>J 
 
 \. 
 
 C I/ Ju" 
 
EDKfiAIIOH LIBB. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Education 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Louise Farrow Barr 
 
"CARROTS" 
 
 JUST A LITTLE BOY 
 
 AND 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 "CARROTS" 
 
 JUST A LITTLE BOY 
 
 AND 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH 
 
 AUTHOR OP "CUCKOO CLOCK,"" " GRANDSI OTHER DEAR," "A CHRISTMAS 
 POST," ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE 
 
 Nefo gotfe 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 
 1893 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1893, 
 BY MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 New uniform edition set up and electrotyped October, 1893. 
 
 Education 
 GIFT 
 
 Norfoooti 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. Berwick & Smith. 
 Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
63 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 "CARROTS." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 FLOSS'S BABY ....... .1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Six YEARS OLD ......... 9 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 PLANS ...... ..... 19 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN ...... 32 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 CARROTS IN TROUBLE ....... 43 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CARROTS "ALL ZIGHT " AGAIN 55 
 
 v 
 
 32S 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A LONG AGO STORY 64 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 "THE BEWITCHED TONGUE" ...... 78 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 SYBIL 91 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING ...... 106 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 HAPPY AND SAD 126 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 " THE Two FUNNY LITTLE TROTS " . . . .142 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 GOOD ENDINGS . . 163 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BABY TED ......... * 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 IN THE GARDEN ........ 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 WISHES AND FEARS ........ 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE STORY OF SUNNY . . . .54 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE STORY OF SUNNY Concluded ..... 70 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 LITTLE NARCISSA ........ 86 
 
 vii 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 GETTING BIG .....' 106 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 "STATISTICS" . . 124 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A Kiss . , . .145 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 SOME RAINY ADVENTURES . . . . . .161 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 "!T'S ONLY I, MOTHER" . . . . . . 179 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 THE WHITE CROSS . . 193 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 "CARROTS." 
 
 THERE SHE SAT, AS STILL AS A MOUSE, HOLD- 
 ING HER PRECIOUS BURDEN . . . Frontispiece 
 
 "A YELLOW SIXPENNY, OH, HOW NICE!" To face page 26 
 
 FLOSS TAPPED AT THE DOOR. " CARROTS," 
 
 SHE SAID, " ARE YOU THERE ? " . . . u 55 
 
 " NOW, BE QUIET ALL OF YOU, I'M GOING TO 
 
 BEGIN" . " 80 
 
 " WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT, MY POOR 
 
 OLD MAN?" SAID AUNTIE, FONDLY . . " 103 
 
 " IT is FLOSSIE AND ME, SYBIL DON'T YOU 
 
 REMEMBER US?". " 127 
 
 " SUDDENLY A BRIGHT THOUGHT STRUCK ME, 
 I SEIZED GIP, MY LITTLE DOG, WHO WAS 
 
 ASLEEP ON THE HEARTH-RUG, AND HELD 
 
 HIM UP AT THE WlNDOW "... " 146 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " THE STORY OF SUNNY " Frontispiece 
 
 " I WISH THOO'D LET ME HELP THOO TO CUT 
 
 THE GRASS" To face page 30 
 
 "SHE HUNTED ABOUT AMONG THE LEAVES 
 AND BRANCHES TILL SHE FOUND A LITTLE 
 SILVER KNOB " . 76 
 
 "BABY SHOWED, OR TED THOUGHT SHE DID, 
 
 A QUITE EXTRAORDINARY LOVE FOR THE 
 BOUQUETS HER LITTLE BROTHER AR- 
 RANGED FOR HER" " 89 
 
 " OH DEAR, OH DEAR ! " CRIES BEAUTY, 
 JUMPING UP IN A FRIGHT, " HE'S COMING 
 
 TO EAT ME " " 121 
 
 " THEY WERE NEATLY TACKED ON TO THE 
 FEATHER CARD, WHICH HAD A VERY 
 FINE EFFECT ON THE WALL OF THE 
 MUSEUM" "153 
 
 "MASTER TED, VERY WET INDEED, MADE 
 HIS APPEARANCE WITH ROSY CHEEKS 
 AND A GENERAL LOOK OF SELF-SATIS- 
 FACTION " " 174 
 
THERE SHE BAT, AS STILL AS A MOUSE, HOLDING HER PRECIOUS 
 BURDEN. p. 6. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
"CARROTS" 
 
 JUST A LITTLE BOY 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH 
 
 (ENNIS GRAHAM) 
 
 AUTHOR OF " CUCKOO CLOCK," " GRANDMOTHER DEAR," " TELL ME A STORY, 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE 
 
 gork 
 MACMILLAK AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 1893 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
First Edition printed October, 1876. Reprinted December (twice), 1876; 
 January, March, and August, 1877; January and December, 1878; May, 
 1879; March and October, 1880; April and August, 1882; 1883, 1884, 1885, 
 1886, 1887, 1889, 1891, 1892, 1893. 
 
TO 
 
 &ix SLtttle Cou0m0 
 
 MORIER, NOEL, BEVIL, LIONEL, EDWARD, 
 AND BABY BRIAN 
 
 EDINBURGH, 1870 
 
"Is it then a great mistake 
 That Boys were ever made at all? 
 
" CARROTS : r - 
 
 JUST A LITTLE BOY. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FLOSS'S BABY. 
 
 " Where did you come from, Baby dear ? 
 
 Out of the everywhere into here ? 
 ******* * 
 " But how did you come to us, you dear ? 
 
 God thought about you, and so I am here ! " 
 
 G. MACDONALD. 
 
 His real name was Fabian. But he was never 
 called anything but Carrots. There were six of 
 them. Jack, Cecil, Louise, Maurice, commonly called 
 Mott, Floss, dear, dear Floss, whom he loved best of 
 all, a long way the best of all, and lastly Carrots. 
 
 Why Carrots should have come to have his history 
 written I really cannot say. I must leave you, who 
 understand such things a good deal better than I, 
 you, children, for whom the history is written, to 
 find out. I can give you a few reasons why Carrot's 
 history should not have been written, but that is 
 about all I can do, There was nothing very remark- 
 
 1 
 
able about him ; there was nothing very remarkable 
 about the place where he lived, or the things that 
 he did, and on the whole he was very much like 
 other little boys. There are my no reasons for you^ 
 But still he was Carrots, and after all, perhaps, that 
 was the reason ! I shouldn't wonder. 
 
 He was the baby of the family ; he had every right 
 to be considered the baby, for he was not only the 
 youngest, but very much the youngest ; for Floss, 
 who came next to him, was nearly four years older 
 than Carrots. Yet he was never treated as the baby. 
 I doubt if even at the very outset of his little life, 
 when he was just a wee pink ball of a creature, rolled 
 up in flannel, and with his funny curls of red hair 
 standing crisp up all over his head, I dbubt, if even 
 then, he was ever called " baby." I feel almost sure 
 it was always " Carrots." He was too independent 
 and sensible to be counted a baby, and he was never 
 fond of being petted and then, too, " Carrots " came 
 so naturally ! 
 
