IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

64IIIIIIM 112.5

W ill 2.2

ills

14 IIIIII.6

m^y i^

O^.

^W'^^//

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

^\w^

n WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 873-4503

% ^.

f/j

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHIVI/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
oricjinal copy available for filming. Features of this
co'jy which may be bibliographically unique,
which may alter any of the images ir, the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checked below.

L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6ti possible de se procurer. Les details
de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du
point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la m6thode normale de filmage
sont indiqu6s ci-dessous.

n
n

D
D

Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur

Covers damaged/
Couverture endommagee

Covers restored and/or laminated/
Couverture restaur^e et/ou pellicul6e

Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

Coloured maps/

Cartes geographiques en couleur

Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/
Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire)

Coloured plates and/or illustrations/
Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur

Bound with other material/
Relie avec d'autres documents

D
D
D
D
D

Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur

Pages damaged/
Pages endommagdes

Pages restored and/or laminated/
Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul^es

Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages d6color6es, tachetdes ou piqu^es

Pages detached/
Pages d^tach^es

r~^ Showthrough/
I I Transparence

I I Quality of print varies/

Qualite in^gale de I'impression

Includes supplementary material/
Comprend du materiel supplementaire

Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
along interior margin/

La reliure serree peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge int^rieure

Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever possible, these
have been omitted from filming/
II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajout6es
lors dune restauration apparaissent dans le texte,
mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas et6 film^es.

Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible

Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure,
etc., ont 6x6 film^es d nouveau de facon 6
obtenir la meilleure image possible.

Additional comments:/
Commentaires supplementaires;

This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/

Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous.

10X

14X

18X

22X

26X

30X

12X

16X

20X

24X

28X

32X

The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks
to the generosity of:

National Library of Canada

L'exemplaire film6 fut reprodui* grSce d la
g6n6rosit6 de:

Bibliothdque nationale du Canada

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et
de la nettetd de l'exemplaire filmd, et en
conformity avec les conditions du contrat de
filmage.

Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sior), or the back cover when appropriate. All
other original copies are filmed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.

Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est imprimde sont film^s en commenpant
par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la
dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second
plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires
originaux sont filmds en commenpant par la
premidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par
la dernidre page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol — *> (meaning "CON-
TINUED "), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.

Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la
dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symbole — ^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le
symbole V signifie "FIN".

Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction ratios. Those too large to be
entirely included in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The following diagrams illustrate the
method:

Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre
film^s d des taux de reduction diffdrents.
Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre
reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmd d partir
de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche i droite,
et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la m^thode.

ii.i:

ill 'ill; rill «l

-r . ir'^Jj'

i ,1

rfvv

' Tlu' ol I iniii

lliimku I llu' cliild a^ >ln' liiuidcil him tin-

m<»iu'\.

'iiu't' <W.

'i'

Trevelyan's Little Daughters

VIRNA SHEARD

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

REGINALD B. BIRCH

Toronto :

WILLIAM BRIGGS

29 TO 33 Richmond Street West

Montreal: C. W. Coates Halifax: S. F. Huestis

1580

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight, by William Brigcs,
at the Department of Agriculture.

I
J

ir one
tecs,

tTo mis ^otber

ILLUSTRATIONS,

"The old man . .
him the money"

thanked the child as she handed

Fi'ontispieee

"She advanced to the centre of the room, and

dropped them a deep and most elaborate curtsey " ' 91

"Raphael Reggeoletto ! " she cried, "it is my dear lad; it

ifi my dear, dear lad ! "

• 162

TRP.VELYAX'S LITTLE DAIGIITEKS.

PAOB

ded
xtispieoe

: it

162

CHAPTER I.

It was morning of the second day in the
new year, and Edwin Van Norinan, a ^ray and
silent figure, sat at his breakfast-table alone.

The sunshine streamed warmly tlirough win-
dows facing the south-east, a glorious wood-
tire sent long golden red llanies fluttering up
the chimney of the wide fire-place ; the table
sparkled with old china and chased silver : chif-
fonniere and mantel gleamed where the light
caught them, and a gay little French clock ticked
away in frivolous fashion— almost, indeed, as
though it snapped the fingers of its tiny hands
straightway in the face of that hoary tyrant
Time.

Everything in the beautiful room looked
bright and cheery save the master. He was not
more than three or four and forty, a man of iron

[5]

Tl^EVRLYAN'S LITTLE r.AUr.HTEUS.

strength ami of iron will, one who controlled hy
H look ; for words were ever few with him an<i
Huiiles fewer. There were tliose who said Edwin
Van Norman never smiled ; l»ut that was goinc^
too far— he did smile sometimes, and then it was
worth remembering. During the years behind
him he had fought many a battle with the world
and himself, and had come off* victor, but his face
was lined and serious, the heavy hair on his
temples snow-white.

Alone and single-hande<l he had rebuilt the
fallen fortun(!S of his fathers. Long before, his
people had been planters in the south, his father
and himself being the last of the old stock.
After the w«ar he was without a father, and tiie
land and money of many generations had been
swept away. He the ^ a lad of sixteen, turned
his thoughts to New York, his mother's old home.
Behind were devastation, ruin, loss ; before, the
futuie, and in his strong young soul a vow
that all that had been taken from them should
be given back — all but his father : they could not
make good that heart-breaking loss. Every-
thing else, though, should be paid, to the utter-
most farthing.

[6]

EHS.

TREVKLYANS LITTLE DA r(} UTE HH,

So they came north, where the strug-irle began
and went on, till now at forty-four years lie
could say he had more tlian won. It had heen
as an unknown, penniless boy he first came to
the city, with only his beloved mother beside
him. That long past day was beco.i "ng as part
of a dream — for now, when she was no longer
here, he was rich, and a power Ji the land uf
bii-a , money-making men. Luck in aftairs of
the world had followed him from that time
onward — such luck that he was watclied from
afar by those less fortunate, and had more than
once been called " Van Norman of the <£olden
touch."

When he was thirty he had married Violet
Trevelyan, a charming young English girl. She
was lovely to look on, and had most winning
ways with her. They were both entirely happy,
and, when their baby-boy was born, thought
themselves quite the richest young people in all
the wide State.

And he was a wonderful baby. In many of
the rooms of the houpe there now hung one
exquisite picture — the same sunny face looking
out of it always — the picture of a baby-boy

[7]

■^

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

with short brown curls, and a mouth made
for kisses. His dimpled shoulders rose soft and
white out of the pretty frock he wore, and his
eyes seemed to tell of gladness and delight.
That baby had been king of their hearts for
three short summers ; then he laid his sceptre
down and went away.

What dreams went with him, what castles
in the air crumbled to pieces at his going, only
the father knew. But his place was left desolate,
for no other child had come in all the years to
fill it.

Still the great fortune went on piling up, and
Edwin Van Norman took his soul's pleasure out
of making it greater. Now he sat with the
Herald before him, and his sombre eyes fixed
upon the fire — thinking.

Presently there was a soft rustle in the hall,
and a little figure in a fluffy morning dress
flew into the room.

" I'm lat(^ again, Eddie ! " she exclaimed, " Oh
quite half an hour late, so there's another of my
good resolutions gone. Some one told me on
New Year's Day," nodding airily, "that those

[8]

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS-

resolutions would resemble our egg-shell cups
and saucers — easily broken, you know, and very
easily chipped. Really, dear, I don't intend to
be the ' Amen ' at breakfast any longer, because "
— with a dimple flickering at the corner of her
mouth — " getting up late is very injurious — it
shortens one's days ! So we won't count this
time, and to-viorroiv you shall see."

His bright little wife was very dear to the
heart of Van Xorman. She knew nothing of the
many schemes he was turning over in that wise
brain of his, and wished to understand nothing
of his heavy responsibilities and cares ; but she
looked to him as to a tower of strength, — he was
the one who gave her the desires of her heart,
and she was but the spoiled child of fortune.
A butterfly she had been when he married
her, a butterfly she was now, and no one could
have guessed her age as she sat, a thing of pink
and white ri])bons, laces and smiles, behind the
big tea-urn. She was like a Dresden figure —
like anything delicate, lovely, breakable — and
he smiled at her hi;j own rare and quickly
passing smile.

[9]

TUEVELYxVN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Vou are late, sweetheart, and I believe every-
thing is cold. Shall I ring for them to bring
Homethiiig hot ? "

" No, no, thank you," .she an.swered, " it will
do very well : I liad iny chocolate. Here are
the letters," as the footman brought them in.
" Five for you, six for me. I always have the
most, don't I ^ One, two, three, invitations ;
four, one of Madam Dumouriez's charity bazaars;
hve, note from ^Major Willoughby — can't come
Friday evenino— awfully sorry — sprained his
ankle. Poor man : So on and so on, he ahvays
has such a lot to say. ' Tell Edwin to drop in
and see a poor beggar— laid up on sofa for three
weeks.' You had better go and see him, Eddie.
Ah ! six, one from dear old Jack ! dear old
Jack ! Cornwall postmark : he must be home.
Oh, what heavy paper ; I can't break the enve-
lope. At last: now let me see what he says."

There was silence in the sunshiny room save
for the crackling of the burning logs and a
sound of sleigh-bells passing on the road — then
a little cry, and tlie fluttering of a letter to the
floor.

"Why, Violet, what is it T' exclaimed her

[10]

TUEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS

husband. " Nothing wrong with Jack, I hope ?
Or the children, or Margarita ?"

No answer, only she stooped, picked the letter
up, and handed it to hiin.

" Read it," she said : and the tears were roUintr

down her face. \'an Nonnan took the letter

and read : —

" Charleston, Cornwall,

" December — .
" Dearest Violet : —

" I am in desperate trouble, and need your
help. I had hoped to be home earlier, but the
weather was rough, and we could not make it.
A presentiment of evil followed me, a feeling
that something was wrong, and against heavy
odds I managed to reach Cornwall three nights
ago. They had cabled that Margarita was ill,
but the messa<;e failed me.

" She was dying, Violet, and only lived till 1
came ; she said she would have lived till I came
anyway. I cannot write about that, and there
is no need ; you will understand.

" My three little maids! What is best for them !
I do not dare look ahead. There is only the sea
for iue after this, but can you not come and
stay here for a while i' It may be in a few
weeks I will find my way again.

" Old Madelon is taking ciiarge of everything,

[11]

TREVELYAN'S LITjTLE DAUGHTERS.

and I must be off on the 7th. My heart is broken,

and I would be away, for there is no rest here.

" We have so lonu; looked forward to the time

these voyages should be over, and we be together.

They will never be over now. I shall see my

children often, but my beloved will be nearer to

me on sea than on land. Send word if you will

come, and when.

" Your brother,

"Jack Trevelyan."

They looked at each other. " This is hard,"
said Van Norman, " I suppose he must leave
when his ship does."

" Oh, Eddie I Eddie !" she cried, with her eyes
swimming in tears, " Think of those three chil-
dren alone, with only old Madelon. I'll have to
go, won't T ?"

" Well, if you do, dear," he said gently, " it
will have to be alone : I can't leave New York
this winter."

" Alone !" she exclaimed, " Alone ! you don't
know what you say : I never could go alone ! I
could not."

" Then what will you do ?" he asked slowly.

There was a long pause ; again the fire rustled,
and the bells jingled outside. Presently Violet

[12 I

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

rose, went over to her husband, laying one hand
softly on his shoulder. " Eddie," she said, then
stopped. " Eddie, dear, they could come here."
Van Norman spoke no word, but gazed, with
face grave and set, into the fire ; then turned
to where the baby smiled down at them, with
his ever unclouded eyes. " Tell Jack to bring
them," he said.

[13]

CHAPTER II.

When the great liner left Liverpool, on the
7th of January, there were three small maidens
aboard, in charge of an old Italian nurse, and
their father was the captain.

Those who had known Captain Jack Trevelyan
before, and had crossed with him on other voy-
ages, looked at him twice now to be certain they
were right before they spoke.

Could this be the happy fellow they remem-
bered, with sparkling blue eyes and bronzed and
ruddy face, that to all had been the soul of
merriment ^ They used to say he carried the
sunshine with him, that the best weather fol-
lowed him, the best luck. Those who had seen
him on the bridge during a storm invariably
went back to their cabins with quieter nerves
and lighter hearts, for he had that in his face
which gave them confidence. He was an English-
man, a sailor, a gentleman to the manner bom,

[14]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

and the youngest and most popular sea captain
on all the ocean steamers, so it was said.

Thirteen years before, when he was a gay
young sailor, mate on a trader bound for south-
ern parts, whilst going through the Mediter-
ranean they stopped at Naples, and by some
misadventure were detained there for a month.
Jack Trevelyan had plenty of time on his hands,
some money, and lots of friends. He passed his
days as it pleased him best, and his nights with
the young rollicking fellows of the city,
amongst whom was one Reggeoletto, son of an
old notary and antiquarian.

Antonio Reggeoletto, the elder, a man of
wealth, had the name of being avaricious and
disagreeable past all believing. Antonio, the
younger, though distinctly a scapegrace, was his
father's idol, and able, by means unknown to
others, to wile money out of his pockets and
forgiveness out of his heart.

The old man had for housekeeper a niece.
Years before two children, Raphael and Margarita
Reggeoletto, had been left orphans. They were
the children of his brother, and quite destitute,
therefore he took them in the name of charit}'- —

[15]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

may the deed stand him in good stead. He had
made their lives most unhappy, but they lived
with him, " cribbed, cabined and confined," till
Raphael was sixteen.

Then the boy, who loved the sea and hated his
uncle, shipped before the mast, and was heard of
no more. Before going he promised his sister
that he would return rich and powerful, to take
her away with him. That was a boy's dream.
Then he had kissed the forlorn little maid and
gone away. Twelve years had passed. Margar-
ita was twenty and she still waited for him to
come back.

Jack Trevelyan was taken to the old notary's
house by the gay Antonio, and there he met
Margarita Reggeoletto. So beautiful, so sad she
was, so unlike any other girl the young sailor
had seen, that he loved her from the first. He
felt like the prince in some fairy tale who had
come to rescue a princess long shut up from the
world and its doings in a gloomy prison — for
indeed the old gray stone house, with its high
walled garden and small iron-studded doors, was
not unlike a prison.

It was a chance-meeting, for Margarita seldom

[10]

[TERS.

TKKVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

He had
ey lived
ed," till

lated his
tieard of
is sister
to take
I dream,
aid and
Margar-
L* him to

notary's
he met
sad she
g sailor
^st. He
srho had
rom the
Jon — for
its high
»ors, was

t seldom

.saw any of Imv couHin's friends ; but this was
fate, and from the first tliey loved each other.
Again and again they met, in spite of close
barred windows and cruel uncle. The end was
that they were married, and wlien his vessel left
Naples, Trevely.'ui, by ])ermission of the captain,
took with him his wife, beautiful, but no longer
sad, for she knew she had left behind in the old
walled house all real unhappiness.

To see them to^'cther had Ijeen a siirht to
remember, and the common sailors tlumo-lit of it
for many a day — both were so young, so radiant,
so fearless of the future, as they started out on
life's voyage.

Captain Trevelyan was thinking of that far-
ott time now, as he vvalked his deck under the
light of the stars. It did not seem far away to
him. He remembered every line of her grace-
ful girlish figure, every turn of her lovely head,
every tone of her \oice. He had known but
very little of her language, she a little of his :
but their eyes had spoken the language of the
wdiole world, and there was no misunderstand-
ing.

And so he was walking and thinking — his

'' [ 17 ]

■9IBII

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

heavy pilot coat buttoned close to his throat, for
the niMit was cold — walkinjj: and thinkin<;of the
past and of the future. Those three children of
liis could not stay lonij; in New York — he
would not wish it — still it was tht> only way.
Oh ! he hoped that Violet would bo ^ood to them.
She was so fond of the world and its gaieties, her
home so filled with company coming and going
through most of the year — she herself so taken
up with the thousand and one things that enter
into the life of a woman of fashion — that there
would not be much time left for those three
little maids. Still she was most kind, he knew,
and before many years Daisy would be old enough
to take charo;e of the others. Dear Daisv —
" little Dame Durden " he sometimes called her
— sucli a contrast to Maida, the merriest of
all merry madcaps 1 He smiled at the thought.
There was only a year between those two,
and Daisy was now twelve. Maida had been
the most demonstrative in her grief at first,
— there was nothing to be done but let the
storm wear itself away — and now, when they
were but two days out, she was the brightest of
all. Such was her buoyant nature. T he other

[18]

JHTERS.

throat, for
liiiixof tllG
liildreii of
York— he
:m\y way.
(1 to them.
lieties, her
md going

so taken
that enter
hat there
ose three

he knew,
Id enough

Daisv —
ailed her
;rriest of

thought.
LOse two,
had been

at first,
b let the
len they
ghtest of

he other

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

were (|uieter : they reminded him of the "still
NViitrr.s." lint the Baby ! she was but seven,
ir it were not for old Madolon, ho thought,
she would have stayed with him. Yet what
could he do with a child on those con.stant
voyages of his / It oould not be ! No, it was
out of the (juestion ; and ho continued to pace
up and down in deep perplexity.

By and by he fancied he saw u small dark
figure making its way across the slippery deck,
now holding on to the railing, now steadying itself
by a dock-chair, — yes, it was coming towards
him.

"Who is this?' he called.

" Daisy, father," she answered. "Are you
alone ? "

" Yes, dear, come on ; but it's very late and
cold."

" I could not rest below, father, and 1 thouirlit
I'd find you. Maida and Gwyneth are sound
asleep, so some of us are not troubling you,"
she said apologetically.

" You are no trouble, darling ! " he answered,
" but I'm afraid to have you come to me up
here at night ; you mustn't do so again. Now,

[19]

TKKVHLYAN'S LITTLE h Al'(J>lTERS,

though, you may stay a little while, for 1 have a
few thiii<iy to aav. Are vou warm ?"
" Yes, I'm warm, father, ((uite warm."
They .stood by the deck-railing looking out
over the wide, dark water, and listening to the
wind whistling above. It was very solemn,
Daisy thought. Her father was different —
older — and his voice had lost altogether its
happy ring. It was still a wonderful voice — a
voice that could sound above the tumult of
wind and water, and be heard mellow and full
from end to end of his ship — but a sad voice now,
she thought. Presently he spoke.

" We have all been very sorrowful, Daisy! "
"Yes, father I" she said, in a little muffled
tone.

" I always will be, dear ; but for you and the
others such sorrow is not good. I would have
you remember your mother as she was — bright,
lovely, full of life — not as I found her, or after-
wards — " He stopped abruptly, and the ship
slipped on through the night; perchance the
man saw beyond there that white, white
face he loved. A long pause. Then a little
cheek rubbed gently against his rough jacket.

[20]

•^

flTERS.
1 luive a

viii^' out
ig to the
• Holemn,
fterent —
ether its

voice — a
iimult of

and full
oice now,

)aisy:"
muftied

1 and the
>uld have
— bright,
or after-
the ship
aiice the
e, white
L a little
h jacket.

rUEVELYAN S LITTEE DAL'UHTEJIS.

" I'll try to be cheerful, father."

"Do, dear, I cannot hear to .see you look so
unhappy, or Haby — you know what 1 moan.
To-morrow we must try to cheer them up a
bit, won't we ? And another thinir, Dai.sy, when
you reach Aunt Violet's you nia}' not always
Mnd it smooth sailin*;, not alwavs. I know .she is
most kind : but you tlire(3 children will be often
alone with old Madelon, 1 fancy, and if there
.should be any storms, little capfuls of wind,
darlin4,^" he said, trying to see her face in the
dark, "you must be brave, and think fii'st of
Maida and Baby."

" 1 11 tr}', father," the child answered, with a
half stifled sob, " I'll think of you out here, in a
different storm, perhaps ; and — and, anyway, we
have had the worst storm we can have, dear
father."

"I know," he said, "I know," and bracintr
back his strong square shoulders, turned, put
his arms around her, and carried her safely
below. " Remember, to-morrow we must be
brighter," he said, as they parted with many
a fond good-night.

[21]

CHAPTER III.

Old Madelox had been a servant in the house
of Antonio Renjgeoletto when he brought his
dead brother's children home. 81ie loved them,
and hated and feared their uncle. Many times
during the years she had lived with the old man
she might have married and gone away ; but,
with a noble devotion, she stayed on and made
them as happy as she was able. It became her
life's business to outwit the old notary whenever
she could, to get ahead of him if she might.
She grieved for the boy Raphael when he ran
away to .sea, and never ceased to look for tidings
of him from the sliips that came into the Bay of
Naples. Many a summer evening had she spent
amonfj; the foroiirn sailors, comino- in or goint;
out of port, asking of one and all some word of
the lad ; but none of them could tell her of him.
And time went on.

When the young Prince Charming came to
carry away her beautiful mistress, Madelon,

[22]

le house
ght his
id them,
ly times
old man
Ely; but,
id made
;ame her
'■henev^er
3 might.
1 lie ran
•r tidings
e Buy of
ihe spent
3r going
word of
r of him.

came to
Madelon,

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTEllS.

then a woman of sixty, went with them. She
could not bear the tliought of parting, and so
slie, too, sailed upon that happy voyage. After
a year passed they went to England to the hon>f^-
stead of the Trcvelyans in Cornwall. It had
long been closed, this old picturesque ivy-covered
house, for death had come there, and many
chano-<>.s. Roses red and white swung ao-ainst
the small diamond-paned windows, and looked
in at the empty rooms. Lilacs knocked softly,
with perfumed plumes, at the doors ; around
about trees grew close and heavy, and the place
seemed like a nest from which the birds had
tlown. But voices were heard echoing through
the quaint rooms again, and the windows were
thrown 0})en to the sun. There Daisy was born,
and her motlier grew to love the place passion-
ately. By and ])y came Maida and Gwyneth,
and in the sea-girt isle of ideal homes was no
sweeter one. When its doors had to be shut
again — when news came that the chiklren were
to go to New York — old Madelon said quietly,
" I nuist go, too," so here she was with them.

Thus far on the voyage the poor old nurse had
been unable to leave her stateroom, and Captain

[ 23 ]

■HH

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS,

''-Si-

Trevelyan had had all the responsibility of the
the care of his little daughters, who, fortunately,
were good sailors.

Thev were on deck with him whenever his
duties permitted it, wrapped in dark ulsters,
and with curls Hying from under their " Tarns."
All three were lovely — Daisy with serious dark
face ; Maida, like Daisy, only she was never
still, and had many dimples. They were like
their mother, both of them, true daughters of
the South; but Baby was simply a small
feminine edition of her father. Her eyes were
the color of the sea, and as changeable ; and as
for her hair, everybody said it was a wonder,
so it must havo been. Her mother had thought
it the most beautiful thing in tlie world, and as
for her father, well, it was too much like his
own for him to say what he thought; but while
his was close and curly, Gwyneth's floated about
her in a golden cloud.

Once their mother had said to Madelon, "They
are my three Graces."

Old Madelon had looked at them a moment,
and then replied in her own tongue, " When
they grow up they will be three Fates '. "

[24]

ti:r8.

7 of the
mately,

ver his
ulsters,
lams.
as dark
3 never
ire like
iters of
, sijiall
es were
and as
vonder,

ought
and as
ke his
t while

about

"They

oment,
' When

THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUC^ITERS.

