"A delightful and purposeful story which no one can read without being
+benefited."--_New York Observer._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARY.
+
+"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."--_Home Journal._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MACMILLAN & CO.,
+66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
+
+
+
+
+MACMILLAN & CO.'S
+_CATALOGUE_
+OF
+BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_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._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+=ADVENTURE SERIES, THE.= Large 12mo. Fully Illustrated. $1.50 each
+volume.
+
+     =Adventures of a Younger Son.= By JOHN EDWARD TRELAWNY. With an
+     Introduction by EDWARD GARNETT.
+
+     =Madagascar; or, Robert Drury's Journal= During Fifteen Years'
+     Captivity on that Island, and a Further Description of Madagascar
+     by the Abbe ALEXIS ROCHON. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes,
+     by Captain S. PASFIELD OLIVER, F.S.A., author of "Madagascar."
+
+     =Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp=, Late
+     Lieutenant in His Majesty's 87th Regiment. Written by Himself. With
+     an Introduction by Major H. M. CHICHESTER.
+
+     =The Adventures of Thomas Pellow=, of Penryn, Mariner, Twenty-three
+     Years in Captivity among the Moors. Written by Himself; and Edited,
+     with an Introduction and Notes, by Dr. ROBERT BROWN. Illustrated
+     from Contemporaneous Prints.
+
+     =The Buccaneers and Marooners of America.= Being an Account of the
+     Famous Adventures and Daring Deeds of Certain Notorious Freebooters
+     of the Spanish Main. Edited and Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE.
+
+     =The Log of a Jack Tar; or, The Life of James Choyce, Master
+     Mariner.= Now first published, with O'Brien's Captivity in France.
+     Edited by Commander V. LOVETT CAMERON, R.N., C.B., D.C.L. With
+     Introduction and Notes.
+
+     =The Story of the Filibusters.= By JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE. To which is
+     added "The Life of Colonel David Crockett." With Illustrations.
+
+     "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."--_Boston
+     Beacon._
+
+     =The Voyages and Adventures of Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, the
+     Portuguese.= Done into English by HENRY COGAN, with an Introduction
+     by ARMINIUS VAMBERY.
+
+     "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.'"--_Boston
+     Saturday Evening Gazette._
+
+     =A Master Mariner.= Being the Life and Adventures of Captain Robert
+     William Eastwick. Edited by HERBERT COMPTON. With Illustrations.
+
+     =Hard Life in the Colonies, and Other Adventures by Sea and Land.=
+     Now first printed. Compiled from Private Letters by C. CASLYON
+     JENKYNS. With Illustrations. Large 12mo. $1.50.
+
+=AESOP'S FABLES.= Illustrated. 50 cents.
+
+=ANDERSEN= (HANS CHRISTIAN). =Fairy Tales and Sketches.= Translated by
+C. C. PEACHY, H. WARD, A. PLESNER, etc. With numerous Illustrations by
+OTTO SPECKTER and others. Seventh thousand. Handsomely bound. 12mo.
+$1.50.
+
+     "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."--_Daily Telegraph._
+
+     =Tales for Children.= With 48 Full-page Illustrations by WEHNERT, and
+     57 small Engravings on wood by W. THOMAS. Thirteenth thousand.
+     Handsomely bound. 12mo. $1.50.
+
+    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.
+
+=ARIOSTO. Paladin and Saracen.= Stories from Ariosto. By W. C.
+HOLLWAY-CALTHROP. With Illustrations. $1.50.
+
+=ATKINSON. The Last of the Giant Killers.= By the Rev. J. C. ATKINSON,
+author of "A Moorland Parish." _Shortly._
+
+=AWDRY (F.). The Story of a Fellow Soldier.= A Life of Bishop Patteson for
+the Young. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+=BAKER. Wild Beasts and Their Ways.= Reminiscences in Asia, Africa, and
+America. By Sir SAMUEL W. BAKER, F.R.S., etc., author of "Albert
+Nyanza," etc. With numerous Illustrations. Large 12mo. Cloth extra.