 I have said that Carrots loved his sister Floss bet- 
 ter than anybody or anything else in the world. I 
 think one reason of this was that she was the very 
 first person he could remember in his life, and a 
 happy thing for him that it was so, for all about her 
 that there was to remember was nice and good and 
 kind. She was four years older than he, four years 
 old, that is to say, when he first came into the world 
 and looked about him with grave inquiry as to what 
 
FLOSS'S BABY. 3 
 
 sort of a place this could be that he had got to. And 
 the first object that his baby-wise eyes settled upon 
 with content, as if in it there might be a possible 
 answer to the riddle, was Floss ! 
 
 These children's father and mother were not very 
 rich, and having six boys and girls you can quite 
 easily imagine they had plenty to do with their 
 money. Jack was a great boy at school when Car- 
 rots first joined the family party, and Cecil and 
 Louise had a governess. Mott learnt with the gov- 
 erness too, but was always talking of the time when 
 he should go to school with Jack, for he was a very 
 boy-ey boy, very much inclined to look down upon 
 girls in general, and his sisters in particular, and his 
 little sister Floss in particular 'est. So, till Carrots 
 appeared on the scene, Floss had had rather a lonely 
 time of it, for, "of course," Cecil and Louise, who 
 had pockets in all their frocks, and could play the 
 " March of the Men of Harlech " as a duet on the 
 piano, were far too big to be " friends to Floss," as 
 she called it. They were friendly and kind in an 
 elder sisterly way, but that was quite a different sort 
 of thing from being " friends to her," though it never 
 occurred to Floss to grumble or to think, as so many 
 little people think now-a-days, how much better 
 things would have been arranged if she had had the 
 arranging of them. 
 
 There was only one thing Floss wished for very, 
 very much, and that was to have a brother or sister, 
 
4 " CARROTS." 
 
 she did not much care which, younger than herself. 
 She had the most motherly heart in the world, 
 though she was such a quiet little girl that very 
 few people knew anything about what she was 
 thinking, and the big ones laughed at her for being 
 so outrageously fond of dolls. She had dolls of every 
 kind and size, only alike in one thing, that none of 
 them were very pretty, or what you would consider 
 grand dolls. But to Floss they were lovely, only, 
 they were only dolls ! 
 
 Can you fancy, can you in the least fancy, Floss's 
 delight a sort of delight that made her feel as 
 if she couldn't speak, when one winter's morning 
 she was awakened by nurse to be told that a real live 
 baby had come in the night a little brother, and 
 " such a funny little fellow," added nurse, " his head 
 just covered with curly red hair. Where did he get 
 that from, I wonder? Not one of my children has 
 hair like that, though yours, Miss Flossie, has a touch 
 of it, perhaps." 
 
 Floss looked at her own tangle of fluffy hair with 
 new reverence. " Hair somesing like my hairs," she 
 whispered; " Oh nursie, dear nursie, may Floss see 
 him?" 
 
 " Get up and let me dress you quickly, and you 
 shall see him no fear but that you'll see more of 
 the poor little fellow than you care about," said 
 nurse, though the last words were hardly meant for 
 Floss. 
 
FLOSS'S BABY. 5 
 
 The truth was that though of course every one 
 meant to be kind to this new little baby, to take 
 proper care of him, and all that sort of thing, no one 
 was particularly glad he had come. His father and 
 mother felt that five boys and girls were already a 
 good number to bring up well and educate and start 
 in life, not being very rich you see, and even nurse, 
 who had the very kindest heart in the world, and had 
 taken care of them all, beginning with Jack, ever 
 since they were born, even nurse felt, I think, that 
 they could have done without this red-haired little 
 stranger. For nurse was no longer as young as she 
 had been, and as the children's mother could not, she 
 knew, very well afford to keep an under-nurse to 
 help her, it was rather trying to look forward to 
 beginning again with all the " worrit " of a new 
 baby bad nights and many tiring climbs up the 
 long stairs to the nursery, etc., etc., though nurse 
 was so really good that she did not grumble the least 
 bit, and just quietly made up her mind to make the 
 best of it. 
 
 But still Floss was the only person to give the 
 baby a really hearty welcome. And by some strange 
 sort of baby instinct he seemed to know it almost 
 from the first. He screamed at Jack, and no wonder, 
 for Jack, by way of salutation, pinched his poor little 
 nose, and said that the next time they had boiled 
 mutton for dinner, cook need not provide anything 
 but turnips, as there was a fine crop of carrots all 
 
6 " CARROTS." 
 
 ready, which piece of wit was greatly applauded by 
 Maurice and the girls. He wailed when Cecil and 
 Louise begged to be allowed to hold him in their 
 arms, so that they both tumbled him back on to 
 nurse's lap in a hurry, and called him " a cross, ugly 
 little thing." Only when little Floss sat down on the 
 floor, spreading out her knees with great solemnity, 
 and smoothing her pinafore to make a nice place for 
 baby, and nurse laid him carefully down in the em- 
 brace of her tiny arms, "baby" seemed quite content. 
 He gave a sort of wriggle, like a dog when he has 
 been pretending to burrow a hole for himself in the 
 rug, just before he settles down and shuts his eyes, 
 and in half a second was fast asleep. 
 
 " Baby loves Floss," said Floss gravely, and as 
 long as nurse would let her, till her arms really 
 ached, there she sat on the floor, as still as a mouse, 
 holding her precious burden. 
 
 It was wonderful how trusty she was. And " as 
 handy," said nurse, "indeed far more handy than 
 many a girl of five times her age." "I have been 
 thinking," she said, one day to Floss's mother, " I 
 have been thinking, ma'am, that even if you had 
 been going to keep an under-nurse to help with 
 baby, there would have been nothing for her to do. 
 For the help I get from Miss Flossie is really aston- 
 ishing, and Master Baby is that fond of her already, 
 you'd hardly believe it." 
 
 And Floss's mother kissed her, and told her she 
 
FLOSS S BABY. 7 
 
 was a good little soul, and Floss felt, oh, so proud ! 
 Then a second thought struck her, " Baby dood too, 
 mamma," she said, staring up into her mother's face 
 with her bright searching gray-green eyes. 
 
 " Yes," said her mother with a little sigh, " poor 
 baby is good too, dear," and then she had to hurry 
 off to a great overhauling of Jack's shirts, which 
 were, if possible, to be made to last him another 
 half-year at school. 
 