On the next morning Daisy remembered what
her father had said, and tried to talk more
brightly to the little ones wliile they were
dressing.

" Do try, Gwyneth, not to look sorrowfully
at father to-day — no, that way, the way you're
looking now, darling," she said, as Baby's lips
l)e<j"an to tremble. " It's worse for him than for
us, and 1 believe when he sees you looking at
him so — yes, the way you're looking now, dear."

" But how can I help it, when I feel this way,
Daisy ? " asked the child.

" Well, dear," said Daisy, "Maida doesn't look
so sad as that; try to look like Maida." She
glanced at her sister, who was sitting on the low
locker running round their cal.)in. " Try to look
like Maida," she said again, buttoning Gwyneth's
black frock.

" Maida don't feel the way I do," said Gwyneth
presently. At this Maida looked up quickly, and
her dark eyes, usually so laughing, grew dim.
" Baby, I do : " she cried.

" No, ]\raida, dear, not like me : I'm the littlest,"
she answered.

There was silence for a while, and then Maida

[25]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

■'sm^

said, " Now, Daisy, you dress, and I will brush
Gwyn's hair."

" I'll wait for Daisy," said Gwjm.

" Now, darlhio;, you know I don't ever have a
chance to brush your liair ; and I love to. Just
let nie do it this once ; I won't pull."

" Well, then, you may," she replied, with a half-
sigh. " If you don't do it sometimes you 11 never
learn how : but I don't like the learning very
much."

Maida took the brush, and commenced to
straighten out the glistening hair.

" Does it hurt, Baby ?" she asked, pausing.

" Yes, it does, a little bit, but never mind ; go
on if you are enjoying yourself."

" Enjoying myself. Baby I What funny things
you say. How could I enjo}'' myself hurting
you ? But you have a tangle in it for every
day in the week, and somebody has to get them
out, you know, darling."

" Yes, I know," said Gw\-neth, meekly.

The work went on till, the novelty wearing
of}', Maida stopped to rest.

" I know one man on this boat I like," she
said, reflectively.

[26 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" I should think you did," said Gwyn, "Father."

" Father ? of course, father ; but I don't mean
him."

" Well, who then ?" lookiucr up, with question-
ing blue eyes — there was only one man on board
for her—" Is he a sailor ?"

" Yes, he's a sailor," said Maida, '• second ofli-
cer. Haven't you seen him, Daisy ? he is dark,
dark ; and his teeth shine when he talks. He
told me a lovely story yesterday, about tattoo-

" Oh, yes ; I have seen him," said Daisy ; " but
1 never speak to anyone I don't know, dear."

" Why, he is father's second mate, and any-
way father introduced him to me."

" Then, of course, it's all right," answered
Daisy.

" I shall ask father to introduce him to Daisy
and me," remarked Gwvn: "and we will ask
him to be kind enough to tell us that story. '

" Yes, do," said Maida ; " I'd like to hear it
again."

So, at the request of the children, Captain
Trevelyan introduced Mr. Harrv Barton, his
mate, to them, and from that time to the end of

[27]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS,

the voyage he was their devoted slave and
admirer. He made snug quarters for them, with
chairs and rugs, behind the wheelhouse, where
they sat by the hour listening to his tales of the
sea, and of his adventures. He was, indeed,
a very marvellous young man ; even Daisy
thought so, although she hardly found it in her
heart to believe the whole of those wonderful
stories. It seemed impossible that anyone could
have been wrecked on quite all of the cannibal
islands of the South Sea, and been made king
of so many of them. To be sure, he was most
beautifully tattooed ; but then all sailors were,
more or less. One day his cuft' slipped back, and
Gwyn saw what looked like an anchor.

" Please show me that big blue anchor on your
arm, Mr. Barton," she said.

He was delighted to have her ask him any-
thing ; for although he and j\Iaida were fast
friends, the other two were still a little shy,
and rarel}^ spoke to him of their own accord.

" Why, certainly, with pleasure, i\Iiss Gvvyn-
eth," he answered, rolling up his sleeve. It
was a fine anchor, and to the end of it was tat-
tooed a chain.

[ 28 1

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE JJAUGHTEHS.

" The chain seems to ^o a long way, Mr. Bar-
ton," remarked Baby, when she was through
iKhnirino; the anchoi*.
" It does," lie said.

" Where docs it go ? " she asked sweetly,
" Well," he answered, " it goes up my arm,
round my throat, and is fastened to a L^oddess
on the back of my neck — at least, it is the South
Sea islander's idea of a goddess."

"Really, Mr. Barton ! I should like to see the
goddess," .she said.

"Ah: Miss Gwyncth, we'll have to ask the
captain about that," he replied, with a smile,
amused that she should have so far foro-otten
her shyness.

"Did it hurt very much to do it all?" she
asked, sympathetically.

" Oh ! no, not at all ; they just take your arm,
like this, and punch it full of little holes with a
tine-pointed ivory stiletto, then rub in the color."
" Oh : dear me, it must have hurt dreadfully,"
she cried. " I am so sorry it hurt you, Mr. Bar-
ton."

Just then the captain came up. " You seem

[29]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

to have made fast friends," he said. " Do you
like liiin, Baby f turning to his small daughter.

" Oh ! yes, father," she answered fjuiekly ; " I
have gi'own very fond of him ; he has had such
dreadful adventures."

" You see, Captain," laughed young Barton,
" she loved me for the dangers I had passed,
and I loved her that she did pity them."

There was someone else on board wlio was
very kind, and that was an old salt named Brady.
Now and then the children went down to the
forecastle with their father, and this old seaman
spun them many a yarn. He had once been on
a whaler and sailed far north ; so his stories
were all of ice and snow, great spouting whales
and heavy walruses, of the polar bear and the
fur-clad people of the north. Once, as he finished
a most thrilling story, they all drew a long
breath, and Maida cried, " Oh ! Mr. Brady, that
was perfectly delightful ! "

" You have been very kind ! We won't forget

you, Mr. Brady," said Daisy ; " we will often

think of these interesting stories when we are

in New York."

" No," chimed in Baby, " we won't forget. "

[30]

TREVELYAN\S LITTLE DAUGHTERS,

that

" Tliank you, me little ladies," he answered;
■' and if you'd do nie the honor to accept some
things Oi was <;oin^ to take to me own little
^url, who wasn't livin' when Oi ^-ot home. Oi'll
jest o-et tliem now ! "

"Oh, thank you," they all said wannly, as he
went otr to his locker. Presently he came back
with a gold coin, old and battered, for Daisy, a
string of pink coral for Maida, and a little ivory
fimu'e of St. Patrick for Babv. " You see, me
gurl Molly was born on the Saint's day," he said,
his weatherworn face softening, " an' Oi was
takin' him home to her for luck."

" Now, that's a very strange thing, Mr. Brady,"
said Baby; "my birthday is on the 17th of March,
too — St. Patrick's Day."

He was delighted when he heard this, and
called down manifold blessings on Gwyneth's
head, which benedictions she listened to gravely
and accepted in good faith. Afterwards good-
bye was said to the queer old fellow, for they
reached New York next day.

When they entered the harbor, and just as the
great figure of Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty
came well in view, Harry Barton went up to

[31]

TREV EL VAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Baby, where she waa standing b}" her fatlier
on the bridge. " I liope you won't forget ine,
maid of the golden fleece ! " he said.

" No, indeed," seriously ; " I never forget
people I like. I remember them always."

" Always '. " he repeated.

" Yes, always ! " she answered.

" Then I'll remember yon, my fair one with
the golden locks," he replied, smiling as he went
below.

[32]

CHAPTER IV

The wt'st wiuij: of Edwin Van Norman's liouse
liad long been unused. Many years before it
had been a briglit and busy place. There was
the nursery, the most beautiful in many ways
of all the rooms — certainly the most import-
ant. On one side of it was built an oriel win-
dow, with stained glass of soft and perfect color.
Lpon this window stood the figure of the Good
Shepherd, and against His heart lay the lamb
that had been lost.

The rest of the room wa.s white — the walls
white, the frescoes of silver, the floors laid
with shining white wood, while here an<l there
were rugs of the softest and whitest fur.

In the afternoon, when thesun shone brightl}',
the door was checjuered with violet, orange, blue
and crimson ; but at night, when there was a full
moon looking in — ah ! you should have seen it
then. Around the head of the Christ the halo
3 [33]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTEKS.

seemed to send up inovinj,^ rays, and the
fleece of tlic little hunb would be all silvery.

Tlie settinir sun and the full moon had shone
in at the great window many times since any
child's voice liad been heard there.

Now, however, all was life and movement in
the west wing. Servants were coming and going ;
doors were swinging on their hing(;s, and the
little mistress of the place was everywhere.

First, she was having three bedrooms furnished
most charmingly ; she herself busy over them,
touching the curtains here, the toilet tables
there, ^^aking perfection more lun'fect.

Flitters, Jie maid, was in an equal state of ex-
citement. The whole house was in connnotion, as
the heavy and not easily aroused Wilkinson, a
conservative son of Britain, and butler for many
years to Edwin Van Norman, remarked to Flit-
ters, wdien he met Iicr ilying through the upper
hall on her wav fu the new rooms, with her
arms full of pink silk ruffled cushions.

" This 'ouse, Flitters, this 'ouse, I say, is in a
state of hexcitement I've never seen hequalled.''

" Well, ain't you glad it is, Wilkinson ? " she
answered, briskly.

[84]

THEVELYANVS LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Flit-

in a

Hied."

she

" I don't know as I ham, and I don't know as
I'm not," he ruminated, as she left him Htaudin(,^
" This 'ouse n(;eds somethink wot it's not <r<>t,
and it may be them; but thini;s won't be that
('(ilni as they 'ave been.'' And in this mood of
solenui consid'jration he took himself below.

When everythin^^ was (piite ready, on the day
before Captain Trevelyan's steamer was expected,
Violet Van Norman sat op])osite her husband at
hmcheon. He was vuisually silent, she tiiought ;
his mind appeared to be concGntrate<l upon some
object far from the things around him.

" His railroads, I suppose," she said to lierself,
with a little siii'li.

She waited, hopin*^' that he would speak, an*!
when it appeared alto<;vther unlikely he would,
remarked li^^litly, " A penny for your thou<;hts ! "

" Show me lirst yoiir penny," lit* replied, with
ail etibrt to follow her mood.

"What was it — tell me :*" she asked, coaxingly.

"1 was thinkint;- how I could condense my
work so as to catch the four-thirty train to
Chicago. I must go west to-day — hnsiness, you
know. I won't be gone more than four or five
(lays, " he added, as he caught sight of her face.

[33]

TIIEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

•' I found out only half an hour ago that I
must start so soon."

These trips to tlie West were not unusual ;
but to-day ! She looked at him — " You must ? "
she asked.

" yes ! I riiast, dear."

" Then you can't ^"O with me to meet them ?
You won't see Jack. Couldn't the railway wait
once, Eddie — ;just this once ? " sweetly.

" Not this time," he said, with that grave half-
smile aijain on his face.

" Well, anyway 3^ou will see the pretty bed-
rooms, won't you, and all I have done ? "

'* They are in the west wing, are they not ( "
he asked, after d pause.

" Yes," she answered softly.

" I have not been in the west wing for many,
many years," he replied ; then, as he got up to
go: "I will see Jack when I come back — he will
not sail for a while. Now, good-bye, sweet-
heart ! " So saying, he kissed her and went
out.

She sat still at the table after he was gone,
with her chin resting on her small jewelled
hands. " So long ago, and ho does not forget ! "

[36]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Then came tlic thought of to-morrow, and she
ruffled up her pretty hair.

" Perhaps it is just as well, anyway. They
will have time to grow a little used to the
place, and feel less strange before he comes back,"
she said. " I do hope they won't be too shy with
him, or too — too — the other thing. They were
perfectly lovely four years ago. How I envied
Margarita ! I wanted them — three dolls I
said they were — to dress, to kiss, to pet. I
remember saying so to her one day ; and she
raised those solemn soft eyes of hers up to mine,
and answered, ' No, dear ; three souls to lead, to
teach, to live for ! '

" I had forgotten that. Perhaps it is because
she is dead that it came back to me ; perhaps her
soul spoke it to mine just then ! Oh, dear I
Whatever is the matter '. I am Jiever like this ! "
she cried, springing up : " I will get dressed and
go out."

During all that briglit January afternoon the
high sleigh, with its fleecy robes, perfect horses,
and silver bells, carried Mrs. Van Norman from
street to street and from house to house amongst
her many friends. Everywhere her shininff face

[37]

SHU

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

told its own story, for in the joy their coming
gave, her sorrow had almost been forgotten.
She would stay ten minutes here, a trifle longer
there, then back out of the flower-scented
rooms to her sleigh to drive through the crisp
delightful air. Never had there been such a
winter in New York, she thought ; how the
children would enjoy it ! They should skate if
they wanted to, and have the loveliest long
drives.

Everywhere she said, "My brother, Captain
Trevelyan, is coming to-morrow ; his steamer is
looked for then. He is bringing me his little
daughters, you know I "

Afterwards one man said to another, " That is
Mrs. Van Norman's latest ! Always has some-
thing new on hand — she's looking awfully bright,
though ! Seemed to sparkle to-da^'', did you
notice ? Pretty woman ! Have heard that her
brother, the Captain, is the handsomest man
on the high seas."

" Yes, yes : I have heard so, too,' the other
replied.

When Captain Trevelyan stepped ashore, with
his children and old Madelon, they were met by

[38]

THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS

long

;i small whirlwind, a little dark tigure with
mink tails flying from ruff and muff, and a wee
fur cap set lightly on her wind-blown hair, who
tlew at them, each one.

" Oh, Jack," she cried ; " Oh, dear Jack ! 1 am
HO sorry ! — I am so glad ! — I don't know what to
say, dear ! But come ! Come, Daisy ! Come,
iMaida ! Madelon ? Dear old Madelon ! Come,
CJoldon Locks ! Here we are 1 Here is the
carriage! so we are all right — now we will go
home, darlings." Thus capturing them, she tried
to keep their minds from sad thoughts.

That night Violet sat late w4th her brother,
when the tired children were fast asleep in their
beds. They talked together, these two alone, till
the clock struck c:.io. Then she remembered he
iiiUHt be weary, for they had forgotten all about
time, and only knew that they were together:
tiie t^'o left of what, when they were boy and
gjrl, h,'i< been a large family.

Trevelyan told her of his wife — all he could :

he talked of the children, of their ways, and of

the future for them, when Daisy should be old

nough to take charge. She smiled wisely then,

iml said nothing. She meant to keep them

[ 39 ]

mmm

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

always, unless Jack gave up the sea. He said
he would never do that now. " Then they
will stay with me," was her thought.

During the ten days Trevelyan was ashore,
his sister had many enquiries to make, and
found out all sh? wished to know regarding
their studie. " other matters.

V^an Normaij vas still away. Business, he
wrote, detained him ; he hoped each day to be
home, and yet did not come. Violet waited
every hour for the telegram that would give
them the time of his return.

" I'm afraid he'll miss you, Jack," she said.
" I am so unhappy about it."

" Never mind, dear," he answered. " He's an
awfully good fellow — would have made it if he
could, you know."

Then came the day when Captain Trevelyan
must leave them. It was a sad few minutes;
but Daisy had told the little ones not to cry, and
they did not. They were used to saying " Good-
bye " to their father : but this was quite, quite
different.

" Jack," said his sister, as she stood beside
him a few minutes before they left the dock,

[40]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" would you mind if I dressed the children in
white ? They look so mournful in their wee
black dresses, especially Baby."

" No, no," answered the man ; but his voice
sounded a bit husky. " No, dear ; their mother
always liked to see them in white." So saying
he went forward to give his men their orders,
for they were about to sail.

[41]

CHAPTER V.

Mrs. Van Norman drove straight home after
seeing her brother off. She longed to enter into
full and complete possession of those little nieces
of hers. " Time will be the only thing for him,
dear fellow ; there is no doubt about it. he is
completely broken-hearted. After two or three
voyages ue will look once more as he used to. I
do hope he won't stay this way ; he never was
quiet in his life before ; dear Jack, dear fellow !"
was her thought.

She w^ent into the house, and straight up to
old Madelon's room. " Give me one of each of
their dresses, Madelon,'* she said. " Are the
children in the nursery ? "

" They are there, madam," answered the old
nurse as she wrapped up the plain black frocks.

" Well, put on their bonnets and cloaks, and I
will order the carriage. You go with them,
nurse ; they should be out, should they not ?
and as I intend to be very, very busy all the
afternoon, they must go with you."

[42]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

So the little old brown woman called her dar-
lings, dressed them, and took them down. Brown
had received his orders, and he drove around
about the great city, past the places that would
interest them most.

Tiiat was a snowy season in New York, a
wliite winter from befifinninix to end.

To the children, who had never driven over
smooth and frozen roads, behind flying horses
with gay bells jingling from their harness, it was
entrancing. They were so wrapped up with furs
that the cold did not reach them, and all three
sat still and looked with wondering eyes as the
big sleigh skimmed past the bright shops and
hurrying people.

Thev were a vision of delio-ht for those who
were fortunate enough to see them on that win-
ter afternoon. For the time being, sorrow and
trouble lay behind, and the old nurse's heart was
glad.

" Is it not lovely, Daisy ^ " said Maida. " Did
you ever think vou'd be riding in a sleigh like
this?"

" No, never," said Daisy, with a little con-
tented sigh, " never." Then presently, " It's very

[ 43 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

kind of Brown to take us down these gay
streets ; I am sure he has picked out all the
best."

" Why, Gwyn, what makes you so very still ?
You don't look quiet — your hair is flying, and
your cheeks are so pink, and your eyes just go
this way," said Maida, opening her dancing eyes
very wide.

" Am I quiet ? " asked the child. " Well, I
was only thinking that now I know how Santa
Glaus feels when he drives through the air on
Christmas eve, with his sleigh and eight tiny
reindeer."

" Oh ! you're such a funny child," said Maida.

When they reached home tea was waiting for
them in the white nursery ; and afterwards — it
was about six o'clock then — Daisy and Maida
took up their books.

Gwyneth was too small to read, so she went
across to the window and stood looking up at
the " Good Shepherd " awhile. Then she drew
a long breath, and went into her own pink
bedroom. When she came back the little St.
Patrick was in her hands, " Madelon," she said,

[44]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUC ITTERS.

" may I go downstairs ? Tliere is a room down
there that I like."

"Yes, Miss Gwynetli," replied the old nurse,
doubtfully.

•' But don't you like this room, dear ^ '" asked
Daisy, looking up.

" I love this room, ])ai8y, but I love that one
1 tetter," she answered, starting off alone.

" I wonder which room it is," said Maida.
" Anyway, she can't get lost ; Flitters is good
about taking care of her."

Downstairs she went, stopping often on the
way and looking into the difterent rooms where
the doors were open, to see the baby's picture
She never tired of looking at that picture. She
knew her way, and stopped at the door of
Edwin Van Norman's library ; as it was closed,
she knocked gently. There was no response,
so she opened it and went in. Her bright hair
seemed to catch and hold all the light left at this
twilight hour in the solitary book-lined place.

Gwyneth crossed to the hearth, and stood
gazing seriously at the rows and rows of books.
Above the shelves were marble busts of poets.
She did not know them by name, but looked

[45]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

long at them, and loved their faces. Tliere was
Dante, then ShakcHpeare, Keats, Shelly, Byron,
Goethe, Longfellow and Tennyson — those men
who were for all countries and all time. After
a while she sat down in a huge chair before the
fire.

" We have always wanted a brother, Maida
and Daisy and me," said the child, half aloud. "I
wish that baby had not died. He would have
been here now, and he is so dear in all those
pictures!"

By and by her eyes closed, and she lay very
still, wdiile the shadows deepened in the room.

Soon the library door opened, and two men
came in. " Look out, Willoughby," said Edwin
Van Noi'man, " remember your foot 1 Ah ! here
comes Wilkinson with the liixht." The room was
flooded with a soft red glow from the rose-
shaded lamp, and as he turned to get some let-
ters from their rack, a low (ixclamation reached
him from the Major.

" By all that's beautiful ! Here's one of them,
Van Norman." They both went toward the chair
where Gwyneth lay asleep.

Truly, you might go far and iiot see so fair a

[46]

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

sight ; the glitterint^ hair curled around the
small face, and the lont; dark lashes on her
cheeks were wonderful to see. In one hand
was held tif^htly the little ivory saint.

Willoughby ga ve a suppressed whistle. " Didn't
imagine they would be exactly like this," he said.
" Did you, Van Norman ? Wonder what the
heathenish thing* is that she is holdin"; so fast ?
Some of your bric-a-brac ? "

"No, not mine," said Van Nonuan ; then,
thoughtfully, " she is a copy of Captain Trevel-
yan. Come, we will not wake her. Major." So
both men turned softly and went out of the
room.

On their way to the dining-room they met the
old Italian nurse, with her brown, wrinkled face
still browner against the white of her cap and
huge apron. " I look for little Miss Gwyncth,
signor," she said, dropping a curtsey.

" Ah ! Madelon, you do not know me," said
A'an Norman : " but you have not changed. Did
you have a good passage ? "

The old woman dropped another curtsey.
" The saints made me to arrive safely, signor,"
she answered.

[47]

TllEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" That is well," he replied. " You will find the
little one in the library. She is asleep, so do not
disturb her; wait till she wakes," he addec
going on with the Major.

" Thanks, signor," she answered, " I will wait.''

Next day the children were very busy ; there
was so much to see, and so much to talk about"
Once during the morning Daisy noticed Baby's
face looking thoughtful. " Do you think of
father often, Gwyneth ^ " she asked.

" Yes, often," was the answer. " Oh, very
often, Daisy."

" So do I," she said, wistfully. " So do 1,
darling."

[48]

CHAPTER VI.

One aftonioon Aunt Violet took tlie children
for a long, lont^ drive, and promised that after
dinner they should go down to dessert.

When half-past seven o'clock en me they were
waiting, all ready for Flitters to take them to the
dining-room.

" You look very nice, Maida," said Gwyneth ;
" very pretty I should say instead." Then turn-
ing to Daisy, " You do, too, Daisy."

Both of the sisters laughed, she said it so
sweetly, and with such self-forgetfulness.

Major Willoughby and Edwin Van Norman
rose with grave courtesy when the little girls
came in.

Van Norman said only, " We are glad you
have come, my dears," and shook hands with
Daisy and Maida; but Baby held up her face
to be kissed.

He introduced Willoughby to them, who after
4 [49]

— — >i;.?-.-3caa:g;«aMiw>.-=?gi.rT^-wrrT.- >,^>-,*,_ — „„

TllEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

speaking to the others turned to Gwyn and
said, " I'm liere, too, Miss Gwyneth." She kissed
him more shyly, and so tlio ice was broken, and
after that they began really to know each other.

Aunt Violet took Daisy and Maida and seated
them, one on each side of her, while Gwyn sat
with Van Xorman on her right and the Major
on her left. She turned from one to the other
her lovely face, and when they spoke to her,
answered in very friendly fashion.

" Have you had a nice day of it, Daisy ? "
asked Van Norman.

" Oh, yes, indeed, delightful, Uncle Edwin ;
we have been sleigh-driving, you know."