+Gilt. $3.50.
+
+     "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."--_New York Tribune._
+
+=BEESLY= (Mrs.). =Stories from the History of Rome.= 16mo. 60 cents.
+
+     "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."--_Educational Times._
+
+=BERTZ= (E.). =The French Prisoners:= A Story for Boys. $1.25.
+
+     "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."--_Independent._
+
+     "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."--_Christian
+     Union._
+
+=BUNCE= (J. T.). =Fairy Tales: Their Origin and Meaning.= 16mo. 75 cents.
+
+=CARPENTER. Truth in Tale.= Addresses Chiefly to Children. By W. BOYD
+CARPENTER, D.D., Bishop of Ripon. $1.00.
+
+     "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."--_Sunday School Banner._
+
+=CARROLL.= WORKS BY LEWIS CARROLL.
+
+     =Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.= With 42 Illustrations by TENNIEL.
+     12mo. $1.00.
+
+     A German Translation. 12mo. $2.00.
+
+     A French Translation. 12mo. $2.00.
+
+     An Italian Translation. 12mo. $2.00.
+
+     "An excellent piece of nonsense."--_Times._
+
+     "That most delightful of children's stories."--_Saturday Review._
+
+     "Elegant and delicious nonsense."--_Guardian._
+
+     =Through the Looking-glass and What Alice Found There.= 50
+     Illustrations by TENNIEL. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     "Will fairly rank with the tale of her previous
+     experience."--_Daily Telegraph._
+
+     "Many of Mr. Tenniel's designs are masterpieces of wise
+     absurdity."--_Athenaeum._
+
+     "Whether as regarding author or illustrator, this book is a jewel
+     rarely to be found nowadays."--_Echo._
+
+     =Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.= In
+     1 vol. With TENNIEL's Illustrations. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+     =Rhyme? and Reason?= With 65 Illustrations by ARTHUR B. FROST, and
+     nine by HENRY HOLIDAY. 12mo. $1.50.
+
+     This book is a reprint, with additions, of the comic portions of
+     "Phantasmagoria, and other Poems," and of the "Hunting of the
+     Snark."
+
+     =A Tangled Tale.= Reprinted from the "Monthly Packet." With
+     Illustrations. 12mo. $1.50.
+
+     =Alice's Adventures under Ground.= Being a Fac-simile of the original
+     MS. Book afterward developed into "Alice's Adventures in
+     Wonderland." With 37 Illustrations. 12mo. $1.50.
+
+     =The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits.= By LEWIS CARROLL.
+     With nine Illustrations by HENRY HOLIDAY. New Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     =Sylvie and Bruno.= With 46 Illustrations by HARRY FURNISS. 12mo.
+     $1.50.
+
+     "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."--_Morning Post._
+
+     "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."--_St. James Gazette._
+
+     =The Nursery "Alice."= Containing 20 coloured enlargements from
+     TENNIEL's Illustrations to "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," with
+     Text adapted to Nursery Readers, by LEWIS CARROLL. 4to. $1.50.
+
+     "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."--_Boston Budget._
+
+=CHURCH.= WORKS BY THE REV. A. J. CHURCH.
+
+     =The Story of the Iliad.= With Coloured Illustrations. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     =The Story of the Odyssey.= With Coloured Illustrations. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     =Stories from the Bible.= With Illustrations after JULIUS SCHNORR.
+     12mo. $1.50.
+
+     "Of all the books of this kind, this is the best we have
+     seen."--_Examiner._
+
+     "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."--_Boston Traveller._
+
+     =Stories from Bible.= Illustrated. Second Series. _Shortly._
+
+     =The Greek Gulliver.= Stories from Lucian. With Illustrations by
+     C. O. MURRAY. New edition. 16mo. Paper. 40 cents.
