path: root/75332-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75332 ***


Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

[Illustration: "She was aghast at the sight."]



                        CHRISTINA AND THE

                               BOYS

                                By
                          AMY LE FEUVRE

          _Author of "Two Tramps," "Probable Sons," etc._



                  ILLUSTRATED BY GORDON BROWNE



                      HODDER AND STOUGHTON

                       PUBLISHERS LONDON



                        Printed in 1906


 Butler and Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London



                            CONTENTS


 CHAPTER I. "AND IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN ME!"

 CHAPTER II. "FEAR DWELLS NOT HERE"

 CHAPTER III. "THEY SAY I'M CODDLING YOU!"

 CHAPTER IV. "THE UNITED KINGDOM"

 CHAPTER V. TWO HIGHWAYMEN

 CHAPTER VI. "DEFYING THE HUNT"

 CHAPTER VII. A WINTER PICNIC

 CHAPTER VIII. "I WAS MADE RICH TO HELP THE POOR"

 CHAPTER IX. THE GHOST

 CHAPTER X. "HOW COULD I HELP GOING?"

 CHAPTER XI. IN LONDON

 CHAPTER XII. LOST IN A FOG

 CHAPTER XIII. MISS BERTHA'S BONNET

 CHAPTER XIV. "MY DAD IS GOING TO DIE"

 CHAPTER XV. SUSY IN SERVICE

 CHAPTER XVI. "IT IS ONLY THE SELFISH WHO ARE COWARDS"



                        CHRISTINA AND THE

                               BOYS

CHAPTER I

"AND IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN ME!"

"AND it might have been me!"

Christina's eyes were big with horror as she clasped her tiny hands
round her knees, and stared into the fire in front of her.

She was in her father's library: a large dimly-lighted room with books
lining the shelves on the walls from top to bottom. It was an afternoon
in early autumn; the last rays of the setting sun were stealing in
through a stained glass window and colouring the dingy writing-table
with red and blue patches. It was a silent, unused room; but it seemed
as if it wanted wise spectacled scholars in it, and not a small
pale-faced child in a short frock and white frilled pinafore.

Yet she looked as if she were quite at home there, and indeed she was.
The library was her ideal of bliss.

Christina's father had been abroad since her mother's death, which took
place when she was born. She had been brought up entirely by her old
nurse, and though Bracken Towers held innumerable rooms of every sort
and size, Christina had been limited to her two nurseries. She lived in
them entirely and it was only during the last year that she had made
acquaintance with the library.

Mrs. Hallam, the housekeeper, had always seemed to Christina to be the
real owner of the house. She was a tall, severe-looking woman, with
sharp eyes, and a still sharper tongue. Nurse was the only privileged
person who drank tea with her in her private sitting-room. Christina
was never allowed in there. Mrs. Hallam made no secret of her dislike
to children.

"They either are so forward and unmanageable that they'll be upsetting
and spoiling all one's personal possessions, or else they'll sit by as
dumb as a dog, and take in all you'll be remarking and repeat it to the
first person they come across."

This was her verdict when Nurse one day wanted Christina to accompany
her to tea, and she had never tried to take her again.

It was a happy day when Christina found herself in the library. It was
the only room that nearly always had a fire, and she had been passing
the door when the housemaid was going in to light it.

"Is this Mrs. Hallam's room?" asked the child innocently.

And Emily, the housemaid, had laughed at her.

"Come in and see it. 'Tis your father's wish that it should always be
kept well aired. He does set store on his books so! Mr. Tipton says
'tis most vallyble library, and 'tis to keep the books from getting
damp we have so many fires."

So Christina had stolen shyly in, and looked with awe and wonder at
the treasures it contained. And then from awe she passed to wistful
longing, and when Nurse one day said lightly, "If you're a good girl
and put every book back where you find it, you can read them," she had
joyfully taken advantage of this permission, and had made the library
her retreat whenever Nurse was "called away on business" from the
nursery.

The books in the library proved an inexhaustible pleasure to the little
maiden. There were old books and new books; books with pictures,
books without. An illustrated series of Froissart's "Chronicles" kept
her entranced for two months, and now, on this particular day, she
had seized an old "History of France" and had been following, with
breathless interest, the fortunes and fate of Jeanne d'Arc.

She shut her book up with a little shiver when she read of the
heroine's shameful death. And there, upon the hearthrug, she was
doing what she always did after reading about any heroine of fiction:
transferring herself—Christina, aged eight—into the circumstances and
position of the heroine.

"And it might have been me!"

Christina had a very big conception of what ought to be done, and a
very tremulous and small opinion of her own courage.

Slaughter of any kind was abhorrent to her. The death of a fly on
a window pane, a mouse in a trap, or a bird in the garden, was the
occasion for a flood of tears and much lamentation. Now she murmured to
herself:

"If I had heard the voice, I should have had to get a sword and go; I
should have been obliged to lead the soldiers into battle and kill; I
should have been wicked if I had said no; and oh, I couldn't, couldn't
have done it! And it might have been me!"

Tears began to crowd into her eyes. She shook her curly head, and
unclasping her hands, she knelt on the rug, and with closed eyes put up
this passionate prayer:

"Please God, never send a voice to me to tell me to fight in battle. I
shall be a coward, I shan't be able to do it. O God, never tell me to
kill anybody! And oh, please, never turn me into a Joan of Arc!"

After which prayer she dried her eyes and was slightly comforted.

She did not turn again to her book. The tragic fate of the maid of
France was too vivid and real to be easily effaced. It was almost a
relief when she heard her nurse call her. She trotted upstairs and met
her at the nursery door. That good woman had a perturbed look on her
round good-tempered face.

"Come in, Miss Tina, and hear what I've got to tell you. Me and Mrs.
Hallam have both been struck down by a letter—such news, and so little
time to prepare; but we have had rumours, and I always said the master
would never come home again till he got a lady to come with him. 'Tis
eight years this coming Christmas that your sweet mother was taken, and
'tis not to be wondered at. And now you'll have to prepare yourself
to meet your father and a stepmother all at once, and that not a day
later than next Saturday. There will be change here at last. Me and
Mrs. Hallam have lived so quiet that it has quite upset us; but 'tis
only natural and right after all, and I'm not the kind of ignorant,
uneducated person to be speaking to you against a second mother. She
may be the very one to slip into your mother's shoes, and she may not,
but we'll hope for the best."

Christina looked up at her nurse with big eyes.

"I don't understand," she murmured. "Is father coming home?"

"Yes, and he's bringing a new wife, and a room has got to be prepared
for a young gentleman; but who or what he is, me and Mrs. Hallam can't
make out. Now you be a good girl and stay quiet up here, for I've
promised to help Mrs. Hallam in unpacking some of the glass and china,
and getting the drawing-room put to rights."

Nurse was bustling away, when Christina called after her imploringly:

"May I go to see Miss Bertha?"

"No. I can't spare any one to take you, and it is too damp and cold for
you to be out to-day. Stay in the nursery like a good child."

Nurse was a picture of an old woman. Round and ruddy, with silver hair
smoothed under her big cap, she looked the embodiment of health and
content. Yet she suffered from many twinges of rheumatism, and had
an old-fashioned horror of open air. The nursery was like a hothouse
in the winter time, and Christina was consequently delicate, and
peculiarly susceptible to cold.

The child stood at the large window when Nurse had left her, and looked
out with some wistfulness across the park towards the goal of her
desire. It was a tiny cottage, originally one of the park lodges, but
owing to the alteration of the drive which once ran past it, was now
let to a single lady, and stood in half an acre of ground, railed off
from the surrounding park.

Christina heaved a sigh. She breathed hard on the panes of glass, and
traced some letters with her finger.

"I'm afraid of fathers and mothers," she acknowledged to herself. "I
don't know what they're like. Emily's father isn't kind to her, she
says, and I've seen some mothers in the village who slap their little
boys. I wish I could tell Miss Bertha."

Suddenly she gave a scream of delight.

"Here she is walking up the drive, and I do believe Dawn is with her!
Oh, I hope, I hope they're coming to see me. And I forgot Dawn's
father. He is kind; oh, I do hope my father will be like him!"

She was not long left in doubt. A very short time afterwards the
nursery door opened, and a little old lady, accompanied by a
rosy-cheeked, fair-haired boy; came forward.

"We thought we should find you in, dear," Miss Bertha said, "and as
Dawn is spending the day with me, I brought him along."

Christina's pale cheeks became pink with excitement. She and Dawn
rushed at each other, Dawn with such impetus that he brought her to the
ground.

Christina was too happy to mind her fall. She clung to Miss Bertha.

"Father is coming home with a mother," she announced, and if Miss
Bertha showed no surprise, Dawn was stricken dumb.

Miss Bertha slipped off her tweed cloak, and drew up a chair to the
fire. She then took Christina on her lap, and Dawn flung himself down
on the hearthrug, rolling himself over on his back, and pillowing his
curly head on his arms behind it.

"You haven't got a mother," he remarked with dancing eyes. "You and me
are just the same."

"I s'pose mothers can be made," said Christina thoughtfully.

"Yes," said Miss Bertha cheerily, "and a very happy thing it is to have
a new mother. I heard the rumour, Childie, so I just ran along to tell
you what a good thing it will be."

"What will she do?"

Christina's little face looked anxious with care.

"Perhaps what I am doing now. She will talk to you and love you and
take care of you."

"Nurse does that."

Christina's tone was a little doubtful.

"Ah! You wait and see!" said Miss Bertha, nodding her head. "Fathers
and mothers are like nobody else! If I had mine alive now, how happy I
should be!"

There was a little silence, which Dawn broke.

"My mother is alive though we can't see her. She takes care of dad and
me. And my toad has lost himself, Tina; and Porky, the big black pig,
was killed the day before we came from London. And Miss Bertha's given
me some lily bulbs for my garden!"

Christina's eyes shone.

"I wish Nurse would let me garden in winter. She says it's too cold.
And oh, Miss Bertha, do you like Joan of Arc?"

The little maid's brain was too full of her heroine to forget her.
For the next half-hour the old lady and the children talked of the
past, with its superstitions and heroism, and then dark settled down,
and Nurse came in, and Christina's friends departed. She watched them
wistfully from the window, then she ate her tea, feeling a sense of
importance and superiority over her boy friend.

"I'm not going to be alone any more. I shall have a father and mother
too, and Dawn won't have so much as me!"

She was full of curiosity over the expected arrivals, but Nurse could
give her very little information. When she was in bed, she lay awake
picturing her new mother.

"She will be in black velvet with feathers, like the picture in the
hall; and she will move very soft, and will speak like Miss Bertha when
she reads the Bible; and I—oh, I shall be frightened of them both, and
I wish they weren't coming!"

Down went her head under the bedclothes.

The unexpected and unknown always had terrors for Christina. It seemed
to overwhelm her now. Two strange people coming to take possession of
the great unused rooms downstairs, people who would have full control
of her actions; who might be kind, but might equally be cruel; people
who would pass her on the stairs, invade her nursery, inhabit the
library, and might even forbid her to cross its threshold. At this
thought Christina lifted up her voice and wept aloud.

She cried herself to sleep, and was astonished to wake the next morning
and find herself looking forward with pleasure to what had been a
dreadful nightmare to her the night before.

The morning was bright and sunny. Nurse was in the best of spirits.

"Miss Bertha said she would like to have you over to lunch to-day
as we are all so busy, so Connie will walk down with you soon after
breakfast. Be a good child, and be ready to come back at three o'clock,
for 'tis too cold for you to be out after that."

Christina's cheeks got rosy red. It was going to be a golden day
indeed! Nurse so seldom let her out of her sight, and Connie, the
nursery maid, could tell such lovely stories!

When she started down the drive—a little bundle of wraps and furs with
a Shetland veil over her face to shield her from the wind—she felt as
if she never wanted to go back to the nursery again. It was a frosty
morning. Connie held her hands tight so that she might not slip, and
talked without stopping of the master and mistress so soon returning.
There were no stories to-day.

"Indeed, Miss Christina, my head is too full of what's coming. The
house will be full of company. Lords and ladies and dooks and duchesses
have visited here in times past, so Mrs. Hallam says, and I'm just
longin' to catch sight of them. There will be dinner parties and balls,
and company every day, and 'tis time this dull old house was shook up."

Christina looked quite scared.

"Will I have to see them all?"

"Yes, you'll be dressed up in your best clothes and go down in the
drawing-room, and you'll have to speak pretty to all of 'em; and I hope
Nurse will let me go down and fetch you up a time or two, for I shall
catch sight o' the dresses and the jools, and hear the music agoing!"

Christina heaved a deep sigh.

"I shall never be able to speak, never!" she ejaculated with a shake of
her head.

They reached Miss Bertha's little cottage. She was out in her garden
looking at her bed of violets, but greeted Christina warmly, and took
her into her sitting-room.

Miss Bertha's sitting-room was a paradise to the lonely child. It was
furnished with a bright old chintz, and was crowded with everything
that could bring joy to a child's heart. There was a stuffed squirrel
under a glass case, some queer china figures on a shelf, ivory
chess-men, Indian books with coloured illustrations of natives and
animals on rice paper. There was a small cabinet of curiosities from
all parts of the world; for Miss Bertha had had a brother who was a
sailor, and who used to bring her many a queer treasure. There was a
model of a heathen temple, an Indian puzzle box, a Chinese doll, a
stuffed snake, and some bottled scorpions. Christina was never tired of
looking at them all.

Connie took off her walking things and then departed.

Miss Bertha stirred the fire into a bright blaze, produced some
knitting, and then prepared herself to listen. All children laved her
because she let them talk, and though Christina was shy and silent as a
rule, Miss Bertha enjoyed her full confidence.

"What is a coward, Miss Bertha?"

The old lady's keen eyes looked at the child before she replied:

"One who has no courage."

"Is it wicked to be a coward? Because I'm pretty sure I'm one."

Miss Bertha shook her head at her.

"I haven't seen any signs of it, Childie. There are different kinds
of cowardice and different kinds of courage. Tiny girls like you are
naturally not so fearless as boys. I would rather be afraid of the dark
myself than afraid to speak the truth. It is cowardly to tell a lie."

"I haven't any courage," said Christina pitifully, with a quivering
under-lip. "If I heard a voice like Joan of Arc did, I should put my
fingers in my ears and not listen to it. I couldn't have ridden into
battle as she did! I'm afraid of everything, Dawn says I am, and every
day I get more things to be afraid of. I'm—I'm afraid of father and
mother!"

Her voice faltered. She slipped down from her chair and buried her face
in Miss Bertha's black merino gown.

Miss Bertha stroked the soft curly head tenderly.

"That fear won't last long. It is only because they are strangers.
Don't think too much about your fears, they are mostly shadows."

"Dawn says a coward ought always to be kicked."

Miss Bertha laughed outright.

Christina raised her head with big tearful eyes. "Oh, please, Miss
Bertha, why did God make me a coward? I'm sure I've always been one
ever since I was a tiny baby."

"No, darling, God never made you a coward; and if you think you are not
as brave as you ought to be, ask Him to make you brave."

Christina dried her eyes, and jumping up clasped her arms round Miss
Bertha's neck.

"It wouldn't be too difficult for God, would it?" she asked, hope
dawning in her eyes.

"No, it would be quite easy. Shall we ask Him now to take away all fear
of meeting your father and mother?"

Miss Bertha was the only person who talked to Christina about good
things. She seemed to live so close to God herself that she brought
every one she knew close to Him too. Christina's nurse often wondered
at the knowledge her little charge seemed to have of God and of His
love and power. She was not a religious person herself, but as a
matter of duty heard Christina say her morning and evening prayers,
and on Sunday afternoons would read her a chapter out of the Bible.
Beyond this she never went, and Christina looked upon Miss Bertha as
the only one who could solve her childish perplexities and religious
difficulties. For the little girl was a thinker beyond her years, and
her brain was far stronger than her body.

She was quite accustomed to Miss Bertha's custom of getting down
upon her knees at any moment of the day to speak to the One whom she
loved and followed; and now, as the grey and golden heads were bowed
together, Christina's burden disappeared. She jumped up almost joyfully.

"And now, please, Miss Bertha, may I have your dear little Chinese doll
to nurse?"

She was a child again for the time, and her merry chatter and laughter
brought a corresponding light and gladness into the face of her old
friend.



CHAPTER II

"FEAR DWELLS NOT HERE"

LUNCH was had in the tiny dining-room on the other side of the passage.
Christina, accustomed to her simple nursery menage, always enjoyed
her midday meal with Miss Bertha. She was peculiarly susceptible to
pretty things. Miss Bertha's fine linen damask tablecloth, the quaint
old sugar bowls and salt cellars in their crimson glass and cut silver
mounts, the old-fashioned silver, and the pretty flowers that always
graced her table, delighted Christina quite as much as the roast
chicken and apple tart, and the ripe pears that followed afterwards.

"When I grow up," she announced, "I shall have just such a house as
this, Miss Bertha, and I shall have Nurse for my maid like your Lucy."

"Ah, I shall wish you a fuller house than mine," said Miss Bertha; with
a little laugh and shake of her head. "It is very quiet and monotonous
to live by yourself. When I was a young thing, I remember thinking that
I never could do it, and, as each one of my relations began to leave
me, I always prayed that I might be the next to go."

"To go where?" asked Christina with big eyes.

Miss Bertha pointed with a smiling face out of the window up to the
blue sky.

Christina looked awed, and her friend said quickly:

"I am not so impatient now. This world is a nice place, Childie, and if
you have no family or relations, you can have friends, and there are
always some to be helped along the way."

"Like you help me and Dawn," said Christina gravely.

"Ah, there is Dawn! I told him I should bring you to see him after
lunch. His aunt Rachael has gone away for the day. So we will go at
once."

Christina was wrapped up in her walking things, and very soon she was
trotting along the road with the old lady. They did not go into the
village with its square-towered church and thatched cottages, but
turned up a lane with high banks on each side, and in at a white gate
and up an untidy-looking drive.

"Ah," said Miss Bertha, shaking her head. "Here is work that would keep
Dawn out of mischief; he could take up every one of these leaves, and
sweep the paths."

"And I could help him," said Christina with shining eyes.

It was a queer irregular house they came to, partly built of wood,
partly stone. The wooden porch and low roof was covered with a leafless
vine with long untidy tendrils and branches. It had evidently not
been pruned for years. The front door stood partly open. Inside was a
square hall with an open wood fire. In a big armchair drawn up before
it lounged Dawn's father smoking. He was on his feet in an instant when
he saw his visitors, and welcomed them with a bright smile and slow
measured voice.

"Now, I'm sure you didn't come to see me, but my Will-o'-the-wisp; and
where he is, I haven't the faintest conception!"

"We are disturbing you," said Miss Bertha; "let us go through the
garden; he will be out, not in, I expect."

"I would come with you, but I've got a painting fit on, and am back to
my studio after this pipe has been smoked. Ah! Here he is!"

Dawn came flying in with rumpled curls and rosy cheeks, but his face
and hands were as black as a chimney-sweep's.

"Oh, Tina, come on! Such a lovely bonfire I've made at the bottom of
the garden! Dad gave me three old canvases and I'm getting all the
rubbish I can find. It's Hallowe'en, and Aunt Rachael told me what the
Scotch people do, and if we're sweethearts, we must jump through the
fire together; as you're Scotch you must do it. Come on and try, and
don't mind the smoke, it only makes you dirty!"

Christina was divided between fascination and horror, and Miss Bertha
took hold of her hand encouragingly.

"We will come and look on, but my jumping days are over, and I don't
think yours have begun."

Out into the garden they went, and it was a scene of autumn desolation,
for weeds and thorns seemed to be choking all else. Dawn's flying feet
hardly touched the ground, and at the very end of the lawn, he pointed
with triumph to the bonfire. He certainly was collecting rubbish: a
three-legged chair, an old broom, a wooden bucket without a bottom, an
old saddle, a piece of frayed carpet, and a variety of smaller articles
were all waiting to be sacrificed.

Christina watched him dancing round, and her colour came and went. She
squeezed Miss Bertha's hand.

"And Joan of Arc was in the middle. They burnt her!" she exclaimed
under her breath.

"Come on, Tina, jump across with me; don't funk it."

Dawn took hold of her hand.

Christina drew a long breath, made a step forward, then burst into
tears.

"I can't! I can't! I'm a coward!"

"I'm not a coward," said Miss Bertha briskly, "but I can't jump across!
Look here, Dawn, don't you know that at this time of year bonfires are
made to burn leaves and dry sticks, and not chairs and tables! Get
your wheelbarrow and spade and sweep up your garden paths; Christina
will help you. Pile the leaves on your bonfire and all the weeds you
can find. You will be tidying up your place, and having some fun into
the bargain. I want to see a sick child in the cottage next to you. I
shan't be gone long, and then I am going to take Christina home. Make
the most of your time."

"Do try one little jump!" urged Dawn, when Miss Bertha had disappeared.
"Just see me! It's quite easy."

"No," said Christina; "I know I should tumble down and be burnt up in
the middle, and I couldn't be burnt!"

"You wouldn't be. What a pity it is that you are a girl! You're never
up to any games. Let's come and get the leaves!"

"But I love to play games," asserted poor Christina: "I make up lovely
ones in my own head, and wish you were with me to play with me; but
jumping through a fire isn't the only game to play!"

"No," said Dawn, running to an old shed and bringing out a wheelbarrow;
"we'll make up an end to the babes in the wood. You go and lie down
on the path over there and cover yourself over with leaves. And I'll
be the wicked uncle, and will come along to get some leaves for my—my
pigs, and then I'll find your dead body, and will be very frightened,
and then will take you along to burn you, and the heat of the fire will
make you come alive, and then you must jump up and point your finger
at me, and I'll be so frightened, that I shall tumble back into my own
fire, and be burnt to a cinder myself."

"And then," added the more merciful Christina, "just before you burn,
I'll drag you out, and you'll fall down on your knees and say you're
sorry for all your sins, and then I'll forgive you, and we'll go and
look for my brother, who isn't dead either!"

This game was carried out, and the paths did not receive much attention
in consequence. But when it was over Dawn began to talk:

"We're painting another picture."

"What's it about?"

"Red and yellow leaves in a wood, and a little old man with sticks
coming through it. I was the little man. I put on dad's greatcoat. I'm
first-rate in the picture."

"How clever your dad is!"

A sigh followed.

"I wonder if my father paints pictures?"

"I'm sure he doesn't."

"What will he do all day?"

"He'll ride a horse and smoke a pipe and read a newspaper," said Dawn
with serious conviction.

"And mother?"

"She'll—I don't know about mothers. Aunt Rachael helps to cook the
dinner and mends our clothes and makes jam. She made some apple jam out
of our garden yesterday! Come in and taste some!"

To think was to act with Dawn. He dropped his broom and dashed away to
the house. Christina followed him.

"Aunt Rachael gave me some skimmings in a saucer. I believe I left it
in dad's room. Come on, and we'll find it."

Without any ceremony Dawn flung open the door of his father's studio.
His father was standing before his big canvas, painting earnestly. He
did not look round or speak till Dawn had seized hold of his saucer of
jam. Then he turned and smiled at Christina.

"When are you going to let me put you into a picture?" he asked.

Christina's cheeks became crimson, but she did not speak.

"She says she couldn't have you stare at her, dad. Tina is very shy,
like my black rabbit Loo was. Loo would shake all over when I took hold
of her, and she never left off shaking till she died. Put your finger
in, Tina, and lick it. I've got no spoon. It's just scrumptious!"

"You'll find a spoon in my cupboard," said Dawn's father.

And Christina the next minute was sitting down on a rug with her small
friend, sharing his delicious compound.

"So your father is coming back," Dawn's father, Mr. O'Flagherty, said
after a pause.

"And Tina doesn't know what he's like, but we hope he'll be something
like you," said Dawn eagerly.

His father shook his head and went on painting.

"I expect he'll be nice," said Christina loyally.

"Fathers are always nice, aren't they, Jack-in-the-box? It's their
children who are the tyrants and taskmasters; the poor fathers have a
sad time of it, but they never complain; not even when a year's work is
spoilt in one moment by a meddlesome imp applying the wrong varnish!"

Dawn put his saucer of jam down and flung himself upon his father with
tearful eyes.

"I've told you thousands of times how sorry I was. I did mean to help
you, dad; you know I did! I begged you to give me a thrashing; but
I've helped you with some of your pictures, haven't I? Oh, I wish you
wouldn't make me keep remembering that varnish! I wish you had had a
girl like Tina instead of a boy like me!"

His father put his brush in his mouth, and for a minute rested his hand
on the curly head that was burrowing itself into his coat pocket.

"You're my plague and joy, sonny, and as necessary to me as my paint
is! Now be off with you. I hear Miss Bertha calling."

"I hope my father will speak to me like that," said Christina, as they
left the room.

"Dad and I are very old friends," Dawn responded quaintly. "We've
learnt to understand each other."


All the way home Christina turned over these words in her mind.

"If my father isn't old friends with me, we can be new ones perhaps. I
hope, oh, I do hope he will like me!"

When Miss Bertha left her at the door of her home, she said to her
softly:

"I am going to give you a nice little verse, Childie, to think of when
you get frightened of people and of things. It is this:

   "'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"

Christina repeated it over to herself as she climbed the nursery
stairs. She met Nurse with a glad light in her eyes.

"I've had the most lovely day, Nurse, and I don't think I shall mind
very much my father and mother coming home."

"Mind!" exclaimed Nurse aghast. "I should think you oughtn't to mind,
indeed! A little girl ought to be full of happiness at the very
thought!"


The eventful day came. Christina wandered up and down the house
rejoicing in the blazing fires and cheerful rooms. To her, before, her
home had been a puzzle and a mystery. There had been so many locked
doors and darkened rooms; rooms that even in the light of day were
shrouded with linen coverings. Now all was changed. Curtains were
drawn aside; coverings taken away; the silver and china and pictures
delighted and astonished the child. She watched the gardeners fill
the big hall with flowering plants; she looked on whilst Mrs. Hallam
arranged flowers in every room: flowers which had come from the
greenhouses, into which Christina had never been allowed to go.

"Why, Nurse!" she exclaimed drawing a long breath. "We have more pretty
things than Miss Bertha has!"

And Nurse laughed outright at the comparison.

Dusk set in, and the travellers had not arrived. Christina had her tea,
and sat expectantly at the nursery window; but when eight o'clock came,
Nurse insisted upon putting her to bed.

"They'll not be here now till nearly ten o'clock. They must have missed
the train."

And Christina did not know whether she was glad or sorry that the
meeting was deferred. She was too tired with the excitement of the day
to keep awake, and slept soundly till she was roused by Nurse the next
morning.

"Have they come, Nurse; what are they like? Did they come to see me
when I was asleep?"

"No," said Nurse a little reluctantly; "but your father asked if
you were well. 'Twas just a bustle and confusion from the time they
arrived. I was glad that you had not waited up."

Nurse's face was rather gloomy. Christina's spirits sank at once.

"Shall I have to go and see them before I have my breakfast?"

"No, indeed. They'll sleep late themselves, and won't want to be
disturbed. No, you must wait till you're sent for, my dearie."

Nurse was very silent through breakfast; but Christina's quick ears
caught the unusual stir of feet and voices through the house. She was
in a fever of unrest and of fear, and when breakfast was cleared away,
and Nurse had left her alone, she sat down on a low chair by the fire,
and with clenched hands repeated over and over to herself:

   "'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"

And then suddenly the door burst open, and like a small whirlwind a
young girl swept in.

"There! I am right after all, and this is the nursery! Phew! What a
heat! It's like a hothouse. Why there she is! Now, you small girl, let
me look at you! They have so laughed at me for having a ready-made
daughter. You aren't very big, that's one comfort! What is your name?
How old are you? And what do you think of me? Can't you stand up? Come
over to the window and let me have a look at you! But we'll have some
air first, I can't breathe in such an atmosphere. No wonder you're such
a white-faced creature!"

Talking without a pause, Christina's new stepmother flung open the
nursery window, and Christina recoiled instinctively as the blast of
cold air met her.

"Your nurse is one of the coddling sort, I can see! Now, I've been
brought up in the fresh air, and I shall try if I can't make you as
hardy as myself. I shall see that you're not kept in a glass case any
longer. Now, aren't you pleased to see me? Dear me! I wish Puggy was
here!"

Christina looked up into the laughing girlish face bent over her. Her
stepmother was in a short tweed coat and skirt, and looked like an
overgrown schoolgirl. Her hair, which was a pretty golden-brown, was
drawn back from a decidedly fresh attractive face. Rosy cheeks, blue
eyes and a mouth that was never anything but smiling, completed the
picture. Christina's fears disappeared at once.

"Yes," she said smiling in return. "I think I shall like you to be my
mother."

"You queer little soul! I can tell you I didn't like the idea of a
stepdaughter at all, but I was told that I should have no bother, for
your nurse had you entirely in her charge. And I love children if
they're no bother—ah, here is your nurse!"

She turned to meet Nurse's look of horror at the open window.

"No, don't shut it, Nurse; you have this room ever so much too warm.
Look at this child's pale cheeks!"

"Miss Christina has a cold, and is very delicate ma'am. You must excuse
me if I act contrary to your wishes!"

Nurse banged down the wide window sash with no very gentle hand.