" And we went miles and miles," added Maida.
"You have such a beautiful sleigli, and to-day
the horses just flew."

" I'm glad you enjoyed it," he answered.

" And what did you see in New York that you
liked best this afternoon, Miss Daisy ? " inquired
\Villoughb3\

"Oh! the rink, Major Willoughby," said
Dais}^ " The rink in Central Park ; so did
Maida, too. It was just charming to see all the
people skating."

[50]

THEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" You shall skate, also," said Aunt Violet. " To-
m^^rrow we will start to learn,"

" Thank you, Aunt Violet," they answ^ered.

" But you, Gwyn — what did you see that you
iiked best?" asked Van Norman again, turnino-
towards the child.

" It was something we heard — not something
we saw — I liked best, Uncle Edwin," she said
soberly.

" Sometliinii- vou heard / Now what could
that have been ? " looking at her curiously.

" Well, as we drove down Broadway, I think
it was, there was an old Italian man, so dark,
Hke Madelon, and he had an organ on wdieels.
A boy, a very nice boy. Uncle Edwin, w^as pull-
ing it for him. The boy was older tliaii Daisy,
two or three years," slie said thoughtfully, then
})aused.

" Yes ? " said Van Norman.

" Well," she continued, " they stopped just
where our sleigh did, outside of the shop. Aunt
Violet went into the shop, you know, and they
commenced to play. They played ' God Save
the Queen ! ' " Then she looked up into Van
Norman's face with a little tremulous smile.

[511

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DxVUGHTERS.

" Ifc makes one feel very strange to hear anyone
play ' God Save the Queen ' when you're in a
foreign country," she said.

Major Willoughby arose. " It does, Miss
Gwyneth," he said, "rather! I have felt +^-t
way myself. I propose a toast : The British
National Anthem." So Wilkinson filled up the
glasses, and they stood. Baby and all. Van Nor-
man clinked his glass lightly against hers, and
looked down with grave eyes as he drank.

[52]

CHAPTER VII.

A FEW days after tliis, Mrs. Van Norman came
into the nursery, where the children were busy
threading necklaces of beads. The day was dread-
fully stormy,and they had given up all thought of
going out; so when, after luncheon. Flitters
hrought in a box of most fascinating blue and
wliite beads for them to thread, they were very
happy indeed.

Maida strung hers into rings, and had lier
little fingers loaded up with the shining things.
Daisy and Gwyn were stringing theirs into long
chains, and tliey were all very much engaged
when their aunt came in.

" These are beautiful beads, Aunt Violet ; I
just love to see the rings on my fingers," said
-Maida.

"Little Vanity," replied her aunt, laughingly.
She was very fond of Maida : they understood
each other best, she thought.

[ 53 ]

-r;T^-,-K--a-'T~-f,-«;-

]awM»rf«awraftTfc..'rr;k-g6ifcma*'

TREYELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Now, come with me," she said, taking hold
of Baby's hand ; " there is something in Dainy's
room for you to see."

" You are very kind to us, Aunt Violet," said
Daisy.

" Is it something; nicer than these beads ? "
asked Baby.

" Well, I think so," her aunt answered.

On going mto Daisy's room, they found three
long boxes on the floor, and opening them, saw
they were filled with wiiite dresses.

*' Look at them, darlings! " cried Aunt Violet,
" are they not lovely ? I do not want you to
be in black all the time, but in white, like three
white doves. There are white serges for the
morning, and cashmeres and flannels for the
afternoon; then just see those white India silks,
so soft and fine — they are for the evening, when
you come to dessert, and Uncle Eddie is there,
you know."

Maida gave a long sigh of delight. " Oh, I
never, never saw anything like them ! What
made you think of it, Amit Violet, dear?"

" Well, put one on, then," she answered. " This
one," as Maida commenced to remove her dress.

[54]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" I won't call Flitters or Madelon, but will just
help you myself."

" You, too, Daisy," she said.

Daisy was standing very quietly watching
]\Iaida. " If you really want me to," she
answered.

" Yes, dearie, I want you to, of course. Your
father said I might get these white dresses.
Why, where's Baby ? " glancing around. " Was
she not hero a minute ago V

" Perhaps she went back into the nursery.
Aunt Violet. Shall I find her ? " asked Daisy.

" I'll go with you," Mrs. Van Norinan replied.

They found her with her little hands clasped
behind her back, standing looking out of the
oriel window. She stood very still.

" Gwyneth, dear, I want you to try on one of
the white dresses ; Daisy and Maida are going
to put on theirs now. Come, dear."

She turned and looked at Mrs. Van Norman,
and her eyes were filled with tears. " Thank
you, Aunt Violet," she said, " Imt I will not wear
them. I will wear my black frock." Her voice
was gentle, but quite firm.

She looked, as she said it, very much like her

[55]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

father, Violet thought — absurdly like. Wlmt
should she say to her next ?

" Why, Gwyneth, Daisy will, and Maida will ;
don't say that you won't, darling."

The little figure turned again and looked out
of the window ; she just shook her head quietly.

Mrs. Van l^fonnan went over, put her arms
around the child, and kissed her twice. " You
need not," she said ; " I don't want to trouble you
for the world," Then, as her eyes rested on the
golden hair, shining against the black dress, a
thought struck her. " Never mind, anyway.
Baby, I think perhaps black is all right ; your
hair looks so wonderful against it. Such hair ! "
she said again.

Gwyneth glanced up quickly. " I was not
thinking of my hair, Aunt Violet ; but I am
sorry if I was naughty."

Afterwards, when she was helping Daisy and
Maida to dress. Baby being with old Madelon,
Mrs. Van Norman put the cover on the box that
held Gwyneth's dresses.

" Does slie often say ' I will not,' Dais}^ ? " she
asked.

[50]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAFCHTERS.

" I do not remember when she c\'er said it
before,'" Daisy replied.

Tluit evening Mrs. Van Norman told the story
to her husband. They were alone, and he lis-
tened and smoked in silence.

" You have not had that said to you for many
a day, Violet," he said in a moment, looking at
the charming figure with half amused eyes. ^

"Not for many a long day," she replied,
laughingly. " Not even by you, Edwin."

The man went on smoking thoughtfully, then
leaned over the fireplace, knocked the ashes
out of his pipe, and laid it down. " I like a
.strong will," he said, as he rose to leave the
room.

[67]

CHAPTER VIII.

The children spent many liours alone with
Madelon. They already had a governess, who
came in the morning and left after luncheon.
She was a middle-aged English lady, and they
were quite happy with her, for she made their
lessons interesting, and grew fond of them.

In the afternoons they w'ent out, sometimes
with Mrs. Van Norman, sometimes with old
Madelon and Flitters ; and when they came
home there w-as always the delightful white
room to go to — a place entirely their own. If
it were stormy, they w^ould gather round the
tire, while Daisy read or told them fairy stories ;
she could tell very nice stories, they thought.
These were generally about maidens in distress,
or princesses kept by fierce and awful giants in
gloomy towers, built in inaccessible regions.
Often the towers were surrounded by green and
fiery-eyed dragons, whose mildest expression

[58]

TREV ELY AX'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS,

of countenance was enough to chill the marrow
in one's bones, and make the hair of the head
rise upon end, absolutely refusing to resume
its proper position.

To have one of these guardians of the peace
gaze upon you in any other than his mildest
\vay was to cause you to flee, and never to leave
off fleeing, till far, far beyond his range of
vision, and in a place of safet}'.

Indeed, for such a gentle little maiden, Daisy
had a most vivid iinan-ination. To all the
unhappy damsels in her stories — whether they
were princesses or not — invariably came a
deliverer. He it was who, alone and single-
handed, overthrew the horrible dragons : he it
was who scaled the tower walls : he it was who,
in spite of blood-thirsty giants, carried the
princesses away to their own homes, where all
was happiness and endless joy at their return.

Now, strange to say, this brave and true
knight was always the distressed maiden's
brother.

One Saturday afternoon Daisy had just fin-
ished a thrilling tale of this description, and
they were sitting talking the story ove-'.

[ '^^9 ]

TirEVELYAN'8 LITTLE 1) AUOIITERS.

" I tliiiik, ])ais3'', you made tlie brotlier even
nicer to-day than usual," said Maida.

Daisy nodded. " I do tliink of lovely
brothers," she answered.

" Daisy," said (iwyn presently, " if that little
baby in all the pictures had lived he would
have been our cousin."

" He is our cousin now, Gwyn," Maida re-
marked, in her (juick way.

" Yes, Maida, dear,, I know," said the child
gcntl3\ " But he's not here now ; he's away."

Just then Flitters came in. " Miss Daisy,
would you and Miss Maida and Miss Gwyncth
like to hear one of those big organs ? " she
asked, " Wilkinson says there's a good one out
on the street now — he knows the tunes — shall I
tell the man to brini:: it around ? "

" Oh, yes, Flitters ! thank you," they all
cried eagerly, and ran over to the great window,
where they stood watching for the organ to
make its appearance.

It came up and stopped. An old sad-faced
Italian turned the handle, and by him stood a
boy of about sixteen, who had helped to pull
the cart.

[60]

Tin:VKLYAXS LlTTl.E I) A IMUITP^RS.

" Oil, Daisy, do look ! " .said Baby, with a little
joyful cry. " It's my boy, the one I told you of.
It's the oi'o-an that played ' VnA Save the Queen !'
Oh, I am so glad it's that organ, so veiy glad,
indeed."

Tiiey listened entranced to ' Liberty Bell,"
to " My Pearl, She's a Bowery Girl," to the
"McGinty" who insisted upon going to the bot-
tom of the sea and staying there in utter dis-
regard of his best suit of clothes; to the " Little
Alabama Coon," and the " Water-melon Smiling
on the Vine," all of which were charmingly
new and fresh to them. After those were
played came the one they waited for, " God
Save the Queen."

However Her Majesty's i^ational Anthem got
in amongst those jocular airs the maker of
that organ alone knows. Probably he liked the
tune, but did not know the words.

" Do you admire the ])oy, Daisy ? " asked
Bal)y, when she had been listening for a while
with sparkling eyes, her slippered foot beating
on the floor.

" Do I admire him ? " said Daisy, " I should

[61]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUnHTEUS.

tliink I do ; I don't know when I've seen such
a nice l)oy ; lie reminds nie of somebody."

" Mr. Barton ? " sut^gcsted iNIaida.

" No, not Mr. Barton. Oli, no."

" Well, he don't remind me of anybody," re-
liiarked Baby, " but I thiid'C if he were dressed in
blue and silver he would be just like one of the
brothers in Daisy's stories. Now he's touching
his cap ; do you see his curly hair, Daisy i Are
they going. Flitters?" turning* to the maid be-
hind, "because we must give them some money,
you know. May I go <lown with Flitters to
give the music boy some money. Aunt Violet ? "
slie asked, as Mrs. Van Norman entered the
room ; " I have a shilling of my own !"

" Why, yes, dearie ; give it to him if you like.
It's blowing dreadfully I Put something around
her and tie her bonnet on, Madelon."

Down the stairs by Flitters side Gwyneth
went gaily, with her own piece of silver, and
some money Aunt Violet had given h( f
them, held tight in her small hand.

Old Wilkinson smiled as he opened tlit loor
for the sunny little figure. It was many a
day since a street-organ had played before

[62]

TKEVELYANS LFTTLK D AUG HIE US.

Edwin Van Nonimn's liuuse, and Wilkinson
was ^lad to hear the sound of its merry
tunes. In his secret soul Wilkinson admitted
that tlie music of the street-or'^an was the
kind lie liked Itest. Pie kept a concertina,
upon which in hoiu's ol' loneliness and at betittinff
times he discoursed sweet melody ; and the
oru'an struck him as beint^; but a concertina on a
laroer scale, played witli infinitely less trouble.

Now he watched Gwyneth as she and Flit-
tors ran down the wide steps and across the
walk to where the old man stood with his wj^u-
<^on-load of tunes. The boy took ofl' his caj)
and waited, bareheaded ; tlie old man touched
his, and thanked the child as she handed him
the money.

"Thank you for the music," she said, o-raciously,
"You do play heautifidly, we hope you will
come again." Then she held out her hand to him.

He looked at the boy doubtfully. E\'idently
they were not used to having their patrons shake
hands with them. The boy said something
rapidly in Italian, and the old man turned
with many smiles and shook hands with

[63]

tmsmmmmm

mi^^

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUviHTERS.

Gwyneth. So she bid them both good-bye
and went back into the house with Flitters.

Aunt Violet was waiting for her in the nur-
sery. " Well, darling, did you give it to them ? "

" Oh, yes. Aunt Violet," she answered.

When they took off her hood she walked over
to the grate and stood looking into the red coals,
with absent, thoughtful eyes. Then, seeing
Aunt Violet watching her — " It's very cold and
windy on the streets, and very warm and beauti-
ful in here," she said, softly.

[64]

CHAPTER IX.

Often and often, when five o'clock tea was
over, and Daisy and Maida were busy with their
books, old Madelon knitting beside them, Baby
would ^^o away down the stairs to the room she
loved best. There slie could stay alone and
(juiet, thinking of many things as she sat in her
uncle's big arm-chair before the fire. The logs
never burned cheerily and bright in that room, as
they did in the others, she fancied ; but, instead
of sending great showers of sparks and long
dragon-tongues of flame up the chimney, tiny
red and blue lights would flicker over thern,
and the coals underneath turn quickly to white
ashes.

One evening the child was coming down the
great staircase, just as Wilkinson was about
to light the tall lamps in the hall. These were
lield by bronzed knights in armor. Tliere were
three of them, with boat-shaped lamps high
6 [65]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

up in their hands. Their heads were inclined
forward, as though tr^'ing to pierce the gloom
of some Eastern temple or mysterious cavern.
They were very interesting, Gwyneth thought,
and she often stopped and looked at them won-
deringly,

" Wilkinson," she said, as she saw the old man
below; "Wilkinson, will you be kind enough
to tell me if there is anyone in Uncle Edwin's
library ? "

The old butler looked up ; he was not imagi-
native, but he fancied that her tiny hand, as it
glided down the baluster, was like a snow-flake.
" No, ]\Iiss Gwyneth," he answered, " 'he very body
is in the drawing- room."

" Yes, I hear them," she said, as voices laugh-
ino' and talkinu; reached her ear. Now and then
there was the tinkle of a cup against its
saucer, the closing of a door, the rustling of
silken skirts — for they were not far away.

" Won't you go in for a little while, Miss
Gwyneth ? " said Wilkinson. It seemed to him
the child's face had a wistful expression,
and he knew how bright and gay those long
drawino'-rooms were when Hllod with jjfuests

[GO]

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

coming and <j^oing, with flowers everywliere,
with lovely faces to see and musical voices to
hear.

" Won't you go in to your aunt, Miss Gwyn-
eth ? It is wery cheerful in there," he added.

" No, Wilkinson — no, thank you : I would
rather go into thu librarv."

" 'Ave you hever noticed the big white 'orned
howl aswinging on the silver moon in the corner
by the books?" he asked, thinking it might
startle her if she came upon it suddenly.

" Oh, yes, Wilkinson, I have noticed him," she
answered. " But I am not afraid of him ; he's
stuffed, you know," reassuringly.

" Well," he answered, " 'e don't look it, you see,
that's the trouble. Then there's the bio- lion-
rug. 'Is 'ead might hupset one, arestin' upon 'is
paws that natural."

" Thank you, Wilkinson, but I am not afraid
at all," she said ; " not that I am really brave, you
know, but he is not alive, and although his eyes
do glare dreadfully — why they are not his oivn
eyes, are they ? I should be afraid of him if he
were the least little bit alive — but then," medita-
tively, " anyone would. I never heard of but

[67]

!S rnrssiai.rrifn'i.'Mar'i'!~.r>--^,^--.ia^^^-,-^\,'^.^ ^ ^f^ ^ ^^

TIIEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

one person in all my life who was not afraid of
lions."

'*'Oo might that be, Miss Gwyneth^" he asked,
curiously, looking down at the little lass, as he
held the library door open for her.

"Why, Diiniel, Wilkinson," the child replied,
gravely, as she passed into the room.

*' Daniel ! " said the old butler, as he was left
standing. " Why, certainly, of course ; but 1
thought she were agoin' to say the Dook of
W'^ellington, or 'E'uy Stanley. It's strange she
likes that room at this time of the hevening.
It's 'ardly time to light the lamps there yet, and
the place is that full of shadders and glinnners
from them poet chaps ; and that old howl 'as
the hevil eye if liever a bird 'ad. Talk about
the raven wot (juothed ' Nevermore,' — 'e just
sits there alookin' it."

After a few minutes Van Norman came in,
and entered his library. He paused a moment
at the door, listening to the sounds of music an<]
lauffhter across the hall. He was too tired to
mix with that glad company, too world-worn
and weary, he thought. No gaiety had been his
during the early years of his life, to him had

[68]

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

conic no lieydey ; tliere lind been no liours to
spare for pleasure, no halcyon hours when he
was youn^r and the blood beat hifrh through
his fresh boy's heart. Now, when he could rest
on his oars, having won the harbor of wealth
and ease, it was too late— too late to enter into
the spirit of the thing, at least, he said to him-
self: so he turned into the room of shadows
beyond.

" Ah, Gwyneth, dear ' " he exclaimed, seeing
the golden-haired maiden standing upon the
lion-rug. " You seem fond of being in here alone
with my poets."

" And you, Uncle Edwin," she said, smilingly,
" won't you stay ? "

" Would you like me to ? "

" Oh, yes, very much, unless you would rather
be in the drawing-room," she added, (quickly.

" Not I," he replied : then, seeing the ivory
figure she held, " Why don't someone get you a
doll ? That is not one, is it :' or isn't it dressed ?—
it looks odd, anyway."

" Oh, no, he isn't a doll," with a little laugh.
'' he is St. Patrick."

[69]

Tia:VELYAN'S LITTLE 1) AlTMITEllS.

" 8t. Patrick I " exclaimed lier uncle, " why,
how did he come your way ? "

" Oh," she replied, " Brady gave him to me.
Brady is a sailor, a common sailor, one who goes
up the rigging', you know : he used to spin us
yarns coming over, about the great seas away up
north. When we said good-bye to him he gave
Daisy a queer gold coin, Maida a string of
most lovely, lovely coral, and this to me. I am
very fond of this little saint, L^ncle Edwin.
Daisy says he has a history ; any wa}^, Brady told
us he bought him long ago to take home to his
little girl, but she was dead, when he reached
home — so," after a pause, " he gave him to me.
Molly Brady's birthday was on the seventeenth
of Marcli, and Brady was very pleased when I
told him that mine is, too."

" And your birthday is on the seventeenth
of old Ireland, is it ^ " he asked.

" Yes, Uncle Edwin ; on ' St. Patrick's Day in
the Morning.' Father says if I had been a boy
he should have had to name me after the saint.
I sometimes think he would have liked that,"
she said, thoughtfully, "Anyway, Daisy and

[70]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Maida would liave had a brother, and that's
wliat we're alwa3^s wanting."

" I tliink your fatlier and Daisy and Maida are
very Uicky to have you as yon are," remarked
lier uncle, looking at the child's sensitive face.

" You are very kind to think so. Uncle Eddie,"
slie said, " very ! "

Then she went across to a small table upon
which lay a violin case, and, touching it gently,
turned and looked at her uncle.

" Is there a violin in this case. Uncle Edwin ? "

" Yes," he answered.

" And does anyone play on it { " eagerly.

" Yes, someone does, sometimes," said Van
Norman.

" You, I believe " sniiUno- at him.

" When there are no professionals around."

She took the case up very carefully, and car-
I'ied it over to him ; he watching her the wliile.

"There are none around now," she said, with
pleading eyes, "please, Uncle Edwin ! "

He took the instrument lovinnflv out of its
silken-lined case, drew the bow lightly across it
two or three times, and began to play.

The divine melody of " Traiimerei " lloated

[71]

TIIEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

through the room. 'J'lie man was perhaps not a
master of his art, but he loved it, and the violin
knew him and answered to his touch. On and on
swept the music, that air the whole world knows.
It rose and fell, rose and fell, while Gwyneth
stood gazing with pale, spell-bound face, and
when the last exquisite notes trembled off the
strings, her lashes were wet with tears, and she
gave a long, long sigh.

" There is no need of other listeners," thought
he, " with such an audience as this. Well,
little one," he said, gently, " have I made you
sad i "

" Not sad, Uncle Edwin, no ; but I was think-
ing of my mother — perhaps she hears that kind
of music now, she did so love the violin. Old
Madelon has brought one with her that used to
belong, years and years ago, to my uncle — my
little uncle that ran away to sea, you remember.
He used to play the violin wonderfully — wonder-
fully, Madelon says ; that is why my mother
loved it so. And when they left Italy Madelon
brought with her the violin that he used to
play. She said his cousin Antonio Reggeoletto
gave it to him, but he did not take it when he

[72]

TJIEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

ran away. Madelon In-ou^rht it, tliou^^h. t^oiiie-
tiiiie, she says, he perhaps will play on it again.
She calls it a Cremona."

" A Cremona ! You will let me see it, won't
you, and soon ? But, Gwyneth, dear, I must
dress for dinner— I should say I must," lookincr
at the clock ; " Bishop Salisbury dines with us
to-nifrht ; it would never do to keep my Lord
Bishop waiting. Golden Locks ! "

" Will you come down to me and my poets
again ? " he asked, opening the door for her.

"I will come to-morrow afternoon, Uncle
Edwin," she answered, looking into his eyes.

" I will be with you then, sure," and he stood
for a moment or two M'atching the little maid
go up the stairs.

[73]

CHAPTER X.

They were waiting for their xatlier from day
to day, and now Daisy was growing anxious.
His steamer sliould have reached New York
some time before ; but they had received no
news of him, and the ships coming in all told
of rough, belated passage.

V^an Norman said he would have the earliest
word from the docks, and when she was sighted
he would telephone.

Aunt Violet gave them but scant time to
think ; she knew what a strain their childish
natures had already borne, and so, for their
father's sake, tried to keep them bright and con-
tented. She wanted him to find them happy
— happy as she could make them. Still Daisy
was troubled — that could be seen ; her face
had no coloi', and beneath the dark eyes were
shadows that Mrs. Van Norman could not bear
to see.

[74]

TllEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAL' OUTERS.

" I wonder it* she lias been sleeping well,
Madelon ^ " she asked.

"All! madam,' answered the old nurse, "she
lias the look of her mother when the voyage
was long and liis ship made great delay. Last
night, madam, I went through their rooms soft,
soft ; I made not to awaken them. Maida slept,
and my Baby slept : but Daisy, she was awake,

" ' Is that you, dear Madelon { ' she say.

"'Yes, my lamb,' I answer, 'why you sleep
not V

" Then she gave a little cry. ' Madelon !
Madelon ! do you hear the wind V she said.
' How can I sleep ; how can I sleep ? '

" So I sat myself upon the side of the small bed.
and told her the story, madam — the story that
is for all sailors, and for those that love them —
of how He made ilie sea to be calm; of how He
made the wind to go down ; of how He brought
them to the haven where they would be" — raising
her wrinkled face to where the (^ood Shepherd
stood in all His beautiful tenderness — " to where
they would be," she repeated.