+
+     "A curious example of ancient humor."--_Chicago Standard._
+
+     =The Burning of Rome.= A Story of the Times of Nero. With
+     Illustrations. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+=CLIFFORD= (Mrs. W. K.). =Anyhow Stories, Moral and Otherwise.= With
+Illustrations. $1.00.
+
+=CRAIK.= Works by MRS. CRAIK, author of "John Halifax, Gentleman."
+
+     =Sermons out of Church.= New Edition. 12mo. $1.75.
+
+     =Children's Poetry.= Globe 8vo. $1.25.
+
+     =The Little Lame Prince and His Travelling Cloak.= A Parable for
+     Young and Old. With Illustrations. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+     =Little Sunshine's Holiday.= Globe 8vo. $1.00.
+
+     =Adventures of a Brownie.= With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+     =Alice Learmont.= A Fairy Tale. With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+     =Our Year: a Child's Book.= Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+     =The Fairy Book.= The Best Popular Fairy Stories. Selected and
+     rendered anew. _Golden Treasury Series._ 18mo. $1.25.
+
+=DEFOE. The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.= Edited from the Original
+Edition by HENRY KINGSLEY. _Globe Edition._ $1.25.
+
+     _Golden Treasury Series._ 18mo. $1.00.
+
+=DE MORGAN. The Necklace of Princess Florimonde, and other Stories.= By
+MARY DE MORGAN. Illustrated by WALTER CRANE. New and cheaper Edition,
+cloth extra. $1.25.
+
+     "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."--_Graphic._
+
+     "A real gem."--_Punch._
+
+=ENGLISH MEN OF ACTION SERIES.= 12mo. Cloth, limp, 60 cents; cloth, uncut
+edges, 75 cents.
+
+     "An admirable set of brief biographies.... The volumes are small,
+     attractive, and inexpensive."--_Dial._
+
+     "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."--_Epoch._
+
+     =Gordon.= By Col. Sir W. BUTLER.
+
+     =Henry the Fifth.= By the Rev. A. J. CHURCH.
+
+     =Livingstone.= By THOMAS HUGHES.
+
+     =Lord Lawrence.= By Sir R. TEMPLE.
+
+     =Wellington.= By GEORGE HOOPER.
+
+     =Dampier.= By W. CLARK RUSSELL.
+
+     =Monk.= By JULIAN CORBETT.
+
+     =Strafford.= By H. D. TRAILL.
+
+     =Warren Hastings.= By Sir ALFRED LYALL, K.C.B.
+
+     =Peterborough.= By WILLIAM STEBBING.
+
+     =Captain Cook.= By WALTER BESANT.
+
+     =Havelock.= By ARCHIBALD FORBES.
+
+     =Clive.= By Col. Sir CHARLES WILSON.
+
+     =Drake.= By JULIAN CORBETT.
+
+     =Warwick, the King Maker.= By C. W. OMAN.
+
+     =Napier.= By Col. Sir WILLIAM BUTLER.
+
+     =Rodney.= By D. G. HANNAY.
+
+     =Montrose.= By MOWBRAY MORRIS. _Shortly._
+
+=EWING= (J. H.). =We and the World.= A Story for Boys. By the late JULIANA
+HORATIO EWING. With seven Illustrations by W. L. Jones, and a Pictorial
+Design on the Cover. 4th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.
+
+     "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."--_Times._
+
+     =A Flat Iron for a Farthing;= or, Some Passages in the Life of an
+     Only Son. With 12 Illustrations by H. ALLINGHAM, and Pictorial
+     Design on the Cover. 16th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.
+
+     "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."--_Athenaeum._
+
+     =Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances.= Illustrated with nine fine
+     full-page Engravings by PASQUIER, and Frontispiece by WOLF, and
+     Pictorial Design on the Cover. 4th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.