Christina's young stepmother laughed in her face.

"You are a foolish woman," she said; "not fit to have the charge of a
child!"

Then humming a song she sauntered out of the room, and Nurse sat down
in her easy chair and began to cry.

"And if this is the beginning, what will be the end!" she sobbed. "And
'tis the same all over the house; but there, Miss Tina, don't you mind
what a foolish old woman says. I'm not fit to have the charge of you."

Christina stood on the hearthrug not knowing what to say. She was
relieved when Connie came in and asked Nurse to go to Mrs. Hallam, who
wanted her.

"I think my mother won't be unkind," said Christina to herself with a
wise little shake of her head, "but I should like to see my father."

She waited for some time in the empty nursery, and then, weary of her
own company, determined to slip down to the library and read a book.

Very softly she crept downstairs, and was relieved to meet no one on
the way; the library was empty. Christina climbed up on the steps, and
took out the volume of French History that she was last reading. Then
she sat down on the hearthrug, and in a few minutes had forgotten all
about her father and mother. Outside surroundings had faded away; she
was living inside her book.

Suddenly a voice made her start.

"Is this Christina?"

She jumped up in fright, for there, standing before her, stood her
father. Very tall, and very big he seemed to her. His dark eyes were
fixed upon her, and though she could not see his mouth for the heavy
moustache that concealed it, it seemed to her that he was looking
displeased.

"Yes," she said trying hard to be brave; "oughtn't I to be here?"

Her father drew her to him, and placing one hand under her chin raised
her face to his, then he stooped and did what her stepmother had not
done—he kissed her.

"And is this where you hide yourself?" he asked. "Are you fond of
books?"

"I love them!" Christina answered with glowing eyes.

Her father smiled.

"And so do I, so we shall be friends at once."

He sat down, and took her on his knee.

In a few minutes Christina was chatting unreservedly to him, asking him
innumerable questions about things that had puzzled her.

"What do these words mean that are stamped across all your books? Nurse
doesn't know, do you?"

"It is our family motto. Don't you know it? It means this in English:
'Fear dwells not here.' The Maclahans have neither been better or worse
than most folks, but right back to the first annals of their history,
no cowardly deed has been done by them. They have not known what fear
is."

There was silence, then very timidly from Christina:

"And I'm a Maclahan?"

"Yes," said her father heartily, "and though you're not very grand yet,
either in looks or size, you must grow up a brave courageous woman, or
you will be the first to disgrace your family."

Christina drew a long breath, but said nothing for some minutes; then
she asked:

"And have all the little girl Maclahans been brave always?"

"Let us come and look at some of them," said her father; and he led her
to the long picture gallery that wound round the house.

Christina had sometimes been there with Nurse, and had vaguely
wondered who all the grand ladies and gentlemen were. It had never
entered her head that they were in any way connected with her. Now she
looked up at them eagerly and curiously. Her father knew them all by
name, he could remember their different histories. Christina looked at
and admired the men, but it was the women about whom she asked most.

"And they were really little girls like me, and always brave, father?
They never felt afraid of anything?"

"Do they look as if they feared anybody or anything?" her father
returned, a little triumph in his tone.

And Christina shook her head decidedly.

"No, they look so straight and high."

"And that is the look of a Maclahan," said her father. "Hark, I hear
your—your mother calling!"

He left her. Christina's little soul was perturbed and miserable. She
went back to the nursery and did some thinking by the nursery fire,
then she laboriously traced out in big pencil letters, on a sheet of
white paper, "Fear dwells not here," and pinned it to the wall over
the mantelpiece. After that, she walked up and down the room holding
her head as high as she could, and practising with patience and care
the kind of look she fancied was upon the faces of the ladies in the
picture gallery.

"If only," she murmured; "if only that was not our motto! Oh, if father
only knew, if he only guessed—what would he do with me!"

She shut her eyes, and pictured in the olden days a castle, and all
the household gathered round the gates. Soldiers were marching out
guarding a prisoner, one who had disgraced her family by an act of
cowardice, one who was to be banished outside for ever, whose picture
in the gallery was to be taken down and burnt: the coward herself, sent
out into the cold strange world to perish with hunger, disowned, cast
out by her family! Some Spartan tales that she had read helped her to
picture this scene with great reality. Then she tried to adapt it to
her own day. What would happen if one day she brought disgrace upon the
whole family by her fears?

Poor little Christina! Her vivid imagination made her very miserable,
and Nurse wondered when dinner time came that she seemed to have no
appetite.



CHAPTER III

"THEY SAY I'M CODDLING YOU!"

"WE will have a walk this afternoon," said Nurse; "the sun is coming
out."

"Shall I see father and mother again to-day, do you think?"

"I can't tell you," said Nurse a little shortly.

But as Christina went out on to the terrace an hour afterwards she came
upon her father and mother just starting for a ride. Two beautiful
horses were being held by the grooms in readiness, and their restless
antics caused Christina to eye them nervously.

Mrs. Maclahan was making her husband fasten her glove for her, but
directly she noticed Christina, she turned towards her.

"Now, Herbert, look at this child. Isn't she like a little old woman
in all those wraps? Come here, Christina—it is a mouthful of a name! I
shall call you Tina. Have you ever been on horseback? Never? Then the
sooner you learn to ride the better. Hold Damon steady, Barker! There!
Up you go! Now, how do you feel?"

Before Christina knew where she was, she found herself on the big
chestnut. Her stepmother's strong arm had tossed her up as easily as if
she had been a doll.

The little girl's heart beat hard and fast, and every vestige of colour
left her cheeks. But catching sight of her father's pleased smile, she
sat erect, and with determined lips murmured to herself Miss Bertha's
verse.

Nurse began to expostulate, but Mrs. Maclahan cut her short.

"Afraid? Nonsense, she must learn to ride! Now, Barker, lead her down
to the lodge; I will mount there. Take hold of the reins, Tina; that's
right! Herbert, ride with her; I will walk."

Poor Christina in agony clutched hold of the reins. Her head swam,
there was a buzzing noise in her ears. No one had any idea how the
nervous child suffered, but not a word did she utter.

Once her father laid his hand on her as she swayed from side to side.

"Hold yourself up, little woman, or you will fall. I must get you a
small pony, then there will be no fear. Are you enjoying it?"

Christina was absolutely mute. Every step was torture, but how could
she confess that she was afraid? She was a Maclahan she kept assuring
herself. It seemed years before the lodge was reached, and then Barker
gently lifted her down.

For a moment Christina looked up at her father pitifully.

"I didn't fall," she said; and she fainted dead away.

There was confusion then. Her father carried her into the lodge, and
Nurse rushed forward forgetting her respectful manner in the excitement
of the moment.

"My poor child! Oh, 'tis a cruel shame, when she's afraid of as much
as a fly—and as to horses—the very looks of them are a terror to her!
I've known children made imbeciles for life for less than this, and her
heart not strong! 'Tis enough to kill her; likely enough we shall never
get her round!"

"Go back to the house, you fussy old woman, unless you can control
yourself!"

Mrs. Maclahan spoke sharply, for she was vexed at the result of her
thoughtless, good-natured act. She pushed Nurse away, and was the first
to speak to her little stepdaughter when the colour returned to her
face and she opened her eyes.

"There! Now you're all right, aren't you? Are you given to this kind of
thing?"

Christina struggled to her feet, and looked vaguely round.

"Let her go to her nurse," said her father quickly; "I fear she's very
delicate."

Mrs. Maclahan shrugged her shoulders.

"She is being made so. The sooner a change is made in the nursery the
better. She'll be all right now. Come along, Herbert; we shall never
get off. You won't be such a little goose again, will you, Tina?"

She mounted the chestnut and rode away; and Christina walked back to
the house with Nurse, feeling shaky and still confused.

Nurse petted and comforted her, and when she saw that she was quite
herself again, left her on the nursery sofa whilst she went to Mrs.
Hallam's room to talk over the "new mistress."

That day seemed a long one to Christina. She felt as if she were in
disgrace. Neither her father or mother came near her, but after the
nursery tea was over, Nurse had a message brought to her that she was
to go to Mrs. Maclahan. She came back with tears in her eyes, and
informed the child that she was going to leave her.

Christina could not and would not believe it.

"I couldn't live, Nurse, without you!" she assured her passionately.

"They say I'm coddling you, and you must be made hardy and strong.
They think every child is cut out in the same pattern. Your stepmother
is one for fresh air and sport, so she says, and she's going to take
you in hand herself. Me, who has nursed you through your teething and
vaccination and that terrible attack of whooping-cough, and been a
mother and nurse rolled in one for eight years! Me to be turned away
with a month's notice, like the kitchen-maid!"

Nurse put her head down into her apron and sobbed bitterly.

Christina gazed at her in horrified wonder. Her little soul rose in
protest against such a sentence. Without a thought of fear, with hot
cheeks and flashing eyes, she dashed down the stairs into the room that
she knew had been prepared for her stepmother. She found her there
writing letters, and her father was dictating to her as she wrote.

"Nurse is not to be sent away!" Christina exclaimed.

Had a thunderbolt fallen out of a mild spring shower of rain, Mrs.
Maclahan could not have been more astonished; but Christina was too
excited to note anything.

"I can't have Nurse leave me! I would rather you left me," she
passionately went on. "I will do anything if you let Nurse stop! She
doesn't coddle me and make me afraid! I will ride that big horse every
day, I will do sport if you teach me, I will do everything you want;
but I love her, I love her, and she mustn't leave me!"

She stood there with crimson cheeks and heaving breast, then catching
her father's eye, she flung herself upon him with a passion of tears:

"I will be a Maclahan! I'll never, never, never be afraid any more,
father, if you let Nurse stay with me!"

"I have seen no signs of fear in you yet," said her father, laughing.
"Why, Ena, did you think this white-cheeked, demure-faced baby carried
such a tempestuous little heart within her? I think we must come to
some arrangement with poor Nurse."

"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Maclahan with a short little laugh, as she went
on writing her letters, and did not glance at Christina—"I am afraid
that the child has expressed the case quite clearly. It is a question
of Nurse's departure or mine! I am quite convinced that both of us will
not be able to live in the same house."

"Come along with me to the library, Christina; I found a book to-day
that I think you would like."

And before she could say another word, Christina found herself carried
off by her father to her favourite room.

"Now," he said, placing before her an old red leather volume, "these
are some old Norse legends, translated more than three hundred years
ago, and the pictures are very quaint."

Christina was entranced at once. Sad to say, she forgot poor Nurse, and
when her father saw her thoroughly engrossed in her book, he left her,
and went back to discuss her nursery education with his wife.

When Christina met Nurse again that evening that good woman was calm
and collected, and said with as much dignity as she ever showed towards
her little charge:

"I was upset, dearie, but we'll say no more at present about my going.
I shan't be off next week, nor the week after."

Christina said no more, but when she was in bed her troubles, that
always seemed very heavy then, returned to her.

A new nurse was far more to be dreaded than a new father and mother.

"Oh," she sighed, "I wish I could see Miss Bertha! She would comfort
me, I know she would." Then the remembrance of Miss Bertha's text came
to her:

   "'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"

The very saying it over seemed to soothe her. She fell asleep with the
words upon her lips.


The next day her mother came into the nursery at eleven o'clock, and
told Nurse to get her little stepdaughter ready to go out with her.

Christina's eyes were big with fear, until she looked across to her
paper over the mantelpiece.

"Do you think I shall be put on the horse again Nurse?" she asked
timidly.

"No," said Nurse shortly; "I don't think you will."

The little girl heaved a sigh of relief. She met her mother in the
hall, who laughed when she saw her.

"Take off that veil, child! This fresh, bright morning air won't get a
chance of getting near those white cheeks! Now come along; we are going
for a brisk walk."

They started down the avenue at a quick pace, and Christina had to trot
to keep up with her stepmother's swinging strides. It did her good, for
it prevented her from feeling the cold, and the colour slowly crept
into her cheeks.

"Now tell me," said Mrs. Maclahan in that quick, imperious tone of
hers, "Have you been shut up in this way all your life? Have you had no
children to play with, no outdoor games or exercises?"

"There is Dawn!" said Christina eagerly. "Oh, I should like to play
more with Dawn. He hardly ever comes to me, and it's too long a walk
for Nurse to go to him."

"Dawn! What a queer name! Who is he? What is he?"

"He's a boy; he's always called that because his father painted a
picture of him and called it Dawn. He painted three pictures, and
called them Dawn and Day and Dusk. Dawn's real name is Avril, but he
hates being called that, and his father calls him by ever so many
names: Will-o'-the-wisp and Jack-in-the-box, and lots of others."

"He sounds interesting. Tell me about the pictures. I love them. If he
was Dawn, who was Day and Dusk? Did you ever see the pictures? Were
they in the Academy?"

"Oh, yes. Dawn is always telling me they were. Day was the blacksmith;
he is a young man and wants to marry Connie, only she says his face
is too dirty. And Dusk was old Mr. Green, who used to be a cobbler,
but he's nearly blind now, and Miss Bertha goes to read to him every
Saturday."

"Take me to see Dawn now. It is a dear little name, and if he is a nice
boy, he shall come to play with you every day. I have a small brother
who is coming here for his holidays. In fact, I meant to have brought
him here yesterday, for there is an outbreak of fever at his school,
but he is staying in London for a few days with one of my sisters. He
will soon shake you up and keep you lively!"

Christina was too shy to assure her stepmother that she did not want to
be shaken up, but she quickened her steps joyfully in the direction of
Dawn's home, and then suddenly, down the road in front of them, he came
tearing along, his curly hair flying in the wind.

He took off his hat and waved it frantically when he caught sight of
Christina.

"I'm running away!" he cried out. "Running for my life. Dad has gone
to London, and Aunt Rachael has a headache, and I've eaten all cook's
mince pies for Sunday, and she's after me with a broom!"

"Ah," said Mrs. Maclahan, "this is a boy after my own heart! Come for a
walk with us, and then you shall come back to tea with Tina!"

Dawn looked up at her with laughing assurance.

"You're Tina's new mother, aren't you? I like you awfully. If you will
talk to that old Nurse and tell her Tina won't get into mischief, I'll
come and spend every day with her. I don't go to school when we live in
the country. Dad and I vegetate, and rest our brains, and then we go
back to London, and I'm at lessons all day long. I'm awfully glad dad
is doing a country picture that makes him come here. I'd like to stay
here always!"

The walk that Christina dreaded turned out a very happy one. Dawn
chattered on as freely to Mrs. Maclahan as he did to Christina alone.
They went up as far as the breezy common, and here Christina shivered
and caught her breath, and tried to shield herself behind her mother,
for the wind was bitter, and seemed to be trying to get into her bones.

Mrs. Maclahan noticed her reluctance to face the wind, but made her do
it.

"I've been brought up hardily, and I shall bring you up so too! I
should think cold water baths would be a good thing for you!"

Tears came into poor Christina's eyes. She felt tired and cold, and
longed for Nurse's arms and the nursery fire. The thought of a cold
bath seemed the last straw. Dawn looked at her comically. Then he
turned his cheeky little face up to Mrs. Maclahan.

"You're a Spartan mother," he remarked. "Tina and me have played at
being Spartans. We killed a doll of hers; we beat her and then we
drowned her and then we burnt her; and Tina cried the whole time, but
she had to do it, for the doll had told a lie and was a coward, and we
wanted to teach her that she was to fear nothing!"

"You did it all," said Christina in a trembling voice. "You made out
she was a coward, I didn't say so. And it was no good teaching her not
to be a coward when she was dead!"

"Christina is always afraid that she's a coward herself," observed Dawn
cheerfully; "but I don't know that she is. She's frightened, but she
doesn't funk! As long as you don't funk, it doesn't matter about being
frightened, does it?"

Christina's cheeks got crimson. Her stepmother glanced at her.

"I dare say we have walked far enough," she said. "I must profit by
your experience, Dawn. I must remember that Tina won't funk, but I hope
I shall cure her of being frightened."

They turned back, and when they reached the gates of Christina's home,
Dawn held out his hand.

"I won't come in, after all, to-night," he said rather grandly. "I funk
some persons sometimes. Christina's nurse and our cook are not quite my
friends."

"I should never run away from women," said Mrs. Maclahan.

Dawn's eyes twinkled.

"Yes you would, if you were panting for a run! Any excuse would make
you. And Aunt Rachael's head will be better and she'll be looking for
me: and I promised dad I would be a good boy to her!"

He danced off down the road, singing as he went.

Christina climbed the stairs to the nursery, feeling as if her legs
would hardly move any more.

"Oh, Nurse," she exclaimed, pushing open the nursery door, "can't I go
to bed? I think I'm too tired to stay up!"

Nurse fussed over her at once, but wisely persuaded the tired child
to stay where she was and have some dinner. And when it was over,
Christina began to feel refreshed and rested. She did not see either of
her parents again that day. They dined very late, and did not come in
from their ride till just before dinner.

In a few days' time, the house seemed to settle down into its new
routine. Christina was visited in her nursery by her mother, but these
visits were dreaded both by the nurse and child, for they heralded
the opening of windows, and much advice about the advantages of fresh
air and light clothing, which Nurse especially resented. Mr. Maclahan
occasionally came across his little daughter in the library. He allowed
her to wander in and out as she had been in the habit of doing;
otherwise she never went downstairs, and was never summoned to go into
the drawing-room at any time.

It was a happy day for the child when she saw Miss Bertha again. She
met her out of doors one day, and upon the old lady offering to take
her home for half an hour, Nurse had willingly consented, as she had
some errands to do in the village.

"I will walk up to the house with her, Nurse, so you need not call for
her."

Miss Bertha had noticed the wistful longing in Christina's eyes, and
when they were alone the little girl poured out such a flood of talk
that the old lady felt quite bewildered.

"Take your time, Childie; tell me everything from the beginning; I can
wait to hear it. I shan't run away."

So Christina told her everything from the beginning, and Miss Bertha
listened with interest.

"And has my text helped you, Childie?"

"Oh yes, it has, Miss Bertha, ever so many times. I'm so glad it
doesn't say I'm not to be frightened, because I am, and I can't help
it, and when I was on mother's horse I was terribly frightened, but I
said:

   "'I will trust in Thee,'

"and I asked God to hold me tight on and keep me from falling off, and
He did it. I never fell, and I know I should have if I hadn't asked
God. And, Miss Bertha, isn't it a dreadful thing that our motto should
be 'Fear dwells not here'? Oh, Miss Bertha, what shall I do to make
myself a proper Maclahan? I ought to be as brave as a lion, and when
father finds out about me, I don't know what he'll say! And Nurse is
going to leave me, and mother startles me. She smiles and she's never
said anything cross, but she makes me shiver when she comes into the
room, and she's going to make me hard, she says. She says I want plenty
of cold water and fresh air, and she's going to get me a governess who
will teach me 'nasticks: do you know what they are? I'm frightened of
it all. The only thing I like is that I can play with Dawn as much as I
like, but he hasn't come near me, though mother said he could!"

Then Miss Bertha was able to get her word in.

"Dawn has been in bed two days—nothing much the matter with him: he
ate too many mince pies, and drank a bottle of vinegar in mistake
for currant wine. He has been well punished for his greediness, I am
glad to say; but he will be round to see you as soon as his aunt lets
him out. Why, my dear Childie, most of your fears are groundless!
Your mother will never be unkind to you. Nurse has brought you up in
an old-fashioned way, and your mother wants to bring you up in the
new-fashioned way. I met your mother yesterday for the first time, and
she talked to me about you. She wants to see you stronger, and perhaps
you will be all the better for some of her alterations. I am sorry that
Nurse is going, but you are getting old enough to do regular lessons
now, and a governess will be most kind and nice I expect. You have
nothing to make yourself unhappy about."

Christina was silent; then she took hold of Miss Bertha's hand, and
laid her soft little cheek upon it.

"I know you love me," she said; "and if you think it is best for me, I
won't be afraid!"

Miss Bertha stopped. They were in her garden now, and for one minute
she raised her face in silence to the open sky above her, then she bent
down and kissed the earnest child by her side:

"Christina, my darling child, say those very words you have uttered to
God in your morning and evening prayers. Say them over and over again
to Him when troubles and doubts and fears crowd round you. Say to Him
softly and reverently:

   "'I know You love me; and if You think it is best for me, I won't be
afraid!'"

Christina was awed by the solemnity in Miss Bertha's tone, and when she
looked up at her, she saw tears were in her eyes.

She did not speak, but she could not forget the lesson taught, and
though she was long in learning it, she remembered it to the end of her
life.



CHAPTER IV

"THE UNITED KINGDOM"

"AND is he coming to-day? Really to-day? And will he be about as old as
we are? How scrumptious!"

"His name is Puggy; and Blanche, mother's maid, says he's a terror!"

Christina's eyes were round as she gave Dawn this information.

"How jolly! Has he been sent away from school? Why is he coming before
the holidays?"

"His school has got scarlet fever. He is just as old as you Dawn, but
mother says he's quite different to you."

"Should think so!" said Dawn in tones of scorn. "There's no one like me
in the world, dad says so!"

"I wonder," said Christina meditatively, "if there's a little girl just
like me anywhere."

"Dad says God never makes a duplicate anywhere; isn't that a lovely
long word, and I learnt another yesterday. It was volatile: it means
me, but it isn't very nice. Dad called me a volatile elf, so I pelted
him with chestnut skins in the garden till he told me what it meant.
Why is he called Puggy? It sounds like a pug-dog."

"I asked father, and he laughed. 'It suits him because he's
pugnacious,' he said."

"That's another breather! What does it mean?"

Christina shook her head.

"I keep thinking of Blanche's words, 'a terror.' I expect he'll be a
terror to me."

"Now," said Dawn, shaking his fist in her face, "you think of your
motto, and don't you dare to talk of any one being a terror to you. And
if he is, you bring him along to me, and I'll fight him!"

"Oh," said Christina, "you never would! That would be awful! I always
thought it so wicked to fight, but mother does, so I suppose it's what
she calls 'sport'!"

"Your mother fight?"

Dawn looked very puzzled. He was in the garden with Christina, and
tired with running about, they were now taking a rest on the top of a
low wall in the kitchen garden.

"Yes," said Christina with a grave nod; "mother and a lot of ladies all
fought each other with sticks in a field at the bottom of the lawn over
there. They were fighting for a ball, and they all tried to hit each
other. I ran away, because I couldn't bear to look at them."

"Oh, you goose! That was a game of hockey. They weren't hitting each
other, only the ball. You really ought to learn some games, Tina; you
don't know anything at all!"

"It frightened me," pursued Christina. "I've never seen ladies play at
games like that!"

"You wait till this boy comes, then we'll do an awful lot of things;
oh, I wish I could stay to see him! Do you think I could run off to the
station and see him arrive? What train does he come by?"

"Mother is going to meet him herself; she said she would. I think it's
at four o'clock."

"I'll be there then," said Dawn, "and I think I'll leave you now.
Good-bye."

He was away like the wind, and Christina, feeling it very dull to be in
the garden alone, went indoors. She was full of curiosity over the new
arrival, but as usual her fears were uppermost.

"There are so many happenings!" she told herself gravely. "I never
shall get to like them. And a strange boy is worse than a strange
nurse, or a strange father and mother!"

She was sitting at her nursery tea when Puggy made his appearance. Her
stepmother led him forward:

"This is my baby brother, Tina. He does not look a baby, does he? You
must be very good friends. He will help you to eat up that plate of
bread and butter very quickly. Now, Puggy, be on your best behaviour
remember; and when you are in the nursery, do what Nurse tells you."

Puggy was a short, sturdy boy, only half a head taller than Christina
herself. His hair was closely cropped, and it was of a reddish tinge.
Blue eyes, a very round mouth and snub nose and freckled face, these
belonged to Puggy, and his name seemed to suit him.

He sat down to the table in utter silence. Christina looked across the
table at him very fearfully. Mrs. Maclahan had left the room, and Nurse
began to pour out a cup of very weak tea.

The children's eyes met, then Puggy winked his eye knowingly at
Christina. The colour flow into her cheeks, what was she to do? She
could not wink back, and she was too shy to speak.

Nurse broke the silence.

"What is your name, my dear?"

"Puggy."

"You were not christened Puggy."

"Wasn't I? I don't remember being at my christening. I s'pose I was
there."

Then his round lips widened into a smile.

"My proper name is John Durward, but you are to call me Master Puggy
always."

Nurse looked at him sternly, but said nothing; then Puggy addressed
Christina:

"You'll have to call me Uncle Puggy."

Christina's eyes became round with wonder. This astonishing statement
made her forget her shyness.

"I didn't know little boys could be uncles."

"Oh, can't they! And their nieces have to do what they tell them,
always!"

"But you're not a proper uncle. You didn't belong to me when—when I was
born."

Puggy looked taken aback. He appealed to Nurse.

"Isn't a fellow uncle to his sister's child?"

Nurse smiled.

"You are no relation to Miss Tina, leastways only a step-uncle."

"Well, that's good enough."

He nodded across at Christina triumphantly.

There was not much more talk between them till after tea, and then
somehow or other Christina's shyness melted away, and she found herself
talking to Puggy as she talked to Dawn. She told him all about her
little playfellow; she showed him her toys and games; and he in his
turn waxed confidential.

"I'd like to know that fellow. I believe I saw him at the station;
there was a boy with a mop of hair who stared at me as if I were a
gorilla. I'll teach him manners when I see him! Look here, just come
over the house with me. I want to know my way about."

"But," said Christina feebly, "I don't know my way properly. All the
rooms have been locked up till father came home."

"Come on, and let's find them out now. We must do something. It's too
slow in this old nursery!"

Christina looked round to ask permission of Nurse, but she had
disappeared. So feeling as if she were going into a strange country,
she followed the enterprising Puggy out on the landing, and they
commenced their investigations. The corridors were long, and some rooms
were still locked up, but they peeped into a good many, and at last
found themselves before an old arched door at the very end of the upper
corridor. One of the under housemaids appeared from the back stairs,
and looked quite astonished when she saw the children. Christina spoke
to her.

"We want to go through this door Ann, may we?"

"Oh, lawks, Miss Tina! That's up to the turret room that has a ghost. I
never goes by that door after dark if I can help it!"

Christina's cheeks blanched, she shrank back. Puggy danced up and down
with delight.

"Hurrah for the ghost! Come on, we'll rout him out, and the door isn't
locked!"

"Don't you go up those steps, there's a good child, Miss Tina."

Puggy had swung the door open, and a winding stone staircase disclosed
itself to them.

"I'm sure we'd better not go," said Christina, looking at the dusky
steps with horror.

"Who's the ghost?" demanded Puggy valiantly.

"I dunno. It's just some one that walks about the room there and makes
a noise. Mr. Tipton has heard it often. He sleeps in the room there,
close to the staircase."

"Let us wait till to-morrow," suggested Christina.

But Puggy was bent on going up the steps that moment, and would have
dragged his shrinking little companion after him if a call from Mrs.
Maclahan had not stopped him.

Christina hailed the appearance of her stepmother with relief and
delight.

"Why, what on earth are you doing here?" she asked, as she came up to
them.

Puggy explained, and his sister laughed merrily.

"A ghost! What nonsense! And Tina believes it from the look in her
eyes! Come down to the library both of you. We're having tea there,
and your father wants to see you, Tina. We'll ask him about the ghost.
To-morrow you can explore the house as much as you like."

So down to the library they went, and the blazing fire and the cosy
tea that Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan were enjoying did much to drive away
Christina's fresh fears.

"No," said Mr. Maclahan, taking hold of his small daughter and perching
her on his knee; "we have no ghosts in this house I am glad to say. I
used to have the turret room at the top of those stairs as my den as
a boy, and if you think well, Ena dear, we will turn it over to these
children now."

"I think it would be a capital idea. I fancy Puggy is too much like me
to care to be long in that ill-ventilated nursery."

Christina did not know whether to be glad or sorry that she was to be
introduced to the unknown room; but Puggy was enthusiastic. He turned
to her father with a comic look of perplexity on his face.

"Please what am I to call you? Herbert, like Ena does?"

"No," his sister said sharply. "If we give you an inch you'll take an
ell. You have no respect for anybody!"

Puggy smiled radiantly.

"It isn't my fault!" he said. "You made him my brother, I didn't; and
Tina ought to call me uncle! May I call him the 'Squire' like the
porters did at the station?"

"Yes," said his sister; "and mind you're a good boy, and don't lead
Tina into scrapes."

"You won't be such a reader now you have some one to play with," said
Mr. Maclahan, addressing his little daughter.

Christina looked round the room thoughtfully. "I like books best," she
said, "and Dawn will play with Puggy."

"No," said her stepmother quickly. "Games are better than books for
you, Tina, and I shall see that you have them. But Dawn can come over
here every day if he chooses. I like that boy!"

The very next morning being bright and sunny, Christina was turned out
into the garden to play with Puggy, and they had not been out a quarter
of an hour before Dawn made his appearance. He came with bulging
pockets, and produced for Puggy's edification first a white mouse, then
a mechanical motor-car, and then a bag of nuts.

"I know all about you," he said, shaking back his curls. "Tina has told
me, and I've come to look round with you. Do you like mice? This one is
a darling! When he isn't in my pocket, I carry him on my head inside my
cap. Dad brought me such a jolly motor-car. You can light it with real
oil and it goes like the wind. Like to see it? Here are some nuts for
you, Tina."