" ' I know, Madelon, He is able, most able, so to
do, but some ships — some ships never reach the

[75]

THE VKL VAN'S LTTTI.K I) A UO IITKUS.

lii;

land. You remember,' she said, 'my I^ncle
llapliael Kt\i;'geoletto. ^\y motlier waited, l)ut he
did not return !'

" I could hardly my voice find, dear madam,
to make answer; still I would not leave my child
so. I didrememher — I do remember — my dear
lad, that in the year so lon^ a<,^() sailed, and did
not come back ; but I have the hope, madam,
I have always the hope — here in my heart," her
voice breaking, " when all have forgotten and
say that he is lost, I have the hope that I,
old Madelon, will some day find him. And so
I looked into her anxious eyes. ' Margarita,'
I said — Ave do not ol'ten call her so, though
that is her name — ' Margarita, thy father is
in the care of Him who holds the sea in the
hollow of His hand : thou canst trust Him, mv
sweetheart ! And as for thy uncle, Raphael
Reggeoletto, do not take from me the hope I
have so long kept that I will see him again ; 1
wait and hope.' "

" Dear Daisy !" said Mrs. Van Noi'man, " she is
too young to bear anxiety of this kind ; perhaps
it is only because she has hardly recovered from
the shock of her mother's death that she is so

[70]

TKFCVKLYAN'S UTTLH I ) A IMi NT K KS.

easily fri^litoned. You do not think, Mudolon,
that she is ilW" as th(; })ossibility struck lier.
" Tliero is no (hin^-er — we think of no dan<j;;c'r
from tliis sliglit delay of Captain Trovelyan's
steamer. She is only two da^'s late now, and
this has l)een a stormy month."

*' No, no, madam. The child is well, I thiid-:,
on!}' she is like my dear mistress, her mother;
she was ever so."

" Maida seems all riu'ht," Mr.s. Van Norman
remarked.

" Yes, j\Iaida is not the same, although we
thought her heart would have broken wlien the
trouble came," the old nurse answered.

" Ah, well, I will take tliem to the riidv ; they
bejrin to skate very nicelv. Perhaps when we
return the vessel will have Ijeen sighted, and
our hearts be at rest about that. Flitters will
help you to get them ready, nurse, and I will
not be lonij; so brincr them down when their
bonnets are on."

" Yes, madam."

Half an liour afterwards the}' were being
driven swiftl}' o\'er the frozen roads toward the
open riidv of M'hich Maida had grown so fond.

[77]

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Such a clazzliii<^ day it was ; such a flitter of
silvery-white everywhere ; such sparkles on the
trees, fences and cornices of the houses 1 It was
Saturday afternoon, and the city was out in
holiday attire. The winaows of the shops, as
they passed thein quicklj', looked like hufjje
bou(|uets of llowers, so bright were they and full
of ccilor. Everywhere people turned their steps
toward the theatres or rinks, and the sound of
sleigh-bells rang upon the air. If there was
want, misery, unhap})iness amongst the people,
it did not walk abroa 1.

" I don't see many poor persons, Aunt Violet,"
sai<l Daisy. " Everybody seems to me to be
ricli — nearly everybody, at least." Mrs. Van
Norman shook her head and laughed lightly ;
she looked very charming with her cheeks
colored by the fresh cold wind.

" Do you think so, Mignonne / " she said. " Oh,
no, dear ; everybody couldn't be rich ; but the
poor people do not come up this way often, I
fancy. The city, and committees, and men that
are paid, look after the jioor people, you know,"

" Do they ?" asked Daisy, thoughtfully.

" Yes, dear ; and Uncle Etk.vin often gives

[78]

TKP:V^ELYAN'8 little DArcJHTERS.

them money for their .soup kitchens and refuses
and hospitals, where the}^ go when they are ill."

" Does he ? That is very good of him, Aunt
Violet."

" Ye.s, dear, he has a very kind h<\>,rt. People
come to him at the office with all sorts of tales
of woe, and he won't let the clerks turn one
away without some a.ssistance ; at least, that is
what Mr. Brownino-, an old gentleman who has
been for 3'ears with Uncle Edwin, once told me."

" That is very kind of him," she said again.

Baby leaned over, with parted lips, as thougli
slie were going to speak, and then stopped.
Her little face had a most intense expression,
and her eyes \vere soft and shining.

" What is it, Gwyn ? " asked Mrs. Van Norman.

" I love him," the child answered : " I love him
very, very n.nch. '

They all smiled at that, and she wondered why.

Everything was extremely gay at the rink ;
and when Dai.«y and Maida, hand- in-hand, were
movino; over the ice with the rest, Mrs. Wn
Xorman and Baby drove away, leaving the tall
and digniiied Sinuners to take care of them.

Maida already skated well : Daisy '.vas grow-

[ 70 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERH.

ing steadier each day, and botli were wildly
enthusiastic over the exercise. Simmers listened
with inward deliizht and outward stoniness of
feature to the many pretty thinf^s said witliin
his hearinnf of his two charfres.

Simmers and the Sphinx miglit have vied with
each otlier as to which was able to give tlie
least expression of emotion upon their respec-
tive countenances. Simmers' face had probably
stood the greater test. He had many a time and
oft been placed in positions under which the
ordinary footman liad been obliged to look
somewhat human or expire. But Simmers did
neither. His reason might totter on its throne,
inward convulsions might seize and rend him,
but, outwardly at least, he would be as the laws
of the Medes and Persians — changeless and
unalterable ; and by this metallic calmness of
expression he stood or fell.

Now, as he watclied the bjwitching little
figures ily past him, saw their sparkling eyes,
their floating curls, and the bright color coining
and going in their olive-tinted faces, by some
process, unknown to mortals in general, he gave
vent to an inwanl nnd invisil)le smile. When

[80]

THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS

H<,r

thev skated In' they iiiVcariabh' turned their
heads and gaily nodded to liim.

" Tliem two are no ordinary ones,"' he said to
himself, " and the small one, Miss Gwyneth,
some day she's agoing to make a sensation,
that's what it is I " And so, altogether, Simmers
enjoyed himself nearly as much as the children
did.

By the time the little skaters began to grow
tired, Mrs. Van Norman returned, and they
went home together in almost a merry mood.

" I was dreadfully unhapp}^ about father last
night," said Daisy, " but things h)ok so different
by daylight. I feel certain that he will come
to morrow. Don't you. Aunt ^''iolet ? "

" Yes, I think he will, Daisy, dear," answered
Mrs. Van Norman.

But when the message reached them, half an
hour later, saying that Captain Trcrel^'an's
steamer had been sighted, each knew by the
relief she felt how ixreat had been her fear.

In the nursery old Madelon sat listening to

the fresh, unspoiled voices of the little ones,

and thoughts came to her of her own far-off

youih, when the whole world liad seemed young,

[81]

TTiEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

and grim care and weary old age things to hear
of, never to know.

By and by Baby went over to the window
and stood looking out. A light snow fell softly
and the day was closing in. She waited there
quietly a long time, with her hards behind licr
back, in a quaint fasliion she hid. Daisy knew
by the way the fingers clasped and unclasped
that the child was trying to be patient over
something.

" You look just as though you were watching
for somebody, Gvvyn," said Maida, dancing
across to her ; " but you don't know anyone in
this city to look for, unless it is Uncle Edwin oi-
Major Willoughby."

" I am watching for someone," she answered ;
" but it isn't Uncle Eddie or the Major ; not but
what I would like to see them both, of course."

" Who are you looking tor, then ? " glancing
curiously up and down the street ; " father may
not be here for hours ; you know how long it
takes them to get in sometimes."

" Yes, Maida, dear, but it isn't father. I'm
thinking of him nearly all the time, tliough," she
added, by way of afterthought.

[82]

TREYELYAN « LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Why don't you tell me, Baby '■. I can't bear
to be kept waiting* when 1 want to know any-
thing," her sister answered, impatiently beating
a tattoo on the glass with her little brown hands-
" It isn't a secret, surely '. "

" I believe I see him now 1 ' cried Gwyneth.
" Yes, yes ! " Then turning to Maida, and noting
the exasperated expression on her face —

" My "tfiu&'ic boy, you know. 8ee, they are
coming! It is Saturday he comes, always, I'll
be very glad to see him."

" Oh, so will 1, but I'd t'orgotlen every single
thing about him," said Maida, Liughingly.

"I don't forget ])eople when I like them,
Maida," replied the child.

In a short time they came along, the weather-
beaten old man and the beautiful boy. They
pulled the heavy cart slowly, for the roads were
rough. When they stopped under the oriel
windoNV, l)oth looked up and took otftlieir caps.

The children watched and listened. Old
Madelon sat Ijy, knitting at the perpetual stock-
ing, that was sometimes toe, sometimes heel,
sometimes leg, but had been in transition st iges
ever since Daisy was born, and before, if she

[83]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

liad but known. They all regarded it as a
friend ; it seemed to them as much a part of
Madelon as the cap and apron she wore. The
light glanced on her silver needles, dancing up
and down and over them. She nodded her head
to the music, and seemed to dream.

" Call Flitters, Gwyn, I want her to tell me
the names of tlie tunes as he plays them. We
don't knoM' any American songs," Maida said.

Flitters came, and as the tunes were rolled
out she called o(t' their names.

" Don't you lo\'e it, Gwyn ? "

" What, Maida ? The music ? 1 wasn't think-
ing so much about the music as the boy."

" He is an awfully nice boy ; there wasn't one
boy on that rink to-day as good-looking."

"Do you like hi.s eyes, Maida ? " asked Baby.

" Indeed I do : they are perfectly beautiful ! "
she answered.

" Yes," said Daisy, " 1 think they are, too."

" Do you like his shoulders, Daisy ? " inquired
Maida, later.

" Oh, yes, of course, anyone would ; they are
exactly like father's, I think, only that father's
are so much broader."

[64]

TREVELYAN'S I.ITTLE DAUGHTERS.

[red

I are

jr's

" I wish," said Baby — then slie stopped. The
organ had got as far as " Tlie Alabama Coon "
b}^ this time, and they thought tliat slie was
enjoying that delightful southern melody — " I
wish," she said again.

" What do you wish, Baby ^ You s^'em to
want somebody to ask you," laughed Maida.
" Do you wish they would pla\' it again ? I
don't think they can. I think when it starts it
h 3 to go right through them all without
stopping."

"Oh, it isn't that, I like the next nearly as
well ; but I wi-h that boy — look at him smiling
up at us Dais}' — yes, I wish that boy were our
brother. Truly, I do"

" Why, Gwyneth Trevelyau ! " exclaimed
Maida, while Daisy gazed at hor with eyes very
wide open, and Flitters laughed. " Why, (hat
boy is the music organ man's boy ; if ivc had a
brother he would have to be a gentleman. He
is awfully nice to look at, but how does he
speak ? "

" I know — I have heard him — Ijut Daisy, doar,
tvhat iff a gentleman ^ " Then without waiting

[■w]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS

— for she saw tliev Nvore throurrh nlavinjx —
" Dtii.sy, the m(mey ; I liaven't any this time."'

" Neither have I," said Daisy.

" I had a shilling," said Maida, "but I spent it,
oh, quite a long time ago."

Old Madelon took a silver coin out of hei*
pocket, and held it out — " Giv^e the man this, my
children," slic said.

" No, thank you, Madelon, I remember I have
something. Quick, Flitters, get my hood, please ;
I will go down, too," said Gwyn, running into
her ov n room.

" What have you got, Gwyn ? " asked Maida,
as she came out and waited for Flitters.

" Fd rather not tell you, Maida," the child
replied, gently.

" I know 1 " cried Maida, when the two had
disajDpeared. " It's the tiny gold dollar father
gave her such a long time ago, and that's her
own, I suppose ; but isn't she a funny little thing,
though ? "

Daisy did not answer, and old Madelon went
on knitting — and as she knit she smiled.

[86]

CHAPTER XL

"MADELON/'said Baby, " will you please look
at me ? "

" Yes, my lamb ; what is it { " asked the old
nurse.

" Is my dress all ri^rht, and my pinafore ^ "
pulling out the ruffles on her shouWers, " and
my hair ? "

" Why, yes, dear, you look very nice ; do you
i^o anywhere ? "

" Only down to the library, nurse," startincr
away, " so good-bye."

"She's always going down t(j the library,
Daisy, at this time of day ; and it's as gloomy
and forlorn in that room as it can be. It's
ever so much nicer up here, with the lovely
colors on the floor. It's all violet splashes
under your chair now," said Maida.

"I suppose she likes it for some reason,"
answered Daisy, going on with her book ; " one
of these days I'm going with her myself."

[ 87 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" At tliis time to-inorrow, Madelon, father
will be here," n-lanciiig' up at the old nurse.

" Thou wilt be ^lad then, my little one,"
answered the old woman.

When Van Norman entered his library at
half-past six o'clock, he found (jiwyneth waiting-.
He saw the look of expectanc}^ on her face as
the door opened, and caught the brilliant smile
that followed : it was answered by one of his
own, one of the kind worth rememl)erin«)^.

" We have half an hour," he said.

" Have we, Uncle Edwin ( As lonn^ as that ? "

" Yes, quite, for Aunt Violet is making a most
elaborate toilet. \^ou must see her wlien she
is dressed, for she will be very pretty. You like
pretty things, don't you, Gwyn ? "

" Oh, yes!" replied the child, " and Daisy and
Maida and I always just love to look at Aunt
Violet."

" What have you been doing to-day i " he
asked, as she sat down on an ebony stool beside
him, and leaned her golden head against the arm
of his chair. Above the mantel luing the baby s
picture, and in the uncertain light the dimples
seemed to come and go on the sweet child face.

[88]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUCHITERS.

" What have I been doint,^ i " she said ; " let
me see. This morniny; we luid our lessons : I
don't have such long ones as Daisy and Maida,
you know. When mine were Hnished, Aunt
Violet's dachsliund came into the nursery, and
we played together. It upset Maida a good deal
— she could Jiardly goon with licr Fi'ench. You
knoAV Fritz is funny when he stands and just
looks at you ; his short litile front leg.s are bowed
round, like this," lixinix her hands together in
a circle, and laughing — "and he is so long, so
dreadfully long ! He should have tlirce pairs of
legs, we think. Uncle Edwin."

" I am glad you like him," said the man, enjoy-
ing the sio-ht of her bright face and childish voice.

" I do like him very mucli, indeed," — then, on
second thouo-ht — " and he likes me."

" I can quite understand that," gravely.

" Uncle Edwdn ! " she asked, then paused and
leaned forward, clasping her two little hands.

" Yes ? " he answered.

" Uncle Edwdn, what is a gentleman ? "

" Why ! " he said, looking rather surprised at
the question, " have you met anyone lately that
you thought was i^yt a gentleman ? "

[89]

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

"illlliM 1125

'■ iM 112.2

.. m

1.4

2.0

1.8

1.6

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

iV"

'i?."

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4S03

i/j

•Tfmmm

TREYELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Oh, no," raising her eyes to his quickly, "oh,
no * but it's iny music-boy, tlie one I told you
of, you remember. He oame to day with the old
Italian and the organ, and we were talking
about him — Daisy and Maida and me. We
admire him very much," she said, sweetly. "I
would like you to see him, Uncle Edwin,"

" Well ? " he ashed, as she stopped.

" You see," she went on, " I said I wished he
were my brother, for we have always been wish-
ino^ for one — alwavs. Then ^laida lauo;hed, and
said he was only an organ-man's boy ; that our
brother, if we had one, \vould have to be a
genllemau. He seemed to me like a gentleman,"
she added, seriously.

Van Norman rose, walked over to the mantel,
turned his broad back to it, as was his custom,
and stood looking at her. There was an odd
expression in his eyes.

" Gwyneth, dear"' — his voice not quite steady —
" a gentleman is one who is faithful, honest,
gentle and brave — a king could be no more," he
said.

The ashes dropped from the heavy logs, the
shadowy room was still. Then Simmers entered

[90]

ISIw'i^

'Sill- ii(l\iiii(t'(l to tliu onitie iif till- loom, ami

(Iropiti'd thru

deep ami most elalKinite cuitsev ." Pa^i' 91-

I f if:

™

TREVELYANS LITTLE DAUGHTERS

quietly and lit tiie tall red-shaded lamps, and
down the stairs came the rustling of silken per-
fumed garments. Mrs. Van Norman paused at
the library.

" Announce me, Wilkinson," she said, in a low
voice, "as the Duchess of Devonshire."

The door was Hung wide open, and — " 'Er
Grace, the Duchess of Devonshire ! " cried the
old butler, in his most ponderous tones.

They turned toward the door and beheld a
beautiful little figure, all shining and glistening
from head to toe. Her powdered hair was
puffed and rolled, and upon her shoulders lay
softest curls. A hat of generous proportions,
befeathered and beribboned, was tilted sidewise
on the bewitching head, and around her square-
cut tiffht-sleeved bodice was crossed a ticliu of
richest lace. Here and there upon it trembled
small diamond butterflies. She advanced in
stately fashion to the centre of the room, and
holding wide her dainty skirts, dropped them a
deep and most elaborate curtsej'^ ; then rose, and
throwing the tail of her gown over one arm,
stood with folded hands, smiling at them sweetly
— a counterpart of the famous picture.

[91]

uyjyjL

asasm

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Oh, Aunt Violet ! " exclaimed Baby. " How
lovely you look ' How lovely ! Are all duch-
esses like that ? "

" You are cliariiiing," said Van Norman. " It
is for the Schuyler's fancy ball, I suppose ; but
are you not d"essed early ? "

" Earlv for the ball, of course, but the Ruben-
stein Club have an eight o'clock musicale, and
there will be a number in fancy dress. You
will go to the musicale with me, won't you ? And
now, do be a little enthusiastic over my dress —
please, dear ! I don't care what the rest say,
you know," turning so that he could admire
her from all points.

" Indeed, it is very dazzling ! That silver effect
on the pink is like frosting ; and the butterflies
on your shoulders seem as though tliey might
fly at any moment. By the way, the butterflies
are not consistent witli the costume, are they ? "

" No, not really ; it is a case where consistency
is not a jewel ! " she answered, laughingly ; " but
they were so pretty I had to wear them."

He seem;3d amused, but went on critically,
looking down at her tiny silver slippers with
their shining buckles :

[92]

TREVELYAN\S LITTLE DACGHTERH,

"The slioes match perfectly, and your hair,
sweetheart, is really wonderful : A masterpiece,
a veritable masterpiece ! "

" Thanks, Eddie, awfully : I think you have
((uite taken me in, and I dofy other critics."

So, gaily chatting, they all moved towards
the dining-room.

When they reached the stairs, and as Gwyneth
started to go up to the nursery, Van Norman
held out his hand. ' Are we going to be good
friends ^ " he asked.

" For always, Uncle Edwin," said the child,
looking down at him; and she stood thus
watching them till he and the gay little Luchess
disappeare<I.

[93]

■ UL — J S T i.i gr ^ XZg' . f JfcB

CHAPTER XII.

Next day being Sunday, they were to take
V)reakfast in the niorning-rooni below. As they
fluttered down, Daisy and Maida in white, and
Baby in bhick, with dainty ruffled pinafore,
their liearts beat higli with hope. Surely som')
news would be awaitin'-" them — or even father:
and tliev went in witli eaofer faces.

Ah ! there he was, standing so tall and straight;
so like himself and nobody else in the wide, wide
world. The}' flew to him. " O lather !
father!'' was all he heard; but it was his reward
for long storm}' da^'s and nights, when the spirit
of the gale entered into him, and he had not
slept, but paced the deck to and fro sharing the
dark hours of watching with his men. Trevelyan
turned to his sister and Van Norman.

" Thank you both," he said, " you have been
more than good to them, I see."

" O Jack, we have had a perfectly delightful

[94]

III nil

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGIITEHS.

month," cried Violet. " They repay me o\'er and
over again for all I do. I love to r-o up to the
west wing and find it briglit and elieery.
Tliey have made me entirely liappy."

Everyone had so much to tell him that the
breakfast was really of very slight importance.

Wilkinson moved about in his heavy solemn
way, with an expression entii-ely new upon his
face. This brought another set of muscles into
play, and must have been decidedly restful— at
any rate it seemed to have come to stay, for it
did not disappear during the entire meal. He
looked at Captain Trevelyan wjienever an oppor-
tunity presented itself; he seemed, indeed, to
enjoy looking at him.

" Flitters," said the old butler to that sprightly
maid, during the morning, '• what do you think
of 'im ? you'N-e not seen 'im before."

" What do I think of Captain Trevelyan ^ "

" Yes 'im, Flitters," he answered.

" I think, Wilkinson, he's the finest man I ever
saw, and I don't wonder now, one bit, that those
children are so sweet, all of them. I should
have liked to see their mother."

" Ah ! " said Wilkinson, " 'e brings the breath

[95]

ESS

ZBSSS

SRBI

TREVEL VAN'S i.lTTLE DAUGHTERS.

of the sea with 'im ; and when I cross again,
Flitters, I 'ope 'e will be aboard."

" I liope he will, if it will make your inin<l
easier," she answered, leavin*^ him.

After breakfast the Captain, ]Mrs. Van Nor-
man and the cliildren went to church. It was a
*;ood distance to Broadway and Eleventh street ;
V)ut they wanted to walk, as the morning was
sunny, and they enjoyed having their father
beside them. He held Daisy's hand and Baby's,
while Maida fluttered sometimes behind, some-
times in front, in her own erratic fashion. The
steady church-going people of the city felt com-
pelled to look after that particular quartette —
the stalwart, handsome man, and the three child-
ren, two with such Italian faces, the third so
entirely English.

Of course, Aunt Violet did not walk — she was
not used to going so far afoot — but the children
had climbed the Cornwall cliffs and taken long
strolls with their mother, ever since they were
babies, and to them the walk was a pleasure.

After the service was over they drove back
together.

[96]

TREVELYAX'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

•' I am glad Bishop Salisl^uiy preached, fathei- ;
we all like him very much," remarked Maida.

"Do you know his Lordship T' asked the
Captain.

"We met him one evening- ^vhen he dined
with Uncle Edwin, and he told us a fairy story ;
he is not very solemn for a bishop," said Maida.

" He drew us some dear wee Brownies, father,
and told us about them," added Gwyn : " I never
saw such dear little thino-s. When he was
preaching to-day those wee J-3rownies kept com-
ing into my mind : but I shut my eyes, and tried
so hard— 6o hard— not to think of them in
church ; and then the next thing I knew I was
(iuite interested, listening about A})sal(,m, and
they went all away."

" You darling : " cried Aunt Violet.
" Well," Maida exclaimed, " well, if it is wrong
to think of Brownies in church, I was cpiite as
bad, because I kept thinking about Absalom's
hair ; and how it was just exactly like Gwyn's.
I could not help fancying her riding fast through
the woods, and- her hair catching just the same
way."

" Oh, Maida," said Daisy, " that was a punish-
' [97]

T REVEL VAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS

nuMil because he turn^'d a;jaiiist his father :
liKinj would never do tliat ! "

" Hardly," said the Captain, as he put his
arms around the child and drew her to liim,
" hardly, I think, sweetheart."

And so the happy days of Captain Trevelyan's
stay ashore Hew quickly by.