 So it came to pass that a great deal of Floss's 
 life was spent in the nursery with Carrots. He 
 was better than twenty dolls, for after a while he 
 actually learnt, first to stand alone, and then to 
 walk, and after a longer while he learnt to talk, 
 and to understand all that Floss said to him, and 
 bye-and-bye to play games with her in his baby way. 
 And how patient Floss was with him ! It was no 
 wonder he loved her. 
 
 This chapter has seemed almost more about Floss 
 than Carrots you will say, perhaps, but I couldn't 
 tell you anything of Carrots' history without telling 
 you a great deal about Floss too, so I dare say 
 you won't mind. I dare say too you will not care 
 to hear much more about Carrots when he was a 
 baby, for, after all, babies are all very like each 
 other, and a baby that wasn't like others would not 
 be a baby ! To Floss I fancy he seemed a remark- 
 able baby, but that may have been because he was 
 her very own, and the only baby she had ever 
 
8 " CARROTS." 
 
 known. He was certainly very good, in so far as 
 he gave nurse exceedingly little trouble, but why 
 children should give trouble when they are per- 
 fectly well, and have everything they can possibly 
 want, I have never been able to decide. On the 
 whole, I think it must have something to do with 
 the people who take care of them, as well as with 
 themselves. 
 
 Now we will say good-bye to Carrots, as a baby. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 SIX YEARS OLD. 
 
 "As for me, I love the sea, 
 The dear old sea ! 
 
 Don't you ? " 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I THINK I said there was nothing very remarkable 
 about the place where Carrots lived, but consider- 
 ing it over, I am not quite sure that you would 
 agree with me. It was near the sea for one thing, 
 and that is always remarkable, is it not? How 
 remarkable, how wonderful and changeful the sea 
 is, I doubt if any one can tell who has not really 
 lived by it, not merely visited it for a few weeks in 
 the fine summer time, when it looks so bright and 
 sunny and inviting, but lived by it through autumn 
 and winter too, through days when it looks so dull 
 and leaden, that one can hardly believe it will ever 
 be smiling and playful again, through fierce, rough 
 days, when it lashes itself with fury, and the wind 
 wails as if it were trying to tell the reason. 
 
 Carrots' nursery window looked straight out upon 
 the sea, and many and many an hour Floss and he 
 spent at this window, watching their strange fickle 
 neighbour at his gambols. I do not know that they 
 
10 " CARROTS." 
 
 thought the sea at all wonderful. I think they were 
 too much accustomed to it for that, but they cer- 
 tainly found it very interesting. Floss had names 
 for the different kinds of waves ; some she called 
 "ribs of beef," when they showed up sideways in 
 layers as it were, of white and brown, and some she 
 called " ponies." That was the kind that came pranc- 
 ing in, with a sort of dance, the white foam curling 
 and rearing, and tossing itself, just exactly like a 
 frisky pony's mane. Those were the prettiest waves 
 of all, I think. 
 
 It was not at all a dangerous coast, where the 
 Cove House, that was Carrots' home, stood. It was 
 not what is called " picturesque." It was a long 
 flat stretch of sandy shore, going on and on for miles 
 just the same. There were very few trees and no 
 mountains, not even hills. 
 
 In summer, a few, just a very few visitors used to 
 come to Sandyshore for bathing ; they were always 
 visitors with children, for every one said it was such 
 a nice safe place for the little people. 
 
 But, safe as it was, it wasn't till Carrots was grow- 
 ing quite a big boy, nearly six, I should think, that 
 Floss and he got leave to go out and play on the shore 
 by themselves, the thing they had been longing for 
 ever since they could remember. 
 
 This was how they did get leave at last. Nurse 
 was very, very busy, one day ; really quite extra 
 busy, for she was arranging and helping to pack 
 
SIX YEAKS OLD. 11 
 
 Jack's things to go to a new school. Jack was so 
 big now, about sixteen, that he was going to a kind 
 of college, or grown-up school, the last he would 
 go to, before entering the army. And there was 
 quite a fuss in the house. Jack thought himself 
 almost as grand as if he was an officer already, and 
 Mott was overpowered with envy. Everybody was 
 fussing about Jack, and no one had much time to 
 think of the two little ones. 
 
 They stood at the nursery window, poor little 
 souls, when Floss came up from her lessons, gazing 
 out wistfully. It was a nice spring day, not exactly 
 sunny, but looking as if the sun were only hiding 
 himself to tease you, arid might come out any 
 minute. 
 
 " If we might go down to the shore," said Floss, 
 half to herself, half to Carrots, and half to nurse. 
 I shouldn't have said it so, for there can't be three 
 halves of anything, but no doubt you will under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Go down to the shore, my dear ? " repeated nurse, 
 "I wish you could, I'm sure, but it will be afternoon, 
 at least, before I have a minute to spare to take you. 
 And there's no one else to-day, for cook and Esther 
 are both as busy as busy. Perhaps Miss Cecil and 
 Miss Louise will take you when they have done their 
 lessons." 
 
 "We don't care to go with them, much," said 
 Floss, "they don't understand our plays. We like 
 
12 
 
 best to go with you, nursie, and you to sit down 
 with your sewing near that's the nicest way. Oh, 
 nurse," she exclaimed with sudden eagerness, 
 " wouldn't you let us go alone ? You can peep out 
 of the window and see us every few minutes, and 
 we'll be so good." 
 
 Nurse looked out of the window doubtfully. 
 
 "Couldn't you play in the garden at the back, 
 instead? " she said. " Your papa and mamma won't 
 be home till late, and I am always in a terror of any 
 harm happening while they are away." 
 
 " We won't let any harm happen," said Floss, 
 " and we are so tired of the garden, nurse. There 
 is nothing to play at there. The little waves are so 
 pretty this morning." 
 
 There was certainly very little to play at in the 
 green, at the back of the house, which was called the 
 garden. Being so near the sea, the soil was so poor, 
 that hardly any flowers would grow, and even the 
 grass was coarse and lumpy. Then there were no 
 trees, and what is a garden without trees ? 
 
 Nurse looked out of the window again. 
 
 " Well," she said, " if you will really be very good, 
 I think I might trust you. Now, Master Carrots, 
 you will promise to do exactly what Miss Floss tells 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, I promise," said Carrots, who had been 
 listening with great anxiety, though he had not 
 hitherto spoken he was not a great talker "I 
 
SIX YEARS OLD. 13 
 
 promise, nurse. I will do exactly what Floss tells 
 me, and Floss will do exactly what I tell her, won't 
 you, Floss ? So we shall both be kite good, that way, 
 won't we ? " 
 
 " Very well," said nurse gravely, though she felt 
 very much inclined to laugh, "then run and get 
 your things as fast as you can." 
 