They were good friends at once, and so full of fun and spirits that
Christina's laugh rang out again and again, yet before very long, the
first sign of dissent between them arose.

"Tina, go into the house and fetch me my knife. I left it on the
nursery table."

It was Puggy who spoke, and his tone was peremptory. He added, as
Christina obediently walked away: "That's the good of girls to fetch
and carry. They're good for nothing else."

He wanted to impress Dawn with his manliness, but Dawn knew better. He
flushed up at once.

"Dad says only cannibals and savages make girls work for them,
gentlemen never do; at least Englishmen don't!"

"You don't call yourself an Englishman, do you? I heard my sister say
this morning that your father was a poor Irish artist. You're a Paddy,
that's what you are!"

"A Paddy can be a gentleman!" retorted Dawn, springing up from the
ground where he had been playing with Nibble his mouse, and pocketing
the little creature in furious haste.

Puggy laughed scornfully.

"Paddies are always beggars. They live with pigs and chickens in bog
cabins. I know all about them. We have two Paddies at my school. One
tells lies, and the other never washes!"

"And what are you? A brag and a bully!"

Dawn's cheeks were scarlet, his eyes flashing fire. Puggy made a dash
at him, and the next moment both boys were fighting. Jackets were
tossed aside, sleeves tucked up, and if Puggy hit away with dogged
persistence, Dawn perplexed him by his many sided onslaughts: dancing
here and there, he was never in the same place for a second, and they
were in the very thick of it when poor little Christina came back from
her errand.

She was aghast at the sight. Both boys were bleeding, but neither gave
way. After one despairing cry, she fled into the house, and burst in
upon her father and stepmother, who were in the library.

"They're killing each other! Stop them! Oh, do come quick!"

Mrs. Maclahan laughed at the horror in her tones.

"Fighting, I suppose," she said. "I knew Puggy would be at it. Leave
them alone, Tina. It's only the first go off! They'll be the better
friends after it."

"But!" gasped Christina. "They're hurting each other! It's so wicked to
fight, oh, do stop them!"

Her father rose and looked at his wife humorously.

"My dear, Christina has not your constitution, and I'm not fond of
fights. Puggy must learn to control himself. Come along, Tina. Where
are these young combatants?"

Christina led him into the garden breathlessly.

"Dawn has never fought any one before, I'm sure he hasn't, and oh!
They're hurting each other so!"

When they arrived on the scene, the boys were rolling over on the
ground; Dawn was undermost, but if his body was getting the worst of
it, his spirit was unbroken; and when Mr. Maclahan's stern voice broke
in upon them, and they both rose to their feet, he exclaimed, "We'll
have another round!"

"That you won't! Puggy, is this the way you treat your visitor? Shake
hands and be friends, and remember that I never allow fights in my
house or grounds."

Neither of the boys was unwilling to make peace; but Christina stood
beside them sobbing bitterly.

"Oh," she cried, "you're both so hurt! How could you hurt each other
so!"

"Pooh!" said Puggy, marching off to the house with a black eye, a
bleeding nose and bruised knuckles. "What sillies girls are to make
such a fuss!"

Dawn looked up at Mr. Maclahan with his irrepressible twinkle. His
face was damaged too, and a bump on his forehead stood out as big as a
pigeon's egg.

"I've been fighting for my country," he said, "and for a girl. Dad will
not scold me!"

Later on, when the boys had washed and anointed their wounds, Mrs.
Maclahan came out to talk to them. She turned to her husband when he
joined them, saying laughingly:

"Do you know this small trio represent the United Kingdom? Your small
daughter is Scotch by birth, and may I say by her stern morality? Dawn
is a veritable Paddy, and my pugnacious brother a thorough little John
Bull. I hope they will do each other good."

From that day Mrs. Maclahan always alluded to the children as the
"United Kingdom." They liked the idea and never lost sight of it in
their games. After that first fight, Dawn and Puggy were the best of
friends; Christina followed them everywhere, and though she admired
Puggy's pluck and determination and his perseverance in carrying
through anything he attempted, however hard it proved to be, her heart
remained faithful to her sunny-tempered, easy-going boy friend, Dawn.

Puggy was soon introduced to Miss Bertha.

At first he was inclined to be indifferent to her.

"Old ladies are such fidgets!" he said.

But Dawn and Christina attacked him with such violence for saying a
slighting word of their best friend that he collapsed, and after one
visit to the tiny house and a tea such as all boys love, he confided to
them that Miss Bertha was a "proper brick," and her house was "ripping."

"And how are things going, Childie," Miss Bertha asked Christina, just
before she left her.

"Oh, I like Puggy," the little girl responded brightly. "I'm never dull
now, we do such a lot of things; but Nurse is soon going away, that's
the most dreadful thing!"

Miss Bertha smiled.

"Your 'dreadful things' are not so dreadful when they come. Can't you
trust God about that?"

Christina looked wistful.

"I am trying not to be afraid. I keep saying my text over and over, and
it does help me."

"Of course it does. I think you ought to be a very happy little girl."

And Christina went home thinking that she was.



CHAPTER V

TWO HIGHWAYMEN

IT was a wet afternoon. Dawn arrived in the nursery at three o'clock,
and shook the rain off his curls and overcoat like a Newfoundland dog.

"I told dad I was coming along to cheer you two up. I thought it would
be a good day for hide and seek indoors."

"No," said Puggy promptly, "we're going up to the turret room. It has
been cleaned out for us, and we're going to take any furniture up that
we like."

Dawn cut a caper.

"I'll help you to pick and choose," he said. "Shall we have any
pictures from this room?"

"Ah," said Christina, hurriedly going to her toy cupboard and producing
a brown paper parcel. "You'll never guess what this is! Father gave
it to me this morning. He had it framed for me, and it's our motto,
and I'm going to hang it up on our wall up there. It means the same as
that!"

She pointed to her piece of paper still pinned to the nursery wall with
the words "Fear dwells not here!"

Dawn looked at it attentively.

"Well," he said, thumping his chest vigorously. "I can say 'Fear dwells
not here!' but you can't, Tina. You're such a one for being frightened!"

"No," said Christina humbly, "I shall always be frightened inside me,
I'm afraid, but I'm trying not to be frightened outside and I'm getting
better."

"Come on and don't gas so!" exclaimed Puggy.

And all three children made their way to the turret door.

The stone stairs were steep and wound round and round. Dawn, who was
ahead of the other two, suddenly sat down and had an inspiration.

"Listen!" he said. "This is just like the steps the pilgrims go up on
their knees for their sins. Wasn't it Martin Luther who was crawling
up one day when he was trying to be good? Some chap like that, I know,
Aunt Rachael read to me about him. Let's try it. We're half-way up now,
but it doesn't matter, we'll do the rest of the steps on our knees,
it's so good to do penance sometimes!"

"But won't it be difficult?" asked Christina doubtfully.

"It'll be as easy as pat," said Puggy, "see me do it!"

But he found it more awkward than he thought. In a few minutes Dawn
gave up trying it.

"It's too slow!" he said. "Besides I haven't been wicked enough to-day
to do penance! It's splendid for you, Tina. You ought to do penance
whenever you feel in a funk, you'd soon cure yourself."

"I'm not going to give up once I'm started," said Puggy, puffing and
panting as he struggled on. "You never do anything unless it's easy,
Dawn!"

Christina struggled on also, until she looked down at her knees.

"I believe a hole is coming in my stocking," she asserted.

"It hurts me dreadfully. I wish I had on knickerbockers like you. I
shall give up!"

Puggy was the only one, who finished his self-appointed task.

"There!" he said. "I'm jolly glad that's done. And I shan't try it
again. Now for our den!"

It was a dear little room with windows all round it. There was a
cupboard, chair and table: on the wall hung a rusty sword.

Puggy took it down and brandished it in the air. "This will keep off
robbers and spies, Tina! We'll cut their heads off directly they
appear."

"You must have a password," suggested Dawn; "or one dark night you
might out off a friend's head by mistake."

"We'll have 'Come if you dare.' We'll always keep the door locked, and
only us three will know what it is, so no one else will ever be let in."

"Supposing if Nurse were to come up," suggested Christina.

"She would be a spy, so we should cut her head off."

"No, but really I mean."

"Well, we shouldn't unlock to her!"

"And father and mother!"

"Oh, they wouldn't come. We should have to be true to our rights. We
couldn't let them in. Don't you go supposing things, that's so like a
girl!"

Christina subsided. She went and stood at the window.

"I can see Dawn's house," she remarked; "and such a long way! It looks
so small. Come and look."

"Why!" said Dawn. "You'll be able to signal to me. We'll have three
flags like the railway men have. If you hang out a red flag, it'll mean
stop away. You must never put that out unless you're both out for the
day and then I shan't come over. The green flag you must hang out when
you're up here by yourself, Puggy, and the white when Tina is, and when
you're both here you must hang out the two flags!"

"And if we want you in a great hurry?" asked Christina.

"We'll have a fourth flag," asserted Puggy; "it must be blue, and it
will mean a call to arms. You'll have to make the flags, Tina, and they
must be ready to-morrow."

"But where shall I get the stuff? I shall ask Nurse to help me. Oh, I
think I shall like this game very much!"

The little girl's eyes shone with excitement.

"And now let us light the fire," suggested Dawn.

"What lovely things we can cook! Toffee and toast and roasted
chestnuts. We'll give parties sometimes, and dad and Miss Bertha shall
come!"

It was the beginning of a delightful time to Christina. Never in all
her life had she had such freedom.

From being confined to the four walls of her nursery, she now had the
run of the whole house and grounds. Nurse rarely saw her except at meal
times and for occasional walks. Puggy was considered quite old enough
to take her off with him anywhere.

"I want her to be more independent," said her stepmother.

And Christina began to feel that her stepmother's reign was on the
whole a pleasant one.

But upon the day of her nurse's departure, all her old doubts and fears
came bank.

Connie was promoted to be her maid, and on the following day, her
governess was to arrive. Poor little Christina clung to her nurse as if
she could never let her go.

"What shall I do when you're gone!" she cried again and again, and
Nurse did not reassure her, for she felt aggrieved by her dismissal.

Puggy came into the nursery and found Christina sitting on the floor in
floods of tears.

"I didn't know you were a cry-baby!" he remarked scornfully.

Christina looked up, the picture of woe.

"Nurse has gone, and I can't bear to be without her."

"A good riddance. She wouldn't let me bring my football in here. Now I
shall do it. I say, dry up, Tina, and I tell you what we'll do, we'll
dress up in sheets and go up to our den, and come down and pop out upon
the maids like ghosts. They'll be awfully frightened."

"No," said Christina, drying her eyes. "I couldn't pretend to be a
ghost. I'm too frightened of them. And I wouldn't like to frighten
other people."

"Well, we'll have a game of cricket in the passage. Come on! And when
your governess comes to-morrow, let me see her first. I'll tell her
what sort we mean her to be."

"What sort?" asked Christina, cheering up. She had unbounded faith in
Puggy's talent for managing. "What ought a governess to be like, Puggy?"

"Very short and quick at lessons, and then take herself off for the
rest of the day and leave us alone. I'll tell her! What time is she
coming to-morrow? I think I'll meet her at the station. I'll take Dawn
with me. You keep quiet. I'll tell her she's not to bully you."

And accordingly the next day, having discovered that the brougham was
going to the station at four o'clock, Puggy and Dawn laid their plans.

Miss Loder arrived punctually. She was quite young, and was looking
forward to her stay at Bracken Towers. She had come from London,
and though it was winter time, she rejoiced in every bit of the
country through which she passed. As she settled herself back in the
comfortable carriage and noted the mossy banked lanes and the wooded
hills stretching up and down on either side she drew a long breath of
relief.

"No more smuts and fog, but sweet, pure country air. Oh, I am glad I
came."

The carriage rolled on rapidly. Suddenly the coachman pulled up. There
was evidently a gate to be opened or some impediment in the way. Miss
Loder heard some altercation going on.

"Now, Master John, who gave you the key? Unlock the gate!"

"Is she inside? You're held up by highwaymen! We're loaded. You daren't
touch us!"

The next moment a boy stood on either side of the carriage, and black
paper masks were over their faces.

Miss Loder looked as if she enjoyed the situation.

"Is it a question of 'money or your life'?" she asked quietly, as each
boy held a toy pistol through the carriage window.

"We don't want your money," said one of them sternly, "but your word,
and it must be your word of honour!"

"No," said the other boy excitedly, "you forget! It's her signature,
we've put it down in writing. You have the paper."

"We want both!" said the first speaker. He produced a paper.

Miss Loder took it out of his hand and read the following in round
schoolboy's writing:

   "I, the governess of Christina Douglas, do promise on my solemn word
of honour that I shall not interfere with her in playtime. I promise
to leave John Durward and Avril O'Flagherty entirely alone as they are
not my pupils, but boys of spirit who will not be ruled by a woman. I
promise to get the lessons over quickly and disappear directly they are
done. I promise never to keep Christina indoors when lessons are over
unless she wants to stay. And I sign myself here, and put my hand and
seal to it."

She looked up after she had read it.

"It's rather clever," she remarked, smiling; "but I'm afraid it's not
legal."

"You've got to sign it, or you'll stay here all night!"

The coachman began to get impatient.

"Master John, unlock this gate at once. It's a good five mile round.
I'll report you to the Squire."

Miss Loder opened her travelling-bag and took out a sheet of paper.

"I'll sign what I think will meet the case, and submit it for your
approval," she said quietly.

The boys looked across at each other and waited. Then when the paper
was handed to Puggy, he read it aloud.

   "I promise to be a friend as well as a governess to Christina Maclahan
and help her to enjoy her playtime, not hinder it. As Avril O'Flagherty
and John Durward are not my pupils, I shall have nothing to say to
them, unless they interfere with my pupil or with me. And hereto I set
my hand.

                          "KATE LODER."

"Hum!" remarked Puggy, looking at her suspiciously. "This sounds well,
but I don't think it is enough."

"Show it to me!" demanded Dawn.

The paper was handed across to him, and the old coachman at the same
time sent his whip round Puggy's legs. The boys saw their game was up.
They retreated with dignity.

"We shall keep this paper and hold you to it."

Then the gate was unlocked, and with a loud war-whoop they scampered
off, and left Miss Loder to continue her drive in peace.

Christina meanwhile was awaiting her governess' arrival in fear and
trembling.

She sat in the nursery in her little rocking-chair by the fire,
conjuring up visions of stern, spectacled, grey-haired women. She
longed to fly to some one for comfort, but she felt that her stepmother
would laugh at her, and was not sure about her father. She looked up at
her paper on the wall:

   "Fear dwells not here."

Then she said over her text.

And then she began wondering where the boys were, and whether they had
really gone to the station to meet her governess.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not hear the door
open until her stepmother's brisk voice made her start from her chair
in trembling confusion.

"Here is your pupil, Miss Loder. She looks scared to death at the sight
of us! Her nurse has ruined her by coddling. I want her turned into a
healthy little romp, do you think you can do it?"

"I can try."

Miss Loder came forward and took Christina's small, cold hands in hers.

"You mustn't be frightened of me, dear. Why, I never expected to see
such a tiny fragile mite. I daresay you have been picturing what I
should be; shall I tell you what I thought you would be like?"

Mrs. Maclahan had wisely disappeared.

Miss Loder sat down by the fire, and took Christina on her lap.

"I have had an adventure," she continued, trying to put the child at
ease, for she was literally shaking from head to foot. "And after it
was over, I said to myself, 'I know what Christina will be like! She is
Scotch, so she will have red hair flying over her shoulders in wildest
confusion; she will be a large fat girl, with long legs and short
frocks: a perfect tomboy!' Wasn't that a funny picture I drew of you?"

Christina began to smile.

Miss Loder continued:

"I don't wonder at my adventure now. Fancy! Two highwaymen with black
masks and pistols stopped the carriage, and wouldn't let me come on
until I had promised to be kind to you!"

"Oh!" gasped Christina. "Who were they? Weren't you dreadfully
frightened?"

"I tried not to be. I was just hoping that my small pupil would be kind
to me, so it was funny, wasn't it?"

"Were they big men?"

"Rather little men. One had curls."

Christina's face was a study. Terror, amazement and interest were
followed by a dawning smile of comprehension.

"Do you think," she said, almost in a whisper, "that they were boys?"

Miss Loder whispered back:

"I think they were."

And then she and her small pupil laughed merrily, until Christina
remembered to be shocked.

"How could they dare to do it?" she exclaimed.

"Well," said Miss Loder; "now I have seen you, I understand. You are
so little to be bullied. Shall we be good friends, Christina? Will you
give me a kiss, dear, and believe that I mean to be kind to you?"

Christina responded very quickly. She put her arms round Miss Loder's
neck.

"I love you," she said, and her late fears fled away, never to return.

When tea was on the table half an hour later, Puggy marched in very
independently.

"Good evening!" he said, as if he had never seen Miss Loder before. "I
have tea with Christina, because I don't care for drawing-room tea. The
bread and butter is too thin, and there's not enough jam, and grown-up
people are so stupid!"

"Good evening," said Miss Loder politely. "I have been telling
Christina of an adventure I had on the way here this afternoon. I am
afraid you have some bad characters about."

Puggy sat down, and looked at her suspiciously.

"Have we?" he said, trying to speak unconcernedly, but getting rather
red in the face.

"These were two little ragamuffins with blacked faces who pretended
to be highwaymen. I'm afraid they got a whipping, but I couldn't help
liking them, for they were evidently very fond of Christina. I suppose
she has a great many friends? I eased their minds by promising to be
good to her, but I am wondering who they were. Do you know?"

Puggy stared at her in silence.

"If I did, I wouldn't tell you," he remarked at length.

Miss Loder did not say any more. She chatted to Christina about all
kinds of things, and Puggy ate his tea in silence. This new governess
puzzled him greatly, he was almost—just a tiny bit—afraid of her.



CHAPTER VI

"DEFYING THE HUNT"

IN a few days Christina was the greatest of friends with her young
governess.

Puggy held aloof at first, not quite sure if he liked her. She had such
a fund of games and good stories at her disposal that it seemed a pity
to be out of it. Yet she never asked him to join, and seemed to ignore
him. Dawn, a little ashamed of the part he had played, kept away;
Christina was the one who profited most by Miss Loder's bright energy.

She enjoyed her lessons every morning. She had only an hour in the
afternoon, and the rest of the time was spent in walks and play.

Puggy shut himself up in the turret room and waved the green flag, for
Christina never seemed to want to play with him now. She was quite
happy with Miss Loder. When Dawn came over they took counsel together,
and finally they both marched to Christina's nursery, or schoolroom as
it was now called.

Dawn was spokesman, and he addressed Miss Loder, who was sitting by
the window with her needlework. Christina was on a stool at her feet,
listening with rapt attention to a fairy tale; for lessons were over,
and it was too wet for a walk.

"How do you do, Miss Loder? I'm Dawn." A queer little bow accompanied
this introduction.

"Puggy and I have come to say we'd like to be friends."

Miss Loder looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I am sorry, but I gave my word of honour that I would have nothing
to say to either John Durward or Avril O'Flagherty. I never break a
promise."

"But it's all rot!" burst out Puggy. "That was only a kind of game, and
we didn't know you were a good sort."

"Yes, we're sorry we held you up; and if you like, we'll tear up the
paper you signed."

"That seems a pity," said Miss Loder slowly; "because really Tina and I
are very happy together. I don't know that we want to have much to do
with boys."

"But I'm an awfully nice boy," said Dawn enthusiastically; "dad says
so, and Puggy is ripping! I'm sure you'd like to know us, and we'd have
such fun. We've come over to invite you and Tina up to our den. We've
just cooked some toffee."

Miss Loder capitulated slowly.

"If you were to bring that paper here and burn it, I might forget my
promise," she said.

Puggy produced it promptly from his pocket and threw it into the fire.

Then Miss Loder rose from her chair.

"Come along, Tina, we'll go and have some of this delicious toffee."

Christina was delighted, and from that time the boys and Miss Loder
were thorough good friends. She tried to teach her small pupil to play
at hockey with them; but Christina never enjoyed a rough game. She was
in terror the whole time. She fought hard with her many fears, and took
to following Dawn's suggestion about climbing up the turret stairs on
her knees as a kind of penance when she had been unnecessarily timid.
She did not tell any one of this except Miss Bertha, and she confided
it to her when she went in to take her some flowers one day.

"You see," she explained, "I do so want to be a proper Maclahan. I
never shall, I'm afraid. But yesterday afternoon we went across a
field, and a cow came after us. I—I screamed and ran behind Miss Loder,
and Puggy laughed and called me a little coward. So in the afternoon
when I had finished my lessons, I went up the turret stairs on my knees
to punish myself. It hurts, you know; and as I went up I said your text
over and over and over. I hope I shan't be frightened when I see a cow
next time; do you think I shall? And you won't tell any one, will you?
It's all my own secret."

"I should say it was bad for your stockings," said Miss Bertha with a
kind smile; "but I love to hear of your fighting your fears, Childie,
and I shan't say a word against it!"

"Do you think the day will ever come when I can point to my heart like
Puggy and Dawn do and say, 'Fear dwells not here?'"

For answer Miss Bertha put her arms round her, and held her close.

"I believe one day you will astonish us all," she said cheerfully, but
she turned aside her head that Christina could not see the quick tears
that had started to her eyes.


And a few days afterwards Christina did astonish every one very much.

It was a bright sunny afternoon. Puggy had gone out hunting with his
sister. Mr. Maclahan was away from home. Miss Loder was busy writing
letters in the schoolroom, and Christina was amusing herself in the
garden. She had been up to the turret room and waved the flag for Dawn
to come over and see her, but he had not appeared. He had borrowed a
rough pony from a farmer, and had ridden off to the meet, with the firm
intention of proving to Puggy that he was as good a horseman as himself.

So Christina, feeling rather lonely, betook herself to a small plot of
ground that was considered her own. It was a bit of field fenced in
round an old summer house, and in the summer house, the boys and she
kept their garden games. She was tidying it up, an undertaking that she
loved, when she heard the baying of hounds and the shouts of the hunt.
They were coming right across the paddock in front of her. She came
outside the summer house, and there, toiling along, hardly able to drag
one foot before the other, covered with mud and slime, was the fox.

He was worn out, and, ignoring Christina, made straight for the summer
house.

In an instant the little girl's tender heart was throbbing with
sympathy for him, and as the whole pack of hounds came up in full cry,
she shut the door upon the fox, and stood outside it in a fever of
excited protest.

"You shan't have him!" she cried with scarlet cheeks and flashing eyes.
"You shan't have him! I won't have him killed!"

The hounds were upon her. She did not seem to hear or see them, and
the huntsman, without a word, seized hold of her and lifted her up on
his saddle. It was all the work of a moment: the hounds were through
the open window, and poor Reynard met his fate, but Christina was
struggling passionately in the huntsman's arms.

She did not heed the crowd of people round her. The fate of the poor
fox was more to her than anything else.

"I hate you all!" she exclaimed when she was put down on the ground.
"You are murderers!"

And then she fled into the house, still sobbing as if her heart would
break.

Miss Loder could not understand what had happened. It was a long time
before the excited child could be soothed.

"Oh," she cried, "why does God let people be so cruel? Why can't they
be punished? The poor tired little fox! Oh, Miss Loder, how could they
let him be killed by those cruel dogs! I tried to save him, and I
couldn't! They snatched me away!"

Half an hour later Puggy came in with a grin upon his face.

"You're a nice one!" he said to the tearful Christina. "The cheek of
you, trying to spoil our sport! How dared you do it! You pretend you're
so frightened of everything. Why, those hounds might have torn you in
pieces, they were so wild to get past you!"

"I don't care!" sobbed Christina. "It was wicked to kill the fox!"

"Yes, Miss Loder, she stood up and stayed the whole hunt; she told them
she hated them, and that they were murderers! She did make a silly of
herself, I can tell you! My sister was awfully astonished. I expect
you're in for a scolding, Tina!"

Christina was past minding moldings, but she did not get any; her
stepmother never alluded to the incident. It was her father who called
her to him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, my little lassie, you are a staunch champion for the oppressed,
I find. You have begun early. It is a pity you have not the
corresponding power necessary, but a great many champions wish for
that!"

"Don't talk nonsense," said his wife; "the child won't understand you.
When she gets older she will think differently."

Mr. Maclahan said no more, but Christina was not to hear the last of it.

Two days afterwards Dawn came across to invite Christina and Puggy to
tea.

"It's dad's invitation, not mine, and it's a very special one, and Aunt
Rachael has made a big cake and some little ones."

Miss Loder gave her consent. Dawn came to escort them there, and on the
way he informed them that the tea was in Christina's honour.

"Dad's awfully pleased with Tina taking the fox's part the other day.
I told him all about it. He's begun a fresh picture, and he's going to
put her into it; at least, it's either her or me, I'm not sure which:
but I've been standing like Christina did, and dad is painting me,
and I have to wear a girl's frock. Just fancy! But you see dad is an
artist, and the son of an artist has to do everything; it's like my
wearing curls, it has to be, because we care more about pictures than
what people say!"

"I think it's all rot!" said Puggy. "No man would do what Christina
did!"

Christina was by this time rather ashamed of her daring. Puggy was most
emphatic in his condemnation of it, and yet as she assured Miss Loder:

"I feel I couldn't help trying to save the poor fox! If I saw him
again, I'd do it again, I know I would!"

Dawn's father welcomed the children heartily, but he laid his hand on
Christina's shoulder, and looked down upon her with a pleased look in
his eyes.

"I wish I'd been there!" he said. "I have to thank you for an
inspiration, Christina. I was wanting a subject badly, and you have
given it to me. Do you know what my picture is going to be called?
'Defying the Hunt!'" He laughed as he spoke, then showed Christina a
large canvas on which were the bare outlines of a few horses, a pack of
hounds, and a very small child in the midst of the pack beating them
back with her tiny hands, whilst her back was firmly set against an old
wooden door.

"I want you to come and sit for me, will you? Dawn is such a
flibberty-jibbet that I can't keep him still. And so you gave them a
piece of your mind, did you? I'm not a sportsman, and I'm not sure that
I'm not on your side."

"Oh, you couldn't be on Tina's side!" exclaimed Puggy. "I think she was
an awful silly!"

"That's John Bull's opinion, but it isn't mine."

Mr. O'Flagherty delighted in Mrs. Maclahan's fancy about the children.
He always called them the "United Kingdom," and Puggy was never
anything but "John Bull" with him.

Puggy looked slightly abashed. He had a great admiration for Dawn's
father, and did not like his disapproval in any shape or form.

"Well, you can't say hunting is wrong!" he said.

Mr. O'Flagherty laughed.

"We won't have any arguments to-day. We're going to enjoy ourselves,
and Scotland is top and foremost. She shall have the seat of honour!"

He led them gaily into the dining-room, where Miss O'Flagherty was
already making the tea. She was a tall, silent woman with a sweet
smile, and Christina held up her face to be kissed with the assurance
of being welcome.

"You are going to pour out tea for us all," she said to the little girl.

"But I would rather not," said Christina, "it won't be a treat if I do,
for I shall be afraid of doing it wrong!"

"You are never going to be afraid of anything or anybody any more!"
said Mr. O'Flagherty.

And then Christina without a word sat down behind the big teapot, and,
aided by Aunt Rachael, poured out the tea quite successfully.

It was a merry meal. Mr. O'Flagherty was like a boy himself; he told
funny stories and asked riddles and cracked jokes, and Dawn was
bubbling over with mirth and high spirits.

When tea was over, they had a game of hide and seek indoors. Mr.
O'Flagherty hid in the kitchen copper, Dawn put himself inside a
bolster case upon his aunt's bed, and Puggy nearly drowned himself
in the cistern. When they were all tired out they came into Mr.
O'Flagherty's studio; the boys lay down before the big wood fire, and
Christina sat on the artist's knees. Then they began to talk about fear
and what it was and who had it, and into the middle of their talk came
Miss Bertha, who had been asked to tea, but had not been able to leave
some visitor who had arrived.

She sat down by the fire too.

"Englishmen are never afraid!" asserted Puggy.

"They say they are not," said Mr. O'Flagherty, "and they're a pretty
plucky race as a rule, but they're too cock sure of themselves!"

"Isn't it good to be sure?"

"Not sure of ourselves," said Miss Bertha softly, "but sure of Some One
better than ourselves."

"We're all afraid of something," said Mr. O'Flagherty. "Now we'll make
our confessions. I'm afraid of fine ladies with a 'taste for art'!"

"I'm afraid of schoolmasters," admitted Dawn. "I don't like my master
in London. He can't take a joke!"

"I'm afraid of an easy life," said Miss Bertha; "it spoils one so!"

Puggy knitted his brows hard in his endeavour to be strictly true. "I
think I'm afraid of being laughed at," he confessed.

Mr. O'Flagherty nodded approvingly at him.

"Now let Scotland speak."

Christina looked up with great earnest eyes.

"I believe the thing I'm really afraid of most is being a coward. I'm
always just going to be one, and I know I am one already, but I'm so
frightened in case I shall really be an awful one, one day!"