The little maids took him to the rink, know-
ing well that none of their doings was inditterent
to their father ; for he had never failed them
hitiierto, and now, though often his e3^es were sad,
he was the best of good companions, and listene<.l
to every childish story with deepest interest.
Gwyneth felt troubled that during those days
the organ-grinder and boy did not come, but
her father gave her some silver to give them.

When the time came for him to go, Trevelyan
took many messages for Mr. Barton and
Brady. His heart was much lighter regarding
the children. Although they did not forget, the
burden of their sorrow pressed less heavily here
than at the old home in Cornwall.

A very pleasant time followed ; the weather
changed and turned warmer — regular English
weather, everybody said. Sometimes Aunt

[9S]

TUEVEhYAX'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Violet would invite the little ones of lier ac-
(luaintance to take tea, and the white room
would rin^ with many ^lad voices.

Now and ai^iin the dravviiifr- rooms wt-n; Hlle<l
with people, and the children were taken down.
Maida enjoyed this intensely. .She made friends
on every side; her impulsive southei-n natun-
loved all forms of pleasure, and she won! I ^o
from one to another of Aunt \'iolet's friends
with radianc race, and with ))ri;;iit word.M for all.
.Mr.s. \ an Xorman enjoyed watehint^ her tlit
about the room like .some tropical bird; she had
so many (juick movements and turns of the head,
and used her tin\' hands in such a I'oreiLfn wav.

The other two were rather ([uieter on these
occasions. It was always pleasant when ^Maior
Willoughby was there, because he was (juite an
oM friend by tiiis time, and st(Jod by them
tlurino- moments that miiiht otherwise have
[)roved tryin;^". But tlu-n the Major was not
always there, .so to them these drawine'-rooms
were a mixed pleasure.

On one occasion of this kind, when they had
been allowed to come dcnvn, and were movino-
about speakino- to one and another that they

[ i)9 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

>'l

knew, a woman who had been watching them
and talking to Daisy — a clever woman, well-
known amongst musical and literaiy people of
the city — went over to Mrs. Van Norman.

" Do you know, Violet," she said, " those
children are very charming, very exquisite."

" I am glad you find them so," Mrs. Van Nor-
man answered, " we think they are."

" There is no doubt about it ; and their pro-
nunciation is something unusual, is it not ?
— somewhat foreign, a^id yet with such a fine
broad English 'a.'"

" Their mother was Italian, you know," re-
plied Mrs. Van Norman, " and did not speak
English until after she was married. I often
notice they have insensibly copied her words."

" They are unusual in other ways ; try to
keep them as they are, Violet," said her friend.

Mrs. Van Norman lauo-hed. " I do not think
they will change. You have not met my brother,
Captain Trevel^^an, I believe ? No ! And you
did not know the r mother ? "

" No, I did not, unhappily," ansv^'ered the
other, " but I should have liked to. I have
missed something, my dear, indeed I have."

[100]

iiil

CHAPTER XIII

On Saturday, about ten days after this, Van
Norman entered his library as th.' clock struck
the quarter past fiv(\ He was tired, for many
things had crossed his path that day to trouble
and annoy him, and the lines between his eves
as he threw himself heavily into a chair, were
deep and forbidding-.

" Such a day it has been," he said to himself,
iialf aloud, "even the weather, the least of all
things, bad."

He usually came in later and found Gwyneth
waiting for him, but to-day the huge dark room
seemed intolerably lonely. He drew a long
sigh, then felt in his coat-pocket, and took out
what appeared to be a cablegrani.

" Will not leave with my steamer. Hunting-
ton in charge. Have word from estate of Reg-
geoletto that both are dead. Go to Naples
direct. Will write.

"John Trevelyan."
[ 101 ]

1 i i'i!^

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

The man looked at it long, then folded it up
and gazed ahead with unseeing eyes.

" That means one thing," he thought, " the
estate of Reggeoletto goes to the children of
Margarita Reggeoletto; they are the only living
heirs. Jack would not have touched it, I
firmly believe, unless he had been told by his
wife that the original fortune belontjed to her
grandfather, and that Antonio had in some way
and by some unfair means absorbed the whole,
so that her father was left nothing : it is theirs
by right now."

He leaned his head wearrilv against the chair.
" Oh, gold," he said, " oh, the struggle for it 1
Hard to get, heavy to hold — it is true, it is true."

Beside him that da}^ upon the Stock Ex-
change had stood a man many years older than
himself, rich — as the world counts it — one who
was in every daring speculation of the times,
whose hand had grown unsteady from hours and
weeks of protracted nervous strain. They had
been talking together when a telegram was
brought in and given to his friend. He saw
him read it; saw his suddenly whitened face,
and caught him as he fell.

[102]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTER.S.

" Too far, Van Norman," he heard him faintly
say, "TOO FAR— this tlmp;" then all was over,
and the heart, tried beyond its power of endur-
ance, refused to beat.

V^an Norman thought of this as he sat here
listening to the wind outside and the beatinir of
the rain atrainst the windows. Auain and ao-ain
he caught the falling figure : again and again
lieard the half-broken words, " Too far ! "

And for his own gold, that lay in the coffers of
the bank, or was secure in mortgages, bonds and
real estate— what of it ^ What of it ^ Why
had he wasted the days of the one youth God
would give him ? He had wrested wealth from
the country; to the country it should return.
Into his heart there had crept the hope that it
would some day have gone to enrich those
children who so lately had come into his home.
Now they would not need it, it might go where
it would. O bootless task that he had set
himself !

Gently the door opened, and Gwyneth came
in, crossing over to him so softly he did not
hear her step.

[103]

1:' ■

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

'li^^

" Uncle Eddie ; Uncle Eddie, dear ! here is
little Raphael Reggeoletto's violin."

" Ah ! Gwyneth," he answered, " it was very
kind of you to come : I was a bit lonely, I
believe."

" Were you, Uncle Eddie ? " she asked, " I
have been almost lonely this afternoon, too."

" You ! " he exclaimed, carefully examining the
violin, and turning it over.

" Yes," she replied, with a long breath, " it has
been raini'ig so dreadfully that my old Italian
and the music boy didn't come ; it will be
another whole seven days. before they do ! "

" I'm always hearing of that music boy of
yours," he said, absently; then, "this is a ver}^
wonderful old violin — an Amati — it is one of
the fe\v. I fancy it must have been in your
mother's family for many years. It is genuine."

" A name is on it somewhere ; written very,
very small, ' Raphael Reggeoletto,' Uncle Eddie."

" Yes ! ah, yes, here it is," he answered, laying
the instrument gently down. Then he sighed.
The child looked at him wistfully, noting the sad-
ness of his face, the weariness of his eyes, the
ineftaceable lines that the chisel of care had

[ 104 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

graven upon his forehead, the heavy frosted
hair jpon his temples. She was troubled, and
laid lier warm little hand on his knee.

" Ah ! Gwyneth, 1 am not good company to-
night ; I'm afraid you'll not come down again.
The room upstairs must be somewhat briirhter
than this ; somewhat, I fancy."

" You are always good company to me," she
answered, earnestly, " and I come because I like
to ; but — but— you are not happy to-night, Uncle
Eddie, are you ? "

"No," he answered, "no. Golden Locks, not
very. You seem to have discovered it."

" I know what it is," she said, " I know what
it is that you have been thinking of," raising
her eyes to the baby's face ; " I have thought of
him, too, a great deal, Uncle Edwin, since we
came. At first, you know, I used to wish and
wish that he were here. Every day I'd wish it,
and many times a day, w^ienever I saw the
picture. He is so dear, so lovely," — pausing.
" Well, one night I happened to look at Madelon
when she was knitting, and I saw how old she
was— how old and sorrowful, Then I thought
of Daisy and Maida, and even me, how we will

[105]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

grow old some day, Uncle Edwin, all of us. Wv
cannot help it, yon know, but I never thought
of it before. I'm glad," she added, " that my
mother will never grow old. I am glad. Uncle
Eddie, that Jie will never grow old, but be a
bab}^ always ! " So saying, she kissed him of her
own sweet accord upon the whitened hair, as
a rose mio'ht brush against a rock where its
branches had climbed, as a violet might bend
and swino; against a forest tree : then she went
away.

When the man was left alone he walked over
to the high mantel, and, folding his arms, rested
his head upon them. Before his eyes the pano-
rama of the day's bitter hours unrolled itself.
Again he lifted that heavy weight and felt for
the pulseless heart ; then slowly, slowly the
vision passed. In its place came the form of a
child ; her tender voice sounded in his cars.
What was it she had said ?

Ah ! he remembered ; "I am glad. Uncle
Edwin, that he will never grow old." words
most wise — most wise beyond her years in deed
and truth.

Then he, who had borne the heat and burden

[106]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

of the day, and run the race wliere every man is
against his brother and the one who falls is
trodden underfoot, lifted his face to where that
little son of his smiled down at him in ever
radiant beauty, and looking long upon him thus,
into his weary spirit there stole sweet peace.

[107]

CHAPTER XIV.

Some days after the cablef^ram reached Van
Norman, two letters came from Captain Tre-
velj^an — one for him and one for the three little
maids,

They were written shortly before he left Eng-
land for the south. In the one to Van Norman
he simply said that news" had been sent him of
the sudden and violent death of Antonio Reo--
geoletto the younger, and that of his father,
which followed almost directly after from the
shock and o-rief. The will of old Antonio
Reggeoletto, when found, was very concise,
leaving everything to his son ; but in case of his
death, to his niece, Margarita Trevelyan, and her
children. There were no other heirs. No mention
had been made of the boy Raphael, who with-
out doubt had long since perished at sea. How-
ever, Captain Trevelyan said, now he would
leave no stone unturned to find him, as he felt

[108]

TREA^ELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

that he had quite equal rights with his sister.
Reggeoletto should be advertised for at all the
principal ports, and in every possible way. The
extent of the fortune was utterly unknown to him,
but he would have everything made perfectly
straight and clear upon returning to Naples. The
old home of the Rcggeolettos certainly held curios
and many things wliich would be of value and
interest to the children in years to come. That
should be left as it was. He did not expect to
make a settlement of the business and reach
New York again until the middle of May. Cap-
tain Huntington, who was a friend of his, and
in the employ of the company, had been secured
to take his place in command for some months.
He thanked Van Norman and Violet that they
had made his heart so happy regarding his dear
daughters, and entrusted them still further to
their kindness and care. He would ao-ain see
the place, he said, where he had found that
which, now it was taken away, the world could
not give him again.

[109]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

To Daisy, Maida and Gwyneth he wrote :

" My Little Daughters, —

"I will not see you again until spring has
come — not, indeed, till nearly suniiner — but you
will be with me in my thoughts every hour of
every day.

" I go to Naples, to the old home of your
mother, which has been left empty by the death
of the two Reggeolettos. I know nothing of
the estate of your grand-uncle, except that such
as it is it belongs to you ; therefore, I go to find
out, and furthermore to see that the old house,
which was your mother's home for so many
years, and her father's before, be left untouched,
that you may see it, darlings, as I saw it in a
year of the past.

" We sailors are not scribes, vou know, so I
will just send the love of my heart, and leave
Maida and Bab}- in Daisy's care, and all of you
in the charge of dear old Madelon and Aunt
Violet. Mr. Barton wishes me to remind you of
him. Brady is well and hearty. I trust you
will often hear your friend, Bishop Salisbury,
and that you sometimes see the old organ-man
and his boy, as 0\vy]i seems to like them.

[ 110 1

TREVELYxVN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" I know, sweethearts, that you reiiieinber

your mother always, and her gentle words ;

wliile you do, I have no fear for you at any

time.

" Your father,

"John Tkevelyan."

They were rather unhappy for the I'est of that
day, and when iVunt Violet had h'nishod rradin"-
the letter to them (which they all read separ-
ately, and together afterwards), there were tears
in their eyes, and Maida threw herself on the
sofa, refusing to be comforted.

" I never did like my grand-unele Reggeoleno,
anyway, and if he hadn't died father would,
have been here next month."

"Maida,'' said Gwyneth, gravely, "you have
got to like him now he is dead. It's (juite dif-
ferent about liking people when they are dead,
you know."

"No matter how hard 1 tried, I couldn't,"
came in muffled tones from the pillows. " IJ(j
just knew we wanted father, and so he died

now.

"That is a dreadful thing to say, Maida Tre-
velyan," said Baby, walking away.

[Ill]

TREVELYAN'H LITTLE ]> AUG JITEUS.

t '

But th«3 (lays went by — as the dayn always
do, no matter what comes — and takin^- a calen-
dar, they marked off each as it passed.

It was now near the end of February.

Every evening after tea, in the lengthening.''
twilight, Gwyneth would go down to the ([uiet
room and watcli for Van Noruiiin's ai)pearing. He
always came, sooner or later; never was she dis-
appointe(]. They would be very gay sometimes ;
she and P^ritz, who was her shadow, could bring
smiles to his face when the world's paid come-
dians failed to do so.

Never, he had said, .would he sadden her

again, but would set himself the task — the
pleasure, rather— of making that hour of the
day the one she loved best.

Sometimes he would read. Now it was the
"Pied Piper" of Hamelin Town ; now, the " Jack-
daw of Rheims "; again, a scrap of Eugene Field,
or a passage from " The Bells."

And she would listen, with delighted face,
to the voice she loved ; such a fine voice, rich,
low-pitched, with the beautiful soft intonation
of the South, that long years spent in the North
had not worn away. Again, perchance, they

'[112]

TREVKLYAN'S LITTLK D A irOlITHUS.

would walk nronnd the sombre place, hand in
hand, pausino- Ijcfore (he poets; then lie would
take down the hooks of each in turn, and read
some verse or couplet that her mijid could
master, over and ovei- till she kni'W it hy heart ;
some line of l)eauty, som(3 wonderful thou(--ht
that, in melodious words, ha<l ^^one "echoing
down the cor: , lorsof time."

Very fond was he of the poets of his own
country, and often waited before them durino-

^hat twilitrht hour; or afterwards, when the
lamps were lit, and tlie room full of soft < lowino-
li^ht, they would talk of the thino-s they loved
best. In tint delightful library were some
of Carroll's won(]erful nonsense stories. (Prob-
ably they had but lately taken their residence
upon those classic shelves.) 8(j Baby heard of
Alice and all her (pieer, queer followino-.

They also enjoyed the adventures of that
fortunate little " Dorothy " Avho went throutdi
dreamland wich "The Admiral's Caravan."
boon " The Admiral," " Sir Walter Rosettes."
and the absurd " Highlander " were to them
as old and never-to-be-forgotten friends. As
for- " Sahara" (whom that most ridiculous
8 [113]

mgm

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

caravan fed on glue, witli the praiseworthy
object of stiffening her up, as she suft'ered from
perennial weakness of the knees, and whom
they called " Sara " for short), they never read
of her and her lament withut enjoying it.

" And yet, Uncle Edwin," said Baby, after lie
had finished reading it aloud for the third time,
and she had listened with undiminished enthusi-
asm — " and yet. Uncle Edwin" — still half smiling,
and with her eyes shining — " it is pitiful ! Just
think of that line —

" ' As for a CHmel, she's
Ridden by ffttnilies ;
Any load does for me ! '

" or that last one —

'"A camel's all humpy and lumpy and bumpy;
Any shape does for me.'

" Indeed, Uncle Eddie, it is true ; they are n
very uncomfortable shape. I should like to see
a little one ; perhaps it would look fresher than
the old ones; they all have such a worn-ofF look ,
as if they had put theii' coats on the wrong
aide out ; and they do wear such a meek expres-
sion, don't they ? "

[114]

TREV^LLYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Oh, yes, thej^ liked those stories veiy much.

One evening he broufirht home the "Juno-le
Tales," and Gwyneth made the acquaintance
of all the captivating jungle people, the monkey
prople and Kaa, Bagheera, and Mowgli, and
grew fond of them every one.

But the " Pied Piper " ! He was most favored
of all. " Do read about him again, Uncle Eddie,"
she would say, " I always love him ; I think I
can see

*' * His sharp blue eves, e;;oh like a pin,
And lips where smiles go out and in.' "

Those were hours of happy memory, during
which they grew to know each other well.

Now and then her uncle would play for her ;
now on his own violin, again on the Cremona,
mid these, the child thought, were the best times
of all. She would sit in the great arm-chair
and listen, so still, with those sea-blue eyes
of hers growing dark and darker as the melody
flooded the room. The flickering fire would
hght up her hair, turning it to waves of molten
gold. It would fall on her dimpled hands, and

[ 115 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

make them as ivory-white as the litth' image of
St. Patrick she so often held.

Well might the old horned owl, aswing in his
corner upon th-3 silver moon, stare at her, and
stare again ; he was a lucky follow to have any-
thing so lovely to stare at.

So Van Xorman would often think when the
time came for her to go away to the nursery.

[116]

CHAPTER XV.

Three Saturdays had gone by, and the old
Italian and his organ fniled to appear. The
children had passed l)iisy days— days of coming
and going, and of many pleasures— but the
Saturday afternoon always found Gwyneth
talking and thinking of her music boy.

"Indeed, madam," said old Madelon to Mrs.
Van Norman, on the fourth Saturday, when she
was paying them her morning visit, "indeed, ma-
dam, I wish in my heart tliat to-day that absent
organ will come : She did watcli last week,
the week before, and the week before. Miss
Daisy and Miss Maida, they do not notice or
much care ; they say, ' Oh, he comes not, Gwyn ;
but do not yourself trouble, he will make him-
self to appear next week : ' but my Baby, madam,
she look, and she look, and she look, and she
say nothing; but when she leave the windows
her eyes are full of tears."

[117]

;-.-^«'^ai^Biri5tajaaasaJ--'-*'»''j.ift)t.jw

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Whatever makes her care so niueh about it
Madelon ? She is, indeed, a strange child. Does
she often take such fancies, do you know ? "

" Not often, maihiin : but sometimes. Once it
was the child of a minor, one who goes down to
the coal, away in Cornwall ; often she would,
with her mother, go to see this small child, who
was ill of a long illness — the decline ; and my
Baby would grow so fond of her, so fond ;
everything she loved she would carry to her,
and talk, and talk. Then the little one died,
and Miss Gwyneth did fret for long. We wish
not to see her take these- violent fancies, madam,
for with them might come much unhappiness."

" Yes, indeed, I quite understand, Madelon,"
answered Mrs. Van Norman. " Do you not think
it would be best for them all to go out now ? 1
will leave Gwyneth with you this afternoon
when I take Daisy and Maida, for we are going
such a long wa}^ it might tire her."

•' Yes, madam, that would be well. I will
now dress them ; there is no wind, and the sun
does most brightly shine ; it is even like my
Italy."

When they were all wrapped up in their furs,

[118]

TREVELYAX'S LITTLE DAUOIITERS.

Flitters took them for a walk. Fritz went, too,
in his funny little crimson coat.

Young he w^as and light of heart ; the lines
had fallen unto him in pleasant places ; his life
w^as rose-colored and a perpetual holiday ; there-
fore to see him take his walks abroad was a
pleasant sight. He regarded the earth as his
own, and everything upon it as made especially
for him to investigate. Each English sparrow^
they saw — and their name was legion — appar-
ently offered him a pressing and-not-to-be-dis-
regarded invitation to pursue and capture it.
Often did he pursue, never did he capture.

The peraml>ulators they met \vere to him " a
joy forever. ' As he had never been personally
acquainted with a baby, he allowed himself to
miss no opportunity of finding out what one
was like; so when he espied a small carriage he
would fly to it, stand upon his bandy hind legs,
and, in spite of protesting nursemaid, p<jke his
wee cold nose and long flapping ears around till
he discovered what his soul desired. Sometimes
the baby liked him, sometimes it did not ; and
when it lifted up its voice in protest and attuned

[119]

TREVEL VAN'S LTTTLE DAUGHTERS.

•^ mr-

to woe, lie \voul*l fall back upon his haunches
and howl dismally, while Daisy, Maida and
Gwyn, with Flitters in the rear, hurried to the
scene, offering apologies to the nursemaid, and
soothing words and kisses to her afflicted charge.
If the baby happened to be unusually sweet,
they found it difficult to tear themselves away.
Generally one of them would undertake to
administer a mild form of punishment to the
culprit, but he pei'sistently offended again, and
thereby they made the acquaintance of nearly
all the dear babies in that vicinity.

On that particular Saturdaj^ the children had
a most interesting walk ; every baby for blocks
around appeared to be out, and, thanks to Fritz,
had friendly interviews with them, so the}^ en-
joyed themselves immensely.

After luncheon, ]\Irs. Van Norman took Daisy
and Maida away, wdiile Baby stayed with
Madelon. The sun went in ; the sky turned
gray, and a wind came up from the sea, damp
and cold,

" I'm glad you stopped with me, my lamb,"
said the old nurse, from the cosy seat where she
was resting.

[120]

TREVELYAN 8 LITTLE I»AUrniTEHS

" Yes, Maclelon, now I will be able to watcli
for my Italian and his boy," replied the child,
walkino' over to the window, and looki]i(>-
anxiously up the street.

[121]

rasarani

i!l

CHAPTER XVI.

About four o'clock Van Norman turned home-
ward. His wife had said she was going to
take the two children out, and leave Gwynetli
at home, so as lie walked he thought of the
child. In his pocket was a new >S7. Xlchohis^
and he intended reading it to her at once.
Her face too often wore a grave and serious
expression, he thought, and of late her lovely
mouth had fallen into curves too sad for a child.
She had grown dear to him, very dear ; he
said as much to himself that afternoon as he
bent his head atrainst the buffetinn; wind.

When he reached home, and Wilkinson opened
the heavy doors, he told the old ^mtler to send
up word to Miss Cxwyneth that he would like to
have her come down to the library, and soon
she came.

" Uncle Eddie, dear," she said, " won't you
come up to the nursery this afternoon and see

[122]

T R E V K L Y A N '8 L [ T T F. K 1) A i; <.^ IT T E K s .

me ? 1 am all alone with Madeloii, ami I want
to watch for my music boy ; then you can aee
him, too."

He drew a heavy breath.

"It's years since I was in that room, Golden
Locks," he said.

" Well, come now, then," she answered, softly,
taking his hand and drawing him toward the
door.

Together they went up the stairs, where they
could look down upon the three Crusaders ever
holding the lamps above their helmeted heads:
together they went through the long halls, to-
gether they reached the nursery.

One moment the man waited, holding back a
heavy white curtain and looking in. All was as
it had been when a baby of three summers lived
there, in the long amj. Before his eves rose a
mist, hot and blinding, then he felt the clinging
of soft little fingers to his arm, and saw the
child's sw^eet face before him.

" Come," she said, persuasively, and as he
would not again grieve her, he went in.

No colors mottled the polished floor to-day,

[123]

IVLUM

TKEVEL VAN'S LITTLE DATTOHTERS.

i'or tlu' sun was hidden beliind dark clouds, but
tlio beautiful Shepherd had not changed. He
stood as of old, ever patient, ever waiting, ever
wonderful ; and as Van Nornuin looked again
upon the gracious, well-beloved figure, he was
glad he had come, glad once more to be in that
room of many memories.

The old nurse arose when they entered. " I am
most happy, signor, that you come to visit us,"
she said, with a curtsey.