+
+     "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."--_Leader._
+
+     =Six to Sixteen.= A Story for Girls. With 10 Illustrations by Mrs.
+     ALLINGHAM. 7th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.
+
+     "It is scarcely necessary to say that Mrs. Ewing's book is one of
+     the best of the year."--_Saturday Review._
+
+     =A Great Emergency.= (A very Ill-Tempered Family; Our Field; Madame
+     Liberality.) With four Illustrations. 3d Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.
+
+     "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."--_Academy._
+
+     =Jan of the Windmill.= A Story of the Plains. With 11 Illustrations
+     by Mrs. ALLINGHAM and design on the cover. 5th Edition. 12mo.
+     $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper boards, 35 cents.
+
+     "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."
+
+     =Melchior's Dream.= (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 GORDON
+     BROWNE. 6th Edition. 12mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. 4to. In paper wrapper, 35 cents.
+
+     "'Melchior's Dream' is an exquisite little story, charming by
+     original humor, buoyant spirits, and tender pathos."--_Athenaeum._
+
+     =Lob-lie-by-the-fire; or, the Luck of Lingborough, and Other Tales.=
+     With three Illustrations by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 4th Edition. 16mo.
+     $1.00.
+
+     "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."--_Saturday Review._
+
+     =The Brownies.= (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 GEORGE
+     CRUIKSHANK. 7th Edition. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Illustrated Edition. Fcap. 4to. In paper wrapper, 35 cents.
+
+     "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."--_Saturday Review._
+
+=FREILIGRATH-KROEKER. Alice,= 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.
+FREILIGRATH-KROEKER, with eight original full-page Plates. Cloth, extra
+gilt. Gilt edges. 2d Edition. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+     "They have stood a practical ordeal, and stood it
+     triumphantly."--_Times._
+
+=GASKOIN= (Mrs. H.). =Children's Treasury of Bible Stories.= Edited by the
+Rev. G. F. MACLEAR, D.D. 18mo. Each, 30 cents.
+
+     Part I. Old Testament. II. New Testament. III. Three Apostles: St.
+     James, St. Paul, St. John.
+
+=GATTY= (Mrs.). =Parables from Nature.= With Illustrations by BURNE-JONES,
+HOLMAN HUNT, TENNIEL, WOLF, and others. Two Series. Each, 35 cents.
+
+=GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES.= Uniformly printed in 18mo, with Vignette Titles
+by J. E. MILLAIS, Sir NOEL PATON, T. WOOLNER, W. HOLMAN HUNT, ARTHUR
+HUGHES, etc. Engraved on Steel. 18mo. Cloth. Each, $1.00.
+
+     Also bound in half morocco, $2.50.
+
+     Half calf, $2.50. Padded calf, $3.00.
+
+     Or beautifully bound in full morocco, padded, solid gilt edges, in
+     boxes, $2.50.
+
+     =The Children's Garland from the Best Poets.= Selected and arranged
+     by COVENTRY PATMORE, with a Vignette by T. WOOLNER.
+
+     "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.'"--_London Review._
+
+     =The Pilgrim's Progress, from this World to that which is to come.=
+     By JOHN BUNYAN, with a Vignette by W. HOLMAN HUNT.
+
+     "A beautiful and scholarly reprint."--_Spectator._
+
+     =The Fairy Book.= The best popular Fairy Tales. Selected and rendered
+     anew by the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman," with a Vignette by
+     Sir NOEL PATON.
+
+     "Miss Mulock has the true instinct into the secret of a perfect
+     Fairy Tale ... delightful selection in a delightful external
+     form."--_Spectator._
+
+     =The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.= Edited by J. W. CLARK, M.A.,
+     with a Vignette by Sir J. E. MILLAIS.
+
+     "This cheap and pretty copy, rigidly exact to the original, will be
+     a prize to many book buyers."--_Examiner._
+
+     =The Sunday Book of Poetry for the Young.= Selected and arranged by
+     C. F. ALEXANDER.