"Ah!" said Mr. O'Flagherty, taking out his pipe after asking Miss
Bertha's permission to smoke. "We're a bad lot with our fears. Now
we'll make a bonfire of them. Write them on slips of paper, and we'll
throw them on the fire."

This was done. Mr. O'Flagherty threw his upon the red coals with a
tragic air.

"Now," he said, "shut your eyes, and I'll tell you what I see. There
they go! Tall ladies, short ladies, spectacled ladies, young ladies,
severe ladies in all their finery, and with all their art jargon on
their lips. They make a glorious blaze. May they never come back to
frighten and annoy me. Now, Miss Bertha, away with your fear!"

Miss Bertha laughed and threw her slip of paper into the fire.

"Ah!" said Mr. O'Flagherty. "There he goes, the spirit of luxury and
indulgence! He's nearly asleep, his fat cheeks tell of his good living;
but he looks so jolly and good-tempered, that I'm quite sorry for him.
Still, he must not be allowed back to frighten our self-denying little
lady. Now, John Bull, into the fire with yours!"

Puggy obeyed instantly.

"What do you see?"

"I see hundreds of merry little fellows flying up the chimney, and yet
some of them have rather evil faces. I think you're well rid of them,
Johnnie. Now, Will-o'-the-wisp, in with your schoolmasters! What a
royal blaze they make with their lesson books and canes and long words
of wisdom! We are having a grand clearance. Where is yours, lassie?"

Christina's face was very solemn as she threw her slip of paper into
the fire.

"The fear of being afraid," said Mr. O'Flagherty thoughtfully; "that's
a wonderful little spirit. You can't get hold of him properly, but he
ought to be burnt, and he must be. There he goes! May he never come
back to trouble you, for he is a perfect fraud, he's a shadow wrapped
in a big black cloak, there's nothing in him!"

Silence fell upon the little group.

"True courage," said Miss Bertha quietly, "is losing sight of self in
an emergency."

"And yet," said Mr. O'Flagherty, "I admire the man who is really full
of fear, acting as if he had none."

"Yes," the little old lady said with a quick, bright nod at Christina.
"It doesn't matter about feelings. Life is doing, not feeling."

Christina looked up. She was the only one of the three children that
caught the idea, and the dawning intelligence in her eyes amused the
artist. He pointed his finger at his small son.

"That bit of quicksilver will be ruled by his feelings all his life, I
fear. That tough young Briton—yes, I'm speaking of you, John Bull—will
be ruled by his head, not his heart."

"And me?" asked Christina breathlessly.

"Neither your head nor your heart, but your conscience will be your
master," Mr. O'Flagherty said, laughing.

"No," said Miss Bertha very gently and softly; "my prayer for Tina
is, 'The love of Christ constraineth us.' He is a better guide than
conscience."

"The talk is getting very difficult and dull," sighed Dawn.

The little party broke up then, but as Christina walked home between
Puggy and the maid who had come to fetch them, she murmured to herself:

"So it doesn't matter if I feel a coward as long as I don't do like a
coward. Oh, I hope I shall remember in time!"



CHAPTER VII

A WINTER PICNIC

PUGGY was summoned back to school before the Christmas holidays, and
Christina missed him more than she had thought possible. Dawn and
his father were soon going back to London, and one Saturday morning
Dawn appeared in Christina's schoolroom before she had finished her
breakfast.

"Good-morning, Miss Loder. Please—we know it's a holiday, and may we
borrow Tina for the day? It's going to be fine and dad is going to
paint out of doors, and we're going to camp out and boil our kettle,
and drive in a trap, and there's just room for Tina between dad's
knees!"

Christina clapped her hands with delight. Miss Loder considered.

"How late will you be out?"

"We'll be back before dark."

"I expect Mrs. Maclahan will not object. I must ask her first."

She left the room. Christina began to ask eager questions.

"Are you going into a wood? Is your Aunt Rachael going? What have you
got for dinner?"

And when her governess came back with the required permission,
Christina dashed off to get into her hat and cloak with a radiant face.

"I will be good," she assured Miss Loder. "I do love going with Dawn
and his father. They're so funny, and they're so happy."

She tore down the avenue breathlessly with Dawn, and came to his
house as Mr. O'Flagherty was harnessing an old grey mare to a very
shabby-looking trap, a loan from some neighbouring farmer.

"Ah!" he said, looking up. "It's a pity John Bull isn't here, the
United Kingdom isn't complete without him, but we mean to enjoy
ourselves."

"A winter picnic is much better fun than a summer one!" said Dawn.
"Have you got the rabbit pie, dad? We're going to boil some eggs,
Tina, and eat them scalding hot, and we'll roast some potatoes in the
ashes. I'm going to look for a hedgehog and roast him, like the gipsies
do. When he's cooked, his prickles come off, and he's like a little
chicken!"

Christina shuddered.

"I wish," she said, "nobody or nothing need ever be killed. It's so
dreadful to think of!"

"Then don't think of it. Come on, climb up, Tina; and dad is going to
let me drive part of the way; and won't I drive at a thundering pace!"

Aunt Rachael came out with plenty of wraps, which she tucked round
Christina.

"What would your old nurse say to your spending a whole day out of
doors at this time of year?" she said with a smile.

Christina looked grave.

"I hope I'm not forgetting Nurse," she said. "I told her I never would,
but I don't think of her quite so often as I ought!"

"Oh, you little Puritan with your 'oughts!'" said Mr. O'Flagherty.
"Leave them alone to-day. We won't take one of them with us. We're
going to be as free as the air, and do as we please!"

He got into the trap as he spoke, and they drove off, Christina wedged
in between Dawn and his father and feeling very light-hearted.

It was a bright sunny morning, and wonderfully soft and mild for a
December day.

Through the village, up and down rather muddy lanes, and at last they
came upon a long stretch of pine woods by the side of a grey rushing
river.

This was their goal. Mr. O'Flagherty wanted to complete a picture of
his which he had painted from the interior of these woods, with just a
glimpse of hills and farmsteads between the tall slender pines.

They drove through a soft track covered with brown pine needles and
cones, and at last came to a small clearing, where they stopped.
Mr. O'Flagherty unharnessed the mare, produced a feed for her, then
promptly put up his easel and set to work.

"I shall have one clear hour before dinner," he said; "and don't you
dare to disturb me. Make your fire, boil the kettle and cook the
'taties, and get some water from the river without tumbling in."

All this Dawn and Christina did. Their tongues never stopped, though
they kept a considerable distance from the artist, so that they should
not disturb him.

"It is so nice," said Christina, as she and Dawn having made a fire and
put the kettle on began to unpack the basket and arrange the luncheon,
"not to have grown-up people telling us how to do things."

"They never tell me!" said Dawn, tossing back his curls. "Dad says
every young thing ought to be as free as air. He won't have our puppy
chained up; he says a bottled-up boy or dog explodes and does more
harm when they're big than if they'd been allowed to do mischief when
they're small. Dad is first-rate to live with, I can tell you!"

Christina assented heartily.

When Dawn deluged her with water as he was filling the kettle from the
river, she was thankful that no grown-up person was there to see it.
Later on she knelt on a burning stick that flew out from the fire, and
burnt a hole in the front of her woollen frock. It seemed delightful
to her to have no one to scold her for having done it. The potatoes
were burnt, the eggs smashed in their shells, and the tea that was
brewed tasted smoky; but never had Christina enjoyed such a meal. Mr.
O'Flagherty laughed at her shining eyes.

"Ah!" he said. "Your stepmother is a wise woman; she has altered your
nursery regime to success, but you want more of this sort of thing to
keep you in health! If I was to shut up my bit of quicksilver in the
way that good nurse of yours did you, he'd be as flabby and useless as
a limpet at the end of a week!"

They all made a hearty meal; then Mr. O'Flagherty hurried back to work,
and Dawn and Christina carried down the plates and cups to the river to
wash them.

"I don't like water," said Christina reflectively, as she stood on the
edge of a strip of gravel and took the wet plates from Dawn and dried
them with her cloth. "I think it's because I'm frightened of it. Do you
remember in the Pilgrim's Progress, Dawn, where Christian has to go
through the river? It makes me shiver to think of it! I should die of
fright if I had to go through this river!"

Dawn leant across to her mysteriously, and his blue eyes flashed with
eagerness.

"I'll tell you something. When we've done this, we won't go through
the river, but we'll go over it. I've found out something! It'll be
scrumptious!"

"What do you mean?"

"There's a boat tied to the bushes here. It's only a few yards away. I
rowed dad across one day when he was fishing. It's always much nicer
the other side of a thing! Make haste, Tina, there! That's the last
plate, and we'll put them in a heap here and take them up to the trap
later on. Now, you follow me, and we'll be Red Indians in a canoe, and
go sailing down the river, and then land in a strange country. Come on!"

He danced off, and Christina, feeling a sinking of heart, followed him.
When she saw the boat she protested:

"I'm sure we oughtn't to, Dawn; it isn't ours. Don't touch it, you'll
be drowned."

Dawn laughed merrily.

"It doesn't matter whose it is, we shan't hurt it, and we'll put it
back. It's kept here to use, I know it is."

He was busy untying the rope as he spoke. Christina was suddenly beset
by an agony of fear.

"I'm sure it isn't right, we oughtn't to do it."

"Dad said you were to leave your oughts behind to-day, and we're to do
as we like. I believe you're funking it!"

Christina's cheeks grew scarlet.

"I've never been in a boat," she confessed hurriedly; "but it isn't
only that, Dawn, I feel we oughtn't to do it. Shall I go and ask your
dad?"

"No, he said we weren't to come near him till he whistled for us. Don't
be a coward, Tina. I shall write and tell Puggy if you are. Give me
your hand, I'll help you in."

Dawn's will always had sway over Christina. She stepped into the boat
without another word, and sat where she was told, with heaving breath
and terror-stricken eyes.

"Oh!" she gasped as Dawn pushed off. "There's nothing but water
underneath us!"

Dawn, handling his oars with some difficulty, stopped to laugh.

"There are fishes," he said. "Do play up, Tina, and don't spoil it all
by staring at me so!"

Christina hastily shut her eyes. The time on the strange horse's back
seemed comfortable and safe compared with this. The boat she thought
was too thin, too frail to keep her from the angry water. A hole might
come in it, then they would sink at once; it would most likely upset;
what would it feel like to be plunged into the cold rushing water? Oh,
if only what was going to happen, would happen quickly! It was the
waiting for it that was so dreadful.

The little girl thought of her brave ancestors; she repeated the family
motto, but it was all in vain. Then she said her text.

   "'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"

And then miserably she added to herself:

"But I'm sure we're being naughty, and if we are, God won't have
anything to do with me."

Suddenly there was a bump, Christina gave a little scream and opened
her eyes. She found that they had arrived at the opposite bank and Dawn
was already on shore tugging at the rope.

[Illustration: She found that they had arrived at the opposite bank.]

"You're such a silly!" he said contemptuously. "If you'd been game, we
would have gone for a long row. Now, come on out! Here, I'll catch hold
of you!"

Poor Christina could hardly believe she was safe on land again. Her
cheeks were white, and she was trembling from head to foot. Dawn looked
at her curiously.

"I believe you've been seasick," he said. "That's how Aunt Rachael
looks when she goes on the sea."

They found the other shore not so pleasant as it looked in the
distance. The ground was marshy and covered with bramble bushes. It
looked like a rough common and stretched away out of sight, with no
house or building to break its monotony.

"I think," said Dawn meditatively, "if we go up to that signpost, we
shall find which is the nearest village. We could go and buy some
sweets in a shop. That would be first-rate!"

They set off across the common, and Christina began to cheer up. By the
time they reached the signpost she was quite ready for any adventure
that might befall them, and Dawn's fertile brain was inventing rapidly
a hundred possibilities.

"Here is the first one!" said Dawn, waving his hand impressively. "A
gipsy, who has run away with a little girl! He is asleep, and it is our
duty to deliver her."

For a moment Christina thought it might be truth. There, lying face
downwards on the grass, was the figure of a burly man. A little girl
was sitting by his side, and a few yards off an old horse was grazing.
He had been unharnessed from a small cart, which seemed full of tinware
and crockery.

Christina looked at the little girl with the deepest interest. She had
a clean face, and her hair was plaited in two tails down her back, but
a red handkerchief was tied round her head instead of a hat, and her
dress was very patched and ragged.

Dawn looked up at the signpost, then at the man lying underneath it.

"Is he your father, or has he stolen you?" he asked the little girl
bluntly.

"He's my father, and wot's that to yer!" the child answered shrilly.

Christina shrank back frightened at her tone, but Dawn laughed.

"I expect you're having a picnic like us. My dad has got a horse and
cart over in those woods. Have you had your dinner?"

"No."

The little girl's face changed. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she
sprang to her feet.

"I be mortal hungry, but I can't move dad; he be taken bad, and he have
laid there for hours. Do 'ee try and wake of him up, will yer?"

Dawn willingly agreed to try. He took hold of him by the shoulder and
shouted in his ear; the man groaned and moved his head, but he did not
seem able to raise himself.

"I think he wants a doctor," he said at length. "Shall I fetch my dad
to him?"

"No," said the little girl quickly; "he don't want no doctors nor
gents, 'tis his drink: he will have it, and 'tis no good my tryin' to
keep him off it. Mother didn't know as 'twould be so awful hard!"

Such a sad look came into her dark eyes that Christina moved nearer
her. In a few moments both little girls were talking confidentially
together. The child's name was Susy, she told Christina, her father was
a hawker, and her mother had died only a few months before, from a blow
her husband gave her when he was the worse for drink.

"We has no home," Susy said; "we goes all over the country. Dad is very
rough at times, but when he's off the drink he's awful kind. It's a
deal better to have him stupid like this than when he knocks me about.
I s'pect I shall go like mother did. I've been to 'ospital twice, but
'e don't mean nothin' by it!"

Christina was shocked and terrified.

Susy added:

"I think dad be real bad too this time, for he pitched out o' the cart
on his 'ead; but he never wants no doctors!"

"Aren't you very, very frightened of him?" Christina asked.

And Susy laughed.

"Frightened o' dad? Sakes, no! But I be mortal hungry, an' we ought to
be movin' on."

Dawn at this moment caught sight of a man in the distance. He shouted
to him, and when he came up, he soon got Susy's father in a sitting
position.

"Dead drunk!" he remarked. "Not much else the matter with him. Here, my
lass, I can lift him in the cart if you can drive him on to the next
town. Can you do it?"

Susy nodded.

The man called to a mate of his who was approaching, and together they
hoisted the hawker into his cart. The old pony was put in, and Susy
clambered up.

Dawn and Christina watched the proceedings with the greatest interest.
Then Christina went up to the cart.

"Susy, if you ever come to Hatherbrook village, you must come and see
me, will you? I'm sure father or mother would buy some of your things."

Susy nodded knowingly.

"I knows yer name, an' I won't forget. We went to Hatherbrook las'
year, and I s'pect we'll be comin' around there soon."

Christina looked upon her with the greatest admiration as she drove
away, and Dawn exclaimed ecstatically:

"That's how I should like to drive through the world with dad!"

"She's a very brave girl," said Christina, with a little sigh, "and
she's only one year older than I am! She would have made a better
Maclahan than I do!"

"Well, that adventure is not very exciting; let's come back to our
wood, Tina."

Christina followed him silently down to the river again. Her fears
returned, and when Dawn excitedly pointed out to her a man rowing along
in the very boat in which they had come over, she was more glad than
sorry. Dawn hailed the man, but he only turned and shook his fist at
him, and rowed on faster than ever.

"I'm afraid it belongs to him, Tina. Whatever shall we do? How can we
get across?"

"I expect there's a bridge somewhere," said Christina cheerfully.

"There mayn't be a bridge for miles. Well, this fun; I shall have to
swim across."

"But you won't leave me?"

"Can't you swim? What a pity. I know! There's sure to be a ford
somewhere: we'll wade across. It won't be very deep."

This was worse than a boat to poor Christina. She felt inclined to cry,
and had to battle with her tears.

"It's all coming like the 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" she thought miserably
to herself; "and if I have to go through the water, I know I shall die!"

Her little face was the picture of woe, as she stumbled through the
long grass after Dawn.

"Oh, I wish, I wish we hadn't come, and it's getting dark already!"

"I believe it is. It gets dark at four o'clock now, and dad will be
waiting for us. I wish those men hadn't gone off. Look there, Tina!
Isn't that a cottage? We'll go over to it and ask how we can get
across."

Dawn spoke gravely, and when he was grave, Christina knew the case must
be bad indeed.

"Oh," she said to herself, "I must ask God to help us; Miss Bertha
would tell me to. He will keep us safe, I'm sure He will."

So when they finally arrived at the cottage, Christina let Dawn go
inside, whilst she knelt down by a hedge, and asked God to forgive them
for having used a boat that was not theirs, and help them to find a
bridge close by.

"For, please God, I'm so frightened of a boat," she added; "and if you
could make a bridge, it would be so nice; and help me to be brave, and
don't let me have to go through the river like Christian did!"

Then she repeated her text, and found comfort at once from it, as she
generally did.



CHAPTER VIII

"I WAS MADE RICH TO HELP THE POOR"

MR. O'FLAGHERTY did not miss the children till the light began to fade.
He was quite wrapped up in his picture, and when he whistled to them,
he expected that they would be close at hand.

"Dear me!" he ejaculated. "What a fellow I am for losing sight of time;
we ought to have started for home an hour ago! Now where can those imps
have gone!"

He tramped through the wood and down to the river. There he found
the little pile of washed plates and cups. But there was no sign or
sound of the children, and Mr. O'Flagherty began to lose his patience.
He packed up the cart, harnessed the pony, then shouted till he was
hoarse, and said to himself that he would never take two children on a
painting expedition again. Finally, having faith in his small son being
able to extricate himself from any scrape into which he might have
fallen, he pulled out his pipe, made up the fire afresh, and lay down
beside it, determining to give them an hour's grace.

The sun went down and darkness came on, and still Mr. O'Flagherty lay
under the pines and waited. Sleep overtook him eventually; the fire
flickered fitfully before dying out; and the silence in the pine woods
was only disturbed by the restless movements of the mare, who could not
understand why she was not allowed to go home and find comfort and rest
in her warm stable.

Then suddenly through the pines came the thud of small feet and a
shrill cry:

"Dad, dad! Where are you?"

In an instant Mr. O'Flagherty was on his feet.

"Here! You spirit of mischief!" he called, and the next moment Dawn
was in his arms. "Oh, I thought you'd gone home and left us! Tina is
waiting in the cart with a tipsy man and his little girl, and we've had
such glorious adventures!"

"And what will Tina's people say to me, you shameless scamp, for
keeping her out at this hour! Lead the way, while I follow with the
trap. And keep your adventures till we're home. I'd rather not hear
them now!"

They reached the high road, and there was the hawker's cart and
Christina and Susy sitting hand in hand upon the seat, whilst Susy's
father was crouched in the bottom of it.

It did not take long to move Christina, but she would not come till she
had taken an affectionate leave of her new friend, and when she was
tucked up by Mr. O'Flagherty's side, she called out:

"Good-bye, Susy, and mind you come to our village soon."

Mr. O'Flagherty tossed Susy half a crown, and then whipping up his
horse they drove off, and for quite ten minutes both Dawn and Christina
were silent, waiting for the scolding that they felt was their due.

It did not come, and at last in a very small voice Dawn said:

"Dad dear, we'd love to tell you our adventures."

"Go ahead then," said his father shortly.

So Dawn began and related truthfully their experiences up to the time
when he went to inquire at the cottage about the best way across the
river.

"There was only a stupid old woman, but she told us the bridge was a
mile off, back on the road we'd left by the signpost, so we had to go
all back again, and Tina was very tired, and the bridge never came in
sight, and at last I told Tina we must try and get across the river
by wading and swimming, and while we were talking, a gentleman drove
by in a motor and I called out, and he said he'd take us in. Tina was
awfully frightened; she said she had never been in a motor; but it
was scrumptious! We flew along, only when we came to the bridge the
gentleman was going the other way, not over it, so he put us out."

"And," broke in Christina, "fancy! The other side of the bridge we
found Susy. She was driving so slowly because her pony was tired, and
she said she would come back with us to the woods. It was very good of
her, for she's so hungry and has had no dinner, and has to wait till
she gets to a town to get it. I do hope I shall see her again. Dawn
told her she was a gipsy, but she said she wasn't. I do like a little
girl to talk to, I only have boys."

"They're a jolly sight better than girls," began Dawn indignantly; but
his father shut him up.

"It's lucky I brought lamps," he said, "for we're quite benighted. This
will be our last outing, Jack-in-the-box! And it's high time you were
at school!"

"But I shan't go till after Christmas," chuckled Dawn.

Christina, muffled up in a heavy plaid, began to feel sleepy. Visions
of Susy and her drunken father flitted through her brain, and when
Bracken Towers was reached she murmured plaintively:

"Oh, don't hit Susy, she's too little, and you're too big!"

Her stepmother received her in the hall, and did not seem disturbed by
the lateness of the hour. She had only just returned from a long drive
herself, and when Mr. O'Flagherty offered his apologies, she laughed.

"It's all right. It won't hurt the child a mild day like this. When you
left word that you would be back at four, I thought it might be six.
Your nationality is not famous for accuracy!"

"We can't be fettered," said Mr. O'Flagherty gaily; "but on this scamp
of mine rests the blame!"

Father and son drove off. Christina tired but happy climbed the nursery
stairs, and confided to Miss Loder the history of her day. But she felt
that her governess did not approve of Susy.

"She wasn't a dirty child," said Christina, in her defence. "And she is
so clever. She drove her cart so carefully, and she loves her father
so; and she says her mother told her to be good to him and keep him
from drinking too much beer. And she doesn't mind if he beats her;
she's the bravest girl I've ever heard of!"

Christina thought a great deal of Susy the next few days, and when she
went to tea with Miss Bertha on Sunday afternoon she talked it all over
with her. Taking tea with Miss Bertha had become an institution on
Sunday. Miss Loder liked a rest from her small charge; Mrs. Maclahan
was quite willing, and Miss Bertha used it as her opportunity to guide
small footsteps heavenwards. Dawn and Puggy were often there too;
but this Sunday Christina had Miss Bertha to herself, and she was
not sorry; for her old problem was puzzling her, and she wanted Miss
Bertha's sympathy and help.

"Miss Bertha, I keep thinking that I might have been born Susy!"

"Well, Childie, if you had?"

"I could never, never have done it!" Christina exclaimed, with
tightly-clenched hands. "Fancy to-night if I knew my father was coming
home to beat me! Oh, Miss Bertha, I should run away from him, I should
be so frightened; and Susy loves him, and her arms are black and blue!
He has hit her with a poker, and his whip, and even thrown his tin
kettle at her. Why, Miss Bertha, she's braver than Joan of Arc! And
supposing I had been born her, what should I do!"

A little shiver ran through her.

"If you had been born Susy, you would still have had God as your loving
Father," said Miss Bertha. "Does little Susy know about God, do you
think?"

"She doesn't know much, for she told me she'd been to Sunday school
once, only Saturday and Sunday were the worst days for her father to
drink, and so she likes to stay with him."

"Poor little girl, has she no relations or friends?"

"I don't think so. Miss Bertha, if she comes in our village could you,
would you ask her to tea? In the kitchen I mean, like you do some of
the village children. And will you tell me why God makes some little
girls like Susy!"

"Yes, I will certainly have her to tea. I think, Childie, those kind
of little girls are meant to be helped by their richer sisters. You
have never known what it is to be hungry or cold, and I expect you
will never know it; but you can help the little friendless tramps and
beggars. That is why God makes rich and poor. If we were all rich,
we should have no opportunity to be unselfish and sympathetic and
self-denying; if we were all poor, we could not help each other so
well."

"I should like to help Susy."

Christina's eyes glowed at the thought.

"What could I do for her?" she added eagerly. "Could I buy her
anything? I have some money."

"Let us wait till she appears, then we will see what she wants most.
Would you like to knit her a small shawl?"

Christina's face fell. She knew how to knit, but she did not like it,
and since Nurse had left, her knitting had been put aside.

"Would she like a shawl?"

"I think she might if she drives in an open cart, or a thick woollen
scarf!"

"Yes, I might do that. It wouldn't take so long, and then it would be
ready when she came if I started it at once."

Christina looked more cheerful, then she said:

"I s'pose I was made rich to help the poor?"

"Most certainly you were."

"And I've never done it!"

The little girl's eyes were big with wondering thought.

"I got a whole sovereign from father last week. He asked if I had any
pocket money, and when I said 'No,' he said he would give that to me to
start with. Miss Loder said it was too much. I was going to buy some
real china tea things for our den in the turret tower, but I dare say
God expected me to help others with it, and that's why he let father
give it to me. Could we spend it all on Susy, Miss Bertha? And do you
think that one day you would take me into the town and let me spend it
in the shops for her?"

"We might spend some of it," said Miss Bertha brightly. "There are
several old people in the village, Childie, who are very poor indeed. I
have sometimes wondered if you were getting big enough to think about
them. They have worked for your family all their lives, and if you
sometimes took them a little present—some flowers or fruit or a little
tea and sugar—they would be so pleased, and it would be such a pleasure
to you."

"Nurse would never let me go into the cottages."

"But Nurse has gone now, and I think your mother will have no
objection."

"Mother doesn't mind what I do."

"You see," Miss Bertha went on, "when our Saviour came into the world,
He was always kind and good to the poor. He wants us to be like Him."

Christina nodded.

"I'll begin to-morrow. I shall love it. I'll take them all something in
turn."

Then after a moment's silence she said sorrowfully.

"God must be very disappointed with me."

"No, I don't think so, darling. It has never been explained to you,
and as it is, it is a difficult subject. Little children have to be
taught not to give too much, that is as bad as too little, but what I
should like you to feel is that the rich and poor are meant to be real
friends, and they can both help and teach each other."

"I'm sure Susy could teach me a lot of things," said Christina
thoughtfully; "she knows how to cook and mend her father's shirts, she
told me so."

"And perhaps you could teach her about God's love to her, and how the
Lord Jesus Christ has died for her."

"Don't you think she knows about that?" Christina asked in an awed
whisper.

"I dare say she may never have understood it properly."

"Oh, I do hope I shall see her again! You know the village people, Miss
Bertha; will you tell them to stop her when she comes driving along,
and keep her till I come and see her."

Miss Bertha promised, and Christina left her that afternoon full of new
thoughts and projects for the good of the little stranger she had met
so casually.


Dawn's departure to London was the next excitement; he came over to say
good-bye in his usual good spirits.

"You'll see me with the spring," he assured every one. "Dad pants to
be out of London when that comes, and as for me, I get the fidgets in
school awful when the buds are coming out. It's in my blood, dad says!"

"Your dad is spoiling you," said Mr. Maclahan, who heard this speech.
"You'll stick at nothing as you grow older, if you don't stick to
lessons now."

Then Dawn's wonderful eyes became most pathetic.

"My mother died young," he said softly. "Dad says it was the lessons
did it. He saw her teaching in a school when he was teaching drawing.
She was born to be happy, dad says; he knew it when he looked into her
eyes. But she was like a 'flower in the shade,' that's how dad says
it; so he took her away to make her happy, and he did it for a year;
but it was too late. She'd been worked too hard at lessons; and then
God took her to make her happier still. And when she looked at me just
before she left me, do you know what she said to dad? 'Keep him in the
sunshine, darling; his mother has had too little of it!'"

There was absolute silence when Dawn finished speaking. Mrs. Maclahan
had been pouring out tea, for Christina and Dawn were having tea in the
drawing-room as a treat. She made a great clatter with the cups and
saucers, a sign that she did not wish to speak, and Mr. Maclahan caught
up Christina on his knee.

"Here is a little lassie who wants sunshine," he said playfully. "I
wish she carried as much upon her face as you do, my boy!"

"I'm Irish and she's Scotch," said Dawn with a superior air. "Dad says
the Scotch conscience is a terrible thing for making faces long!"

Mrs. Maclahan began to laugh.

"You and your father are a funny couple," she said. "I don't know what
he will make of you by and by."

Dawn went, and Christina missed him intensely. But Miss Loder kept her
busy at lessons, and when the play hours dragged, would tell her some
of the wonderful stories she concocted out of her brain.


And then one day, just before the Christmas holidays, Susy appeared on
the scene.

Christina was curled up on her nursery window seat with a story book.
It was nearly four o'clock, and darkness was setting in. Miss Loder was
out of the room, and Connie entered rather breathlessly.

"If you please, Miss Christina, there's a little girl at the back door
a-keeping asking for you. We've drove her away times without number and
she will keep comin' back. She says you told of her to come, and she
sells tin kettles and such like, one of them pedlar folk, I should say!"

[Illustration: "I bought it at the fair."]

"It's Susy!"

Christina flung down her book and dashed out of the room. Down the back
stairs she tore, through the kitchen and out to the yard door. She was
so eager, so delighted, that she threw her arms round Susy and kissed
and hugged her.

"Oh, I've been waiting for you years!" she exclaimed. "Come up to the
schoolroom with me. Come at once."

She dragged the not unwilling Susy upstairs as fast as she had gone
down them, and made her sit in Miss Loder's easy chair by the fire.

"Now tell me all you've been doing. Are you still driving your cart,
and is your father still half asleep? Oh, I've thought of you so much,
and I've got such a lot of things to give you!"