"Thank you, Madelon," he answered, " do not
let us interrupt your knitting."

" Will you not sit over here by the window.
Uncle Edwin ^ " asked Gwyn. " See I in this
big wicker chair," pulling it out, " it is very,
very comfortable, then I will sit so in my rock-
ing-chair, where I can talk to you and watch for
my music boy."

" Ah I that boy again — one might easily grow
jealous of him."

'* You need not, dear Uncle Eddie," laying one
hand in his, " not for a minute : but I have been
thinking of what you said a gentleman was,
' one who is faithful, gentle, honest and brave.'

[12+]

4111

TREVELYAX'S LTTTM: hATfJITTERS.

I wisli 1 wore si'.re my music hoy wore all of these.
He is ^rontle, that I know, hecauso I have
spoken to him : very gentle in the way he
speaks to Flitters, the old Italian man, and
Wilkinson, and me. Then he is fioiicst, because
the other day, the last Saturday he was liere.
Flitters dropped her brooch when we went to
give them the money. You know Flitters'
little gold brooch, don't you, Uncle Edwin ? "
anxiously.

" No," as he shook his head.

"It is a most valuable one: it has 'John's'
hair in it, in the back, she told me. I suppose,"
thoughtfully, "John is Flitters' brother: well,
anyway, she dropped it and didn't miss it, and
after we had gone in that boy of mine found it,
and brought it to Wilkinson. He said he saw
it glittering on the snow where we had been
standing; so he is honest, you see, Uncle Edwin."

" Yes ? " said Van Norman as she stopped.
" Yes ? " he repeated questioningly.

"It would be harder to find out that he is
faithful and brave," she went on, wistfully;
"but I do hope we ivlll find out, some day."

[ 125 ]

T"*"^'*'*"

•SMI

TUEVELYAN'S LTTTLR DAUGHTERS.

Then staitin;; to her feet, and looking down the
road —

" Oh ! there is the organ now. It'.s coming,
Madelon : l)ut it's a long v.'ay up yet. Dear,
dear me I "

" What \H it, Gwyn ? " asked Van Norman, who
had risen and was standing beside her.

" Why, Uncle Eddie, it doesn't look like the
Italian ; no, it isn't, nor the bo}^ — it's two others
I don't know."

Disappointment was in the blue eyes raised to
his, and her lips trembled.

" Never mind, Gwyneth ; never mind, dar-
ling," he said, vowing that the entire orchestra
of man, organ and boy should be found and
brought to the house on the morrow^ " Don't
vex yourself ; I will find out wdiere the}^ are and
all about them for vou, at once."

"Thank you so nnich, Uncle T^ddie," said the
child ; " I do want to know^"

The man had reached the house by this time,
and evidently intended to stop and play. After
the first turn of the handle, Gwyn gave a little
cry of joy.

" Why, it's their organ ! " she exclaimed.

[126]

TUEVKI. VAX'S MTTLr: l> A r(} HTF.H S.

" Tlien I'll ^-o down at onco and tell WilkiiiHoii
to find out when- they got it, mid nil about the
other man and the boy."

" You are so kind," she said, with shinint^^eyes ;
"and will yon come up here some other time ? "

" I will," he replied, gently, " I will, indeed."

The old butler was in the hall listeninir to the
strains without : and as he heard them luufHed
by distance, they certainly sounde<l very well.

" Wilkinson," said Van Norman, coming up to
him, " I want you to find out from the men who
have that organ where the old man li\'cs who
brought it around before."

" Yes, sir, I will find out at once, sir," opening
the door.

" And Wilkinson."

"Yes, sir."

" You had better make a note of the name or
number of the street, and of the house where he
lives, and the man's name. Sec there is no
mistake. Ask about the boy, also."

" Yes, sir," he answered, hurrying out.

Van Norman waited. Presently Wilkinson
appeared, evidently successful.

"You have it?"

[ 127 ]

IRE V El. VAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Yes, sir, 'ere it is, sir," handing him the
address.

" The man's name is Gouvisi : this street is on
the water front. I think von will have no diffi-
culty in finding them, Wilkinson."

" Shall I go to-night, sir ? "

" At once ; " then handing him some money,
" go the easiest, ({uickest way you can, and bring
me word."

Afterwards he went into the library. By
and by he heard his wife and the two children
come in, and go laughing and talking up the
stairs. They were late, for it was now after six
o'clock. Gwyneth would not come to-night, so
he determined to take her word when Wilkinson
brought it.

Daisy and Maida had spent the afternoon at
a fancy fair held for a charity that Mrs. Van
Norman was interested in. They came in now
flushed and excited, and with their arms full of
parcels.

" Oh, Gwyneth, we have thought of you so
often this afternoon," cried Daisy ; " we do wish
you had been with us ; it was a perfect fairy-
land ! "

[128]

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

"Yes, Baby dear, you really missed a great
<leal ; ^jut we have brought you lots and lots of
things ! Just open the parcels," Maida said, as
Madelon took off her cloak.

Gwyneth untied the packages with words of
delight, wliile the others stood watchino-.

"Aunt Violet and both of you are very kind,
very kind," she said, admiring a gay little jester,
with silver bells hanging from many points of
his tunic and cap, and feeding Fritz with a bon-
bon at the same time.

•' Yes, dear, she is kind." said Daisy : '• and we
went into all the booths, and .^aw the May-pole
dance, and bought silken flags— ' Stai-s and
Stripes; you know— from Uncle Sam, and rode
on ' Alexander the Great,' "—pausing.
" Rode on whom i " asked Gwynetli.
" Oh, the gray donkey .' There was a donkey-
ring, you know, and they had scarlet blinkers
on, and gold and leather harness, and bells," said
Maida.

"Did they:"'

" Yes, dear, and an old woman who lived in a

shoe, and a Gypsy fortune-teller who was lovely !

and a little French baker with a tr^.r and

•^ [129

^!!^*W

>«»— . Ti i^ ^'w a raBra BjaraaB yaWiP i f Ti

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

sweets on it ; and ever so many flower girls ; and
a Ferris-wheel : and a great white camel, with
beautiful trappings and fringes of silver and
purple, and you could ride on him, dear — but
we didn't, of course ! "

" A. camel ? " said Gwj'-neth ; " I haven't seen a
camel since I was quite little, when father took
us to the Zoo in London. Was he all humpy
and bumpy and lumpy ? "

" That was only a year ago, Baby," an-
swered Daisy, with a sad expression coming into
her eyes. She remembered who had been with
them then.

" Why do you ask that absurd question about
his being humpy — and — what was it, Gwyn ? "
asked Maida.

"That is just a line of the 'Camel's Lament,'
that Uncle Edwin read me the other eveninof in
the library."

" Oh, I see," said Maida, " Uncle Eddie ' Oh,
that's the reason you like to go down to the
librar}^ ! Does he (dways read to you ? "

"No, not always: sometimes we talk, some-
times he plays."

" Well, anyway you wish you had been with

[ 180 ]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

us, don't you, darling ? " said Maida ; " but never
mind, we will tell you all the rest of it after tea,"
as she heard Madelon say that it was (|uite ready.
" I should like to have been there and seen
it all, especially the great white camel in purple
and silver; but I would rather have been at
home, Maida," with a sweet smile.

" Why would you, dear ? " asked Daisv.
"For one thing," she answered, "Uncle Eddie
caine up here to the nursery with me. He said
he had not been here for many years. You know
why it was, Daisy ? "

"Yes, yes. dear," replied Daisy, 'and what
else ? "

" Well, he didn't stay long, but we talked
about my music ooy, and waited for him to come.
When lie didn't come, Uncle Eddie said he would
fi id out whei-e he lived and all about him. So
you ^ee -'r/i-y I am glad I stayed at home."

' Oh! GwynethTrevelyan.you are a very queer
child," Maida remarked, as she helped herself to
a piece of sponge-cake.

[ 131 ]

^^m^mmmmmmm

:'il I

15! I
lit! ;

CHAPTER XVII.

Major Willo .< ■• and Edwin Van Norman
were sitting at the .square table in the dining-
room. Mrs. Van Norman had left them, and
they were just lighting their cigars.

To unaccustomed eyes the room would have
seemed singular, as well as beautiful.

It was hexangular in shape, and around it
ran a wainscoting of most exquisitely carved
cherry-wood ; the walls above were painted in
shaded reds ; tlie velvet curtains, at door and
window, continued the prevailing tone ; branch-
ing candelabras from the walls and upon the
table filled the room with a warm light from
the small crimson shades that were like silken
poppies.

Five of the panels held, each one, a stag's
head, with perfect antlers, and these had been
chosen from amongst many for their beauty.
In the sixth panel was the wide fire-place, with

[ 132 1

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

sliinino-, opalescent tiles, and the liiah mantel,
above which hung the baby's picture.

The table reflected a heavy bunch of roses
that drooped in the warm air. The tw^o men
sat opposite each other, and })etwpen them now
huno- a faint blue haze.

" Seems to me I've missed something to-night,
or somebody," remai-ke<l the Major, breaking
the silence that liad fallen since Mrs. Van Nor-
man departed, and putting up his eye-glass as
he gazed around. "Don't it strike you, Van
Norman, that there's something lacking i Not
in the dinner, old fellow—not in the dinner,
you know; but in the a— the a— surround-
mgs ?

" Wilkinson, very probably," said Van Nor-
man. "Simmers served us to-night, and he is
certainly not Wilkinson, although he is a good
man."

" Ah, yes, Wilkinson, of course .' I must be
growing absent-minded. Anything happened
Wilkinson i Thought he w^as an institution."

" Nothing has happened to him ; but he has
gone to discover the whereabouts of that most
interesting Italian organ-man and boy that

[ 133 ]

"rfmn

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

little Gwynetli talks of so much. They did not
turn up when slie expected them, so I sent the
man to find them — that's all."

" Oh ! I say, Van Norman, you musn't spoil
those children ; Trevelyan has to congratulate
himself o)i the way they have been brought up.
Positively never saw nicer children : did you ^
But you know, old fellow, if you keep going on
giving them everything they want, and sending
Wilkinson around lo find everybody they lose,
why, I say, you'll spoil them ; and that's all
there is about it ! "

Van Norman glanced -up, and there was an
unusual expression in his eyes.

" I fancy it would be rather difficult to change
Gwyneth," he said.

" Not at all, not at all, my dear fellow. Little
girls are simply women in miniature, don't you
know. Simplest thing in the world to spoil them ;
give them their head, give them their ow^n way
a few times, and where are you ;' 1 know, for I
have lots of nieces and sisters-in-law in Essex.
There was a new one in the last letter."

" Niece or sister-in-law V asked Van Norman,

rising.

[134]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLK DAUGHTERS.

" Let me see," ruminated the Major, feeling in
his pockets. " Had the letter about me some-
where this afternoon. Niece, I think."

Van Norman laughed.

" You certainly are growing absent-minded,
Willoughby," he said ; and then turned the con-
versation to some affair of the times.

Soon there was a knock at the door, and
Wilkinson entered.

" Ah ! Wilkinson, did you lind them ? "

"Yes, sir, the haddress was not quite right,
sir, so I 'ad a 'unt ; but I found them."

" Tell us your story, then, Wilkinson."

" Well, sir," said the old butler, " I took the
cars down to the water-front, and found that
this street was near the docks. Malcolm street
it is, and a bit of a short one,— 'ard to find.
'Owever they two pulled that eavy cart all this
way I won't hever see, sir ! I 'unted almost an
hour before I found them."

" Go on," said Van Norman.

" Well, I came to the 'ouse, sir, and went hup
to their rooms ; they was at the top, sir. The
people below told me the hold man Gouvisi lived
there. When I got to the top, a bit bio wed, I

[13.) J

TREVELYAXS LITTLE I)AU(JHTERS.

hadinit, I Kto})pe(l, for I eard the sound of a
violin. It was not far off, and being played
that 'eavenly it broii(,dit tears to my heyes."

" Ah ! you arc fond of music, Wilkinson, are
you ? " remarked Willoughby.

" Oh, yes, sir, very ! I play a little ; but only
on the 'umble concertina."

" Indeed ! " said the Major. " I used to play
that instrument when I was at Eton, years ago ;
I have not heard one for ages."

"Go on, go on, Wilkinson!" as the old man
stood waiting.

" Yes, sir, as I was -asaying, someone was
playing the violin till I could 'ardly draw my
breath for listening. 'Owever, I knocked at the
door I 'ad the numbei- of, and it was hopened by
a little girl ; she was about Miss Maida's size.
Tliere was a bed in the room, and the hold Italian
lay in it. A woman sat bolstered in a chair^
and in the centre of the room, beside a little
table where there was a poor hoil lamp, sir,
stood Miss Gwyneth's music boy." The old
butler paused, then continued, " 'E were aplayin'
the violin, sir."

" He ? " said Van Norman, quickly.

[136]

T R i: V E L Y A N ' S L F T T L K I ) A T C 11 T I^: H 8 ,

" Yes, sir; thai 'eaveiily, sir, I seem to 'ear it
yet. And to see 'im too ! Well, he stopjied when
I went in, and I found hout about them. The
hold man is hill sir, very, and 'is wife is, too ; and
the boy 'as l»een akeeping them by playing on
the streets ; 'e could not come as far as this, be-
cause 'is fingers got numb. I asked 'im 'is name,
sir, and 'e said 'e was called Gouvisi. 'E said
they would come when the hold man was better,
and seemed very pleased when I told 'im who
'ad sent me. I made so bold as to hadd that
Miss Gtvyneth wished to know; she 'as been
speaking to me of them, sir."

" You are all right, Wilkinson, go ahead. Is
that all ? " asked Van Norman.

" That is hall, hexcept that I made again so
bold as to leave the rest of the money you gave
me with them, and they were very grateful ; "
then, as he turned to go, " I 'ope I did right ; the
boy is a fine little chap, sir."

" Thank you, Wilkinson, quite right ; you may
go."

" Now you can set the little Beauty's heart at
rest, I suppose, Van Norman," remarked the
Major, " but I say, look out and don't spoil her

[137]

J 11 iip<

T R E V K L Y AN 'S LI TTL K i) A TG IIT K II S.

liefon,' Trcvel^-aii gets ijack fioni Italy. 1 must
be off" ' — taking out his watch — "have to meet
St. Albans at nine : so oood-nici:lit, old fellow."

" Good-night, Major, good-night."

When he was alone, Van Norjnan went over
to the table where lay the violin ease, opened it,
and took out the thing he loved. " I wish I could
hear some nmsic to-nifjht not mv own, ' the man
said to himself, drawing the bow over the strings.
" Wilkinson's story keups going through my
head ; I fancy I can see that boy and hear him
play. The old fellow was (piite graphic, quite
graphic ! Dear little Gwyneth, she takes such
fancies ; " then, as the thought struck him, " I
ratlier believe she has taken one to me ! "

His rugrsred face softened, he raised the violin
to his shoulder, and soon was lost in a dreamy
tune.

[ 138 ]

CHAPTER XVIII.

Next morninij the children went downstairs
as usual to breakfast. They were a joy to the
eyes, Aunt Violet thought, as they entered. One
could find it in the heart to wish that they
might stay thus, for now tliey wore the embodi-
ment of youth, innocence, and delight.

" Gwyneth, deai'," she remarked, after the
morning greetings were given, "do you know
what little girls are made of ? " smiling at the
child, and dropping square lumps of sugar into
the blue teacups.

" Sugar and spice and all things nice, I've
heard," answered the child, " but of course that's
only what Mother Goose says; it's just non-
sense, isn't it ? "

" Oh, well, that's a good recipe ; but I know
one little girl who was made of llowers ! "

" Flowers, Aunt Violet ? "

" Yes, darling," pouring out the tea, " her hair

[ 1-9 ]

T n K V E L VANS LI T'V \. K I ) A I'd 11 TK U S.

vviiH made of dafibdillies, hur eyes of violets, hei-
face of Knowdrops — of HTiowdrops and wild
roses — and her mouth a rosehud : oh, she was
as sweet — as sweet ! "

"Indeed, she must have been, Aunt Violet;
who was slie ? " raising those truthful eves of
hers questioningly to Mrs. Van Norman.

Mai<la and Daisy lautjfhed litjjhtly, and Mi*.
Van Norman said, " V^iolet, dear, I'll have to tell
Willout^^hby to talk to you: he lias some ideas
on the guidance of the youn<i^."

Mrs. Van Norman took no notice of him, but
shook her fluffy head, and only answered Gvvyn,
" I'll tell you some day, sweetheart, if you are
good."

" There are wonderful bells in the churches
here, Uncle Edwin ; they must be made of silver,
I think. Don't you love to hear the Sunday
morning bells ^ " asked Daisy, turning to him.

" Well, yes, Daisy, I suppose one would miss
them if they didn't ring," the man answered, a
troubled look creeping into his eyes. It was
long since those bells had meant very much to
him.

*' I like the service at sea the best of all," said

[140]

TREVELYAN S LITTLE DAUCillTEKS.

aro

Maida. " I don't like sitting still in church ; I
supposo T shouldn't say so, but '-cally I don't. At
sea, thouf,di," drawing a long breath, " that is the
way father always goes to church, with the sky
above and the water all around, and only a few,
few people in the very centre of it all. The only
time I ever feel solenni, Uncle Eddie, is when I
go to church at sea. I never feel at all the same
way in a building — there are always so many
lovely bonnets, you know," putting her head on
one side with a quick movement.

" I can quite imagine the bonnets upsetting
some people, and counteracting the Rector's
influence," gravely.

" Yes, they upset me a little," she answered,
nodding. "A good deal, I should say."

When they were about to leave the room,
Gwyneth went over to Van Norman. He held
out his two hands and took hers.

" Wilkinson found out," was what he said to
her unspoken question.

" You are so kind to trouble about it. Uncle
Edwin, and W^ilkinson, too. Are they all right?
I do hope they are all right ! "

" The music man is not, but the music boy

[ 141 ]

,,1 II ■«■

wwtwiwiua

nmaaa

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS-

P:^

is. The old man is ill. I will send someone to
look after hiin : tliere is a woman ill there, too."

" Thank you," said the child again, " but are
they very, .very poor ? How do they get enough
to eat if they do not take the organ around ? "

" You see, the boy has been playing the violin
on the streets; but he could not go far, as his
fingers grew too numb to handle the bow — at
least, that is the story," watching her.

" The violin ! the violin ! " she cried. " Oh, 1
am glad he plays tlie violin. And you say he
takes all the money home to those poor people.
Uncle Edwin?" Icaning-towards him, and speak-
in£f eaijerlv. " I am glad vou sent Wilkinson.
Now I know tliat he m /((ithful. Gentle, and
honest, and faithful ! I liave only to prove
that ho is hrnvc, and I can tell Maida, and know
in my own heart, that he is a gentleman." Then
she went awav, looking back often to smile at
him : and Van Xorman watched her go, with a
strange expression on his face.

There were letters constantly coming from
their father in those days, " short letters — dear
letters," telling them how he took them about
with him in his heart. They were sad letters,

[ ^^2 1

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

too ; Daisy was always very quiet for a <lay or
two after thev came.

He wrote to liis sister often, tliankin^ lier
again and again for the care she gave the
cliiidren.

One day, after reading a letter to lier luisband,
Mrs. Van Norman pnt it back slowly into the
envelope, and sat with folded han-ls looking
absently ahead.

" What is troubling you, Violet ? " asked her
husband.

" Oh, it's Jack ! " she said ; " who could ever
take this for one of his letters. There's the
scent of the sea about it, and that's the oidv
thing like him."

"He's been hard hit, poor fellow," said the
man, "but we will have him hero in May,
and the sight of the three little maids will pull
him through."

" That ought to," she answei'ed, " but you
don't remember Jack as I do. He was the litdit-
est hearted, the gayest, with a laugh it did you
good to hear, and lie's lost it all. Why, Edwin,
did you not notice his hair ^ It is turning gray.
It was so yellow and curly. Perhaps you did

[143]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

not notice, but I did. It' we could only keep
him here with us for awhile — with us and the
little ones. '

" Yes," he replied, " or, I was thiiiking, if W(>
could all go back to Italy with hiui during th"
summer to see the old Reggeoletto hornesteaa ,
would you not like that ? "

" Oh, that is a good plan," she cried, " nothinix
could be better. If you can manage to go with
us, and Jack agrees, we will go in June or July."

" Willoughby crosses about the end of June.
We could all sail together, if that would please
you ? "

" Indeed it would be quite delightful to have
the Major; he appreciates the children, I thirk."

*' Yes, I believe he does. He's a good adviser
regarding the management of children, is
Willoughby," remarked Van Norman laugh-
ingly, as he went out.

[ 144]

CHAPTER XIX.

It Wcas spring, no doubt of it. Tho sparrows
proclaimed it upon the nousetops. The Broad-
way shop windows told the tale so plainly
that he who ran might read. Flowers were
everywhere. Gone were the fascinating winter
trappings of fur, and in their place had come no
less bewitching and ensnaring boas of feathers,
and little lly-away capes of silk and lace. The
tailor made girl also was abroad.

Before all the club-houses and o-rand hotels
stood great urns and baskets of pansies ; the
purple and yellow darlings turning their faces
up to passers-by, nodding as though to say
" This time we've come to stay."

In the country " all the trees on all the hills
unfurled their thousand leaves." In the city
squares were immense beds of blue and white
hyacinths. Sitting on the park benches at
noontide might be seen those whose faces told
10 [ 145 ]

li^.

'I :

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTER8.

the story of illness, trouble and want ; of the
struggle for existence during the long bitter
months just over. Now some of them at least
could say, " Gone is ' the winter of our discon-
tent ! ' " for with such a blue sky above, such a
soft and tender green on every side, such a
warm velvety air, fresh from the sea, blowing in
their faces, who could be entirely" sad ?

So thoup'ht Van Norman as he crossed Wash-
ington Square on his way back to lunch. He
gave of his abundance always to those who
came in his way and needed help. Having once
been poor himself, he did not forget. Old Mr.
Browning alone knew^ where the immense sum
of money went that was set aside each year for
the unfortunate.

But the man was thinking to-day, as he saw
about him the faces of those who had been
prisoners in hospitals, and sojourners in dark
and dismal places of the city, how little could be
done for so many, so many ; and of how good a
thing it was that spring and summer came back
to the earth.

When he reached his own house it struck him
that it, too, repeated the same sweet story.

[ 14(j J

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

On all the stone window-ledges were banks of
pansies, with their pretty heads turned down-
ward toward the streets. One l)io- irrav bal-
cony was wreathed in daffodils ; tliey made him
think of Gwyneth, and of what his wife had
said about her hair. Little Gwyneth ! he hoped
that Jack would not take her away. Sometimes
lie forgot that she did not belong to himself, she
seemed to have been with them always: but she
was not his — he nuist remember that — she was
Trevelyan's. Had he not all his life—for the
past thirteen years at least— paid the penalty
of growing too fond of a child ? His face
clouded, and he went in with heavy heart.

Mrs. Van Xorman and he were alone at
luncheon. She was rather quiet, it seemed to him
as he rose to leave the table : indeed, they had
both been more silent than usual.

" Anything wrong, dear ? " he asked.

" Oh, no, Eddie ; only another abominable
birthday ! "

He laughed, looking at the troubled pink and
white face.