+
+     =A Book of Golden Deeds= of All Times and All Countries. Gathered and
+     Narrated Anew. By the Author of "The Heir of Redclyffe."
+
+     =Children's Treasury of English Song.= Edited by F. T. PALGRAVE.
+
+     =Tom Brown's School Days.= By an OLD BOY.
+
+     =Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare.= Edited by the Rev. A. AINGER.
+
+=GOLDSMITH. The Vicar of Wakefield.= By OLIVER GOLDSMITH. With 182
+Illustrations by HUGH THOMSON, and a Preface by AUSTIN DOBSON. Uniform
+with the Randolph Caldecott Edition of Washington Irving's "Bracebridge
+Hall" and "Old Christmas." 12mo. Cloth extra. $2.00.
+
+     "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."--_Independent._
+
+     "A more bewitching bit of book work has not reached us for many a
+     day."--_New York Tribune._
+
+=GREENWOOD. The Moon Maiden, and Other Stories.= By JESSY E. GREENWOOD.
+12mo. $1.25.
+
+     "A collection of brightly written and distinctly original stories
+     in which fairy lore and moral allegory are deftly and pleasantly
+     mingled."--_Christian Union._
+
+=GRIMM'S Fairy Tales.= The Household Stories. Translated by LUCY CRANE,
+and done into pictures by WALTER CRANE. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+=HALLWARD= (R. F.). =Flowers of Paradise.=
+Music--Verse--Design--Illustration. Printed in colors by Edmund Evans.
+Royal 4to. $2.00.
+
+     "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."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+=HUGHES.= WORKS BY THOMAS HUGHES.
+
+     =Tom Brown's School Days.= New Illustrated Edition. 12mo. Cloth.
+     Gilt. $1.00 Pocket Edition, 50 cents. English Edition, $1.25.
+
+     "The most famous boy's book in the language."--_Daily News._
+
+     _Golden Treasury Edition._ 18mo. $1.00.
+
+     Cheap Edition. With 58 Illustrations by ARTHUR HUGHES and S. P.
+     HALL. 8vo. Paper. 25 cents.
+
+     =Tom Brown at Oxford.= New Illustrated Edition. 12mo. Cloth. Gilt.
+     $1.50. English Edition. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+     "In no other work that we can call to mind are the finer qualities
+     of the English gentleman more happily portrayed."--_Daily News._
+
+     "A book of great power and truth."--_National Review._
+
+=HULLAH= (M. A.). =Hannah Tarne.= A Story for Girls. With Illustrations.
+16mo. $1.25.
+
+=KEARY.= WORKS BY A. AND E. KEARY.
+
+     =The Heroes of Asgard.= Tales from Scandinavian Mythology.
+     Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+     =The Magic Valley; or, Patient Antoine.= With Illustrations. 16mo.
+     $1.25.
+
+=KINGSLEY.= WORKS BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.
+
+     =Madam How and Lady Why: First Lessons in Earth Lore for Children.=
+     $1.00.
+
+     English Edition, $1.25.
+
+     =The Heroes; or, Greek Fairy Tales for My Children.= With
+     Illustrations. $1.00.
+
+     English Edition. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+     "This lovely version of three of the most famous folk stories of
+     the old Greeks."--_Mail and Express._
+
+     "Ought to be in the hands of every child in the
+     country."--_Christian Union._
+
+     =The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby.= Illustrated. 12mo.
+     $1.00.
+
+     English Edition. 12mo. $1.25.
+
+     "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."--_Academy._
+
+     "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."--_Toronto Mail._
+
+     =Glaucus; or, The Wonders of the Seashore.= With Coloured
+     Illustrations. $2.00.
+
+=LAMB. Tales from Shakespeare.= Edited, with Preface, by the Rev. A.
+AINGER, M.A. _Golden Treasury Series._ 18mo. $1.00.