 And, oh, how happy the two were when they 
 found themselves out on the shore all alone ! They 
 were so happy, they did not know what to do ; so 
 first of all, they ran races to run away a little of the 
 happiness. And when they had run themselves 
 quite hot, they sat down on a little heap of stones to 
 consider what they should do next. They had no 
 spades with them, for they did not care very much 
 about digging ; children who live always by the sea 
 never care so much about digging as the little 
 visitors who come down in the summer, and whose 
 very first idea at the sight of the sea is " spades and 
 buckets." 
 
 " What shall we play at, Carrots ? " said Floss, " I 
 wish it was warm enough to paddle." 
 
 Carrots looked at the little soft rippling waves, 
 contemplatively. 
 
 " When I'm a man," he said, " I shall paddle 
 always. I shall paddle in winter too. When I'm a 
 man I won't have no nurse." 
 
 " Carrots," said Floss, reproachfully, " that isn't 
 good of you. Think how kind nurse is." 
 
14 
 
 " Well, then," replied Carrots, slowly, " I will have 
 her, but she must let me paddle always, when I'm a 
 man." 
 
 " When you are a man, Carrots," said Floss, sol- 
 emnly still, " I hope you will have something better 
 to do than paddling. Perhaps you'll be a soldier, 
 like Jack." 
 
 " Killing people isn't better than paddling," re- 
 torted Carrots. " I'd rather be a sailor, like papa." 
 
 " Sailors have to kill people, too, sometimes," said 
 Floss. 
 
 "Have they ? " said Carrots. Then he sat silent 
 for a few minutes, rinding this new idea rather over- 
 whelming. " Naughty people, do you mean, Floss? " 
 he inquired at last. 
 
 " Yes," said Floss, unhesitatingly, " naughty people, 
 of course." 
 
 "But I don't like killing," said Carrots, " not kill- 
 ing naughty people, I don't like. I won't be a sol- 
 dier, and I won't be a sailor, and I won't be a butcher, 
 'cos butchers kill lambs. Perhaps I'll be a fisher- 
 man." 
 
 " But fishermen kill fish," said Floss. 
 
 " Do they ? " said Carrots, looking up in her face 
 pathetically with his gentle brown eyes. " I'm so 
 sorry. I don't understand about killing, Floss. I 
 don't like it." 
 
 " I don't either," said Floss ; " but perhaps it has to 
 be. If there was no killing we'd have nothing to eat." 
 
SIX YEARS OLD. 15 
 
 " Eggs," said Carrots ; " eggs and potatoes, and 
 and cake?" 
 
 " But even that would be a sort of killing," per- 
 sisted Floss, though feeling by no means sure that 
 she was not getting beyond her depth, " if we didn't 
 eat eggs they would grow into chickens, and so eat- 
 ing stops them ; and potatoes have roots, and when 
 they're pulled up they don't grow; and cake has 
 eggs in, and oh I don't know, let's talk of some- 
 thing else." 
 
 " What ? " said Carrots, " Fairies ? " 
 
 " If you like, or supposing we talk about when 
 auntie comes and brings ' Sybil.' ' 
 
 " Yes," said Carrots, " I like that best." 
 
 "Well, then," began Floss, "supposing it is late 
 in the evening when they come. You would be in 
 bed, Carrots, dear, but I would have begged to sit 
 up a little longer and " 
 
 "No, Floss, that isn't nice. I won't talk about 
 Sybil, if you make it like that," interrupted Carrots, 
 his voice sounding as if he were going to cry. " Sybil 
 isn't not any bigger than me. I wouldn't be in bed, 
 Floss." 
 
 " Very well, dear. Never mind darling. I won't 
 make it like that. It was very stupid of me. No, 
 Sybil and auntie will come just about our tea-time, 
 and we shall be peeping along the road to see if the 
 carriage from the station is coming, and when we 
 hear it we'll run in, and perhaps mamma will say we 
 
16 " CAKROTS." 
 
 may stay in the drawing-room to see them. You 
 will have one of your new sailor suits on, Carrots, 
 and I shall have my white piqu6 and blue sash, and 
 nurse will have made the nursery tea-table look so 
 nice with a clean table-cloth, you know, and quite 
 thin bread and butter, and jam, and, perhaps, eggs." 
 
 " I won't eat one," interrupted Carrots ; " I won't 
 never eat eggs. I'll keep all mine that I get to eat, 
 in a box, till they've growed into chickens." 
 
 "But they're boiled when you get them," said 
 Floss ; " they wouldn't grow into chickens when 
 they're boiled." 
 
 Carrots sighed. "Well, never mind," he said, 
 " go on, Floss." 
 
 "Well, then," started Floss again, "you see the 
 nursery tea would look so nice that Sybil would be 
 sure to ask her mamma to let her have tea with us, 
 even though it was the first evening. Perhaps, you 
 know, she would be rather s%, just at first, till she 
 got to know us. So we would be very, very kind to 
 her, and after tea we would show her all our things 
 the dolls, only Carrots, I'm afraid the dolls are 
 getting rather old." 
 
 " Are they ? " said Carrots, sympathisingly . " When 
 I'm a man I'll buy you such a lot of new dolls, Floss, 
 and Sybil, too, if she likes dolls does she, Floss ? " 
 
 "I don't know. I should think so," said Floss. 
 " When papa and mamma went to see auntie, they 
 said Sybil was like a doll herself. I suppose she has 
 
SIX YEARS OLD. 17 
 
 beautiful blue eyes and long gold curls. That was a 
 year ago ; she must be bigger now. Carrots." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " We must get up and run about a little now. It's 
 too cold to sit still so long, and if we get cold, nurse 
 won't let us come out alone again." 
 
 Up jumped Carrots on to his sturdy little legs. 
 " I'll run, Floss," he said. 
 
 " Floss," he began, when they stopped to take breath 
 again, " once I saw a little boy with a- hoop. It went 
 so nice on the sands. I wish I had a hoop, Floss." 
 
 " I wish you had, dear," said Floss. " I'd buy you 
 one, if I had any money. But I haven't, and we 
 couldn't ask mamma, because I know," and Floss 
 shook her head mysteriously, " I know poor mamma 
 hasn't any money to spare. I must think of a plan 
 to get some." 
 
 Carrots kept silence for about three-quarters of a 
 minute. "Have you thinkened, Floss?" he asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Thought," gravely said Floss, " not thinkened, 
 what about?" 
 
 " About a plan," replied Carrots. He called it " a 
 pan," but Floss understood him. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," said Floss, " not yet. Plans take 
 a great lot of thinking. They're real things, you 
 see, Carrots, not like fancies about fairies and Sybil 
 coming." 
 
 " But when Sybil does come, that'll be real then," 
 said Carrots. 
 
18 " CARROTS." 
 
 "Of course," agreed Floss, "but fancying about 
 it before, isn't real." 
 
