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diff --git a/39549.txt b/39549.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6090535 --- /dev/null +++ b/39549.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6093 @@ +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. + +=RUNAWAY (THE).= By the author of "Mrs. Jerningham's Journal." $1.00. + +=RUTH and Her Friends.= A Story for Girls. With Illustrations. $1.00. + +=St. JOHNSON. Charlie Asgarde.= A Tale of Adventure. By ALFRED ST. +JOHNSON. With Illustrations. $1.50. + + "Will not prevent boys from reading it with keen interest. The + incidents of savage life are described from the author's personal + experience, and the book is so well written that we may reasonably + hope for something of much higher quality from Mr. Johnson's + pen."--_Academy._ + + "Whoever likes Robinson Crusoe--and who does not like it?--is + pretty sure to like 'Charlie Asgarde.'"--_N. Y. Mail and Express._ + + "The story is spirited and interesting, full of exciting incidents + and situations."--_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette._ + +=SPENSER. Tales chosen from the Fairie Queene.= By SOPHIA H. MACLEHOSE. +$1.25. + +=STEPHENSON.= WORKS BY MRS. J. STEPHENSON. + + =Nine Years Old.= With Illustrations. 16mo. $1.00. + + =Pansie's Flour Bin.= Illustrated. $1.00. + + =When I was a Little Girl.= Illustrated. 16mo. $1.00. + + =When Papa comes Home.= The Story of Tip, Tap, Toe. Illustrated. + $1.25. + +=STEWART. The Tale of Troy.= Done into English by AUBREY STEWART. 16mo. +$1.00. + + "We are much pleased with 'The Tale of Troy,' by Aubrey Stewart.... + The Homeric legend is given in strong, simple, melodious English, + which sometimes leaves one in doubt as to the distinction between + poetry and prose.... While the story delights them, it will ennoble + and strengthen their minds, and the form in which it is rendered + will teach them that love, which, for an American, should lie deep + in his heart,--the love of good English."--_Independent._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carved Lions, by Mrs. Molesworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARVED LIONS *** + +***** This file should be named 39549.txt or 39549.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/5/4/39549/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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