Susy looked a little dazed and uncomfortable. She was even cleaner
in appearance than when Christina had first seen her. Her face shone
with the amount of soap with which she had scrubbed it; she had on a
red plaid frock which was patched at the elbows with blue serge, and a
white coarse apron was tied round her waist. Instead of a handkerchief
round her head, she wore a black straw hat trimmed with a faded pink
rose and a long rusty black feather, which sadly needed curling, and
when she saw Christina's eyes rest on this bit of finery she drew her
head up with regal pride.

"I bought it at the fair; my dad giv' me 'arfcrown. I got it to come
and see you."

"It's very grand," said Christina admiringly, "and I think you look so
nice, Susy. Oh, I do hope Miss Loder will ask you to stay to tea!"

Susy's eyes sparkled. She looked round her with interest.

"Where's the boy?" she asked. "Him what wanted you to swim the river.
Ain't he with you?"

"No, he doesn't belong to me. He's in London with his father. Are you
in our village, Susy? Where do you live now?"

"The fac's is this. Our Tom—the old pony you seed—has got a bad knee,
an' he can't go no further, an' dad an' me is puttin' up in the public.
We sleeps in the loft, an' pays sixpence a night. We come las' night;
but I've had to watch dad, he were so on the booze. Howsumever, he be
off to-day round about the village sellin', so I comes off here. My!
What a silly lot o' women you have downstairs! They wouldn't b'lieve
you an' me was chums!"

Christina was hastily opening her toy cupboard.

"I've been making a collection, Susy. Look! Here's a picture, it isn't
in a frame; but I love it and I thought you'd like to hang it up
somewhere. It's Jesus on His mother's knee on a donkey; they're going
away because of the wicked king who wanted to kill Him. Do you know
about it?"

Susy shook her head.

"I know He was a baby once in a cowshed," she said. "They learned me
that at Sunday school."

She took the picture, then added confidentially:

"I has a box at the bottom of our cart which is all mine; dad don't
know about it. I keeps things to make a 'ome with one day; mother began
it, an' I goes on the same. I'll put the pictur' there. I has a bit o'
curtain, an' a carpet, an' a chiny dog to put over the mantelshelf, an'
a brass candlestick. When dad an' me has made a lot o' money, we'll
set up a little 'ouse with a kitchen an' proper oving, an' I'll have
cupboards an' drawers, an' won't have no old boxes any more. I makes it
up all to myself when I be waitin' for dad."

"I forgot you hadn't got a house," said Christina ruefully; then she
produced more of her treasures.

"Here is a pincushion, and a little shoe with a thimble in it, and a
lovely bit of green ribbon and two big shells, and a scrapbook and a
ring puzzle, and a little china house and a book of fairy stories, and
a doll's tea set; and here is a woollen scarf that I've knitted for
you. Do you like them, Susy."

Susy's beaming face was sufficient answer.

"I'll tie them all up in my apron, an' thank you kindly. The scarf be
bootiful, and 'twill pass the time to look at 'em all an' handle 'em!"

"And, Susy, Miss Bertha wants to see you. She lives in a tiny little
cottage like a doll's house, and I love her best in all the world! Will
you go and see her? You'll like her so much."

The door opened at this juncture, and Mrs. Maclahan walked in.

"I want to speak to Miss Loder—why, who on earth is this, Tina?"

"It's Susy, the little girl who drove me and Dawn and is so good to her
father," explained Christina rather nervously.

It was not very often that her stepmother came to the nursery, and when
she did, Christina always held her breath in expectation of what was
coming. But since Miss Loder's arrival, Mrs. Maclahan had not had so
much to say to her small stepdaughter.

"Is she one of the village children? Oh—ah—I remember, some tramps you
met. Does Miss Loder know of this?"

"No," said Christina with scarlet cheeks; "I asked Susy to come and see
me, and she came to the back door, and—and so I brought her up here."

Mrs. Maclahan laughed at her confusion and nodded her head. "You're
gettin' on, Tina! Feeling your feet at last. But I don't admire this
class of friend for you. Ah, here is Miss Loder. Now, we will hear what
she thinks of it!"

But when Miss Loder entered, Susy fled; she dashed along the passage
into the arms of a maid bringing the schoolroom tea.

"Here, young woman, let me get out o' this. Where is the door? I never
did see such a place for passages and doors never, an' I wouldn't a
come if I'd knowed she lived with such grand folk!"

Poor Christina witnessed Susy's flight with great disappointment. She
was not scolded; for Miss Loder knew by this time how sensitive her
little pupil was, but it was represented to her that though she might
visit Susy in her home, Susy must never visit her in hers.

"But," pleaded the child sorrowfully, "Susy has no home, she only lives
in a cart; and Miss Bertha told me that the rich and poor could be
friends, so why can't Susy and me be friends?"

"If it is fine to-morrow, you can run over to Miss Bertha and ask her
to befriend this little girl. If she is honest and respectable, Miss
Bertha will help her, but she mustn't come here. Your mother doesn't
like it."

So Christina had to comfort herself by the thought of Miss Bertha, and
went to bed that night praying that God would give Susy a pretty home
very soon, and let it be, if possible, in Hatherbrook village.



CHAPTER IX

THE GHOST

THE next afternoon, when lessons were over, Miss Loder and Christina
went out for their walk, and the governess was persuaded to call at
Miss Bertha's on the way.

They found the old lady in her garden, trying to cut some holly from a
very thick tree.

"Ah!" she said with a little sigh. "Why is it so many good things are
kept just out of our reach? All the brightest berries are at the top of
the tree."

"Let me cut them," said Miss Loder; "I am a little taller than you."

"Thank you, my dear; I have promised some bits to one or two of the
village children, and I am getting it this week instead of next,
because I don't like to be overpressed."

"Have you seen Susy, Miss Bertha? She is here, and you said you would
know her when she came."

Miss Bertha laughed, and nodded at the eager little face uplifted to
hers.

"Yes; Susy and I met yesterday afternoon. She told me she had been to
see you. We are great friends already, and she is coming to tea this
afternoon."

"And isn't she nice, Miss Bertha?"

"I think she is very sensible for her age; would you be allowed to stay
to tea to meet her?"

Miss Loder smiled.

"You are safe, Miss Mordaunt; I'm sure Tina will be delighted. I was
sorry we could not welcome Miss Susy yesterday more warmly, but neither
Mrs. Maclahan or I felt we could take her on Tina's word alone. Her
looks were not favourable."

She cut the holly for Miss Bertha; then left Christina with her, and
promised to send down Connie to fetch her home at six o'clock.

"Miss Loder always understands," said Christina, waving her hand to her
governess as she departed. "She knows how I like being with you; but
I'm sorry she didn't quite understand Susy."

That was a very happy afternoon to Christina. Susy arrived in due
time, and had a good tea in the kitchen with Lucy. Then she came into
Miss Bertha's sitting-room, and Christina and she had a lot to say
to each other. Miss Bertha listened to them, and occasionally put in
a word. She promised Susy she would come and see her father and talk
to him about keeping from the drink, and the little girl's tired eyes
lightened with hope.

"I never has no one to back me up!" she said. "I does so much talkin'
to him that he be pretty well tired of it, but it 'ud come fresh and
strong from you, mum; an' father be wonderful soft an' reasonable when
he be sober."

"And if any one can make wicked people good, it's Miss Bertha!"
exclaimed Christina with conviction. "Why, even Puggy wants to do what
he ought when Miss Bertha talks to him!"

Susy wanted to know who Puggy was, so Christina enlightened her.

"He's coming home for the holidays next week, and then you'll see him."

"I shall be gone; we won't be here Christmas: our hoss be gettin' well
fast."

"Oh, but ask your father to stay. We shall have such a lovely
Christmas."

Susy's eyes looked a little wistful.

"I ain't seen no lovely Christmases," she said; "it don't make no odds
to me!"

"But doesn't your father give you presents? I have always had some,
even when I was alone with Nurse with no one living in our house; and
now we're going to have a Christmas tree."

"What's that?"

Christina explained, and Susy listened with interest.

"What else do you do on Christmas Day?"

"We go to church."

"I never goes there."

"Not on Sundays, Susy?"

"No, never."

Christina was genuinely shocked.

"But you ought to if you love God."

"I don't know much about God. I hain't never learnt."

"Tell Susy what you know, Childie," and then Miss Bertha left them
together.

For a few moments Christina sat silent, wondering what she did know,
and then she said:

"God loves us, Susy, you and me, and He asked Jesus Christ to come down
from Heaven and die for us, so that we could go there when we die. He
was punished for us."

"I don't see!"

Susy spoke determinedly.

"No one will punish me, I know," she added a little defiantly.

"Oh, but we're so awfully naughty," said Christina. "We really aren't
fit for Heaven, and God hates sin, Miss Bertha has told me that. Don't
you know that hymn:

   "And so He died!—and this is why
    He came to be a man and die:
    The Bible says He came from heaven
    That we might have our sins forgiven."

"I like that; say some more."

So Christina went on:

   "He knew how wicked man had been,
    And knew that God must punish sin;
    So out of pity Jesus said
    He'd bear the punishment instead.

   "Now God will pardon those who pray,
    And hate their sins, and turn away . . ."

Susy interrupted her quickly.

"I'll take to prayers," she said; "mother used to pray to God, but I've
forgotten all about it. What shall I say?"

"I ask God to forgive my sins and make me a good girl and bless father
and mother."

"Yes, I'll remember that. Anythink else?"

"Well, you see," said Christina hesitating, "I ask God about all
kinds of things just when I think about them. You see, Susy, He knows
everything and can do everything, so it is so nice to ask Him things
that it's no good asking people about—I mean things that they can't do.
I ask God to make me brave, and keep me from being frightened, and when
my inside is bumping and my head buzzing, if I pray it seems to make me
quiet at once."

"I wonder now," said Susy reflectively, "if God could change father. It
would be awful hard; I s'pect it 'ud be too hard for Him!"

"No, I'm sure it wouldn't!"

And Christina's voice was earnestness itself.

"You ask God every day, Susy, till He does it."

Susy nodded gravely, and then, as children will, they suddenly changed
the conversation and began to talk about dolls. The time slipped away
too fast.

But when Christina came back to her governess, she said:

"I'm going to see Susy every day till she goes, Miss Loder, for she's
going to wait at our lodge gate to see me when we go out for our walk."

"And if we don't go out?" said Miss Loder with a smile.

"Oh, but we will; for mother likes me to go when it's raining!"

Sure enough Susy waited every day to catch a glimpse of Christina and
exchange a few words with her, but with the advent of Puggy, Christina
found it rather difficult to see so much of her little friend.

Miss Loder went home for the Christmas holidays, and Christina was left
very much to herself.

Puggy came home in boisterous spirits. He missed Dawn, and persisted
in dragging Christina after him wherever he went. He was in the turret
room the first thing, and took Christina to task for its neglected,
dusty appearance.

"I haven't come up here since Dawn went," she confessed; "it's so
lonely!"

"You're afraid of the ghost! You're a funker!"

Christina got scarlet at the accusation.

"My schoolroom is much more comfortable," she said.

"Just like a girl! They always want to be comfortable the first thing!"

He was as energetic as ever in finding occupation for himself and
Christina, but they both missed Dawn intensely.


The day before Christmas Eve, Mr. Maclahan called them down to the
stables, and showed them in the stalls two small ponies, one grey, one
brown.

"They are for each of you," he said, "and Tina can take her choice. It
is a Christmas present from me."

Puggy danced with delight. Christina looked doubtfully pleased.

"Must I ride it?" she asked.

"Yes, I am anxious you should be a good rider, and the sooner you begin
the better. These are thoroughly quiet little animals, and if you fall,
you will not have far to fall. I should recommend the grey one for you,
Tina. We'll have the saddles put on at once, and Barker shall take you
up and down the drive with a leading rein."

"Not me!" exclaimed Puggy in dismay. "I can stick on anything. We can
go off after adventures now, Tina. Why, we can go miles and miles and
miles!"

He was on the brown pony directly it was saddled, and galloped down the
drive with a shout of delight. Christina trembled and shivered from
head to foot when she was mounted; but she bravely fought her fears,
and her father watched her with a gleam of tenderness in his eyes. He
knew by this time her great timidity, and he did not want a repetition
of her first trial on horseback. His wife came out and joined him as
Christina was led down the drive at a foot's pace by the old groom.

"She holds herself well," she remarked.

"Stiff with terror," her husband said. "Perhaps it is rather a cruel
experiment, at Christmas time too!"

"Oh, nonsense! She is a different child since I came. And Puggy does
her all the good in the world. I am so thankful that dreadful old nurse
has gone. She would have ruined any child."

"I fancy Christina has some grit in her small composition," said Mr.
Maclahan. "She will lose her excessive timidity as she grows older, I
hope."

Four times Christina paced the avenue, and then with a sigh of infinite
relief she dismounted.

"Ah, Miss Tina," said Barker, "we shall soon have you agoing out
hunting. You'll soon be easy on horseback."

"Not hunting the poor little foxes," said Christina, shuddering. "I
could never, never do that."

"You ought to have been born a Frenchy," said Puggy, who was standing
by and had heard her remark. "You aren't fit to be an English girl!"

"I'm Scotch," said Christina, with a tiny bit of pride in her tone.

"We're just like the map now," said Puggy reflectively. "You and me
joined together, and Ireland away from us. I wish he was here now, but
Ena says she's going to have the house full, and heaps of people are
coming this afternoon, so there will be no room for him."

"I don't like crowds of people."

The children were walking off from the stables together. Puggy was in
an excited frame of mind.

"I do," he said, "and I mean to have some fun with some of them. You'll
see!"

"When are we going to have the Christmas tree, to-morrow night?"

"Yes; it's a good thing we had our ponies given to us this morning, but
if I had been the Squire, I'd have had them trotted in round the tree,
it would have been fine!"

"I'd like Susy to see the tree," said Christina thoughtfully.

"Oh, I'm sick of that gipsy girl."

"She isn't a gipsy!"

"No, she isn't as good. She's no fun at all. A gipsy would dance and
tell fortunes. Do you know what I think I'll do after Christmas?"

"No; tell me."

"I'll ride off one morning to London and find Dawn. I heard the Squire
say this morning it's only thirty miles, and if my pony is a good one,
he ought to do that!"

Christina gasped at the very idea.

"You would never get to London," she said; "you'd lose your way, and
your pony would be too tired to go on!"

"Ah," retorted Puggy, "you don't know what I can do if I choose! And if
you weren't a duffer, you'd ride off with me."

Christina shook her head.

"I could never ride to London; I should fall off my pony again and
again. I know I shall fall when I have to ride alone. He shakes me up
and down so!"

"You're no good at all."

Christina accepted this statement meekly. She was always hearing it
from Puggy's lips and believed it.

But he always found her ready to wait on him and fetch and carry for
him, and now there was no Dawn to take her part, he took advantage of
her good nature and rather bullied her.


The atmosphere of the house with the bustle and preparation for
Christmas guests infected Puggy with mischievous ideas. He was in and
out of every room. He locked up the old butler in his pantry for two
hours; he seized a big tray and used it as a toboggan down the front
stairs; he abstracted tarts and mince pies from the larder, and finally
retired to the turret room after the schoolroom tea, and locking
himself in, remained in perfect seclusion for an hour and a half.

Christina was in the schoolroom helping Connie to decorate the pictures
with holly and evergreen. Downstairs Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan with their
guests were just going into dinner, when they were startled by wild
shrieks, and two or three maids came tearing along the passages and
down the front stairs in a panic of fright.

"The ghost! The ghost in the turret!"

Tipton, the old butler, turned upon them furiously and drove them into
the servants' hall. For a moment young Mrs. Maclahan looked really
vexed.

"Of course it is Puggy!" she said. "He deserves a good whipping."

"But," said a young girl, Eva Mowbray by name, "I have always heard
there is a genuine ghost in this house. Please don't destroy the
illusion. It is so respectable to own a ghost."

"I hope that boy won't be playing pranks with Christina," said Mr.
Maclahan as he took his seat at the dinner table. "She will not bear
much fright I fancy!"

"She is most likely helping him in the invention," his wife said
carelessly. "No, Eva, we really don't own a ghost, or else it is taking
time to make its appearance. I have seen no signs of it since I have
been here."

The subject was dismissed. Other topics took the place of it, and
no more disturbance was heard; but when the ladies came into the
drawing-room, Tipton asked Mrs. Maclahan if she could speak to the
housekeeper for a moment.

"Miss Christina is taken bad," he explained.

There was a little frown between Mrs. Maclahan's eyes as she rustled
upstairs to the housekeeper's room. Mrs. Hallam was seated in her chair
by the fire, and Christina was upon her lap. Her face was blue and
pinched, her teeth chattering, and her eyes dim and glassy.

"Come in, please, ma'am."

Mrs. Hallam's tone was very indignant.

"Master Puggy ought to be well punished for this. He's dressed himself
up in sheet and white mask and frightened two of the maids into
hysterics by pouncing out upon them from the turret room; and not
content with that, he creeps after Miss Tina as she were going along
the passage. She have fainted three times, and I don't seem able to
bring her round at all."

"Why don't you give her a drop of brandy, you stupid woman! Dear me,
what a bother that boy is! Now, Tina, get up, and don't be silly. It's
only Puggy's nonsense! He ought to be ashamed of himself! Get some
brandy at once, Mrs. Hallam. Where is Connie? She had better be put
straight to bed."

Acting as quickly as she talked, Mrs. Maclahan took Christina off to
her bedroom, and by dint of rubbing and making her swallow some hot
brandy and water the child at length revived. Mrs. Maclahan did not
leave her till she was quite herself again, and then told Connie to sit
with her till she fell asleep. She went back to her guests, but did
not tell her husband of his little daughter's attack till they were on
their way to bed.

He was very angry.

"Yes," she said, "Puggy deserves everything you say. He is keeping out
of the way now. Give him a good scolding to-morrow morning; but oh, my
dear Herbert, it is a pity that Tina is so timid. What can we do with
her? She will never get through life like this."

"I must see her at once."

"Don't disturb her. She is most likely asleep."

But Christina was not. Her father found her lying with wet eyelashes
and a damp pillow.

Connie was sitting by the fire reading. He dismissed her, then turned
to his little daughter.

"Well, Tina," he said cheerfully, "I am afraid that young scamp has
given you a big fright. Didn't you know he was dressing up as a ghost?
What? You are not crying? Don't be unhappy. It is all over now." He sat
down and lifted her out of her bed upon his knee.

Christina buried her face in his shoulder and began to sob.

"I shouldn't cry, my little girl. It is all over now. Don't think about
it!"

"But it isn't over," gasped Christina. "It will never be over. It's no
good hiding it up. I shall always be afraid, and that's why I'm so—so
miserable."

Her father looked puzzled.

"But you know now that it wasn't a real ghost you saw?"

"It wasn't the ghost," sobbed Christina, "it was the being frightened
I minded the most. You said I might be the first to disgrace my family
and I have!"

Then the cause of Christina's real trouble flashed across her father's
mind.

He laughed and kissed her.

"You are a little morbid, over-conscientious goose!" he exclaimed.
"Many grown-up people would have been frightened at that boy's trick.
No, Christina, you haven't disgraced your family yet. I will tell you
when you have!"

He put her back into bed, and Christina, worn out by her fright and
misery and comforted by her father's kiss and words, fell asleep.

The next morning Puggy was summoned to the library. He was much
astonished to receive a short but thoroughly severe chastisement from
Mr. Maclahan, and retired to his bedroom quite crestfallen.

He did not see Christina till dinner time, and when they met, neither
made any allusion to the ghost.



CHAPTER X

"HOW COULD I HELP GOING!"

CHRISTMAS was over. The tree had been quite a success, and though
Christina could not get permission to have Susy as a guest, she was
allowed to take her some presents from it.

The children were left much alone, owing to the many guests staying
in the house. They saw very little of them. Every morning, if fine,
Christina went up and down the drive on her grey pony. And to her great
delight she was losing her fear, and really feeling at ease in her
saddle. Puggy would fly off on his own account. He never seemed to come
to harm; though his arms and legs were always liberally supplied with
bumps and bruises.

One afternoon the children walked together into the village; Puggy
wanted to invest in some putty which he liked to get at the carpenter's
shop. He was wonderfully ingenious with his fingers, and modelled all
kinds of queer articles from a bit of clay or putty. Christina wanted
to get a glimpse of Susy. She knew that she was still in the village,
for her father had not been well, and Christina was always afraid that
they would go off suddenly, without wishing her good-bye.

As they came up to the outskirts of the village, Christina's quick eyes
spied out the hawker's cart and horse standing outside an empty barn.

"Oh, I believe Susy is in the barn," she exclaimed, and then stopped
short in terror, for a child's frantic cries rang out:

"Oh, dad, you're killing me! Help! Help! Let me go!"

A shriek of agonizing pain followed.

"He's drunk and he's beating her," announced Puggy.

Like a small whirlwind Christina dashed into the barn. Susy was crying
for help, and Susy was in danger. Those two facts were enough for her.
She flung herself between Susy and her father and seized her little
friend by the arm.

"You're killing her! Stop it!" she cried with blazing eyes.

But the hawker was mad with drink. He had the butt end of his whip
in his hand and was belabouring his small daughter most cruelly. Her
forehead was cut and bleeding and one of her arms hung by her side
as if it were broken. When Christina came in his way, in blind rage
he struck out at her and felled her to the ground. Then he seemed to
realize what he had done; flinging his whip from him, he staggered out
of the barn and stumbling up into his cart drove off, leaving Christina
unconscious on the ground and Susy kneeling by her side.

Puggy came in and stood for a moment not knowing what to do.

"She's dead, she's dead!" cried Susy. "And 'twas trying to save me. Oh,
bring a doctor quick, quick! 'Twas just like this mother got the blow
she died of."

Puggy tore up the village then for his life, and soon returned with the
two first persons whom he met, Miss Bertha and the blacksmith.

"She's only stunned, I think," said Miss Bertha cheerfully, trying to
reassure herself and the two children. "Bring her to my house, Taylor,
I am not far away; and, Puggy, you run to Doctor Randal's. He is home,
fortunately. I saw him drive in just now. Why, Susy, little woman,
you're in a bad way! You must come with me too. We'll soon put you both
right, please God. Come along."

Cheery Miss Bertha led the way to her small cottage, Taylor the
blacksmith carrying Christina in his arms.

"That fellow ought to be in gaol!" he remarked. "He'll kill his child
before he's done with her, and now he's had the impudence to attack
Missy. What 'll the Squire say, I'm thinkin'!"

"I think you might send one of your boys with a message to him, but
don't alarm them too much. Tell them she is with me, and I will do all
that is necessary."

"I expect the young gent will have got there already," said the
blacksmith.

"Ah yes! I forgot him. Then it will be all right."

Miss Bertha's tiny cottage was soon reached; and Christina was lifted
on to her own bed, whilst the good Lucy attended to Susy.

The doctor arrived very shortly, and before very long Christina opened
her eyes. She had received a very nasty blow, and Dr. Randal advised
her being put straight to bed and kept as quiet as possible.

Susy's arm was set, for a bone in it was broken; and the doctor
declared that her father ought to be committed to gaol before he did
any more mischief.

But she looked up pitifully at him as he spoke, saying, "He's my
father; sir, 'tis only the drink. He's awful sorry when he's sober."

And Dr. Randal fore-bore to say more in her presence.

Mr. Maclahan came down to the cottage almost immediately after the
doctor had left, but Miss Bertha begged him not to disturb his child.

"She is quite comfortable and going off to sleep; we feel that is the
best thing for her. Dr. Randal advises that she should not be moved. I
hope you will let me have the pleasure of keeping her. I will take the
utmost care of her."

"Do you know how it happened? Where is the rascal that dared raise
his hand against her? A delicate, highly-strung child like that to be
subjected to such brutal treatment! I would like to give him a sound
thrashing!"

"She interfered on her little friend's behalf, I gather, from Puggy's
account. There is not much doubt about her pluck, is there? I always
felt that she had a reserve force of which she herself knew nothing.
Are you determined to see her? Come this way and step softly, so as not
to disturb her."

Maclahan went into the bedroom, and looked at his sleeping child with
tender eyes. Then he came out, wrung Miss Bertha's hand gratefully and
strode off down the village in search for the drunken hawker.

When Christina woke up the nest morning, beyond an aching head there
was not much the matter with her. Her first thought was of Susy.

"Where is she, please? Oh, she was dreadfully hurt, I know she was!"

"She is getting on comfortably," said Miss Bertha—"in fact, if you are
very good, you shall see her this afternoon. She is staying in the
house. I have two little guests, you see."

But later on, when Miss Bertha went to find Susy, she was missing. And
Lucy put a slip of paper into her mistress' hand.

"'Tis rather a scrawl, ma'am. Perhaps you may be able to make it out.
I'm afraid she's slipped off after her father. She's been in a rare
taking over him, and seemed wonderful set on seeing Miss Christina this
morning. I said to her that she couldn't be disturbed.

"'I should like to thank her! I should like to thank her!' she kept
repeating.

"I said she would be able to do it later on.

"And she shook her head, 'I can't wait. It will be too late!'

"I didn't know what she was meaning, but now I see she meant to go off.
'Tis very ungrateful, and she's not fit to tramp off yet awhile!"

Miss Bertha took the bit of paper. It was badly written and badly
spelt, but tears were in her eyes as she deciphered it.

   "I thanks you all, hand my biggest thanks to Miss Tener for I nose her
luvs me, hand I luvs her for evermor, but dad as nobuddy and i must fin
him and luv him lik muther toled me i was to and I ses good by for we
wonte be bak here agen for the perlesse will katch him Loosee said dad
wud be kort, and he don't mene to hert.

                                                 "SUSY."

She showed the paper to Christina, who looked at it long and earnestly.
When she raised her eyes to Miss Bertha's, they were glowing with
enthusiasm.

"Susy is the bravest girl in the whole world I believe, isn't she, Miss
Bertha? I think she's quite as brave as Joan of Arc!"

Miss Bertha gave one of her happy laughs.

"And what about you, Childie?"

"Oh, I couldn't do it!"

Christina's tone was passionate in its earnestness.

"If I was to find myself turned into Susy, I should run away as fast as
I could from my father, and that would be dreadfully wicked, wouldn't
it?"

"Then, darling, what made you go up to him as you did?"

"Oh, but that was different. Oh, Miss Bertha, he was killing poor Susy;
I really thought he was. I had to get her away from him. How could I
help going?"

Miss Bertha was silent, then she laid her hand on Christina's head and
said very softly and reverently:

"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends!' You understand that principle, Childie. We must not let
any one call you a little coward after this."

Christina looked puzzled. She was still more so after a visit from her
stepmother and Puggy.

Mrs. Maclahan put her hand under her chin and raised her face to hers.

"Let us have a look at you! Do you know the whole village has made you
into a heroine? It's a pity Puggy here wasn't a little more prompt. I
would rather have heard that he had accomplished the rescue than you!
How did you do it, Tina? I shall begin to think your timidity is all
humbug. What do you say, Miss Bertha?"

"Dawn knows Christina better than any of us," said Miss Bertha quietly.
He says: "Christina is frightened, but she doesn't funk!"

Mrs. Maclahan nodded brightly.

"Well her father is quite proud of her. He puts it down to Scotch
blood. Why is it, Miss Bertha, that the Scotch think themselves so
immeasurably superior to us poor English? I tell my husband that I
wonder he ever condescended to marry me; but I suppose he considers
that an inferior wife is only what is right and proper! What big eyes,
Tina! I'm sure you don't understand a word of my talk, do you? How's
the poor head?"

"Oh, she is getting on very well, only I want to have the pleasure of
nursing her for a few days," said Miss Bertha.

"It's very good of you. She seems quite happy. Now, Puggy, stay and
talk to her a little, and, Miss Bertha, take me round your garden. I
hear your violets are appearing even now."

Miss Bertha took Mrs. Maclahan round, talking as she went of many
things. When Mrs. Maclahan eventually took her leave, she said
impulsively:

"I wish I had what you have. I always feel so ignorant when I'm with
you. And how is it you get the children's love? My riotous Puggy, who
scorns most women-folk, thinks all the world of you."

"Perhaps because I think all the world of him!" said Miss Bertha,
smiling. "I could not be happy without flowers and children."

Search was made at once for Susy and her father, but both of them had
disappeared. Whether the child had come across her father on the road,
or whether she had tramped along on his track, remained a question.
It was pretty certain that they had left the beaten road and taken to
by-lanes.

Christina was bitterly disappointed, but was quite positive that she
would see Susy again.

"I'm sure I shall," she asserted. "Susy told me they often came past
our village, and they'll come past it again, and perhaps one day,
Miss Bertha, God will make Susy's father a good man. He can, can't
He? And Susy and I are both asking Him to do it. And then he'll give
up drinking and p'r'aps live in a little cottage and go to church on
Sundays and be kind to Susy."

"Yes, pray on, Childie. Nothing is impossible with God," said Miss
Bertha with her cheery little nod.

Christina thoroughly enjoyed her week with Miss Bertha. She trotted
about the house and delighted in making herself useful, helping Lucy to
dust, feeding Miss Bertha's fowls, and weeding the gravel paths in the
little garden.