 It took Carrots a little while to get this into his 
 head. Then he began again. 
 
 "When will you have thinkened enough, Floss? 
 By tea-time ? " 
 
 " I don't know. No, I think you had better wait 
 till to-morrow morning, and then perhaps the plan 
 will be ready." 
 
 " Very well," said Carrots, adding, with a little 
 sigh, " to-morrow morning is a long time, Floss." 
 
 " Not very," said Floss, consolingly. " Now 
 Carrots, let's have one more race, and then we must 
 go in." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 " ' Have you invented a plan for it ? ' Alice inquired, 
 ' Not yet,' said the knight." 
 
 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS. 
 
 THE next morning Carrots woke very early, and 
 the first thing he thought of was the plan. Floss 
 and he slept in the night nursery, in two little beds, 
 and nurse slept in a small room that had a door open- 
 ing into the nursery. She used to sleep there herself, 
 but now that Carrots was so big, Floss and he were 
 quite safe by themselves, and poor old nurse enjoyed 
 having her own little room. 
 
 Floss was still asleep, so Carrots only climbed out 
 of his own cot into hers, and crouched himself down 
 at the foot, watching for her to wake. Floss looked 
 very nice asleep; her "fuzzy" hair was tumbling 
 over the pillow, and her cheeks looked pinker than 
 when she was awake. 
 
 "I wonder what being asleep is," thought the 
 little boy as he looked at her. " I always go away, 
 such a long way, when I am asleep. I wonder if 
 Floss does." 
 
 She couldn't have been very far away just then, 
 for somehow, though Carrots sat so still, she seemed 
 to know he was there. She turned round and half 
 
 19 
 
20 " CARROTS." 
 
 opened her eyes, then shut them as if she were trying 
 to go to sleep again, then opened them once more, 
 quite wide this time, and caught sight of the funny 
 little figure beside her. 
 
 " Carrots," she said, in a sleepy voice, " Carrots, 
 dear, what are you doing there ? You'll catch cold." 
 
 "No, I won't. May I come in 'aside you, Floss? 
 I was only watching for you to wake ; I didn't wake 
 you, did I ? " said Carrots, as Floss made room for 
 him, and he poked his cold little toes down into a 
 nice warm place, " I did so want to know if it was 
 ready, for it's to-morrow morning now." 
 
 " If what's ready ? " said Floss, for she was rather 
 sleepy still. 
 
 " The plan for getting money." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Floss. " Yes," she went on after 
 thinking for a minute, "yes, it's nearly ready; at 
 least I'm almost sure it is. But it's not quite ready 
 for telling you, yet, Carrots." 
 
 Carrots looked terribly disappointed. 
 
 " I think," went on Floss, " I think it will be ready 
 for telling you after breakfast. And if you like, you 
 may listen to something I am going to ask nurse at 
 breakfast, and, perhaps, that will help you to guess 
 what the plan is." 
 
 At breakfast time Carrots was all ears. All ears 
 and no tongue, so that nurse began to wonder if he 
 was ill. 
 
 " I shouldn't like you to be ill the very day after 
 
PLANS. 21 
 
 Master Jack has gone," she said anxiously (Jack had 
 gone up to town by the night train with his father), 
 " one trouble at a time is quite enough for your poor 
 mamma." 
 
 "Is Jack's going to the big school a trouble?" 
 asked Floss, opening her eyes very wide, " I thought 
 they were all very glad." 
 
 "My dear," said nurse solemnly, "one may be 
 glad of a thing and sorry too. And changes mostly 
 are good and bad together." 
 
 Floss did not say any more, but she seemed to be 
 thinking about what nurse had said. Carrots was 
 thinking too. 
 
 " When I'm a man," he said at last, " I won't go 
 to a big school if Floss doesn't want me to." 
 
 Nurse smiled. " There's time enough to see about 
 that," she said, "get on with your breakfast, Master 
 Carrots ; you'll never grow a big boy if you don't 
 eat plenty." 
 
 " Nurse," said Floss, suddenly, " what's the dearest 
 thing we eat ? what costs most ? " 
 
 " Meat, now-a-days, Miss Flossie," said nurse. 
 
 "Could we do without it?" asked Floss. Nurse 
 shook her head. 
 
 " What could we do without ? " continued the 
 child. "We couldn't do without bread or milk, I 
 suppose. What could we do without that costs 
 money?" 
 
 " Most things do that," said nurse, who began to 
 
22 
 
 have a glimmering of what Floss was driving at, 
 " but the money's well spent in good food to make 
 you strong and well." 
 
 "Then isn't there anything we could do without 
 without it hurting us, I mean ? " said Floss, in a 
 tone of disappointment. 
 
 " Oh yes," said nurse, " I dare say there is. Once 
 a little boy and girl I knew went without sugar in 
 their tea for a month, and their grandmother gave 
 them sixpence each instead." 
 
 " Sixpence ! " exclaimed Floss, her eyes gleaming. 
 
 " Sixpence each," corrected nurse. 
 
 " Two sixpences, that would be a shilling. Carrots, 
 do you hear?" 
 
 Carrots had be'en listening with might and main, 
 but was rather puzzled. 
 
 " Would two sixpennies pay for two hoops ? " he 
 whispered to Floss, pulling her pinafore till she bent 
 her head down to listen. 
 
 " Of course they would. At least I'm almost sure. 
 I'll ask nurse. Nurse dear," she went on in a louder 
 voice, "do you think we might do that way Carrots 
 and I about sugar, I mean ? " 
 
 " I don't see that it would do you any harm," said 
 nurse. " You must ask your mamma." 
 
 But Floss hesitated. 
 
 " I shouldn't much like to ask mamma," she said, 
 and Carrots, who was listening so intently that he 
 had forgotten all about his bread and milk, noticed 
 
PLANS. 23 
 
 that Floss's face grew red. " I shouldn't much like 
 to ask mamma, because, nursie, dear, it is only that 
 we want to get money for something for ourselves, 
 and if we told mamma, it would be like asking her 
 to give us the money. It wouldn't be any harm for 
 us not to eat any sugar in our tea for a month, and 
 you could keep the sugar in a packet all together, 
 nurse, and then you might tell mamma that we had 
 saved it, and she would give us a shilling for it. It 
 would be quite worth a shilling, wouldn't it, nurse ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said nurse, " I am sure your mamma 
 would say it was." Then she considered a little. 
 She was one of those truly trustworthy nurses whose 
 notions are strong on the point of everything being 
 told to "mamma." But she perfectly understood 
 Floss's hesitation, and though she might not have 
 been able to put her feeling into words, she felt that 
 it might do the child harm to thwart her delicate 
 instinct. 
 
 " Well, nurse ? " said Floss, at last. 
 