+
+=MACMILLAN. The Gate Beautiful.= Bible Teachings for the Young. By the
+Rev. HUGH MACMILLAN, author of "Bible Teachings from Nature." _Shortly._
+
+=MADAME TABBY'S ESTABLISHMENT.= By KARI. Illustrated. $1.25.
+
+=MARRYAT'S= (Captain) =BOOKS FOR BOYS.= Uniformly bound in blue cloth. 8
+vols. Large. 16mo. $1.00 each.
+
+     =Masterman Ready; or, The Wreck of the Pacific.= With 93 Engravings
+     on Wood. $1.00.
+
+     =Poor Jack.= With 16 Illustrations. 22d Edition. $1.00.
+
+     =The Mission; or, Scenes in Africa.= With Illustrations by JOHN
+     GILBERT. $1.00.
+
+     =The Settlers in Canada.= With Illustrations by GILBERT and DALZIEL.
+     $1.00.
+
+     =The Privateersman.= Adventures by Sea and Land in Civil and Savage
+     Life, One Hundred Years Ago. With eight Engravings. $1.00.
+
+     =The Pirate, and the Three Cutters.= Illustrated with eight
+     Engravings. With a Memoir of the Author. $1.00.
+
+     =Peter Simple.= With eight Full-page Illustrations. $1.00.
+
+     =Midshipman Easy.= With eight Illustrations. $1.00.
+
+=MARSHALL. Winifrede's Journal.= By Mrs. EMMA MARSHALL, author of "Life's
+Aftermath," "Mrs. Willoughby's Octave," etc. With Illustrations. 12mo.
+_Shortly._
+
+=MOLESWORTH.= WORKS BY MRS. MOLESWORTH (ENNIS GRAHAM). With Illustrations
+by WALTER CRANE. 16mo. Uniformly bound. $1.00 each volume.
+
+     =Herr Baby.=
+
+     =Grandmother Dear.=
+
+     =Tell Me a Story.=
+
+     =The Cuckoo Clock.=
+
+     =The Tapestry Room. A Child's Romance.=
+
+     =A Christmas Child: A Sketch of a Boy-Life.=
+
+     =Rosy.=
+
+     =Two Little Waifs.=
+
+     =Christmas-Tree Land.=
+
+     ="Carrots," Just a Little Boy.=
+
+     ="Us:" An Old-fashioned Story.=
+
+     =Four Winds Farm.=
+
+     =Little Miss Peggy. Only a Nursery Story.=
+
+     =A Christmas Posy.=
+
+     =The Rectory Children.=
+
+     =The Children of the Castle.=
+
+     =Nurse Heatherdale's Story.= With Illustrations by L. LESLIE BROOKE.
+     $1.25.
+
+     "There is no more acceptable writer for children than Mrs.
+     Molesworth."--_Literary World._
+
+     "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."--_New York Mail and Express._
+
+     "Mistress of the art of writing for children."--_Spectator._
+
+=NOEL. Wandering Willie.= By Lady AUGUSTA NOEL. Globe 8vo. $1.00.
+
+=OLIPHANT. Agnes Hopetown's School and Holidays.= By Mrs. OLIPHANT. With
+Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00.
+
+=PATMORE= (C.). =The Children's Garland from the Best Poets.= Selected.
+_Golden Treasury Series._ 18mo. $1.00.
+
+=PROCTER= (A. A.). =Legends and Lyrics.= By ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
+Original Edition. First Series. With Introduction by CHARLES DICKENS.
+67th Thousand. Second Series. 59th Thousand. 2 vols. 75 cents each. Also
+an Edition. 4to. 2 Series. 35 cents each.
+
+     =Legends and Lyrics.= New edition in one vol. With new Portrait
+     etched by C. O. MURRAY, from a painting by E. Gaggiotti Richards.
+     16th Thousand. Large 12mo. Cloth, gilt edges, $1.00.
+
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