"There's nothing I can do at home," she confided to Miss Bertha,
"because we have too many servants. There's our turret room—Puggy and
I scrubbed and cleaned that out the other day; but Connie scolded me
because I got my pinafore wet, and said I oughtn't to do it. I wish we
lived in a little cottage like this!"

"You are a happy little girl as you are; don't wish for what you have
not got."


The day Christina returned home she was greeted by Puggy vociferously.

"I'm just longing to tell you the news! We're all going up to London.
Think of that! And we shall see Dawn and go sight-seeing. And we're
going to-morrow. Hurray!"

Christina could hardly believe it. She had never in all her life been
away from her home, and at first the terrors of the unknown seized hold
of her.

"Isn't London a very full place, Puggy?" she asked timidly, as the two
children sat down to their schoolroom tea. "I've heard Nurse say there
was no room to walk in the streets, because there were such a lot of
people!"

"Yes, it's crowded, that makes the fun," was the reply.

"And trains and omnibuses and carts are all rushing about everywhere!"
continued Christina with a sinking heart.

"Yes, and policemen stand in the middle of the streets to help people
cross, and the shops are ripping, and we're going to stay at a hotel!"

"What's that?"

"Fancy not knowing what a hotel is like! It's a place with huge rooms
to live in and jolly good grub to eat, and any amount of people coming
and going."

"I like little houses better than big ones," announced Christina. "I
think I shall be afraid of so many people."

"Oh, you're afraid of everything—at least—" Puggy pulled himself up. "I
promised the Squire I wouldn't say that to you; but you're an awfully
queer girl, Tina. You're afraid of such a lot of silly things, and not
afraid when you ought to be!"

"Go on and tell me more about London," said Christina hastily. "Shall
we see Dawn, do you think?"

"Of course we shall. Ena says we can have him to lunch one day at the
hotel if we like. Why, it'll be too jolly for anything!"

"Well, I'll try to like it," said Christina, resolving to swallow her
fears and only think of the pleasure of seeing Dawn again.

She found Connie full of delight and importance at being included in
the party.

"The mistress has told me I'm to be your maid and look after you, and
as long as I don't have to manage Master Puggy I don't care. I've never
been to London in my life. It'll be a great thing for me!"

Christina hardly understood how it was that every one that evening
seemed to make so much of her. To her mind, what she had done for Susy
seemed only what any one would have done. She did not consider herself
a heroine, but the servants and even her father and mother alluded
to it with pride in their tones, and all received her back with the
warmest welcome. Mrs. Hallam, who seldom had much to say to the little
girl, stooped and kissed her when she saw her.

"We're thankful to see you none the worse for that brute's blow!" she
said. "And we're proud of you, Miss Tina; to think you stood up against
the cowardly bully, when there's many a grown person would have thought
twice of interfering with a man mad with drink!"

"But Susy was being hurt!" Christina exclaimed. "You wouldn't have let
her be hurt if you'd been there, Mrs. Hallam!"

Mrs. Hallam made no reply. She did not feel at all sure in her own mind
that she would have interfered.

"I should have sent the policeman," she agreed to herself. "What's
the good of having one in the village if he's not to the fore at such
times!"


When Christina was in bed that night her father came up to wish her
good-night.

"Is the head all right?" he asked. "Because you will want to be fit in
London. No headache now?"

"No father."

Christina took hold of his hand and put it between her cheek and the
pillow.

"You're going to be with us in London to take care of us, aren't you?"
she asked.

"Yes, I am, I believe," her father replied, smiling.

"Oh!" said Christina, looking up at him with deep feeling. "What should
I do if I had to take care of you, instead of you taking care of me!"

Her father laughed heartily.

Christina blushed, then hastened to explain herself.

"Susy's father never takes care of her—never! She has to look after
him. Don't you think Susy a wonderful girl, father?"

"I think she is a poor little unfortunate child, and the sooner she is
taken away from her father the better, I should say! But I want you to
put those people clean out of your head, Christina; don't give them a
thought! Forget them altogether."

"But," said Christina slowly, "Susy is in my heart, not in my head, and
I can't put her out from there. I love her, father, and we mean to sit
next to each other in Heaven if God will let us; do you think He will,
father?"

"Those are questions for Miss Bertha, not for me," said her father
hastily, and then he wished her good-night and left her.



CHAPTER XI

IN LONDON

"AND what do you want to do to-day?"

"Please, we want to go to see Dawn," was the cry from both Puggy and
Christina.

They had had three days of sight-seeing in town, and it had almost been
too bewildering for Christina. They had been to a pantomime, "Olympia,"
Madame Tussaud's and the Crystal Palace, and now Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan
were going down for the day to Richmond, and the children were to be
left in the charge of Blanche, Mrs. Maclahan's maid, who was a very
staid elderly woman.

They had just finished breakfast in their hotel, and Mr. Maclahan
smiled when he received his answer.

"Ah! I might have guessed that! Now remember! You are to have Blanche
with you when you go. She can call a cab, and take you to see Dawn, and
you can bring him back to lunch."

"But boys don't go about with maids in London," said Puggy rebelliously.

"If you don't like to go out with her, you can stay at home."

Puggy knew the Squire too well by this time to dream of protesting
further, but he prepared himself to be very disagreeable, and when
Puggy was disagreeable, he made every one near him very uncomfortable.
Christina was his butt; when Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan had gone, he made
her shiver in her shoes by his dark descriptions of cab drives in
London.

"The horses are always starved, and they tumble down. I saw a little
girl come crashing through a cab window once, and bits of glass were
sticking in her face just like pins in a pincushion, and it was because
the cab horse tumbled. And all cabmen in London are drunk, and they
drive anyhow, and crash into motor-cars and kill people by hundreds;
and cabs in London are always nearly worn out: their wheels fly off,
and then down they go! If the Squire had let us walk to Dawn's house,
we should have got there safely; but he makes us come in a cab, and
we're positively certain to have an accident, so if we're all killed it
won't be my fault, and I shall tell them so!"

"But," said Christina, trying to disguise her terror at such a
catalogue of evils, "if you're killed, you won't be able to say
anything!"

"Oh, I shall manage to let them know," said Puggy with an emphatic nod
of his round head.

When they started in a four-wheeler, Christina's nerves were on edge.
She clutched hold of Blanche, who sat beside her, and asked her
appealingly if there was any danger.

"Of course there isn't," said Blanche soothingly.

"You're sitting on danger," said Puggy darkly; "this cab smells of
smallpox. A fellow at my school got into a cab just like this and died
of the smallpox a month afterwards. They always take smallpox people in
those cabs—that's why my sister goes in hansoms; she says you're bound
to get awful diseases in these cabs."

"Hold your tongue!" snapped Blanche crossly.

She was peculiarly nervous about taking infection, and Puggy knew it.

Having thoroughly frightened both Blanche and Christina, Puggy began
to enjoy himself. But the pleasures of that drive were over to poor
Christina. Every jolt of the cab meant a wheel off to her, every block
in the streets meant collision, every application of the cabman's whip,
and a corresponding start of the horse, meant a tumble and certain
death. Then she remembered her text and repeated it over to herself.

"God can take care of me," she thought, and her fears began to slip
away.

Still, when they arrived in Kensington, and were put down at Dawn's
home, Christina drew a long sigh of relief.

"I expect he'll be as cocky as a sparrow," said Puggy, as they mounted
the steps and rang the bell; "but I shan't let him cheek me!"

The servant who answered the door showed them into a very small
drawing-room.

"Yes, Master Dawn is at home; he is in the studio with his father. I
will let him know."

"You mustn't stay here long," said Blanche; "for the cabman is waiting,
and if Master Dawn can come back with us, he must do it at once."

The door flew open as she spoke, and Dawn appeared, looking more
radiant than ever. He embraced Christina, thumped Puggy on the back and
danced up and down with ecstasy.

"How scrumptious! I never knew you were in London. Oh what ripping fun
we'll have! I have ten days' more holidays, and if those aren't enough
to do everything in, I'll take French leave, and add on a few more
days."

"You're to come back to lunch with us," said Puggy grandly.

"Hurrah! How did you come? On the top of a 'bus?"

"In a stuffy cab. It's waiting now."

"A 'bus is much jollier! Come and see dad. Tina, he's working at your
picture: the one with the hounds. It's nearly finished, and we have
such a lovely hound lent to us. He goes any way you want him to; I want
to make him stand on his head, but dad won't let me."

"They must only stay five minutes," said Blanche, but they never heard
her, they were all racing upstairs to Mr. O'Flagherty's studio.

It was a much larger room than that in his country cottage. Christina
looked round it with interest. There were rich coloured stuffs draped
over screens, beautiful pictures, bits of armour, china bowls, and
all sorts of queer pieces of furniture. The artist was working away,
palette in hand. Dawn's corner was soon discovered. A plate of oranges
on a stool, some shavings of wood and a knife, and various boy's
playthings scattered round showed where he had been working.

"Oh, dad, isn't this luck?" Dawn exclaimed. "Say good-bye for the day,
for you won't see me before bedtime; and won't you be jolly glad to get
rid of me!"

Mr. O'Flagherty turned round and nodded to Puggy and Christina.

"You've brought a whiff of the country with you," he said. "Well, Tina,
have you been defying any more savage sportsmen?"

"She's been defying a drunk pedlar," said Puggy.

"What? Oh, this is delicious! Tell me all about it. Dawn, hand the
oranges round. Don't you forget your hospitality."

So the story of Susy and her father was told. Mr. O'Flagherty chuckled
with delight over it, and laughed at Christina's solemn face. The
recital to her meant a recital of Susy's woes and courage. Her own part
in it was a very small one in her own estimation.

"Bravo, little Scotland!" said the artist. "Go through the world with
your back up and fists out for the oppressed. I wish it had been my
Jack-in-the-box. Whose cause will you undertake next, I wonder? Plenty
need a champion in this big city."

"I wish you'd chuck Blanche out of the cab, Tina," said Puggy; "then
you would be good for something. If she wasn't a woman, but just a
fellow like me, I'd do it myself with the greatest pleasure!"

"I'll show you round London in a jiffy!" cried Dawn. "I know the way,
don't I, dad?"

"There isn't much you don't know!" retorted his father.

They stayed chatting a few minutes longer, and then Dawn struggled into
his greatcoat, and accompanied them downstairs.

"Oh," he said, as they got into the cab together, "we'll do some lovely
things together! Tell me what you've done."

Their tongues went fast. At the bottom of Hanover Square they got out
and walked the rest of the way to their hotel. Dawn thoroughly enjoyed
himself. He liked seeing the different people come in and out of the
rooms, and invented a story at once about each of them. They in their
turn looked at the pretty curly-headed boy with great interest.

The three children sat down to a luncheon table by themselves. Puggy
was in his element now.

"I should like to clear the world of women," he asserted. "I shall have
nothing but men servants in my house when I grow up. I hate Blanche and
that girl Connie being with us. It's like being with nurses again."

"I'll take you to see some of dad's pictures this afternoon," said
Dawn. "They're in a gallery with some others in Bond Street. That's
close here, you know. I can go in free. The gatekeeper knows me."

"Blanche will have to come with us," said Christina.

"Oh no, she won't. Dad lets me go about alone."

"Yes, Dawn is quite enough for us," said Puggy. "And we'll go out the
very minute we've had enough to eat."

"But I couldn't," said Christina; "it wouldn't be right!"

"It will be right if I say it is," cried Dawn gaily.

Christina was silent. The idea of going out with the two boys without
Blanche sounded very tempting.

"The Squire only said Blanche was to come with us when we went to
Dawn," argued Puggy.

"I shan't feel comfortable," said Christina; "my conscience will bother
me so."

"Oh, your conscience is all stuff; it is a rotten egg, your conscience
is!"

Puggy's tone had supreme contempt in it.

"Dad says," Dawn asserted thoughtfully, conveying some apple tart to
his mouth, "that the Scotch people's consciences make them dour; he
says we have too little of it, and they have too much."

"Well, my conscience is just right," said Puggy. "I'm neither Scotch or
Irish, so you listen to me, Tina. My conscience says go."

"Are you really listening to it?" questioned Christina anxiously.

"Of course I am, you stupid!"

"We'll just tell Blanche what we mean to do," suggested Dawn, pushing
his chair away. "You leave her to me. I'll manage her. And if she says
we can go, it will be all right."

Blanche had a great desire to go out shopping on her own account, so
when Dawn with specious arguments convinced her that they would only
walk up one street and down another, and come straight back to tea
after seeing the pictures, she reluctantly gave her consent.

The three children started from the hotel in the highest spirits. Even
Christina, now that her conscience was eased, felt the force of Dawn's
gay humour.

He told them the drollest anecdotes, and was brimful of mischievous
devices for spending the next few days.

"Not been to the Zoo? Of course we'll go there. We'll do it to-morrow.
I've learnt the way to drive an elephant. A friend of dad's told me.
He's been in India; and we'll get on the elephant's back and make
him gallop! Wouldn't it be fun to tear out of the gardens and come
galloping down Regent Street on him! What a sight we should be! Now
come on, here we are, and its awful fun to hear what people say about
dad's pictures! There's one of me, when I was quite a youngster, and
I'm sitting in the sea; and then there are the three pictures, 'Dawn'
and 'Day' and 'Dusk.' I can tell you those are fine!"

They were at the gallery by the turnstile; the ticket collector looked
at Dawn rather sternly.

"What do you want here again?" he demanded.

"I'm showing some friends round," Dawn said airily. "Don't mind us. I
have dad's card in my pocket, and we shan't stay long."

"Sixpence each, and that's only asking half-price. If you goes in free,
a tail o' children after you don't!"

Puggy tossed the man a shilling with the grandest air.

"Take that and let us through without any more of your cheek!" he said.

Dawn's face was crimson with mortification. He felt in his pockets, and
then laughed his sunny laugh.

"I'm a penniless Paddy," he said, "or I'd pay it for you; but I'll be
even with that fellow yet, for insulting my friends! Come on. Now what
would you say if your father had painted pictures like that?"

He led them triumphantly to a small room, and there in the centre were
three large pictures. A group of people were before them discussing
them, and Dawn on tiptoe, with his finger on his lips, crept up to
listen.

Christina was feasting her eyes, not her ears. The first picture was a
portrait of Dawn, and a very lovely picture he made. He was represented
as just waking up in the centre of a great forest, the sun was rising,
though not actually in sight. Its pale golden light surrounded by a
slight morning mist, edged the horizon between some grand-looking
pines. It was a picture that portrayed not only the dawn of youth, but
the dawn of day and the dawn of summer. Everything was young and fresh;
the baby bracken was softly uncurling, the buds of tree and bush all
unfolding; a nest of young birds, a group of tiny rabbits, and a timid
frightened fawn peering through the bushes at the waking child were all
depicted with power that was akin to genius. The child was the centre
of it all, and with his flushed and dimpled face, the disordered curls
on his forehead, his sleepy eyes, and his little limbs in the act of
stretching themselves, was a life-like sketch.

"What a lovely idea!" said a young girl enthusiastically. "And what a
pretty boy! I long to take him up in my lap and kiss him!"

Dawn looked back at Puggy and Christina with mischief in his glance,
then he sauntered boldly in front of the girl and looked at her.

When she caught his eye, he took off his hat with a low bow.

"Thank you!" he said, and then his flying feet carried him out of
sight into an adjoining room before the young girl could get over her
astonishment. Puggy followed him, but Christina stayed, and let her
eyes take her to the next picture.

"Day" was simply the picture of a handsome, vigorous young blacksmith
working at his forge; children were grouped round the door on their way
to school; the sunshine outside and the glowing fire in the darkened
forge were managed with consummate skill. "Dusk" was the third picture,
and Christina could not tear herself away from this. An old man
sitting in the twilight by the sick-bed of his old wife. That was the
subject of it, but the gloom and pathos in his resigned expression and
attitude, and the sad and wistful glance of his dying wife, as her face
was turned towards him, brought the tears to the little girl's eyes.

"Oh, why do they look so unhappy!" she exclaimed aloud.

"Why? Because they are meeting their doom, the doom of us all—decay and
death!"

Christina started nervously at the voice close to her. Turning, she saw
an old man behind her leaning on his stick, and gazing intently upon
the picture.

"But if you die, you go to Jesus," said Christina simply, "and that's a
happy thing to do; Miss Bertha says it is."

The old man put his hand on her shoulder:

"Say it again, child, I like to hear it. I am in the dusk of my life.
The dusk before darkness."

"And the darkness before light."

A gentle-looking woman murmured these words as she passed by, and the
old man gazed after her with a sudden gleam of brightness in his eye.
Then he turned to Christina:

"I am fond of little girls," he said. "I had a little girl of my own
once, and when she was as small as you, she used to sit on my knee and
ask me to tell her stories. Have you come here alone?"

"No," said Christina, a sudden panic seizing her, "I'm with Puggy and
Dawn, and—and I believe they have left me!"

She looked wildly round. A sense of being lost in London rushed over
her, but a minute afterwards, she caught sight of Puggy the other end
of the room, and she dashed across to him.

"Oh, don't leave me," she gasped. "I thought you had gone away. Where
is Dawn?"

"At some of his monkey tricks. I don't care for pictures; come on out,
Tina."

"But we can't go without Dawn, where is he?"

"He's talking to two ladies; they seem to know him. We were just
beginning to have a game of hide and seek, and he was under one of
those seats when the ladies sat down, and then he mewed like a cat, and
they sprang up in an awful fright, and then he crawled out and begged
their pardon, and talked as if the whole place belonged to him, and
they said they knew his father, and whilst they were jawing I came off."

"We can't go away without Dawn. Don't you like pictures, Puggy? I love
them; do let us see some more. Look at that little girl on horseback
over there, who is she I wonder?"

"I know I'd like to be on horseback," muttered Puggy; "this is too slow
for me. I want to get out of it."

Dawn came skipping up to them, quite unconscious that Puggy was
becoming bored.

"Isn't it nice here?" he said. "The rooms are so big. Have you seen
dad's pictures, Tina?"

"Puggy is tired of it, he wants to go."

"All right, we will; and we'll go and have some tea in a shop. I know
where to take you. Dad and I always go there."

Christina very reluctantly left the pictures and followed the boys out
into the street. It was Dawn's way she knew, to be always changing
his programme. But when they left the gallery, which had been lighted
throughout with electricity, they found that outside, thick darkness
prevailed.

"Is it night?" asked Christina with fright in her tone.

"No, it's a regular pea soup fog; isn't it fun? Come on, you follow me!
I know the way."

"Don't go so fast," pleaded Christina; "and, please, don't cross the
street. I can't see the horses and carts properly, and I shall be run
over."

"This is the kind of day you get robbed," announced Dawn. "Burglars
and pickpockets always come along in a fog. Mind if any one takes hold
of you, you hit him straight in the face with your fist. Do you hear,
Christina? You aren't afraid any more, are you?"

"Oh," cried Christina clutching hold of his arm, "I'm very, very much
afraid just now!"

Everything seemed far away. The lights in the shops, the lamps on the
carriages, seemed literally vanishing; and at last she gasped out: "Do
you think it's the Judgment Day? Perhaps God has taken the sun right
away?"

Both boys laughed; and then suddenly—Christina never knew how it
was—there was a crowd of people, she became detached from the boys; and
before she had time to call after them, she was alone by herself in the
foggy London street.



CHAPTER XII

LOST IN A FOG

FOR a few minutes she did not realize it, but she pressed after the
boys in the direction in which she thought they had gone. She was too
shy to call after them; too frightened and bewildered to speak to any
passer-by. Stories of children being kidnapped came into her mind. Dawn
had said burglars and pickpockets were about; if she spoke, they might
offer to take her home, and then lead her away to rob her or kill her.
An overwhelming sense of terror seized her, she fancied some one caught
hold of her; and turning round, she ran as if for her life away from
the possible pickpocket. The fog seemed to get thicker, she could not
see a few feet in front of her, and at last she stood still trying to
collect her thoughts.

"I don't know where I am, or what I'm to do," she said to herself. "I
couldn't find a cab if I wanted one, and I couldn't drive in a cab
alone, I should die of fright. The cabman would be drunk; Puggy said
they always were. But I'm sure God will take care of me; I mustn't be
frightened. I'll say my text:

   "'What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.'

"I will trust God to take care of me. I wish I was near a shop; they
seem to have all gone away. Perhaps if I went up to a house and knocked
at the door, they would tell me what to do."

She was trying hard to be cool and brave; and, gathering all her
courage together, she felt her way to the nearest doorstep; three steps
she mounted, and then dimly through the fog she saw a bell. This she
pulled, and waited in trepidation till some one came. The some one
proved to be a manservant, and in opening the door he seemed to let out
a flood of light and warmth.

But as Christina looked up at him her heart failed her. He could see
her less plainly than she could see him, and his voice was irate as he
exclaimed:

"One of you begging brats again! How dare you touch the bell! Is my
time to be taken up by answering the door to such as you!"

Christina was dumb; the door was slammed violently in her face, and
sitting down on the step she gave way to a few tears.

"What am I to do? The houses are no good, and the people aren't, for I
can't see them, and I don't know where the cabs are, or where I am!"

Then she thought she might speak to a lady if one passed by, but none
seemed to come in her direction. Two loud-voiced girls passed her
certainly, but their tones were not those of ladies, and this Christina
knew instinctively.

"I s'pose," she said sorrowfully to herself, "that God is punishing me
for having come out without Blanche. My conscience was right after all!
And now the very worst has happened to me, and I shall never be found,
and I shall be lost for ever!"

She felt cold and miserable; the fog got down her throat and made her
cough. She wondered vaguely why she did not feel more frightened, and
walked along the pavement with tired lagging steps.

"I wonder if it will ever get light again!" she said to herself, and
then the inspiration seized her to take her stand under one of the
electric lamps that edged the street at intervals.

"Perhaps I shall be able to see the people's faces better, and if they
aren't all burglars, I might ask some one to help me!"

She had hardly taken her stand under the lamp before some one did come
by whom she recognized at once. It was the old gentleman who had spoken
to her in the picture gallery. In an instant she darted forward and
touched his arm timidly.

"Please, I'm lost; do help me."

"Eh? What! Lost? No begging tricks! Why, bless my soul, it's my little
friend who ran away from the pictures and me!"

"Yes; I've lost the boys, and I can't find my way home; will you help
me?"

"Can't find your way home? Delightful! I'm as dull as ditch water
to-day, you shall come home with me and cheer me up. Have you had your
tea? I have not. Come along, come along, my house is not far from here.
We'll send you home when we've done with you."

He took her hand in his. Christina followed him happily, till a sudden
fear seized her.

"Please, don't mind my asking you, but you are not a burglar or a
pickpocket, are you? You wouldn't rob me, would you? I—I don't know
anybody in London, and Puggy and Dawn tell me such dreadful stories!"

The old gentleman laughed huskily. She went on with increasing
nervousness:

"If you would take me back to our hotel, I should like it best; for,
you see, the boys will be looking for me."

[Illustration: "Eh! What, lost?"]

"All in good time. Here we are! You must come in and see my old lady
and then you will know why I was moon-struck over that dismal picture."

He had stopped at one of the houses in the street, inserted a latchkey
into the door, and then took Christina up a steep flight of stairs.

"Now," he said, ushering her into a small drawing-room that was only
lighted by a flickering fire, "here is my good wife. She can't see you
in this fog, and she couldn't if it was bright sunshine, for she is
quite blind, so she will take my word for it when I tell her that you
are a very pretty little lady with eyes like our Minnie's. Come and
shake hands with her."

Christina crossed the room timidly. Seated in an armchair by the fire
was a very sweet-looking old lady. She was knitting a scarf, and had
just laid down her work to listen to her husband's voice. "Very glad
to see you, dear, or—I should say—to have you here, as I can't see any
one. It is not often we have little visitors. How did you meet her,
Ted?"

"Looking at a picture. Ah, dear! Don't remind me of it. Just a picture
of ourselves a few years later! And then she ran away from me, and then
we met again in the streets, and she told me she was lost. Lost in
London! I wonder how many loot souls London is responsible for!"

The old gentleman took off his hat and sat down heavily on a chair.
Christina looked at him in wonder, then she laid her little hand softly
on the old lady's withered one.

"I'm not quite lost, because I know the name of our hotel, and any one
will take me there, won't they? It's this dreadful fog. I couldn't see
the boys any more."

"Ted dear, ring the bell. Chivers will bring up tea. You must stay and
have some tea, little girl, and then my husband will take you home. He
wants cheering up; but he is not always so gloomy as this!"

Christina stayed to tea. She did not see what else she could do, and
she confided to the old couple a good deal concerning herself and the
boys.

She heard from the old lady that her name was Bolland, and that she and
her husband had lived in London for fifty years, only going away from
it sometimes for change of air. Mr. Bolland had been once an artist
himself, but rheumatism had crippled his hands and limbs so badly that
for some years he had not been able to touch a paint brush.

"And where is your little girl?" Christina asked. "The little girl
something like me?"

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a sigh. "She's in Heaven; she died when
she was twelve years old. I've often thought that if she had lived, she
would have brightened our life now, wouldn't she, Ted? Show the little
girl your picture of her. She'd like to see our Minnie."

Mr. Bolland left the room and returned with a large picture under his
arm. It was a pretty portrait: a little girl in white muslin frock
with a string of coral beads round her neck. Christina gazed at it
admiringly.

"Yes," said Mr. Bolland, looking at her earnestly, "you've the same
eyes, my dear, and you say the things Minnie used to say. Why when she
lay dying she looked up at me, 'Father, I'm sorry to leave you, but so
glad to go to Jesus,' she said."

He turned away and cleared his throat. Mrs. Bolland took hold of
Christina's hand.

"Will you come and see us another day?" she asked gently. "Do you think
you would be allowed to? We are very lonely old people, and it is such
a treat to hear a little child's voice."

"I'll ask father, and perhaps I could bring Puggy and Dawn with me."

"Are they your dogs?"

Christina laughed merrily.

"No, they're boys. We're called the United Kingdom. Puggy is England,
and Dawn is Ireland, and I'm Scotland. Dawn is named after the picture
we saw to-day."

"I'll take you to your hotel," said Mr. Bolland. "We won't have a cab.
The fog is clearing, and it is not far from here."

So Christina wished Mrs. Bolland good-bye, and promised her she would
come again if she could, and then taking hold of Mr. Bolland's hand,
she was piloted across several streets, and finally reached the hotel
just at the time when her father, with a very worried face, was making
inquiries about her in the entrance hall.

It appeared that neither Puggy nor Dawn had returned. Mr. Maclahan
thanked the old gentleman warmly for bringing his little daughter
back. He took her up at once to their private sitting-room, where her
stepmother was having a cup of tea.

"It is really most culpable of Blanche to let these three children go
out alone," said Mr. Maclahan sharply.

"Yes," his wife responded, "I suppose it is; but Puggy can generally be
trusted to look after himself."

"I don't doubt that, but he cannot be trusted to look after Christina."

"Don't be hard on him. Tina seems the most capable of the three, for
she has come back first."

"I expect," said Christina with anxious eyes, "that they're looking for
me all this time. We lost each other in the fog. They got in front of
me, and I lost them."

Mr. Maclahan left the room.

"Come here and tell me what you have been doing," said Mrs. Maclahan to
her little stepdaughter.

Christina gave a very careful and truthful account of herself.

"Of course they ought to have looked after you better. But boys will be
boys. I'm afraid your father will be very angry with Puggy!"

"May I go and see that old lady and gentleman again?" asked Christina
timidly.

"You had better ask your father. I should think it would be a very odd
proceeding. We do not know them, though I believe Mr. Bolland was an
R.A. once. Ask Dawn's father if he knows him. And now go to Connie, and
stay with her."

Christina left the room with relief. Though her stepmother was kind to
her, she was not sympathetic; the little girl was never quite at ease
when with her. She felt she was in the way, and that Mrs. Maclahan
only tolerated her presence. And Mrs. Maclahan made no secret of her
preference for the boys. She did not understand Christina, and she felt
indifferent towards her. Beyond seeing that she was educated, fed and
clothed, her stepmother had little to do with her, and it was to her
father that Christina turned with the assurance of being welcome. Mr.
Maclahan was taking an increasing interest in his little daughter, and
her love of books was a great bond of union between them.

Half an hour afterwards the boys returned. They were indignant instead
of relieved to find Christina safely at home.

"What did you run away from us for, you little stupid!" exclaimed
Puggy. "A nice hunt we have had for you!"

"And all the policemen in London are looking for you," asserted Dawn.
"We did the thing properly I can tell you! We offered £500 reward for
whoever would find you."

"Oh!" gasped Christina. "Where could you get five hundred pounds?"

"Oh, your father would give that and a good deal more to get you back,"
said Dawn coolly. "Why, dad thinks me worth more than a thousand
pounds, I know he does! And if I was put up for sale, I dare say I'd
fetch more!"

Puggy eyed him with scorn.

"You'd only be bought by silly old ladies who go in for lapdogs. Your
curls would keep off any sensible man from owning you!"

Dawn douched his fists.

"Now come, we'll have it out! I've been longing to give you a good
crack across your head ever since you told me I was a penniless
Irishman!"

"I never called you a man at all!" cried Puggy, squaring his shoulders.
"You're a long-haired mongrel, that's what you are!"