 "Well, Miss Flossie, I don't think for once I shall 
 be doing wrong in letting you have a secret. When 
 will you begin ? This is Thursday ; on Saturday 
 your mamma will give me the week's sugar sup- 
 pose you begin on Sunday ? But does Master Carrots 
 quite understand ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Floss, confidently, "he under- 
 stands, don't you, dear ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Carrots, "we won't eat not any 
 
24 " CARROTS." 
 
 sugar, Floss and me, for a great long time, and 
 nurse will tie it up in a parcel with a string round, 
 and mamma will buy it and give us a great lot of 
 pennies, and then, and then " he began to jump 
 about with delight " Floss and me will go to the 
 toy-shop and buy our hoops, won't we, Floss? Oh 
 I wish it was time to go now, don't you, Floss ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear, a month's a good while to wait," 
 said Floss sympathisingly. "May we go out on 
 the shore again by ourselves this afternoon, nurse ? " 
 
 " If it doesn't rain," said nurse ; and Floss, who 
 had half an hour to wait before it was time for her 
 to join her sisters in the schoolroom, went to the 
 window to have a look at the weather. She had not 
 stood there for more than a minute when Carrots 
 climbed up on to a chair beside her. 
 
 " It's going to rain, Floss," he said, " there are 
 the little curly clouds in the sky that Matthew 
 says come when it rains." 
 
 Floss looked up at the sky and down at the sea. 
 
 " The sea looks cross to-day," she said. 
 
 There were no pretty ripples this morning ; the 
 water looked dull and leaden. 
 
 " Floss," said Carrots, with a sigh, " I do get so 
 tired when you are at lessons all the morning and I 
 have nucken to do. Can't you think of a plan for 
 me to have something to do?" Carrots' head was 
 running on "plans." 
 
 Floss considered. 
 
PLANS. 25 
 
 " Would you like to tidy my drawer for me ? " she 
 said. " This isn't the regular day for tidying it, but 
 it is in a mess, because I turned all the things upside 
 down when I was looking for our race horses' reins 
 yesterday. Will you put it quite tidy, Carrots ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, quite, dear Floss," said Carrots, "I'll 
 put all the dolls neat, and all the pieces, and all 
 the sewing things. Oh, dear Floss, what nice plans 
 you make." 
 
 So when Floss had gone to her lessons, and nurse 
 was busy with her morning duties, in and out of the 
 room, so as not to lose sight of Carrots, but still too 
 busy to amuse him, he, with great delight, set to 
 work at the drawer. It certainly was much in need 
 of "tidying," and after trying several ways, Carrots 
 found that the best plan was to take everything 
 out, and then put the different things back again in 
 order, It took him a good while, and his face got 
 rather red with stooping down to the floor to pick up 
 all the things he had deposited there, for the drawer 
 itself was too heavy for him to lift out bodily, if, 
 indeed, such an idea had occurred to him. It was 
 the middle drawer of the cupboard, the top part of 
 which was divided into shelves where the nursery 
 cups and saucers and those sort of things stood. 
 The drawer above Floss's was nurse's, where she 
 kept her work, and a few books, and a little note- 
 paper and so on; and the drawer at the bottom, 
 so that he could easily reach it, was Carrots' own. 
 
26 " CAEEOTS." 
 
 One end of Floss's drawer was given up to her 
 dolls. She still had a good many, for though she 
 did not care for them now as much as she used, she 
 never could be persuaded to throw any of them 
 away. But they were not very pretty ; even 
 Carrots could see that, and Carrots, to tell the 
 truth, was very fond of dolls. 
 
 " If I had some money," he said to himself, " I 
 would buy Floss such a most beautiful doll. I 
 wish I had some money." 
 
 For the moment he forgot about the hoops and 
 the " plan " and sat down on a little stool with one 
 of the unhappiest looking of the dolls in his arms. 
 
 " I wish I could buy you a new face, poor dolly," 
 he said. " I wish I had some money." 
 
 He got up again to put poor dolly back into her 
 corner. As he was smoothing down the paper which 
 lined the drawer, he felt something hard close to 
 dolly's foot ; he pushed away the dolls to see 
 there, almost hidden by a crumple in the paper 
 lay a tiny little piece of money a little shining 
 piece, about the size of a sixpence, only a different 
 colour. 
 
 " A yellow sixpenny, oh, how nice ! " thought 
 Carrots, as he seized it. " I wonder if Floss knowed 
 it was there. It would just do to buy a new doll. 
 I wish I could go to the toy-shop to buy one to 
 surprise Floss. I won't tell Floss I've found it. 
 I'll keep it for a secret, and some day I'll buy Floss 
 
"A YELLOW SIXPENNY, OH, HOW NICE!" p. 26. 
 
PLANS. 27 
 
 a new doll. I'm sure Floss doesn't know I think 
 the fairies must have put it there." 
 
 He wrapped the piece of money up carefully in a 
 bit of paper, and after considering where he could 
 best hide it, so that Floss should not know till it 
 was time to surprise her, he fixed on a beautiful 
 place he hid it under one of the little round 
 saucers in his paint-box a very old paint-box 
 it was, which had descended from Jack, first to 
 Mott and then to Carrots, but which, all the same, 
 Carrots considered one of his greatest treasures. 
 
 When nurse came into the room, she found the 
 tidying of the drawer completed, and Carrots sitting 
 quietly by the window. He did not tell her about 
 the money he had found, it never entered into his 
 little head that he should speak of it. He had got 
 into the way of not telling all the little things that 
 happened to him to any one but Floss, for he was 
 naturally a very quiet child, and nurse was getting 
 too old to care about all the tiny interests of her 
 children as she once had done. Besides, he had 
 determined to keep it a secret, even from Floss, till 
 he could buy a new doll with it but very likely 
 he would have told her of it after all, had not some- 
 thing else put it out of his head. 
 
 The something else was that that afternoon nurse 
 took Floss and him a long walk, and a walk they 
 were very fond of. 
 
 It was to the cottage of the old woman, who, ever 
 
28 " CARROTS." 
 
 since they had come to Sandyshore, had washed for 
 them. She was a very nice old woman, and her 
 cottage was beautifully clean, and now and then 
 Floss and Carrots had gone with nurse to have tea 
 with her, which was a great treat. But to-day they 
 were not going to tea ; they were only going because 
 nurse had to pay Mrs. White some money for wash- 
 ing up Jack's things quickly, and nurse knew the 
 old woman would be glad to have it, as it was close 
 to the day on which she had to pay her rent. 
 
 Floss and Carrots were delighted to go, for even 
 when they did not stay to tea, Mrs. White always 
 gave them a glass of milk, and, generally, a piece 
 of home-made cake. 
 
 Before they started, nurse went to her drawer 
 and took out of it a very small packet done up in 
 white paper, and this little packet she put into her 
 purse. 
 