"I shouldn't think you need mind them," he
said, " they don't show."

[ 147 ]

^'i|;

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

.2 ■:

■ -i ■!

" You mean, I must be getting used to them,
Ed ! " with a little petulant shrug of the shoul-
ders. " I know my original one is lost in the mists
of antiquity ; there is no one aliv^e, I believe,
who remembers it ! "

" No, sweetheart, mine, I didn't mean that. I
meant that you are no older tlian you look, and
that is twenty-four, and when you are very much
worried about anything, or tired — twenty-five ! "

" That is very charming to hear ; no one would
believe you had it in you to say such things,"
she answered, brightening ; "but then you know,
dear, that no one looks old or gets old now-
adays. Some few of us reach thirty, but I
never knew of but one woman in my life who
got to thirty-five ; and she used to own up to it
with perfect calmness. She was the most
heaiitifid woman I ever saw. It would have
made no difference if they had said she was as
old as ' She.' Her hair was always rolled off her
face, too. When anyone can stand fluit she is
perfect. The men used to wait around her to
give them a dance — at balls in London, you
know, dear ; you nevor saw her — t/ivee deep !

[148]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

and the pretty debutante behind would not have
her progi-anune halt* full.'

"Indeed?" with an amused expression, "but
you must begin to gi-ow a little older, Violet, or
I will be such a terrible contrast to you ; don't
you see ? "

" Ah, Ed : " laying her curly head against his
arm, "I shoald be contented. I had never seen
an^^one to be compared with you when we were
married— but Jack, of course, but Jack— and I
have never seen anyone to compare with you
since

I "

" Thank you," he answered, " thaidc you, little
wife ; come with me into the library."

As they were crossing the hall she gave a
little laugh. " Age has its compensations," she
said.

" What, particularly ? "

" Well, you remember when we were married
I had a few freckles, don't you ? Just a few ? "

" Yes, dear, I remember ; but I considered
them becoming— made you look whiter where
there were none, you know."

" Oh, you were good enough to say that ; but,
of course, it was absurd ! They were mv chief

[ 149 ]

^ ^i^ ll P W will

T 11 E V K h Y A N ' S L T T T L E 1 ) A V (J 1 1 'J^ E 1 { ^^ .

cause of unhappiness, and now they are all gone.
However, when I am an old lady — oh, yes, there
are old, old ladies : it is in the intervening stages
there is nobody — then I will have Daisy and
Maida and little Gwyncth. What joy to launch
three such beauties upon the world ! Maida will
be a duchess, I have not a doubt. She is going
to be the most beautiful."

" Do you think so ? '' he said, walking across
to a cabinet, unlocking it, and taking out a box.

" Of course." Then, as he handed her the box,
open — " Emeralds ! what wonderful emeralds ! "
she cried, enraptured, ". you are so good to me,
so very, very kind. Emeralds for May ! I am
glad my birthday is on Maj^'-day. I will take
them up to the nursery and show them to the
children. Oh, thank you again and again ; and
Eddie, this afternoon, if I drive to the office for
you at fivf, \,vill you come home with me ? "

'■ Yes, sweetheart," he waid^ watching her as
she went out of the room. I low pleased she
is — almost like a child in her haste to show
the children her gift — he thought. No, she
was not growing older. Life was still a joyous
thing to her. How could she change ? Could

[ 150 ]

TREVEr.YAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

buttertlies grow old ? whoever saw oikj ? Do
they turn gray and white, and weary of tlie
summer flowers ? They die, of course. You now
and then find one witli its ex(|uisite wings quite
still : it does not flutter when you touch it, but
it is not old — it is not old.

[151]

[fi

CHAPTER XX.

Violet Van Norman ran up to the nursery
with her box of emeralds. The gleaming stones
were perfect in form and color. Every little
while on her way she would stop, open the box,
and look in at the beautiful things.

" See, darlings ! " she cried to the three chil-
dren, who were being dressed to go out ; " see
what Uncle Eddie has given me ; it is my birth-
day ! "

They all wished her many, many happy returns
of the day, and, with exclamations of delight,
gazed wonderingly at the jewels.

" Do put them on, Aunt Violet," said Maida.

" Oh, dear, I must be in evening dress to wear
them — well, perhaps the bracelet."

" No, Aunt Violet ; the collar, and the ring,

[ 152 ]

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE 1) AV (I HTEIiS.

too ; and tlie ^ardle. Oh, I never su'.v anything
like that I "

"Do you like them, Gwyneth?" turnincr to
the child.

" Oh, yes, indeed, they are lovely : Imt I like
pearls best— a liftk best, that is. Mother had a
string of pearls; they are Daisy's now, and she
wdl wear them when she is grown up. Those I
like next, though. Aunt Violet, look : they flash
from light to dark."

"Do you remember, darling," said Daisy,
"what they read last Sunday about the city
where mother is ? Aunt Violet, that is why I
listened and remembered, I fancy. All the
foundations are of precious stones."

" And each of the twelve gates," said Baby,
lifting up her great blue eyes seriously to Mrs.
Van Norman, "each of the twelve gates is a
pearl. I listened, too, Daisy."

" Yes, dear; yes, I know," said Mrs. Van Nor-
man, slowly, putting the emeralds away and
shutting the box. " Now, Madelon, Miss Daisy
and Maida are to go out, and then come home
and stay with you. I am going to take Baby
with me this afternoon. Do you want to drive

[153]

hi!

TKEVELYxVN'S LTTTLE DAUO IITEIIS.

clown to Uncle Edwin's office, und brin^j' hiin
home early, Gwyn ^ "

" Oh, yes. Aunt Violet, I would rut her do tluit
than anything," she answered.

80 at half-past four they started. It was a
glorious afternoon, and the trees were in their
beauty, for it was lilac time.

" I believe Simmers and Brown have new
buttons on their green coats, Aunt Violet," said
the child ; " they glitter like new ones."

" All the livery is new, dear ; it has to be in the
spring, you know," she answered, thinking how
lovely the golden hair looked under the child's
wide black hat.

" I suppose so," said Gwyn ; " and, Aunt Violet,
dear, it's an awfully long time since I saw my
music boy ; he will have grown quite tall by this
time, I believe."

Aunt Violet smiled. " Oh, it's only five or six
weeks, is it not ? And you know we send them
a big, big basket of things every Saturdo^'
Gwyneth."

" Oh, yes, and it's very good of you ; but I am
sorry we missed him when he called at the
house, though."

[154]

TRKVKLYANS MTTU: |)AU(J lITi: l{S,

"Did he come?" asked Mrs. Van Nonnan,
bowinrr to some people that drove by; "I liad
forgotten. Perhaps you did not tell me."

" Yes, I told you, Aunt Violet. He brou<dit
his violin, Wilkins(m says, and was rroino- to

" OCT

play for us."

" Was he { " she said, looking again at the
eager little face.

"I was dreadfully disappointed," said the
child, '■' and I hope he will not come when we are
out again."

" I hope not, dear ; and here we are at the
office. Come in, I am going to introduce you to
Mr. Browning. We may have to wait for Uncle
Eddie, anyway."

Mr. Browning, a small white-haired old rren-
tleman, in heavy gold spectacles, with twinkling
eyes behind, shook hands with Gwyn, and talked
to her very nicely, she thought.

" I am interested in little girls," he said, look-
ing over his spectacles at her, " because I have
a lot of little granddaughters."

" Have you, indeed, Mr. Browning ? " she
repli. 1 ; "I think it must be very pleasant to
have a grandfather. I never had one."

[155]

TliEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" I think it would be very pleasant to bo your
grandfather, at any rate, Miss Gwyneth ; some
two old gentlemen have certainly missed a
decided treat."

She laughed merrily at that, and when Van
Norman came up he found her deeply engrossed
in the histories of the aforementioned grand-
children.

Van Norman was particularly good company
that afternoon, and his wife thought often of
her emeralds, and smiled whenever she did.

" Brown is going to stop at the florist's," she
said, as they drove up to the side of the street.
Broadway was then filled with carriages of all
descriptions, for the day was perfect. " Come,
dear," to Gwyneth. " Come, Eddie, I want you
both to go in with me and help decide what 1
shall have."

" You and L^ncle Edwin go over to the roses,"
said Gwyii ; " I would like to see the people
going by; I will just stand by the door. Aunt
Violet."

'• All right, dearie," she answered, as they
crossed to the counter.

Gwjmeth stood by the open dooi", watching

[156]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS,

Van

the passing throng. The odor of tlie flowers
came to her heavily sweet and overpowering.
Outside the liglit was dazzHng. Presently, as
she looked up, a familiar figure went by. Could
it be ? could it be ? she thought, clapping her
hands.

Yes, it was her music boy : She ran out
quickly, but he was gone. No, there he was
crossing the road; oh, she must speak to him !

On she went, possessed by the one thought.

Van Norman had missed her, and had gone to
the door.

As she crossed she gave a little call, and the
boy, some way ahead, heard and turned.

At that moment, two carriage horses I'resh
from the stables, came dashing by. Just before
they reached the children they shied violently.
Van Norman, following, saw the boy spring for-
ward, catch the child, and throw her lightly to one
side. Then a red mist came before the man's
eyes, and he saw only a confusion of people, and
two children on the road. Quickly the way was
cleared, and they were carried to the walk. Van
Norman took Gwyneth from the man who had
reached her first.

L l->7 ]

,...(. 1'; I'm

T 1 ? E V E L Y A N ' S L T T T L E I) A U G li T T^ 1'. S .

She was white, but not unconscious ; not even
injured, he hoped.

" Are you hurt, darling — are you hurt at all ? "
he cried, with trembling lips and unsteady voice.

" No, Uncle Edwin, only just my arm ; but he
is killed. Put me down — go to him ! " she cried,
with wide and frightened eyes. " Oh, go to him ! "

He lifted her to the carriage, where his wife
was waiting with colorless face and tightly-
clasped hands.

" Is she all right, Edwin ? " she asked, with a
little sob.

" Take her, her arm is hurt ; I must go to the
boy."

" What boy ? What boy ? I did not see it,
you know."

But he was gone.

" My music boy," Gwyneth sobbed. " He is
killed."

" Your arm, darling ; does it hurt you ^ " cried
Mrs. Van Norman, as she saw the strained and
agonized look in her eyes.

" My arm ? No, there is something the matter
with it : but I do not feel it much. I wish — I
wish they would bring him ! "

[158]

TllEA^ELYAX'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

Van Norniaii went back to the shop wliere
tlic boy had been carried. The crowd oi:)ened
respectfully to let him pass. Inside were two
policemen ; no doctor had yet come.

" He is quite unconscious," said one of them :
" that off-liorse struck him witli its fore-foot as
he caught the little girl. I saw it : there is no
mark on him, but he got a bad knock. Shall
we ring for the ambulance, or wait for the dt)c-
tor. I think he had better go to the hospital,
sir."

" Take him to my carriage ; he will go home
with me," said the man. "One of you tele-
phone for a doctor to go direct to my house : for
two, or any number, so that they get there by
the time we do."

They lifted the slender, boyish figure, and
gently carried it away, then laid him as best
they could on the seat.

" Here's his violin, sir," said one of the police-
men, as the horses started : " it's pretty badly
smashed, but he might want to see it."

Brown drove with all the care he could, and
over the smoothest roads : Init the way seemed
endless. Often Van Xormnn would glance at

[159]

f'.-'

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

the child, and wonder at the expression on her
face. She never took her eyes from the boy's
beautiful features as he lay like a piece of carveu
marble against Van Norman's sleeve.

" He is not dead, Gwyneth," he said to her.
" He is not dead, dear. Do not fear it."

She turned her face to him.

" He is brave" she said : " I know now he is
a gentleman."

" Yes," he replied ; " he Is a gentleman."

They carried him into the great hall, and
from there to the library. The doctors who
came said he was suffering from shock and
concussion of the brain, and must be kept per-
fectly quiet.

Gwyneth's poor little arm was l)roken, and
Van Norman put in a bad quarter of an hour
while it was being set. She did not say a word
as he held her while they put it in the bandages.

" Does it not pain dreadfully :* " he asked.

" Yes, rather, dear Uncle Eddie : but he is not
dead, you know. I keep thinking of that all
the time."

Mrs. Van Norman went up to the nursery to
tell the children the story, after Gwyneth's arm

[ 160 ]

he is

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

was set. She had left her sitting in the big
chair — a pathetic Kttle figure — for she would
not leave the room contentedly.

Old Madelon raised her hands as she listened
to her mistress.

" The blessed saints had her in their charcre.
madam ; tliey saved her this <lay. I go to my
lamb at once. She will want mo," shaking her
old white head.

"Yes, go, Madelon, and I will stay with
Daisy and Maida. The boy is in the library ;
it was really he who saved her, you know."

" I know, madam, but the saints were there,"
she answered, going away; "the saints were
there."

Van Norman was standing by the sofa, look-
ing down at the boy's still form.

"There is a difference," he said to himself,
" between his face and his fortune. He does not
look as though he came from the masses, poor
little chap, so forlorn, so brave ! " The broken
violin lay beside him ; as the man saw it his
eyes filled with unaccustomed tears. Then
lie looked at the child as she sat so quietly
watching.

[161]

f'i;

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS,

" Ah I Gvvyneth," he said, "I cannot think of
whn^ miglit have been had this lad not cauglit

you ! "

At that moment old Madclon entered.

" My lamb ! my lamb ! " she cried, going over
to Gwyneth, and kissing the bandaged arm.

" I'm all right, Madelon," the child answered
quickly, " but there is \ny music boy. We thought
at first he was dead. The doctors say he will be
better after a while, though."

The old woman walked unsteadily over to the
sofa, and stood one moment, then she gave a
sharp cr}', nnd fell down sobbing beside him.
" Raphael ! Raphael Reggeoletto ! " she cried.
" It is my dear lad ; it is my dear, dear lad ! "

[ lfi2 ]

licil.luifl Hi--..iUll(.'. ■■ sh.'.rii'il. "il i- mx <l<ai- l;i<l : it i^ ni,\
(leiir. clear la. I '. ' I'aj;*' H'>-'.

;> 't,J

nOBRRnP^MM

CHAPTER XXL

Before Van Norman realized what the old
nurse said, Gwyneth ran to her. Then he also
went over and laid one hand on the bent head.
She was tremblino-, he conld see. What strano-e
fancy possessed her— what wandcrino- thouo-ht ?
" Madelon ! " he said, " listen to me. Raphael
went away years ago, and would be a man of my
ge now." Glancing down, he noticed a change
had come, and very soon the boy opened his
eyes. So dark they were and full of dreams, as
though in spirit he had been wandering far from
the turbulent scenes of earth. On the white
face lay deep violet shadows. He looked at the
anxious group watching him breathlessly, then
tried to rise upon one arm, but fell back and
seemed to sleep again.

Van Norman turned to the old nurse and
Gwyneth. " Take her up to the nursery, Made-
lon ; I will call Dr. Lincoln."

[163]

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

She arose and dropped a curtsey of ancient
fashion. Taking Baby's hand, she waited a
moment witli tcar-dinuned eyes fastened upon
the boy ; then she raised them to Van Norman,
who was watching her.

" I am not deceived, signor," she said : " this is
no other than Raphael Reggeoletto ," and tlie
two went out, closing the door.

In a few minutes Dr. Lincoln, a man who
had been family physician and friend for many
years, entered. He laid his hand lightly on the
slender wrist.

" Is there a chani'-e ? ** asked Van Norman ; "I
fancied so just now."

" I think he hears us," answered the other.
" Hand me that stimulant."

After what seemed an hour to the watching
men, the boy opened his deep and questioning
eyes again, and turned them upon Van Norman.

" Where is she ? " he asked.

" She is all right, niy lad, and was here not
long ago. Lie still and rest."

He looked up with patient persistency.

" Who called my name, signor ? "

[ 164]

TKEVKLYAX'S LITTLK I) Al Ci JIT I. HS.

" Your naine '. " replied Van Noriiuiii, in star-
tled tones, " your name ? "

" Answer him," said Dr. Lincoln.

"Yes, my name, Raphael Recrgeoletto. \u
one calls me that now." He turned wearily.

"Wliy," said Van Norman, with unsteady
voice, " it was old Madelon who called vou. Old
Madelon, do you remem})er having heard of her i "

He smiled a faint, fleeting smile; then lay
quiet, without answerincr.

" I will watch," said the doctor ; " you go and
take a glass of brandy ; you look shaken, my
dear fellow ; you look worn out. The little lad
will sleep now, for I think he is all right. He
may sleep for hours, indeed."

Van Norman went into the dining-room and
did as the doctor advised. He needed something
to pull himself together, he admitted. Ever and
ever he saw the dashing horses swerve to one
side ; ever beheld those two little figures on the
road. The boy's face rose before him oftener
than Gwyneth's, which was strange, he thought.
Who could he be ? The name Avas a coin-
cidence, of course ; but what a strange one !
As the man thought, another face came to his

[ 165 ]

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE I) AUGIITEP.S.

nnnd — a girlish one, witli ilio same liauntinj;,
shadowy eyes, dark and mourid'ul ; the waine
olive tints, the same tan;^le of bronzed hair, all
threads of copper color in tlie sun. It was Daisy
Trevelyan. Daisy 1 Then the picture of the boy
returned. They were alike, unquestionably —
very, very much alike. This must be Reggeo-
letto's son. It flashed upon him as the truth.
But where was his father ? Why had they
never heard of him ? He thought and thought,
and always the boy's face was before him.

By and by Wilkinson came in. " You dine at
'ome to-night, sir ? " he asked, seeing his master
there at this unusual hour.

" Oh, yes, Wilkinson," Van Norman answered,
absently, " we dine always, though the skies
fall."

After the master left, Wilkinson went about
polishing a glass here, filling a decanter there,
and making everything beautiful; but there
was a shakiness in his hand, an unsteadi-
ness in his gait, an unsettled expression in his
eye, hitherto unknown. Also, he was decidedly
erratic ; made fruitless trips around the table
and over to the sideboard, but was even more

[IGGJ

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTEUS.

solemn than usual, and quite as slow and i>on-
derous.

After everything was in place, he set a o-reat
bowl of narcissus in the centre, and stepped
back to view the effect.

" I ope heverythinn- is right ; but I won't be
sure," he said, huskily, "I won't he sure; I'm
that hupset to-night, I'd forgive myself for
aforgetting my hown name. When I thinks of
what mkjJd 'ave 'appened, my blood it runs cold,
like hicicles ! And when I tliinks of the Cap-
tain, my 'eart it seems as thoufdi it were airoino-
to stop ! And when I thinks of that little chap
hin there, I feel like I did when once I 'eard
Miss Rose Coghlan recite 'The Charge of the
Light Brigade.' I told Flitters 'ow it would
be. I says, says I, ' Flitters, things ain't agoing
to be that cahn as they 'ave been '; and they
ain't!"

In the nursery they w^ere just beginning to
grow more settled, and tea had been brought in
as usual. It was really a charming tea, and
looked very pretty when set on the shining-
round table. There was honey, that Gwyneth
loved; a certain kind of entrancing small cake,

[107]

THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DArGHTEUS.

too, that she had on some occasion been heard to
express a hking for. There were strips of toast,
and ladies' lingers of bread-and-butter; but
thougli the children adnured it very much, they
were not able to do more than admire.

Madelon sat in her chair by the chimney-piece,
but she did not knit ; her thoughts were far
away. Gwyneth lay on the sofa, surrounded by
many cushions. Daisy was beside her, holding
her little bandaged hand, while Maida was
everywhere. She insisted on giving Baby all
her most cherished possessions : and not content
with that, brought them to the sofa and made a
pile of them there at the foot.

" I can give them all back, you know, Daisy,"
whispered Gwyn, " and Maida seems to like to
give them to me ; doesn't slie ? "

" Yes, indeed," answered Daisy.

" You are awfully (piiet, Daisy, dear," said the
child.

" I am thiid-:ing of a great many tilings. Baby
— a great many things. I am glad father will
not be back till your arm is better."

" Oh, don't fret about my arm, Daisy ; it is not

[1G8]

TREVELYAN'.S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

troubling me, for one tiling ; and if he had not
been hurt I would be <dad about it."

" Glad, dearest ? Not glad, surely, when we
are troubled."

" Well, not exactly glad I was lir- rt but that
I had the chance to know how brave he was.
Ah ! " with a puzzled shake of her head, " was
it not strange what Madelon said — what she
called him, you know ? "

" Very, very strange ; I suppose he looked as
our Uncle Raphael did so many years ago."

" That was it, of course," gravely.

Then ]\[rs. Van Norman came in and Huttered
over to the sofa, talking very brightly about all
the treats Baby should have when slui was well.

"Aunt Violet," s iM Gwyneth, "is my music
boy better { "

" Oh, yes, d^ir, you remember we sent up
word."

" But can lie sit up and talk ? "

"Not to-night, but perhaps to-morrow."

" You see," she answered, thoughtfully, falling
back on the pillows, " I have a great deal to say
to him ; will he be here till then ? "

[109]

^^^smsmm.

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Oil, yes, for we have sent word to his people."

The old nurse came softly over to the sofa
where they were. " We are his people, madam,"
she said.

" I heard, Madelon, what you thou'^ht for the
moment ; but, you know, it could not be."

" Ah, madam, did you not see how like he is
to Miss Daisy ^ If he be not Raphael Reg-
geoletto — and even the blessed saints could not
keep him ever young — he is his son, madam.
To-morrow will I know the truth." So savinij;
Madelon went back to her chair.

" Oh, Aunt Violet ! it is true ; he is like me ! '
cried Daisy, her two hands tight together, and
Jier eyes wide and dark. " I told ]\[aida and
Gwyneth long ago that he reminded me of some
one. It was viyself ! "

Mrs, Van Norman leaned over and kissed
Baby. " You are all very much excited, darlings,"
sh^ said. " Now I must go down to dinner, so
good-bye for a while ; I will be up again before
long."

The children looked at each other, and then at
old Madelon.

[170 J

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Daisy, dear, we won't talk any more about it
till to-morrow, for then ho will tell us himselt*
who he is. No matter what liis name is, he will
be the same," said Baby: " ((uite the same, you
know."

[ 171 ]

CHAPTER XXII.

1 1.

I'fi

Dinner was over, but they still sat at the
table ? They had said nothing of the after-
noon's doings. Each waited for the other to
speak. Dr. Lincoln had dined with them, but
he had risen when the table was cleared, and
insisted upon going back to the library alone,
being somewhat anxious yet.

So they waited in silence.

Mrs. Van Xorman leaned over, took a few of
the narcissus out of the bowl, and fastened
them in the lace she wore.

" Violet."

She looked up.

" That little lad in j'onder is named Raphael
Reggeoletto 1 "'

'* So old Madelon says," she replied.

" He calls himself by that name; he spoke
once, you know."

" And he looks like Daisy," she answered,

[ 172]

TREVELYAN S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

slowly. " Edwin, it must be ! Yes, it iiiiist be
that he is Reggeoletto's son : "

" I wish he w^ere mine," said Van Norman.

" I wish he were, too, dear "—her voice was
very gentle—" for he is (juite the most interest-
ing boy I ever saw."

They moved him to another room, and throuoh
the night watched while he slept. Dr. Lincoln
stayed till late, and, when he left, said that his
patient was strono-er.