Dawn flew like a little tiger upon Puggy, but Christina flung herself
between them.

"You shan't fight, you mustn't!" she cried. "Why, this is the first day
we've met. Oh, do be good boys, and tell me what you've been doing!"

Dawn began to laugh.

"We'll put it off," he said with a knowing nod at Puggy. "I want to
tell where we've been. Such a lark, Tina; I took Puggy to Scotland
Yard. You've never been there I know."

"Does it belong to Scotland?" asked Christina. "I ought to know about
it I expect!"

"I don't know what it has to do with Scotland, but the cleverest
policemen live in it; and if anything is lost, they take it there. Dad
lost his best umbrella in a train, and he took me there, and we got it
again."

"Would they have taken me there?" questioned Christina anxiously.

"No," interrupted Puggy, "I told him they wouldn't. I know London as
well as Dawn does, and if any one is found wandering about the streets
with no home, they're taken straight off to prison by the police, and
made to sleep there all night!"

"Oh!" gasped Christina. "Just suppose a policeman had caught hold of
me! How thankful I am he didn't!"

"Such fun!" went on Dawn with a chuckle. "Puggy got a shove from some
one in the fog and he hit him in the face, and it was a bobby! We flew
for our lives, and then we went to Scotland Yard."

"They'd just brought a huge bunch of keys in," put in Puggy, "and they
were quite interested about you. We made up a long story about you. We
told them you were the daughter of a millionaire, that we fancied you
had been kidnapped in the fog for the sake of your dress and jewellery;
we told them bills were going to be printed about you, and if they
wished to get the reward, they'd better be quick and find you."

"I told them," said Dawn importantly, "that my father was painting a
picture of you which was going to be put in the Academy, so that made
them think you were very grand indeed. But then they began to want to
know too much, and asked us so many questions that we got tired and
came away."

The children were talking together in the lounge of the hotel. They
were interrupted now by the appearance of Mr. Maclahan, who gave both
boys a sharp scolding, and told Dawn he had better go home.

"Yes," he said, shaking back his curls with a saucy gesture, "and I
shall invite Tina to spend the day with me, and then get dad to scold
her well, and send her home without any tea."

"Do let Dawn stay to tea, father," Christina begged. "I've had mine
out, but he has had none."

But Dawn was already flying down the broad staircase. Looking up when
he reached the bottom, he waved his cap.

"Good-bye, you proper people. I like tea with dad better than with the
King himself! And I'll come round and see you to-morrow Tina!"



CHAPTER XIII

MISS BERTHA'S BONNET

"OF course you must take home presents for everybody. People always buy
things when they come to London, and we'll begin with a present for
Miss Bertha!"

It was Dawn who spoke. The three children were in Kensington Gardens.
Blanche was with them, but she was now on a seat reading a book. They
had been having a series of games, and, tired out, were consulting as
to the next move.

"What can we buy her?" asked Christina. "It must be something very,
very nice."

"The great thing," said Dawn wisely, "is to give people what they like,
not what you like yourself. When I was a small kid I gave dad a penny
trumpet on his birthday. He didn't pitch it out of the window, but he
pretended he liked it. Of course I know better now, and I generally
give him some tobacco."

"We've got to think what old ladies like," asserted Puggy. "My sister
Ena gave the old women in the almshouses a pound of tea and a shawl."

"But Miss Bertha has lots of shawls, and very nice tea," said
Christina. "I wish we knew an old lady who would tell us what she
likes. I wonder if Mrs. Bolland could tell us. Father said I might go
and see her again."

"You ask Blanche," suggested Dawn; so Christina went across to her.

"Blanche, if you were an old lady, what would you like as a present?"

Blanche looked up a little impatiently from her book.

"Oh, a bonnet or a gown," she said, and Christina went back to the boys
and repeated her words.

"The very thing," said Dawn. "We'll get her the most lovely bonnet. How
much money have we got?"

They consulted, and found that between them they could manage thirty
shillings.

Miss Bertha was dear to their hearts. As Puggy said, the Christmas
holidays were rich times, and they determined that Miss Bertha should
have the very best bonnet that London could produce. The next question
was, where should they buy it and when?

"We mustn't have any grown-up person bothering us. Dad lets me go alone
to any shop, but Tina's father is so waxy about her that she'll have to
be left behind. You and me must choose it, Puggy."

Christina nearly dissolved into tears. "You won't choose it without
me," she pleaded. "I really must choose it with you."

There was a long talk about it. Finally, Blanche was taken into their
confidence, and persuaded to come with them to the nearest milliner's
on their way home. But she was made to wait outside, whilst they went
in and made their purchase.

It was a very grand shop indeed. Christina wondered at the audacity
of the boys. She grew nervous and shy at the low giggling of the
young lady assistants, as they produced various bonnets for the boys'
inspection. Puggy and Dawn were perfectly equal to the occasion. They
made the young women put the bonnets on, they tried them on themselves,
and insisted upon Christina doing so.

"It's for an old lady, and she's not at all gloomy," said Dawn, "so we
won't have a black bonnet. It must be a blue or pink one."

"Or one with cherries in," suggested Puggy, pointing to a small toque
trimmed entirely of that fruit. "Now that's a lovely one, it makes me
want to eat it! Do just put that on your head, Dawn, and let me get
behind you, because I do sit behind Miss Bertha in church, and if they
smell like cherries, I shall snap at them, I know I shall."

Christina did not like the cherry toque, it was too small she thought.
After a great deal of talk they settled on one at last. It was a
wonderful erection of red roses and black plumes. An obliging assistant
said she would take out the black feather and ribbon and put in red
instead, and Christina gave the address of the hotel. When the bill
was handed to them, they saw it came to four guineas. None of them had
asked the price, and none of them liked to say that they thought it
dear.

"Perhaps you would rather pay on delivery?" the children were asked.

"Oh, yes," said Puggy grandly. "Send it up to-night without fail."

They walked out of the shop, then gazed at each other with blank
feelings of despair.

"I've just half a crown more," said Dawn, "that will clear me out for
good and all. I did think my new half-sovereign would have been enough!"

"Blanche, how much does a bonnet generally cost?" asked Christina
tearfully.

Blanche had been sauntering outside looking into other shop windows.
She was in a very good humour to-day.

"It depends on the style, Miss Tina; a cheap one could be had for
eighteen or nineteen shillings. I've seen some at twenty guineas. And
I've seen them at five shillings and sixpence for the working classes."

Christina said no more; the children were very quiet till they reached
their hotel, then Puggy said in the entrance hall as Dawn was wishing
them good-bye:

"Look here! You shan't go home and leave us in this fix. It's share
alike. We said so."

"Come into our sitting-room. Father and mother are out," suggested
Christina, "and we can talk quietly without any one hearing us."

So to the sitting-room they went, and it was with very sober faces they
anxiously consulted together. "Would they take it back and let us have
a cheaper one?" Christina asked.

"Of course they wouldn't!" exclaimed Dawn. "There wasn't another
nice one in the shop. Besides, we ought to be willing to sacerryfice
anything for Miss Bertha. We must sell our clothes or something.
There's lots of ways of getting money, you know; lots, and awfully nice
ways too. I'll give my last half-crown. I was a cad to mind giving it
for Miss Bertha, and mind you two clear your money bags clean out. Not
one penny do you keep back!"

Christina hastily left the room, and soon returned with her money-box.
Puggy went away and brought his last pennies. They put their money in a
pile and counted it up. With Dawn's twelve shillings and sixpence they
made out exactly two pounds one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny, and
then, with pencil and paper, they came to the alarming conclusion that
they must get together two pounds two shillings and fourpence halfpenny
more.

"We shall never do it. How can we pay it to-night?" Christina's face
was very woe-begone.

"Oh, we must ask them to wait for their money for a few days," said
Dawn airily. "We'll do it!"

"I know," said Puggy, with the air of a martyr, as he unbuttoned his
waistcoat and took his silver watch and chain out and laid it on the
table. "A chap in our school got into debt, and took his watch to the
pawnshop. I'll do the same. It's true the chap was found out and nearly
expelled, but that was because his debts were backing horses, it wasn't
for pawning his watch. I'll go now. What have you got, Tina?"

Christina wildly suggested a great many of her treasures; but as they
were chiefly books and toys the boys scoffed at her.

"It must be something silver or gold," they said. "I have my gold
bangle that father gave me," said Christina humbly. "I hope he won't be
angry if I sell it; but we couldn't be in debt, could we? That's much
worse. Don't they put you into prison for debt?"

"No," said Puggy, "they send a seedy-looking chap to follow you
wherever you go, and he gets inside your house and lives on the fat of
the land, and you daren't turn him out, and then he takes any furniture
or pictures or silver he likes, to pay for what you owe."

"Oh," said Christina with a little shiver, "will they send him here
to-night?"

"You fetch me your bangle and I'll take my watch, and Dawn and I will
go off to the pawnshop at once. And don't you say anything to any one
till we come back."

"But if the bonnet comes while you are away?"

"Tell them to wait till we come."

The boys slipped out of the hotel, and Christina sat down to wait for
their return in great unhappiness of mind. She was unhappy about her
bangle; she felt she ought to have asked some one's leave before she
parted with it; she was dreading the arrival of the bonnet, and felt
she would not be equal to the occasion; and she did not know whether
Puggy was right in going out with Dawn so late in the afternoon. This
was quite enough to bring careworn wrinkles on her small brow.

She started violently when the door opened suddenly and the waiter said:

"A parcel for Miss Maclahan. Is it to come in here? Waiting for an
answer."

"Oh!" cried Christina excitedly, getting down from her chair. "It must
wait, please. At least, it must come in—it belongs to us—but they must
wait."

"I'll tell the young person to bring it in," said the waiter; and the
next moment poor Christina was face to face with a tall young woman,
who held a bandbox in her hand. She was not one of the attendants whom
Christina had already seen in the shop, and for a moment the child
looked at her with an agonized face. How could she keep her till the
boys came back she wondered!

The young woman looked at Christina, and spoke sharply.

"Waiting for payment!" she said. "Is there any one I can speak to?"

Then Christina rose to the occasion, as she generally did in an
emergency.

"Please sit down; we are expecting you. They will be here presently.
It's a very fine day."

The girl took a seat. If Christina's voice trembled with nervousness,
she did not seem to notice it. She looked at her with a little smile.

"If it is a fine day it doesn't make any odds to me. I'm always
tramping about all weathers."

There was a pause, then Christina said shyly:

"I should like to see the bonnet. Will you take it out for me?"

"What will your mamma say?"

"Oh, it isn't for her. It is a present the boys and I are going to give
Miss Bertha. The bonnet belongs to us, you know."

"I didn't understand that. Then have you got the money for me?"

"The boys will be here very soon with it." Christina's cheeks flushed
crimson as she spoke.

"Well, my time is precious," said the young woman, and her tone was
sharp again.

She took out the bonnet, and Christina gazed at it admiringly. It
certainly was a very striking structure; the red ribbons and plumes and
flowers made you hot to look at it!

"The old lady will be seen a mile off when she wears it," said the
young woman. "It'll act as a danger signal anywhere!"

Christina did not understand this. She looked at the clock. It was
six o'clock. Would the boys ever be back? Then she tried to make more
conversation.

"Do you like London?" she asked.

A short laugh was the only answer she got, and then to her infinite
relief she heard a scuffle outside, and the door burst open.

"We've got it, we've got it!"

The boys paused abruptly when they saw that Christina was not alone.
Dawn, seeing the bonnet on the table, made a dash at it, put it on his
head, and danced round the table. Puggy, with a very business-like air,
turned to the young woman.

"Hold out your hand, and I'll count the money into it, and mind you
give me a proper receipt for it. I know all about bills. You can't take
me in!"

Dawn paused in his antics to see the transaction, and Christina watched
breathlessly whilst Puggy began to count out his gold and silver. He
was inflated with pride and importance as he did so, but the young
woman did not seem impressed; on the contrary, she laughed in his face
as she wrote out the receipt and gave it to him.

"I hope the lady will like the bonnet," she said, as she took her
leave; "it isn't often we send out such a specimen!"

"Now what did she mean by that?" demanded Dawn. "Something rude, I bet!"

Forgetting he still wore the bonnet, he dashed out of the room after
her, and putting his head over the banister, he shouted out:

"It isn't often your shop mistress sends out such a specimen like you!"

A shout of laughter greeted him, and he saw three or four ladies and
gentlemen in the entrance hall below looking up.

"Is it a monkey?" he heard some one say, and then remembering his
headgear, he scampered back to the sitting-room.

Christina and Puggy were in anxious consultation.

"Shan't I ever get my gold bangle back again?"

"Well, you see, we couldn't find a proper pawnshop, so we went into the
first jeweller's we came to. The man was a decent chap. He asked how
much we wanted, and we told him the exact sum. He gave it to us. He
said my watch was very old, and your bangle out of fashion, or he could
have given us more."

"I thought you were never coming," said Christina. "Where shall we put
the bonnet? She has taken the box away."

"Oh, you must keep it somewhere," said Puggy impatiently, "girls take
care of bonnets, boys don't!"

"I wish I was coming back with you two," said Dawn gravely. "I should
awfully like to see Miss Bertha's face when she sees her present.
Now, mind you don't say a word to anybody, Tina. Let it be a proper
surprise."

"But I think I ought to tell father about my bangle."

"Rubbish! Why should you? You'll spoil it all!"

Christina said no more, but she carried a heavy burden with her to bed
that night, and the next morning took counsel with Puggy.

"I shall never be happy till father knows. I can't laugh or smile or
talk or play while I remember it. Do let me tell him."

"Now, look here, don't make an ass of yourself! You had to do it! I'm
sure the Squire would be awfully waxy if he knew you had debts you
couldn't pay. You'll see what he says. I'll ask about it at breakfast."

Accordingly Puggy began, when he and Christina were seated at the
breakfast table with Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan:

"Squire, isn't it a bad thing to run into debt?"

"Very bad. I hope you have not been doing it."

Puggy shook his head virtuously.

"No. I never mean to. But it's better to sell all the clothes off your
back, isn't it, than to run up a bill you can't pay?"

His sister looked sharply at him.

"Not in your case," she said, "because your clothes aren't your own to
sell."

Puggy shook his shoulders impatiently.

"I was only speaking in—a—a allegory fashion," he said. "I'm not going
to sell my clothes; I was thinking of the world and all the people
in it who have bills they can't pay. Why, if Christina and I—" here
he kicked Christina under the table, for he was treading on delicate
ground—"had a bill to pay and we hadn't the money, it would be quite
right if we sold some of our own toys and things!"

"It would be quite wrong for you to have any bill that you could not
pay," said his sister, looking at him suspiciously.

Puggy crammed his mouth with bread and jam; for an instant he looked up
stolidly into his sister's face, then went on eating steadily.

Mrs. Maclahan glanced from him to Christina, who turned colour and
looked scared at once.

"I am not naturally suspicious," said Mrs. Maclahan, "but I am sure you
two children have been up to something. What is it?"

"We've been up to lots of things," said Puggy readily. "And we're up to
be taken to the Zoo to-day. We haven't been there yet."

"You must wait till to-morrow. I'll take you there myself, and Dawn can
come too. It is the only day you have, for we shall be returning home
on Saturday!"

"Hurray! We'll send Dawn a telegram, shall we, so that he may know at
once?"

Puggy had turned the conversation, as he had meant to do, but Christina
did not feel any happier. When her father asked her if she would like
to come out for a walk in the gardens with him she did not respond as
cheerfully as usual. Puggy had a word with her before she went.

"Mind you don't split on us!" he said severely.

Then Christina turned at bay.

"I shall split on myself if I like," she said.

"You'll be a sneak if you do, and you can't separate yourself from me.
England and Scotland are joined together, and they must stand or fall
together. Remember that!"

Christina put her fingers in her ears and turned away from him. But she
did not enjoy her time with her father, and he thought she must be out
of spirits. She came home as miserable as when she went out, and was
slowly toiling up the hotel stairs to her bedroom when she was met by
Mrs. Maclahan.

"Ah, Tina, here you are! Now you can explain. Connie tells me she has
found a huge red bonnet under your bed. It looks perfectly new. Is it a
secret?"

"Yes," said Christina, with frightened eyes.

"So Puggy says. He told me you would explain. I hope to goodness it is
not going to be a present to me?"

"Oh, no," said Christina eagerly. "It's—it's for Miss Bertha. We have
bought it for her."

Mrs. Maclahan began to laugh, and she laughed so heartily that
Christina looked at her in wonder.

"You ridiculous children! Oh, if Miss Bertha appears in it, I shall
die! Where on earth did you get it?"

"At a shop."

Christina's tones were faltering.

"Did Puggy say I was to tell you?" she asked.

"He had better answer for himself. Come into the sitting-room; I left
him there."

Christina followed her stepmother, and in a few minutes the whole story
was told.

"The game is up!" Puggy exclaimed tragically; but he was relieved that
the confession had to be made to his sister, and not to the Squire.

But even she looked very vexed when she heard about the watch and the
bangle, and insisted upon telling her husband. And Mr. Maclahan spoke
very sharply to the children about it.

"When you knew you had not the money to buy it, you ought to have had
the pluck to say so. Now, Puggy, come with me to the jeweller's at
once, and we will see if we cannot get these things back. If you had
asked me for money, Christina, I would have given it to you gladly. I
cannot bear this underhand behaviour."

Christina was by this time in tears, and her stepmother interceded for
her.

"There, Herbert, not much harm is done! Miss Bertha must get that
bonnet at all costs. I will go shares; or, if it is to be the
children's present, I will give them each a tip which will bring them
out of debt. You must get the bangle and watch back, of course."

This was done; but to teach them a lesson, the Squire locked up both
bangle and watch in his dressing-case, and neither Puggy nor Christina
had them again till three months had gone by.



CHAPTER XIV

"MY DAD IS GOING TO DIE"

"WHICH must I do?"

It was a big question to Christina.

Old Mr. Bolland had left a note asking her to go to lunch the next
afternoon with him and his wife. Her father was willing that she should
do so, for he had discovered that the old Bollands were friends of a
friend of his; but Mrs. Maclahan could only spare the afternoon to take
them to the Zoo. She was going to take them to lunch there, and stay a
couple of hours with them afterwards.

And the Zoo had great attractions to Christina: greater than an
afternoon in the stuffy, dark little house with two old people. Dawn's
audacious statements of all he meant to do with the animals stimulated
her curiosity. She knew it would be a terrible disappointment if the
two boys went without her. Yet in Mr. Bolland's note he had said: "My
poor old wife wants cheering up, and is longing to have a little visit
from you. Will you do her this kindness, and give us both the pleasure
of your company?"

Miss Bertha's teaching came to her mind. She had often said to her:

"Other people's pleasure first, Childie; your own last!"

"I know which I want to do, and which I ought to do," Christina said to
herself; "it's such a pity they don't match!"

But she made up her mind at last, and trotted off to the Bollands under
the guardianship of Blanche.

"I wouldn't be in the mistress' place for a good deal!" Blanche
informed her as they walked along the street. "I wouldn't take those
two imps of mischief to the Zoo for any money that might be given me!"

"Oh," said Christina, "I would like to be with them."

"Then it's a lucky thing for you that you're out of it. Master Dawn
had a pocket pistol in his hand; if he frights the lions or elephants,
there 'll be a regular row. I remember a boy who teased an elephant,
and he was tossed up to the roof by the furious animal, and stamped to
death and out of recognition, before his own mother's eyes!"

Christina shuddered.

"Don't frighten me about Dawn," she said. "I don't think he would tease
the lions, because he's very fond of animals."

She was received very warmly by Mrs. Bolland, and quite enjoyed her
lunch. Mr. Bolland told her funny stories, and after it was over showed
her a sketchbook of his, with an amusing account of a tour he had once
taken abroad: Then Christina sat down on a stool at Mrs. Bolland's
feet, and in her soft childish way talked to her about the boys and
Miss Bertha and her home. And she soon touched upon the subject that
was never out of her thoughts—the fear that she might disgrace her
family by proving herself a coward.

"I've only just missed it so often," she said sadly. "And I would like
so much to be able to lay my hand on my heart as Dawn does, and say,
'Fear dwells not here!'"

"What are you afraid of most?" asked the old lady sympathetically.

Christina considered.

"I have a pony at home and I'm a little afraid when I'm on him, and I'm
afraid of strange places and people, and of doing difficult things like
crossing water on a plank, and of—of the dark, only I know being afraid
of the dark is wicked."

"Why?"

"Because God is taking care of me just the same."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland. "We don't all believe that as we ought to do.
When dark clouds come, and trouble and disappointment, we don't trust
in God then."

"Miss Bertha gave me a text to say to myself," said Christina.

   "'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'

"I say it every time I'm frightened."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a long sigh. Then in a different tone she
said almost in a whisper: "Is Mr. Bolland there, dearie?"

"No, he has just gone out of the room."

"Ah!" sighed the old lady again. "I must remember your text.

   "'What time I am afraid—What time I am afraid—'"

"But grown-up people are never frightened," said Christina. "That is
one thing that makes me want to grow up quickly; I shall never be
frightened then."

"Grown-up people have different fears, little one; but they have them,
and I have mine. I have the dark river to pass, and it seems to be
coming very near. I shall have to go first and leave my husband, and
I'm afraid for him, when he is left lonely and sorrowful. It is good to
have a text like that to dwell on. I used to read my Bible when I could
see, and oh, how I wish I had learnt more of it by heart! No one reads
to me out of it. I seem to have lost touch with it; and my heart is
sore afraid at times. Say it once again, dear, in your soft confident
voice, and I will repeat it to myself again and again till it sinks
into my heart and stays there. You have been God's little messenger to
a poor blind woman this afternoon!"

Christina's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone. Was it possible, she
thought, that she could be called one of God's messengers? She said her
verse again, and Mrs. Bolland repeated it after her.

And then the door opened and Mr. Bolland appeared with the doctor, who
was an old friend of theirs, and who was attending the old lady.

He sat down and chatted with them. Christina kept as still as a mouse.
She did not heed the conversation until she suddenly caught the words:

"These people don't deserve to have children. One of those hawking
pedlars—a regular drunkard—was brought into my surgery this morning.
His small girl is a mass of bruises: she confessed that her father had
had one of his drinking bouts, and was knocked down by a wagon as he
crossed the road; but from my inquiries I should think she had been
going about with him in terror of her life. The man is not likely to
live, and I said as much to her, but instead of being comforted by that
fact, she dissolved into floods of tears, and assured me he was going
to be a very good man, that already he was trying hard, and that she
had promised her mother to look after him and love him. Some of these
wives and daughters are incomprehensible!"

Christina started to her feet.

"That is Susy," she said with conviction. "Is she here in London? Oh,
do tell me; and is her father very ill?"

The doctor looked at her kindly. "I can't tell you if her name is Susy,
but her father's name is Jack Winter."

"Yes, yes," cried Christina excitedly, "that is his name, and Susy
is one of my greatest friends. She told me they were on their way to
London when they stopped in our village; and I knew I should meet her
again one day. Please tell me where they live."

"I'm sure I don't know. The father is in hospital at present, and is so
injured that he will never come out, I am afraid. If you want to see
your little friend, you must got some one to take you to the hospital
to-morrow. It is visiting day, and the child seems to live outside the
hospital gates. They have turned her away twice already to-day."

"Oh, I must see her! Poor Susy! She has no home, she only lives in a
cart."

"I fancy that is an impossibility in London," said the doctor with a
smile; "and their cart came to grief when they ran into the wagon. Has
the child any friends? She will want them before a week is out, or she
will have to go to the workhouse."

Christina was in a great state of excitement. She told all she knew
about Susy, and begged the doctor to see her that very night, and tell
her that her "greatest friend" was in London.

"And I'll ask father if I can go to the hospital very early to-morrow
morning and see Susy. We're going home in the afternoon. Oh, I wish I
had known about Susy before!"

"Where are you staying?" the doctor asked, looking at her with kindly
interest.

Christina told him, adding anxiously:

"I don't know what Susy will do if her father is very ill. Who will
look after her?"

The doctor shook his head, and Christina's eyes began to fill with
tears.

"Is there no one in London to look after her?" she asked piteously.

"Come, we must have no tears," said old Mr. Bolland, taking Christina
on his knee. "I am an idle old man with nothing to do, so I will look
her up, and see if I can find some friends for her; and I'll do it
for the sake of a little maid who came here to cheer up a lonely old
couple."

Smiles took the place of tears.

"I know you'll like Susy, everybody does, and Miss Bertha said she'd
always be her friend; so if Susy wants a home, she must come back to
our village, but I know she won't leave her father."

Conversation was interrupted here, by the arrival of Blanche to take
Christina home.

She bade her friends good-bye with rather a troubled face, but the
doctor assured her that he would see Susy if he could that evening, and
take her her message, and Christina walked home as if in a dream.

The boys were waiting in the hall to tell her their experiences at the
Zoo.

"Master Dawn got caught out," said Puggy triumphantly. "He had taken
a pistol which he was going to fire off in the elephant's ear when we
rode upon him, but Ena took it away from him before we got to the Zoo.
Ena is awfully sharp sometimes."

"But that would have frightened the poor elephant dreadfully," said
Christina, looking at Dawn with reproach in her eyes.

"It would have made him trot out," said Dawn, unabashed. "I wanted to
have a good gallop on him. But we did have fun with the monkeys, didn't
we?"

"Yes," said Puggy. "Ena stayed outside, she couldn't stand the smell of
them. Dawn took a toy rattlesnake and gave it to a big monkey. He was
awfully frightened of it at first, and then chattered with rage, and
then began to examine it—and—"

"Susy's in London!"

Christina could keep her news no longer. Elephants and monkeys were
nothing to her compared with Susy.

"I'm so glad I went to see Mrs. Bolland instead of coming with you,"
she added breathlessly; "for I should never have heard about Susy,
and the doctor said unless she had friends, she'd have to go to the
workhouse!"

"Well, she ought to go there," said Puggy indifferently; "she is just
the kind for the workhouse."

Christina's eyes blazed. She flew at him in fury.

"She's my friend, and you're a hateful boy to say such things! I wish
you were in the workhouse yourself!"

"Quite right," cried Dawn delightedly; "give it to him, Tina; let's
have a free fight. I'll side with you against him."

"You're a couple of long-haired babies!" retorted Puggy, with heat. "Do
you think I care for both of you rolled into one! Come on, and I'll
knock your noses flat for you."

"Children, what is this? The United Kingdom quarrelling! That's all
quite wrong! And Tina angry too! I'm sure it must be something very
serious."

It was Mrs. Maclahan, who had come upon them unexpectedly. She knew it
was not very often that Christina was roused, and she turned to her for
an explanation.

"England has been insulting Scotland, and I'll avenge her!" cried Dawn,
fun, not anger, sparkling in his eyes. He sprang on Puggy, and in a
moment both boys were rolling on the ground together.

Mrs. Maclahan left them, but took Christina upstairs, and soon heard
from her all about Susy.

"This child seems to haunt your steps," she said. "I hoped we had seen
the last of her. But we are going back to-morrow, so you must forget
her!"

"I never can!" sobbed Christina. "I love her; and Miss Bertha told me
the rich were made to help the poor. She'll starve in London if no one
looks after her."

"My dear Tina, those kind of children always find friends. Don't waste
your tears on her. I hope to goodness she won't turn up here!"

But that was exactly what she did. At half-past eight the next morning,
Christina was told by a chambermaid that a little girl named Susy
wanted to see her, and Mrs. Maclahan, with a shrug of her shoulders,
told her she could speak to her in the hall for ten minutes only.

"Tell her we are leaving London to-day. And you must make her
understand that we cannot help her in any way."

Christina ran downstairs with all the speed she could muster, and
embraced Susy fervently; who was looking as clean and neat as she
usually did, but very woe-begone.

"Oh, Miss Tina, my dad's going to die; what shall I do?"

She began to cry.

"The nice doctor who saw dad first, and had him taken to hospital, told
me that you was here, and I come along the first thing. Dad was gettin'
so quiet and sober; and then he met an old pal and they went off
drinkin', and he wouldn't let me drive, and we smashed into a wagon,
and poor old Tom has had to be killed, and dad was run right over by
them great wagon wheels, and our cart be smashed and lots o' crockery.
Oh, it's bin a terrible thing for us!"

"Oh dear, oh dear! What will you do? Where are you living, Susy?"

"These 'ere London perleece are such busybodies," sighed Susy. "If
I hadn't kep' my head on my shoulders, they'd 'ave lodged me at the
station all night; but I knowed we 'ad savin's in the bottom o' my
box, and I runs into a small fruiterer's shop close by, and I asks the
woman if she'd give me a bed for the night, and I'd pay her for it; and
she were a good soul and took me in right away and all the tins and
crockery that I had left, and I'm agoin' to sell them to-day to a lady
further down the street, who has a shop for such things. I shan't want
for money for a bit, Miss Tina, but 'tis dad, poor dad; he were callin'
for me all night. I heard he were from a kind nurse who saw me for a
minit this mornin'. She's goin' to let me see 'im this arternoon."

"Oh, poor Susy! I wish I was going to stay in London."

"If dad dies," said Susy, struggling with her tears, "I shan't have no
one to live for at all."