 It was, after all, a nice fine day. Floss and 
 Carrots walked quietly beside nurse for a little, and 
 then she gave them leave to run races, which made 
 the way seem very short, till they got to Mrs. 
 White's. 
 
 " How nice it will be when we have our hoops, 
 won't it, Carrots ? " said Floss. 
 
 Carrots had almost forgotten about the hoops, but 
 now that Floss mentioned them, it put him in mind 
 of something else. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like a new doll, Floss ? " he said 
 
PLANS. 29 
 
 mysteriously, " a most beautifullest new doll, with 
 hair like like the angels' hairs in the big window 
 at church, and eyes like the little blue stones in 
 mamma's ring ? " 
 
 " Of course I would," said Floss, " and we'd call 
 her Angelina, wouldn't we, Carrots? But it's no 
 good thinking about it I shall never have one like 
 that, unless the fairies send it me ! " 
 
 "If the fairies sended you money to buy one, 
 wouldn't that do ? " said Carrots, staring up in her 
 face with a funny look in his eyes. 
 
 But before Floss had time to answer, nurse called 
 to them they were at the corner of the lane which 
 led to Mrs. White's. 
 
 Mrs. White was very kind. She had baked a cake 
 only a day or two before, and cut off a beautiful big 
 piece for each of the children, then she gave them a 
 drink of milk, and they ran out into her little garden 
 to eat their cake and look at the flowers, till nurse 
 had finished her business with the old washerwoman, 
 and was ready to go home. 
 
 Floss and Carrots thought a great deal of Mrs. 
 White's garden. Small as it was, it had far more 
 flowers in it than their own garden at the back of the 
 Cove House, for it was a mile or two farther from the 
 sea, and the soil was richer, and it was more sheltered 
 irom the wind. 
 
 In summer there was what Floss called quite a 
 " buzzy " sound in this little garden she meant 
 
30 
 
 that sweet, lazy-busy hum of bees and butterflies and 
 all sorts of living creatures, that you never hear ex- 
 cept in a real old-fashioned garden where there are 
 lots of clove pinks and sweet williams and roses, roses 
 especially, great, big cabbage roses, and dear little 
 pink climbing roses, the kind that peep in at a cot- 
 tage window to bid you "good-morning." Oh, how 
 very sweet those old-fashioned flowers are though 
 " rose fanciers " and all the clever gardeners we have 
 now-a-days wouldn't give anything for them ! I 
 think them the sweetest of all. Don't you, children ? 
 Or is it only when one begins to grow old-fashioned 
 oneself and to care more for things that used to be 
 than things that are now, that one gets to prize these 
 old friends so ? 
 
 I am wandering away from Floss and Carrots 
 waiting for nurse in the cottage garden; you must 
 forgive me, boys and girls when people begin to 
 grow old they get in the habit of telling stories in a 
 rambling way, but I don't find children so hard upon 
 this tiresome habit as big people sometimes are. And 
 it all comes back to me so even the old washer- 
 woman's cottage I can see so plainly, and the dear 
 straggly little garden ! 
 
 For you see, children, I am telling you the history 
 of a real little boy and girl, not fancy children, and 
 that is why, though there is nothing very wonderful 
 about Floss and Carrots, I hope the story of their 
 
PLANS. 31 
 
 little pleasures and sorrows and simple lives may be 
 interesting to you. 
 
 But I must finish about the visit to the washer- 
 woman in another chapter. I have made this one 
 rather too long already. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN. 
 
 " Children should not leave about 
 
 Anything that's small and bright ; 
 Lest the fairies spy it out, 
 And fly off with it at night." 
 
 POEMS WRITTEN FOR A CHILD. 
 
 THERE was no buzzy sound in Mrs. White's garden 
 this afternoon. It was far too early in the year for 
 that, indeed it was beginning to feel quite chilly 
 and cold, as the afternoons often do of fine days in 
 early spring, and by the time Floss and Carrots had 
 eaten their cake, and examined all the rose bushes to 
 see if they could find any buds, and wished it were 
 summer, so that there would be some strawberries 
 hiding under the glossy green leaves, they began to 
 wonder why nurse was so long and to feel rather 
 cold and tired of waiting. 
 
 " Just run to the door, Carrots, dear," said Floss, 
 " and peep in to see if nurse is coming." 
 
 She did not like to go herself, for she knew that 
 nurse and Mrs. White were fond of a comfortable 
 talk together and might not like to be interrupted by 
 her. But Carrots they would not mind. 
 
 Carrots set off obediently, but before he got to the 
 32 
 
THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN. 33 
 
 door he met nurse coming out. She was followed by- 
 Mrs. White and both were talking rather earnestly. 
 
 " You'll let me know, if so be as you find it, Mrs. 
 Hooper ; you won't forget ? " Mrs. White was say- 
 ing Hooper was nurse's name " for I feel quite 
 oneasy I do that, for you." 
 
 " I'll let you know, and thank you, Mrs. White," 
 said nurse. " I'm glad I happened to bring some of 
 my own money with me too, for I should have been 
 sorry to put you to any ill-convenience by my care- 
 lessness though how I could have been so careless 
 as to mislay it, I'm sure it's more than I can say." 
 
 " It is, indeed, and you so careful," said Mrs. White 
 sympathisingly. 
 
 Just then nurse caught sight of Carrots. 
 
 "Come along, Master Carrots," she said, "I was 
 just going to look for you. Wherever's Miss Floss ? 
 We must be quick ; it's quite time we were home." 
 
 " I'll tell Floss," said Carrots, disappearing again 
 down the path, and in another moment Floss and he 
 ran back to nurse. 
 
 Though they had been very quick, nurse seemed to 
 think they had been slow. She even scolded Floss a 
 very little as if she had been kept waiting by her and 
 Carrots, when she was in a hurry to go, and both 
 F]oss and Carrots felt that this was very hard when 
 the fact was that they had been waiting for nurse 
 till they were both tired and cold. 
 
 "It wasn't Floss's fault. Floss wanted you to 
 
34 " CARKOTS." 
 
 come quick, and she sended me to see," said Carrots 
 indignantly. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Master Carrots," said nurse 
 sharply. 
 
 Carrots' face got very red, he gave nurse one re- 
 proachful look, but did not speak. He took Floss's 
 hand and pulled her on in front. But Floss would 
 not go ; she drew her hand away. 
 
 " No, Carrots, dear," she said in a low voice, " it 
 wouldn't be kind to leave nurse all alone when she 
 is sorry about something." 
 
 " Is she sorry about somesing ? " said Carrots. 
 
 " Yes," replied Floss, " I am sure she is. You run 
 on for a minute. I want to speak to nurse." 
 
 Carrots ran on and Floss stayed behind. 
 