" He is a beautiful boy. Van Norman," he re-
marked, as he was going, " a beautiful boy to be a
waif and stray in a city like this. He has had to
rough it, poor little chap, out in all kinds of
weather,! suppose, half-clothed and half-starved."

"He will never be a waif and stray again,
Doctor," said Van Norman. " Jf no one claims
him, or if I can withstand their claim, and he
will come to me, he shall be mine."

" Great heavens ! Do yon mean to adopt him,
Van Norman ? You don't know anything about
him, you know, my dear fellow."

" I think I do," he answered, in a strangely- clear
decid-'d voice, as the doctor went down the steps,
" I think I do."

[ 173 ]

fiftartiSirV-i'/iin 11 tSB.

'=!i

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTEllS.

Next morning tliey found out tliat it was all
true.

Tlic boy was awake when Van Nonnan went
in, and a bit of color had come into his face.
Later the doctor saw liim, and said he was all
riglit.

" May he talk ? " asked Van Nonnan.

" Not too much, for he may not remember
things, and if it is an effort he must not ^^y. '

"I remember everything," said the lad, sud-
denly, " everything,"

When they were alone. Van Norman drew a
chair up beside the bed, and laid his firm hand
over the one on the coverlid.

" Will you tell me, my lad," he said, " where
your father is ? "

" My father, sir ? He is dead," he answered,
with eyes growing misty. " He was drowned at
sea five years ago. I was with him. There was
a dreadful storm, and two sailors were washed
overboard — one was my father. We were in
the Indian Ocean, sir."

" What was his name, if you don't mind telling

^"Vfift.-

" The same as my own, Raphael Reggeoletto.

[174]

trp:velyan'8 little daughtehs.

He ran away to sea from Naples, years and
years a^o."

"Ah!" sai'l Mr. Van Nonnan ; "and vour
mother ? "

" She died when I was a baby : I never remem-
ber her, sir."

" Do you know of lier or her people, ni}^ lad ? "
" No sir. My father told me nothing of
her ; but here," putting his hand to his throat,
and showing a slender chain, " I have her wed-
ding ring on this, and a picture. Would you
like to see them ;* "

"Yes," said the man, " I would."
The boy unfastened the chain and handed it
to him. On it hung a wedding ring, and a
miniature upon ivory set in pearls. The picture
was discolored by sea water, but the face that
smiled out of it was the youthful face of Marga-
rita Reggeoletto. Van Norman looked lono- at the
small pearl-set miniature. In it he saw Daisy,
Maida, and the boy before him.

"Did you know her, sir?" asked the lad,
wistfully. " She was my father's sister. That
was painted when she was but a little child."
" Yes, I had the happiness of knowing her.

[ 175 ]

"" I - " j pl

m ^

TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE J) AUGHTEILS.

By and by, this afternoon or to-morrow, we
will have another talk to<ji:ether. Now I must
thank you for liaving saved Cwyneth from

wliat

dit h

than death — not

^ e Deen more

that I can thank you in words."

The boy's face flushed. " Ah ! sir, I am most
glad I was able to save her," he answered : " she
is so lovely and sweet ! When I close my eyes I
see those dreadful horses, and her golden hair in
the sun."

" Do not think of it, but rest," said Mr. Van
Norman, as he left him.

He told his wife the story, and both were
satisfied that there was no manner of doubt as
to the bo}''s identity.

" Who will he go to, Edwin ? " she asked, an
excited tremble in her voice.

" He has no one nearer to him than the
Trevelyan's ; at least, I think not," answered
Van Norman. " He told me nothing of Gouvisi,
but I fancy he is a chance acquaintance. I will
look after him. And now, dear, listen to me. If
Jack consents, and the lad also, T will take him — "

" Eddie ! " she cried.

" Ls it so strange ? "

[ 176 ]

TREVELYAN\S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" No, no, and I will be very, very <r]ac] to have
him for our own," she cried ; " but it is so wonder-
ful, the way it has come about ! "

"It is," he said, raisincr his face to the baby's
picture. " It is as though he had been long
away and had come homp ao-ain "

" Yes," she answered, tenderly, " he would
have been just so old, and very like him-the
same brown wavy hair, the sanie brown e3'es."
"I will not speak to Raphael of this until he
has seen Trevelyan. It shall be a free choice,"
said Van Norman.

Later Aunt Violet told tlie three little mai.lens
the story, and joy reigned supreme. Old Made-
Ion heard it, too, and went about wearing a look
of perfect content. " May I go to my dear lad
soon, madam ? " she aske.i.

" Yes, Madelon, this afternoon. We will let
you tell him all. '

" It will be good to tell and good to hear,
madam," she answered.

"When can we see him, Aunt Violet ? " asked
Maida.

" Very soon, but not to-day."

[177]

••^^

TKEYELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Oh, to think of it ! Oh, to fancy what father
would say 1 "

They were quite beside themselves. "Just
imagine him turning out to be our real cousin,
Gwyn ! " exclaimed Maida : " it is almost as
nice as though he were our brother. He will
be with us a good deal, I suppose ; and a boy is
so useful I " Then, in a thoughtful way, " Boys
don't talk exactly like girls, Gwyneth."

" No," said Gwyneth, " don't they ? "

" Well, not exadbj."

" How do you know ? " asked Gwyn.

" Oh, once at home, last summer, I was swing-
ing on the little front gate, watching some birds
— thrushes, I think, for they had speckledy
breasts — that were just beginning to [ly. They
were on a limb of the great larch tree in front
of the garden — "

" Yes, what else ? "

*' Well, while I was swinging, that Peterkin
boy came along. Do you remember him ? He
lived in the tiny stone house, you know\"

" I remember," said Baby ; " his hair was
red, very."

" Yes, that's the one — and he came up and

[178 1

TREVELYAX'S lttTLE DAUGflTEKS.

watched the thruslie.s, too. They wore (lrea<l-

fnlly wobbly and excited, and after a n.innt.

one wee, xvee one tumbled off the limb, right on

to tlie ground,"

" Oh, dear," exclaimed Uaby ; '• go on."

" And the Peterkin boy .said : ^^ G,.at Scott!

he came a cropper V "

""''' '"■?"sai,10„-,yn; '•f:at wa.s „ vorv
funny tliiiw to sav,"

"Well, I thought it was so funny that I

always remembered it. I asked hin,' what it

meant, and he laughed awfully hard, and asked

me what T was

giving liim— and I

giving him anytliing. dear. So th,
think boys talk .so strangely."'

wasn't

■it is why 1

But, iMaida, Raphael

our cousin Raphael

Reggeoletto, is not like Mrs. Peterk

boy

in's little

Oh, dear no, of course not ; and I am glad
'■', too. He is a p-rojif rlnnl i^..^^...^ i__i • „

of it, too. He

answered Maida, as she ran off.

a great deal better looking.

[179]

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

.//

,<'^ c

.<?

1.0

I.I

^ m

|Z2

1.8

1.25 1.4

1.6

-« 6" —

►

^ - ^>

">.^''

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

^.%,%

«*

23 WEST MAIN STRECt

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

CHAPTER XXIII,

That afternoon old Madelon was alone with
the lad a long time. She told him of the way-
he had been brought home ; who the three chil-
dren he knew by sight so well were ; of herself,
and the long, long years she had hoped to find
his father.

He in turn told of those days of wandering
when he sailed and had no home but the ship.

" My father kept me with him after I was five
years old," he said, " then, when he was taken
away, I got back to New York as best I could.
We had often been there, and I knew it better
than other cities."

He went on to relate how he had played the
violin on the streets, and lived as he might, till
he fell in with the old Italian Gouvisi and his
wife, two years before. " They were kind," he
said, " and I stayed with them."

Old Madelon wept over the hard fortune of

[ 180 ]

Pit-

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

the boy. In her mind l,e and l,is fatlier had
become one.

He had heard of her all his Hfe, and so she
was an old friend.

" Tell me, Madelon, who is the gentleman with
the white hair and the grave face, the one who
comes and sits beside me i "

"He is Signor Van Norman, whose house
we are in," said she.

" I wish, Madelon," he answered. " that he
were Captain Trevelyan."

" Ah, no, my dear lad ! There is not anyone
upon the world like the Captain ! ' cried the
nurse, " when you see him then you will know."

" Perhaps," he answered, slowly, " for he is
little Gwyneth's father ; but I like the one witli
the deep eyes and white hair-I like his voice
Madelon."

"Wait, wait, my lad, and see!" she said,
leaving him.

They expected Captain Trevelyan very soon
Raphael grew quite well, and he and the three
children were the best of friends; but he was
oftenest by Gwyneth's side. Her arm tied up in
Its silken sling made her look very pitiful

[ 181 J

wm^

IS; , :

Ml ■: •

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

they all thought, and they did everything pos-
sible to amuse her. Raphael would sit by the
window in the white room, and tell them
stories of his life, of tlie time he had been at sea
with his father, and later when he was poor and
alone in the vast city.

" 0, Raphael," said Daisy, one morning after
one of these tales, " don't tell us any more like
that ; it makes my heart ache to think that we
have had everything and you nothing. Don't
tell us any more."

" I won't then, Daisy," he answered ; " but
it's all over now, you know."

Truly, so it was ; and with the adaptability
that children alone possess, they all fell into
their right relationship.

Van Norman drove with him to see old Gouvisi
the lirst day he was able to go out.

" He was very kind to me, Mr. Van Norman,"
said the boy ; " I think they will not want me to
go away."

" Do you know whether there is any one thing
he wishes ^ " asked Van Norman.

" Oh, yes, he and his wife want to go back to
Italy and take Beb^, their granddaughter, with
them." [ 182 ]

a i

TnKVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" They shall go," Van Norman answered.
" You are very good, sir, and kinder than any
man J ever knew but my father," said the lad,
impulsively, his voice trembling over the words.
On the twenty-fifth of May Captain Trevelyan
reached New York. Th- time had seemed very
long since he left, and as for the children, they
had checked off every day of it ; but the last
week did spin itself out to a good length.

Old Madelon overheard Maida, who was
possessed of the very spirit of restlessness as his
return drew near, remark to Gwyneth, " It's per-
fectly absurd, Baby, for people to say every day
has the same number of hours. Anyone could
tell by their feelings some days are longer than
others."

" I think it must be our feelings that make
them seem that way, Maida ; they wouldn't tell us
they were all the same if they were not, you
know."

" Well, perhaps not," was the answer, with a
shrug, " but it seems very queer to me : there's
something wrong about it, I think, and it may
be the almanacs."

However, the longest days go by ; he came at

[183]

JIJPIPP^

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

last, and Mrs. Van Norman took them to the
steamer to meet him.

It had been settled that nothint^ should be
told of Raphael till they had reached the
house ; but the man saw there was a suppressed
something about them. Anyhow, Baby's arm re-
quired an explanation, which Aunt Violet gave,
going into as few details as possible. But with
those clear eyes looking so closely at each of
them, and seeming to read their very secret
thoughts, it was hard not to tell at once.

After they had driven some way towards
home, Baby sitting on his knee, Daisy and
Maida on each side gazing up at him in absorbed
admiration, Trevelyan leaned over to his sister,
who was watching him adoringly from the oppo-
site seat,her face all smiles and dimples, and said,
" Violet, these children have something on their
minds. What is it ? A secret ? I am sure there
is something by the way they look at me."

" Well, yes, Jack, we all liave something on
our minds; in fact, we are keeping a surprise
for you at home."

" Yes, father, a surprise," they cried together,
" a very nice one, too."

[ 184 ]

TREYKLYANS LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

"Are you ? ^\•ell, that is awfully good of you
all. Is it something you bought ?"
"Oh, no, father, no."

"Something alive?" he asked, looking down
at Gwyneth.

"Yes, yes, something very much alive: but
you musn't guess," .said Daisy.

"Yes, yes, you may, father; for you'll never,
never guess in the wide world."
" Is it something you had given to you ? "
" No, not exactly," they cried ; " but you are
getting near it."

"Then something you found?"
"Yes, father, something Gwyneth found."
" Gwyneth, little Gwyneth ? and it's very
valuable, is it ? "

" Here we are, Jack, at home," said Mrs. Yan
Norman, "you will soon know now."

They took him directly up to the nursery, and
he greeted Madelon. Over by the window,
where the Good Shepherd was, stood a boy. tall
and slender, with wavy brown hair, olive tinted
skin, and full red lips, like— like whose ? He
could not think.

[ 185 ]

I'V

i - 1

ft '■;

if),
i

TUEVELYAN.S LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

"Who is he ?" he asked, lookin;^ from one of
the children to the otlier.

" Wlio is he like, father ? " asked Daisy.

The boy did not niose, but kept his eyes upon
them.

" He is like you, Daisy."

" Father," she said, " he is our cousin Raphael.
His father was our uncle, who ran away from
Naples so long, long ago. Gwyneth found him.
It was he who saved her from beinj^ killed that
afternoon. He was the boy — the boy who came
with the old Italian music man."

Captain Trevelyan took in tlie story as Daisy
told it so earnestly. He a.sked nothing more,
but strode across the room and caught the
boy's two hands with his own.

" Let me look at you ! " he cried. " Ah 1 I see
it is true, and thank heaven you are found — that
you are found at last, my lad."

Two or three days after this, Van Norman
and Captain Trevelyan w^ere talking in the
library. Trevelyan was telling of the fortune
left by old Antonio Reggeoletto, and of the way
it would now be divided.

[ If^G ]

TUEVELYAN'S L[TTI.K DAUGHTERS.

"The lad shall have half of everything, and
there is plenty for all," lie ended.

Van Norman did not reply ; his face was set,
and he gazed before him with troubled eyes.

" He shall have Jadf\ I said. Did you hear,
Van Norman ? "

" Yes, Jack, I heard,'' he answered, shortly.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and
Gwyneth and Raphael entered.

" May we come in, Uncle Edwin i " asked
Gwyn.

" Certainly, come over by me."

She took the ebony stool, and drawing it to
its old place by his chair, sat down and leaned
her lovely head against it ; then she put out her
hand, the one that was not hurt, and touclied
her father's arm, for he was close by.

"Stand over by the mantel, Raphael, where
Uncle Edwin so often stands," said the child:
" I like to look at you."

The boy did as she told him, a wave of color
rising in his face.

Van Norman went to him.

"Raphael," he said, "the old Reggeoletto of
Naples is dead, and the younger one, too. There

[ 1^^7 ]

«^^

ti*

li!i

\r i

y '• ■

! (

TKEVELVAN S LITTLE DATG IITEl^S.

is a large forlane left, wliich belongs now to
your cousins. Captain Trevelyan wished to
divide this with you : it is your right. Now,
listen, will you take that money and return to
the land of your fathers and re-establish the
old name and home ^ You are the last of them.
Or," and there was a tremor in the hitherto firm
voice, " or, listen, will you give yourself to me ?
Believe me, I speak from my heart when I say
I want you."

The room was very still. Gwyneth's hand
clinched tight, tight upon her father's arm.

Raphael looked into the Captain's handsome
sun- browned fac^*, into the kindly eyes, so like
little Gwyneth's, whom he loved. Truly here
was a friend ; his own father had followed the
sea also — and yet — and yet ; he turned slowly
to the one beside him. There was a loneliness
about this silent man who would speak no more
persuasive word, — a look in his face which stole
the lad's heart away ; and he could not have
told why a tightness came to his throat and a
blurr rose before him, but he knew well — oh,
well, indeed — that they, too, understood each
other.

L188]

^If^'

■^' ,

TREVELYAN'S LTTTLE DAUCMTERS.

" Ah, sir," he saitl, " I would rather stay with
you. What is the Re^r^eoletto name or fortune ^
What did it <lo for my father or for nie ? He
often spoke bitterly of it. Indeed, I would
rather stay with you."

And so it was that the heir caine home.

[189]

T"'^

CHAPTER XXIV

'.nil

One night after this, Maida and Gwyn were
.sent for to coinc to dessert. Daisy and Raphael
dined ahvav.s with Aunt Violet, wliich did not
suit Maida; but as ]5al)V <lid not mind, whv
perforce she nrast bring lierself to the arrange-
ment also.

Tliey ran gaily downstairs, and behold, when
they enter(vl the red room, there, beside Major
Willoiighby, was their old friend Mr. Harry
Barton. Oh, that was most joyful ! and the
young gentleman must have felt flattered at the
reception he received.

After dinner they had a great many things to
talk over.

" And so you have not forgotten me, most fair
one with the golden locks," said Mr. Barton to
Gwyneth.

" No, indeed ! I have thought of you often
and often."

[ 190 ]

TREVELYAX'S LTTTLE DA I'.! HTEHS.

"Semper fiilelif*" he said, lookin^^ ovor at
Trevelyan. liis dark face l.rinlitcnintr. "J still
coiiio nejct to the Captain ?"

" No," .she said, " not next— not cmclly next."
" Well, pray may I cncjuin' who has usurped
njy place ^ " in tragic tones.

"Uncle Edwin conies next to father."'
Van Nonnan glanced over at her (piieklv.
"Where do I come i i, Miss C yneth T' , /i-
qnirr.^i the Major, puttincr np liis oyo-^: )ss and
gazing at the charming little mnidci^ : " I d(mt
feel like being left entindy on one .sido, yo,,
know. It's not at all pl(>asant."

"Oh, you cojne ofier ]\Ir. Barton, Major
Willoughbv."

"After Barton? I say: oh, that's not fair.'

Just because he ha<l the luck to cross with vou!"

"After me— so you nre fourth, Major; oh,

you are not in it at all," laughed Barton ; " not

at all."

"Why, Gwyneth, what about me r' asked
Raphael, who had been standing by the Captain
listening.

She turned and held out lier hand to him,

[191 ]

TREVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS.

" Oh, you come after Uncle Edwin, Raphael.
Father, Uncle Edwin and you."

" Then that makes yoit fourth, Barton .'" cried
the Major to that young Briton, who refused to
say anything moi'e, but fixed his great eyes
reproachfully on Gwyneth.

"Please, please don't look at me like that,"
she said, sweetly ; " you know I am very fond of
you, too," and turning the subject with feminine
tact, " won't you come over here and be kind
enough to show Raphael and me the blue
anchor ? He has never seen it."

Trevelyan stood alone, looking about the
place with its exquisite silken hangings, its
delicately carved cabinets and chairs, its many
wonderful art treasures. His sister and Major
Willoughby had just left him and were gathering
up a bunch of roses which, by their own weight,
had fallen out of a rose-bowl across the room.
Her brother watched the graceful figure as she
and Willoughby arranged the flowers again.

He was looking exceedingly handsome himself
to-night, but this had not occurred to him, for his
mind was on other things. To him they all
seemed very happy.

[192]

TKEVELYAxVS LTTTLE DAUGHTERS.

Yonder was Van Norman talking to Mai.la
and Daisy. Tliey were making merry over
something, and yet. noticing the man's rugged
face lit up for a moment, a couplet camelnto
Trevelyan's mind that he had read or heard :

"Lightness and laughter, with sucli a one as he,
Is but tiie foam upon his soul's deep sea."

That was very true of Van Norman, he thought.
Over in a corner Barton had been showing his
interesting anchor to Baby and Raphael. Now
she was evidently telling them some little story
in her own quaint way.

He was the boy's debtor for life, the man said
to himself.

From time to time he saw Van Norman
glancing over to them with that new light in
his eyes.

"Yes, they all seem happy," thought Tre-
velyan again. They did not forget; he knew
they did not, nor ever would.

But sorrow like his own was not for them, and
he had best take himself and it away upon the
high seas, where, amid the wildness of wind and
water, perchance he could bear it better. Ho

[193]

TKEVELYAN'.S LITTLE DAXJGHTEKS,

I i! ' ■'
ii t '

liad always been a rover; and on him, so long
accustomed to the severe discipline of a ship,
these soft and beautiful things did but jar. To
one used to breathe ^he salt air blown to him
over thousands of miios of sea, these warm and
perfumed rooms were but stifling. This time
the children were going, as he had agreed to
take them all l)ack to Naples in June. There
would be (piite a party, for Willoughby was to
go also.

Suddenly there came a low exclamation from
Raphael that startled them. He was standing
with a violin in his hand, which he must have
just discovered. Van Norman had brought it in
quietl}'' a while before, and laid the case down
open. They had agreed not to speak to the boy
of his music till he spoke of his own accord first.

Away in a cabinet in the library a man had
locked a broken violin, there ever to remain.

Raphael was glancing tenderly over the old
Cremona.

" Here ! " he cried, " here is my own name,
written very sinall, but quite plainly, ' Raphael
Reggeoletto.' "

" It was your father's," said Trevelyan.

[ 194]

IBr'

TUEVELYAN'S LITTLE D AUG HTEliS.

The boy laid it slowly back in its case ; then,
after a inoinentH hesitation, took it up again,
raised it to his face, and played. Ah : all that
music told them ' It carried them with it over
th(? southern seas, through velvety darkness and
dazzling sunlit days, through nights when they
had sailed by the light of the stars, where the
Southern Cross hung low in the skies. They
went with it through storm and tempest, sorrow
and death ; through weary days and nights of
loneliness, such as only a child can know, and
they seemed to hear the sobbing of a voice in
the dark. Slowly it took them through winter
to spring, and sweet and low the wind was
blowing upon the budded tree-tops, birds were
swinging on the branches, trilling their sweet
love songs; the scent of violets was on the air:
<laffodils and crocuses broke through the earth.
"The spring has come : " sang the violin.

" The Spring has come,
The Spriui^ has come I
Uoiie is the winter's sadness.
Oh, heart, awake, awake ! rejoice 1
The earth is full of gladness."

Old Wilkinson, with the debonair Flitters

[195]

Ii.7- ■
If f,:,t

■ I

TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAU(3}HTERS.

beside him. waited in tlic hall and listened, till
the tones fell into silence.

" You were right, Wilkinson, about his music,"
she said ; " you were right."

" Yes, Flitters," answered the old butler, " I
said it were 'eavenly, and I were right."

Upon all in the room silence had fallen, and
as Raphael laid down the violin, Van Norman
went over to him.

" Who taught you to play, my lad ?" he asked.
" It was my father," they heard him say ; " but
afterwards, when I was with Gouvisi, a man
who lived just across the hall all alone taught
me again. He was a musician, and very, very
poor. When he was the poorest then he played
the most beautifully. He used to tell me that it
was a good way to forget one's troubles," added
the boy, wistfully. " One day, though, he went
away, and we ha\e never heard of him since."

Trevelyan was listening ; Daisy, too, and
Maida and little Gwyneth.

Van Norman looked down into the boy's
dreamful eyes.

" I will tind that man, Raphael," they heard
him say.

[ 196 ]

TIJKVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUUHTKUS.

' Chvynotli put her hand on liis arnj— '■ And we
wUl help you, Uncle Kdwin," she said.

Presently they turned and saw Madelon
standing in the doorway. She gave the group
her deep old-world courtesy. Upon her wrinkled
i'ace was a look of great happiness. " 1 come for
iny children, signer-," she said, turning t(nvard
Trevelyan.

-Rapliael went over to the old nurse with the
others. " Did you hear me play, Madelon / "

"Aye, my lad," she answered, tenderly: "it
was upon the old Cremona."

L i^' J