"But we'll ask God to make him well again."

"Yes," said Susy doubtfully; "but perhaps God don't want to. I'm afraid
dad will be a terrible trial to God, for he'll want so much lookin'
after, 'specially in London. If I gets him past four or five publics,
there's more comin' on, the streets seem crammed wi' 'em. And God were
makin' dad good, He really were. He giv' up the drink for a whole week
and never thrashed me once. He cried one night and said he did want to
be like mother, an' he knelt down and prayed along wi' me! I'm afraid
God be awful disappinted wi' 'im. But it warn't his fault, that pal o'
his took him right off and made him worse than ever. I do wish you were
goin' to stay here, Miss Tina!"

"But you'll have friends, Susy. Such a nice old gentleman is coming to
see you; he told me he would. You won't be left alone."

Susy nodded.

"I be all right, 'tis dad that I keeps thinkin' of. Since you learned
me about prayin' to God, it don't seem half so lonesome, as I tells Him
everythink, and I feels He'll manage things fur me!"

The ten minutes came to an end too soon.

Christina pressed into Susy's hand a story book, two oranges and a
piece of cake.

"I have no money to give you, because I spent all I had on Miss
Bertha's present; but you won't starve, Susy, will you?"

"'Tisn't money troubles me," said Susy wistfully; "'tis poor dad. I
does want 'im to get well and be a good man. And I've got my box with
all my bits to make a 'ouse nice, and we shan't never have a 'ouse if
dad don't get no better!"

The children parted, and Christina was now anxious to get home to tell
Miss Bertha all about her little friend.

Dawn appeared at the station to see them off.

"We're coming down at Easter, and then we'll have a ripping time!" he
informed them. "You ought to have come to London before; we haven't had
time to do half what we could have done!"

"I wonder that child is allowed to go about alone so," said Mrs.
Maclahan to her husband, as the train moved off, and Dawn stood on the
platform waving his cap and looking the picture of health and beauty.
"I hold with boys being independent, but he seems to go everywhere, and
do exactly as he likes!"

"Yes," said Puggy; "his father is an awfully sensible chap. And Dawn
says he can't stand not being free, he would die right off, and I
believe he would!"

"Boys aren't so easily killed," his sister said with a laugh. "Dawn has
a thorough Irish upbringing. I'm not sure that it isn't better in the
long end!"

"Dawn's father says that Ireland makes happy people, England makes
plucky people and Scotland sanctimonious people! And Dawn is always
happy, and I am always plucky, and Tina is always sanctimonious!"

"Mr. O'Flagherty didn't say that!" objected Christina.

"No, I say it," said Puggy.

Their elders were not listening to them. For the rest of the journey
Christina and Puggy carried on an animated discussion upon the
characteristics of the United Kingdom, but Christina was worsted, as
she always was, and she subsided into silence after a parting shot:

"Anyhow you're not plucky when you beg me not to tell people what
mischief you've been doing. If you were really plucky, you would tell
yourself!"



CHAPTER XV

SUSY IN SERVICE

"DO put it on, dear Miss Bertha; we're longing to see you in it!"

Puggy and Christina were in Miss Bertha's tiny drawing-room. A bandbox
was on the floor, and Miss Bertha stood before them, holding up the
wonderful red bonnet in her hand.

A piece of paper was attached to it, on which was written in Puggy's
best handwriting:

"With love, from the United Kingdom."

Her face was a curious mixture of astonishment, pleasure, and—if I must
say it—of horror, as she looked from the bonnet to the two excited
children.

"Did you really buy this for me in London? A real London bonnet! How
very, very kind of you, dears!"

"It was Blanche and Dawn who thought of it," said Christina; "and we
all chose it; we chose the very best!"

"Yes," put in Puggy; "and we knew you would like a cheerful kind of
colour, and you'll look tiptop next Sunday in church. You'll promise us
faithfully to wear it, won't you? We got into rather a fix over it; but
it's all right now, and we're to write a long letter to Dawn to tell
him how you look. Do try it on now!"

"I'm only afraid, dears, that it is too grand for me," said poor Miss
Bertha. "Yes, I will go upstairs and try it on certainly!"

She was gone some minutes, and when she came back with the startling
erection on the top of her sweet grey hair, she looked as if she were
just going to sit down in the dentist's chair and have two of her front
teeth out.

But the children were delighted, except that Christina said:

"I have never seen you look so grand before. You look quite different
somehow."

"She looks stunning!" said Puggy. "And we'll write at once and tell
Dawn so! Come on, Tina."

"But I must wait and tell Miss Bertha about Susy," said Christina.

Then Miss Bertha slipped out of the room again. She had a few words
with her servant Lucy as she wrapped the bonnet in silver paper and put
it in one of her drawers.

"I wouldn't hurt their little feelings for the world, Lucy, but I shall
pray that next Sunday may be a wet day. It will be the only loophole
for me. I would not be so wicked as to wish for the death of any of my
distant relatives, but if I could go into mourning for any other cause,
how grateful I should be!"

Then she put on her cap again, and went down to Christina, who poured
into her ears all she had seen and done in London, and told her of
Susy's plight.

Miss Bertha listened with her usual cheery sympathy. She was very
interested about the Bollands, and told Christina that years ago a
school-friend of hers had married an artist named Bolland.

"I should not wonder a bit if it were the same man. If he will look
after Susy, you need not trouble, Childie. Do you see how God guides
in every bit of life? If you had gone off to the Zoo that day instead
of to see those old people, you would never have heard about Susy. It
really seems as if we are to help that child. She is a dear little
girl, and Lucy was only saying to me, after she had left the village,
that she would so like to have her and train her up as a little
servant. Perhaps, if her poor father dies, we may be able to manage
that."

"Oh!" cried Christina in a fervour of delight, "How lovely, Miss
Bertha! Would you really have her in your house as your little servant?
And I could come and see her sometimes. Oh! How I wish it could come
true!"

"We must not wish her father to die. What a good thing it is for us
that our loving Father arranges our lives for us, otherwise how many
mistakes we should make! You will hear soon, I expect, from her."


Two days afterwards Christina did hear. Mr. Bolland wrote to her to
tell her that Susy's father had died in hospital; he said he was going
to look after Susy till something could be arranged for her. Directly
Miss Bertha heard this she determined to go up to London herself and
bring Susy back with her, and in correspondence with Mr. Bolland,
she discovered that his wife was indeed her old school-friend. They
insisted that she should stay with them for a few days, and Miss Bertha
thankfully agreed. She did not move about much, and a visit to London
was a great event to her. She had a horror of hotels and strange
lodgings, so this invitation greatly eased her mind.

Puggy and Christina were both disappointed to find that she was going
up to London on the Saturday; but Christina was too much concerned
about Susy to mind much that they would not see Miss Bertha wear their
gift.

"I'm back at school on Monday," said Puggy, as he wished Miss Bertha
good-bye at the station.

The two children had been allowed to ride down to the station on their
ponies to see her off. "But I do think you might have worn your bonnet
up to London. I shan't get a chance of seeing you in it till the Easter
holidays!"

"I should have spoilt it in the train," said Miss Bertha, looking a
little uncomfortable; "but I shall always value it, Puggy. It is the
loving gift of three dear little friends of mine."

"And will you go to see Dawn?" asked Puggy. "And tell him if he doesn't
cut off those curls of his before Easter, I'll do it myself the first
day I see him!"

"Oh no," said Miss Bertha. "Dawn is just his quaint little self with
his curls. He never will be like other boys, and we would not wish him
to be so. I will see him if I can, but I must make no promises."

"Good-bye, dear Miss Bertha," said Christina; "and give Susy my love,
and tell her I'm longing to see her."

The train went off, and the children turned homewards.

"I wish my school was in London," said Puggy. "Dawn seems to have all
the fun in life and I have the grind."

"I don't like London," said Christina emphatically. "It's too crowded
with people, and I don't think Miss Bertha likes it any better than
I do! But I'm so glad she's going up to Susy. If I was left alone in
London as Susy is, there is nobody I should like better than Miss
Bertha to come up to me."

"You ought to like your father best."

Christina considered.

"Yes, I like him best, of course; but I couldn't tell him things that
I could Miss Bertha. She always knows what you feel like inside, other
people tell you what you ought to feel like, and I never feel what I
ought."

"I never think of feelings at all," said Puggy a little scornfully;
"that's just like a girl!"

Miss Bertha remained away a week. When she returned with Susy,
Christina was hard at work, learning lessons with Miss Loder.

But the first day she was allowed, she went over to Miss Bertha; and
Susy opened the door to her in a black frock and white apron.

"Oh, Miss Christina, I've been through such a time; oh dear, oh dear!"

And Susy began to cry.

Christina tried to comfort her, and then heard about her father's last
illness.

"He were so good an' patient," said Susy, "an' so wonderful sorry for
all 'e'd been an' done. He seemed to lie in bed an' think of all 'e'd
done when he were in drink. He told me to teach of 'im to pray to God,
an' I learned 'im what you learned me, how Jesus died on the Cross for
his sins, and poor dad were just broken 'earted.

"'I've bin a bad father to you, my poor gel,' he says.

"An' I says, 'No, dad, not when you were out o' drink.'

"An' 'e says to me the last night afore he died: 'I'm askin' to be
forgiven my sins all the time along, do 'ee think I shall be 'eared?'

"An' I says, 'Sure to be, dad, 'cause the Bible says so'; an I readed
'im a tex' off the 'orsepital wall,—

   "'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;—'

"An' then he puts his 'ead down on the piller with a groan, 'Ay, Lord,
ha' mercy; Lord, ha' mercy!'

"An' nurse told me 'e never spoke no more!"

"Oh," said Christina, mingling her tears with Susy's, "do let's come to
Miss Bertha; she will make us feel happy."

And so Miss Bertha did. She talked to them both about the beautiful
home above, and how sinful men and women were received there for the
sake of their Saviour. She pictured the meeting between Susy's father
and mother, and how glad her mother would be to hear about her little
daughter. And then changing the subject, she sent them both out to the
kitchen to help Lucy make some hot cakes for tea. Later on she told
Christina about her visit to the Bollands.

"My dear old friend was so glad to have me with her, and I think I was
able to cheer her up a little. She said you had comforted her so much,
Childie, by giving her your verse to think of. I was so glad to hear
it."

"I wonder," said Christina reflectively, "if I am getting braver. I
don't think I am quite so frightened now as I used to be. I'm not
frightened of my pony; I like riding him. But I'm always afraid of what
may come to me."

"When it comes, Childie, you know who will keep fear away from you."

And Christina smiled, for she had proved the truth of her text.


Susy settled down wonderfully soon in Miss Bertha's small
establishment. At times she had restive fits on, and then Miss Bertha
would send her out of doors, either to take a message to Christina, to
shop in the village, or to weed the garden. She was very docile and
obedient, and took the keenest interest in all housework.

"I always mean to have a little house of my own one day," she confided
to Lucy; "and p'r'aps, as I shan't have no dad to look after, I shall
be able to get a husband!"

Lucy, being an old-fashioned soul, was quite shocked.

"In my young days, such things was never mentioned to children like
you!" she said.

"Ah, well," said Susy with an old-fashioned air, "I've travelled a lot,
an' heerd tell a deal more than most. I knows husban's need a lot o'
care an' patience, but they be needful if you has a house, and women
are born to take care o' people, ain't they? You an' me takes care o'
Miss Bertha, and Miss Bertha takes care o' nearly all the village: they
told me so, that time I stopped along wi' dad at the Red Bull."

"You might be fifty to hear you talk," said Lucy, and Susy subsided
into silence.

Occasionally, when the turret room wanted cleaning out, Christina was
allowed to borrow Susy for the day; and the two little girls had a
grand time together, Christina enjoying the scrubbing and cleaning
quite as much as Susy. Eventually they used that room a good deal,
and whenever it was wet, and Christina was shut up in the house, Miss
Bertha would send Susy over to her, and the two would retire to the
turret room, where they talked a great deal, and mutually helped one
another, Christina with her superior book knowledge, and Susy with her
wider experience and unselfish views of life. Neither Mrs. Maclahan or
Miss Loder objected to the friendship now. Susy was slowly winning her
way with every one, and Lucy's training added to Miss Bertha's kind
supervision was turning her into a capital little servant.

"I don't miss the boys half so much since Susy has come," Christina
informed Miss Bertha one day. "You see, I can't have very grave talks
with Puggy and Dawn; Puggy always laughs at me, and Dawn won't listen,
he begins to talk himself. But Susy understands things much better. She
says boys and men don't think like women and girls."

Miss Bertha laughed.

"Susy is a little cynic sometimes, though she doesn't know it."

"I had a letter from Dawn this morning," Christina went on. "He asked
me if you had worn your bonnet yet?"

A faint colour came into Miss Bertha's cheeks.

"It is a little bit heavy," she confessed. "I think I must keep it till
next winter, Childie. The mild bright weather is coming on, and I get
headaches if I have too much weight on my head."

Christina assented innocently; and the Christmas bonnet as yet had
never been worn.


Time slipped by, and soon the Easter holidays came round.

Dawn and his father appeared first, and took possession of their
country cottage again.

When Puggy arrived, Dawn came over to the Towers and spent a long
day there, and it was in the turret room that Susy was brought under
discussion.

"We're not going to have her here in the holidays," announced Puggy;
"we don't want to see her, or hear anything about her. She's nothing to
do with us."

"She has a good deal to do with me," said Christina warmly; "and if you
don't like to have her here, I shall go to Miss Bertha's to see her."

"All right, you can; but you'll have to be here when I want you,
because you belong to me."

This statement of Puggy's always annoyed Christina.

"I'd rather belong to Dawn than to you," she said.

"But you can't. Scotland is joined on to England, and England comes
first. I'm the most important one."

"I wonder what Susy is," said Christina. "She isn't Scotch I'm afraid."

"She doesn't belong to the United Kingdom," said Puggy with decision.

"She must be one of us. I think she's English," said Christina.

"No she isn't. I won't own her," snapped Puggy.

"I'll tell you! We'll make her Wales," said Dawn; "and then she won't
be on any side particular. And we won't think of her at all."

So Susy was made into a Welshwoman, and though Christina suggested that
Wales was joined to England, Puggy would not listen, and for the time
Susy's visits to the Towers were discontinued.

"I've got a most splendid game in my head," announced Dawn one morning.
He always appeared after breakfast, ready for any amount of fun.

"What is it? We want a fresh game."

"It's a kind of civil war," explained Dawn. "Yesterday evening I went
out on the village green when the boys were playing cricket, and they
said they would join us. I'm going to rise up against Great Britain,
and I'll get the better of you both."

"Hurrah!" cried Puggy. "And we'll have followers; I'll go down to the
village and get some."

"Wait a minute. I've bagged the Murphy boys because they're Irish, and
the Greens' mother came from Ireland, so they belong to me. I thought
we'd prepare to-day, and have a regular fight to-morrow all over the
woods and lanes. I'll have a force, and you'll have a force, and we'll
choose our men to-day."

"But I can't fight," said Christina anxiously.

The boys considered.

"Well," said Puggy, a flash of inspiration seizing him, "you must be my
wife and stay in the turret room, and Dawn and his rebel soldiers will
come to attack it, and you must prevent them getting in."

"I can lock the door," said Christina comfortably.

"No, you mustn't do that, for he'll never be able to get in."

"But I shan't want him to."

"Oh, but I shall come and carry you off, and Puggy will come after us
and rescue you. It will be scrumptious!"

"I don't think father will like the village boys all coming into the
house and up the back stairs," said Christina.

"The Squire and Ena are going out for the day to-morrow," observed
Puggy.

"So we won't tell them till they come back," said Dawn. "That's always
best. Dad says he's often glad he doesn't know the mischief I'm in till
it's over, so I always try to keep him from being anxious!"

"But that isn't quite true!" objected Christina.

The boys looked at each other.

"I don't believe Ena would mind at all," said Puggy. "She isn't a bit
strict. I'll go and ask her."

This was done. Mrs. Maclahan laughed, told them to confine their
warfare to the turret tower, and gave them the desired permission.

Christina was not sure whether she liked the prospect in front of her
or not.

"Am I to stay in the turret all the day?" she asked.

"I'll come and attack it pretty soon," Dawn assured her; "but we've got
to pitch our camps first."

"And must I be quite alone? I'm sure a soldier's wife would have some
servants."

"You can have Susy if you like."

Then Christina's face grew radiant. She went off to Miss Bertha's as
soon as she could, and got permission for Susy to come to her the first
thing the next morning. And though Puggy took away the key of the
turret room, and told her she would have to barricade it, she did not
feel a tremor of fear. With Susy she could do and dare all things.



CHAPTER XVI

"IT IS ONLY THE SELFISH WHO ARE COWARDS"

"AND now, Susy, we shall have to wait."

"Yes, but we can watch out of the window, and we won't let a single boy
up the stairs. I don't mean you to be taken a prisoner, Miss Tina."

The fun had begun. Being Saturday, the village boys were only too
delighted to join the forces of the two leaders. Dawn had borrowed
Christina's pony, and one of the Murphys was his standard bearer, and
carried the green flag which was eventually to fly triumphantly out of
the turret window, when the Union Jack that was waving there now had
been captured.

Puggy was flying the Royal Standard, and he rode on his own pony at
the head of his followers. Christina and Susy watched Puggy march down
the drive, and from their window they saw in the woods Dawn's force
gathered round him. About eleven o'clock Puggy cantered up the drive,
and behind him ran two of his followers, guarding carefully two small
Murphy boys who had been taken prisoners. Their arms were bound with
rope. Puggy came triumphantly to the bottom of the turret stairs, and
Christina and Susy ran down to meet him.

"A victory! A thousand dead! And two Irish barons prisoners!" shouted
Puggy excitedly. Then he put his prisoners in a housemaid's cupboard at
the bottom of the stairs.

"Guard them well!" he cried. "I've locked them in, and you keep the
key. Now I'm going to return to the fight. Another battle is coming off
at one o'clock!"

"But aren't you coming home to dinner?" asked Christina.

"Do soldiers ever think of dinner? But after it's over, we've got
provisions, I can tell you; for Dawn's cook gave him a big basket, and
we're going to capture it."

The boys disappeared.

"I think," said Susy, "I'll go down to your cook and ask her to give
me some food, and I'll steal out to the woods, and take 'em to the
soldiers. I'll say my mistress the countess sent me!"

"That will be lovely," said Christina; "but you mustn't take dinner to
the wrong soldiers."

"I knows better than that! I can hear Master Puggy's voice a mile off."

"And you won't be away very long?"

"I'll be as quick as I can."

Cook was in a good temper. She packed up a basket and gave it to Susy,
and Christina saw her running down the drive with it.

But she was away a long time, and when she came back was flushed with
excitement.

"Oh! It's first-rate, Miss Tina; 'tis just like real battle. I was
nearly ketched by Master Dawn's soldiers; they chased me, but I hid in
the bushes, and they couldn't find me nowheres. They called out that
I was a spy, but I nipped round and laid the basket at Master Puggy's
feet. He was awful pleased. And then comin' back I had another race
past Master Dawn hisself. He is in one part of the wood, and Master
Puggy is in the other, and Master Dawn have got six prisoners!"

"Susy, those two poor little boys ought to have some dinner. I've been
thinking about them. They oughtn't to be locked up in that cupboard so
long. I shouldn't like it."

"I'll take them some dinner. Are we going to have ours up here?"

"Yes, Puggy said we were to, and you must fetch it, Susy, from the
kitchen; for we're not to let any of the maids come near us, the boys
said."

So when Susy brought the dinner up, she took a good share of it down to
the cupboard, and when she carefully opened it, she found one of the
little boys crying.

"I wants my mother! I wants to go home! I wants my arms untied!"

"You must stay here till Master Dawn comes to let you out," said Susy
sternly. Then her heart relented, for the smallest boy was only seven
years old.

"Will you promise to stay here quiet if I unties your arms?" she asked.

The promise was promptly given, so she untied the rope, and the two
plates of meat and pudding looked so appetising that the prisoners
were more than half consoled. Susy locked the door upon them, and came
upstairs to Christina.

"It won't be very long afore you is taken prisoner now," she said to
Christina, "and when you goes, I shall go along with Master Puggy and
fight with the boys."

"I would much rather be taken prisoner than fight," said Christina.
"I do hope the boys aren't really hurting each other. It's only play,
isn't it?"

"I think they're using sticks a bit," confessed Susy.

And then Christina was seized with terror for their safety, and Susy
had to assure her that boys didn't mind a few whacks occasionally.

About three o'clock, Susy, from the window, called out excitedly:

"The soldiers are coming! And Master Dawn at the head of them!"

A qualm of fear seized Christina, but she valiantly helped Susy to
barricade the door with furniture. They heard the boys clamping up the
stairs, then the shouts of the prisoners to be let loose, and the yell
of triumph when the cupboard was unlocked, for the key had been left in
the lock outside. Tramp, tramp, tramp up the stairs came the boys. It
did not take many minutes to burst the door open, but Susy seized a can
of water and deluged two boys with it before she let them approach her.
Dawn seized hold of Christina with delight.

"Haul down the flag, fly our colours! The emerald isle for ever!"

Susy was too quick for them; she seized hold of the green flag and tore
down stairs with it; two boys pursued her, but she outran them, and
finally reached Puggy's camp in safety.

Meanwhile Christina was being marched downstairs by Dawn.

"You'll have to ride the pony, and I'll get up behind you," he
announced.

His curls were flying in the wind, his cheeks flushed; he had the air
of a conqueror!

"I don't think both of us can ride my pony," objected Christina
shrinking back, as she was being hoisted up to the saddle.

"Prisoners are not allowed to speak!" said Dawn in a masterful way.

Poor Christina did not enjoy her ride. To begin with, she was obliged
to ride astride, as it was a boy's saddle that had been put on her
pony; then Dawn was clutching the reins, and making the pony gallop. If
Christina had not learnt to ride by this time and to ride fairly well,
she would not have been able to keep her seat.

"Don't go quite so fast!" she pleaded, but she might just as well have
spoken to the wind.

Dawn's blood was up, and he cared for nothing and nobody.

Presently he looked behind him, and whipped up the pony afresh.

"They're pursuing us. Now we'll have a mad race!"

He galloped up a country lane, then across a bit of wild common, and
then was stopped by the river.

"We'll swim across," he said. "Once on the other side we'll be safe!"

Christina besought him not to venture. "We shall be drowned!" she
cried. "Oh, Dawn, do stop; it's only a game!"

But Dawn only thought of Puggy behind him. He looked round, and to his
delight saw that there was a pause amongst his pursuers. Something had
happened to Puggy's pony. He had dismounted, handed it to one of the
village boys, and was tearing along on foot with his followers.

"We must go through the river. They won't come after us there, and we
shall be quite safe the other side. Don't be a funk, Tina; we'll ride
along a little further. There! A cart has been over here, I see the
mark of the wheels; it must be the ford!"

He pushed the pony down to the water. Christina shivered and shuddered.
Her fears almost overwhelmed her. "Can I pray to God when it's only a
game?" she asked herself, and habit made her repeat her text.

The pony did his best, but his footing was very insecure; he stopped
mid-stream and refused to go any further. The current was strong; Dawn
leant over Christina to whip him on, then overbalanced himself and fell
head foremost into the river. With a start the pony turned back and
reached the shore in safety, but Dawn cried out sharply:

"Help, Tina, help! I've hurt my leg. I can't swim!"

To the little girl's horror, she saw him swept down by the current. In
an instant she was off her pony and running along the bank. It seemed
as if quick sight was given to her. She saw a shallow part of the
river a little distance off, with a large rock in the middle of it. It
flashed across her that if she could get there first, she could catch
hold of Dawn as he came past.

No fear now was in her heart, Dawn and only Dawn filled her thoughts.
She ran as she had never run before; she dashed into the water and
reached the rock, and an instant after had clutched hold of Dawn by his
long hair as he was being whirled along.

He was not unconscious, and struggled up to the rock, but when he was
safely there fainted away.

Then Christina called for help, and in a few minutes the village boys
reached them and assisted them across to the bank.

But Dawn lay still and white, and Puggy cried out frantically: "He's
drowned! He's dead!"

A farmer driving by saw that an accident had happened, and came up to
the children. He whipped out a flask from his pocket, and made Dawn
swallow some of it.

"Bless your hearts!" he cried cheerfully. "He's all right. 'Tis only a
bit o' faint. I knows the young gent and I'll drive him straight home.
Any more hurt?"

His eye fell on Christina. She was wet up to her waist, and, now the
danger was past, was shivering with fright and cold.

"I think you'd best come along too!" he said, and he lifted her into
his cart.

"I'll take the ponies home, and then come to the cottage for you,
Tina," said Puggy, who was recovering himself.

Christina could not speak.


When Miss Rachael received the two children, Dawn seemed in a better
plight than his rescuer. He could give explanation, which Christina
could not.

"I've sprained my knee against a stone. I couldn't swim," he said, "and
Tina pulled me out of the water when I was drowning!"

Miss Rachael did the wisest thing she could. She put both children to
bed and kept them there, sending a message to the Towers to say that
she was keeping Christina for the night. The civil war came to an end.
Puggy felt very ill used, because he had not been nearly drowned too.

Susy went back to Miss Bertha and told her all that happened, and Miss
Bertha could not rest that night until she had been to inquire after
her little friends. She met Mr. Maclahan at the door. He was coming
away.

"I have just been up to see my little daughter," he said. "I am
thankful she is all right. Miss Bertha, what do you think of her? A
more extraordinary mixture of pluck and timidity, of childishness and
wisdom, I have never come across! That boy in there owes his life to
her!"

Miss Bertha nodded, well pleased. "I am not surprised," she said simply.

And then she went indoors, and Christina, looking at her sleepily from
Miss Rachael's big feather-bed, drew her down to her and put her arms
round her neck.

"I got wet, and Miss Rachael has given me something hot to drink, and
I'm going to sleep here all night, and—and, Miss Bertha—the civil war
is over!"

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a tea-party at Miss Bertha's. Puggy and Dawn and Christina were
all there, and they were busy telling her about the lovely game they
had played before the catastrophe occurred.

"And if I hadn't tumbled in the river, I would have won," said Dawn,
"because I was riding away with my enemy's wife."

"No," said Puggy, "I was coming after you as hard as I could. You
wouldn't have escaped me, and if Tina had played the game properly, she
would have ridden back to me directly you fell off the pony!"

"But," said Christina, with big eyes, "Dawn was drowning!"

"Tina is so funny," said Dawn with a little chuckle. "She funked the
river awfully when we went through it first, and then—"

"Then she proved herself a little heroine," said Miss Bertha.

"I was just too late," said Puggy. "It's a pity I wasn't there a minute
sooner! My schoolmaster has a saying:

   "'Opportunity makes the hero.'

"So Tina was the lucky one! I didn't have a chance."

"You wouldn't have been as brave as Tina, if you had saved Dawn," said
Miss Bertha, "for you would have had no fears to overcome."

"I wasn't brave," confessed Christina, "only there was no time to stop
to think."

"We will never say you're afraid again," said Dawn, looking at her
gravely. "I'm not sure that I quite like being pulled out of the water
by a girl; but I wasn't quite helpless, I helped to get myself out."

"And you were saved by your curls," said Puggy, a little scoffingly.
"Tina hauled you up by your hair! Why does Tina always do the things I
wonder!"

"Because," said Miss Bertha with much emphasis, "Tina always thinks
of others before herself. An unselfish person is always brave in an
emergency. It is only the selfish who are cowards."

"Then you really think I'm not a coward?" questioned Christina with
anxious eyes.

"I am quite sure you are not," said Miss Bertha.

And the boys began to sing a piece of doggerel that they had invented
themselves:

  "United Kingdom we,
   As brave as brave can be,
   We all hold together
   In fine and stormy weather.
   And if we have to fight,
   We do it with our might;
   So three cheers for three,
   United Kingdom we!"

In the kitchen Susy, hearing the song, said to Lucy:

"If Master Puggy and Master Dawn are brave, they never do the brave
things that Miss Tina does. They're always talking and singing about
it, but Miss Tina does it without any talk. And I know which of them
I'd like to be!"

Lucy smiled and said nothing; but in her heart she agreed with Susy.

That same evening Mr. Maclahan was walking with his little girl round
the picture gallery at the Towers. He often went up there after dinner
to smoke a cigarette, and if Christina were not already in bed, she
would slip out of the schoolroom and join him. She was never tired of
hearing stories about her ancestors, and would gaze wistfully at their
stern proud faces, as she would ask:

"And do you think I shall grow up like them, father?"

Mr. Maclahan's mind was full of what his little girl had done. He
stopped suddenly, and putting his hand under her chin turned her small
face up to him.

"You have the right spirit, little woman, in spite of your size. How do
you manage it? Has fear by this time departed from you?"

Christina shook her head solemnly.

"I am afraid I shall always be afraid, father; but I think my text
will keep me from being a coward. And if I can't say, 'Fear dwells not
here,' don't you think my text will do as well:

   "'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee'?"

Her father, looking down upon her, said with deep feeling in his tone:

"God's words are best, Christina. If you keep to them, you will never
need our motto to remind you to be brave."



                           FINIS



   Butler & Tanner The Selwood Printing Works Frome and London






*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75332 ***