 " Nurse," she said softly, slipping her hand through 
 nurse's arm, which, by stretching up on tip-toe, she 
 was just able to do, " nurse, dear, what's the matter? " 
 
 " Nothing much, Miss Flossie," replied nurse, pat- 
 ting the kind little hand, " nothing much, but I'm 
 growing an old woman and easy put out and such 
 a stupid like thing for me to have done ! " 
 
 " What have you done ? What is stupid ? " in- 
 quired Floss, growing curious as well as sympathising. 
 
 " I have lost a half-sovereign a ten-shilling piece 
 in gold, Miss Flossie," replied nurse. 
 
 " Out of your pocket dropped it, do you mean ? " 
 said Floss. 
 
 " Oh no I had it in my purse at least I thought 
 
THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN. 35 
 
 I had," said nurse. " It was a half-sovereign of your 
 mamma's that she gave me to pay Mrs. White with 
 for Master Jack's things and part of last week that 
 was left over, and I wrapped it up with a shilling 
 and a sixpence it came to eleven and six, altogether 
 in a piece of paper, and put it in my drawer in 
 the nursery, and before I came out I put the packet 
 in my purse. And when I opened it at Mrs. White's 
 no half-sovereign was there ! Only the shilling and 
 the sixpence ! " 
 
 " You didn't drop it at Mrs. White's, did you ? 
 Should we go back and look ? " said Floss, standing 
 still, as if ready to run off that moment. 
 
 "No, no, my dear. It's not at Mrs. White's. 
 She and I searched all over, and she's as honest 
 a body as could be," replied nurse. " No, there's 
 just the chance of its being in the drawer at home. 
 I feel all in a fever till I get there to look. But 
 don't you say anything about it, Miss Flossie; it's 
 my own fault, and no one must be troubled about 
 it but myself." 
 
 "Poor nursie," said Floss, "I'm so sorry. But 
 you're sure to find it in your drawer. Let's go 
 home very fast. Carrots," she called out to the 
 little figure obediently trotting on in front, " Car- 
 rots, come and walk with nursie and me now. 
 Nurse isn't vexed." 
 
 Carrots turned back, looking up wistfully in 
 nurse's face. 
 
36 " CARROTS." 
 
 " Poor darlings," said the old woman to herself, 
 " such a shame of me to have spoilt their walk ! " 
 
 And all the way home, " to make up," she was 
 even kinder than usual. 
 
 But her hopes of rinding the lost piece of money 
 were disappointed. She searched all through the 
 drawer in vain ; there was no half-sovereign to be 
 seen. Suddenly it struck her that Carrots had been 
 busy " tidying " for Floss that morning. 
 
 "Master Carrots, my dear," she said, "when you 
 were busy at Miss Floss's drawer to-day, you didn't 
 open mine, did you, and touch anything in it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Carrots, at once, " I'm quite, quite 
 sure I didn't, nursie." 
 
 " You're sure you didn't touch nurse's purse, or 
 a little tiny packet of white paper, in her drawer ? " 
 inquired Floss, with an instinct that the circum- 
 stantial details might possibly recall some forgotten 
 remembrance to his mind. 
 
 " Quite sure," said Carrots, looking straight up in 
 their faces with a thoughtful, but not uncertain ex- 
 pression in his brown eyes. 
 
 "Because nurse has lost something out of her 
 drawer, you see, Carrots dear, and she is very sorry 
 about it," continued Floss. 
 
 "What has she lost? But I'm sure" repeated 
 Carrots, " I didn't touch nurse's drawer, nor nuckeii 
 in it. What has nurse lost ? " 
 
 "A half-sovereign " began Floss, but nurse 
 interrupted her. 
 
THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN. 37 
 
 "Don't tease him any more about it," she said; 
 " it's plain he doesn't know, and I wouldn't like the 
 other servants to hear. Just forget about it, Master 
 Carrots, my dear, perhaps nurse will find it some 
 day." 
 
 So Carrots, literally obedient, asked no more 
 questions. He only said- to himself, with a puzzled 
 look on his face, " A half-sovereign ! I didn't know 
 nurse had any sovereigns I thought only Floss 
 had and I never saw any broken in halfs ! " 
 
 But as no more was said in his hearing about the 
 matter, it passed from his innocent mind. 
 
 Nurse thought it right to tell the children's 
 mother of her loss, and the girls and Maurice heard 
 of it too. They all were very sorry for nurse, for 
 she took her own carelessness rather sorely to heart. 
 But by her wish, nothing was said of it to the two 
 other servants, one of whom had only lately come, 
 though the other had been with them many years. 
 
 "I'd rather by far bear the loss," said nurse, "than 
 cause any ill-feeling about it, ma'am." 
 
 And her mistress gave in to her. " Though 
 certainly you must not bear the loss, nurse," she 
 said, kindly; ""for in all these years you have saved 
 me too many half-sovereigns and whole ones too for 
 me to mind much about the loss of one. And 
 you've asked Carrots, you say ; you're sure he knows 
 nothing about it?" 
 
 " Quite sure, ma'am," said nurse, unhesitatingly. 
 
38 CARKOTS." 
 
 And several days went on, and nothing more was 
 said or heard about the half-sovereign. Only all 
 this time the little yellow sixpenny lay safely hidden 
 away in Carrots' paint-box. 
 
 In a sense he had forgotten about it. He knew 
 it was safe there, and he had almost fixed in his 
 mind not to tell Floss about it till the day they 
 should be going to the toy-shop to buy their hoops. 
 Once or twice he had been on the point of showing 
 it to her, but had stopped short, thinking how much 
 more delightful it would be to "surprise" her. He 
 had quite left off puzzling his head as to where the 
 little coin had come from; he had found it in 
 Floss's drawer, that was quite enough. If he had 
 any thoughts about its history, they were that 
 either Floss had had " the sixpenny " a long time 
 ago and had forgotten it, or that the fairies had 
 brought it; and on the whole he inclined to the 
 latter explanation, for you see there was something 
 different about this sixpenny to any he had ever 
 seen before. 
 
 Very likely "fairies' sixpennies" are always that 
 pretty yellow colour, he thought. 
 
 One day, about a week after the loss of the 
 half-sovereign, Maurice happened to come into the 
 nursery just at the little ones' tea-time. It was a 
 half-holiday, and he had been out a long walk with 
 some of his companions, for he still went to school at 
 Sandyshore, and now he had come in tremendously 
 hungry and thirsty. 
 
THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN. 39 
 
 "I say, nurse," he exclaimed, seating himself 
 unceremoniously at the table, " I'm awfully hungry, 
 and mamma's out, and we shan't have tea for two 
 hours yet. And Carrots, young man, I want your 
 paint-box ; mine's all gone to smash, and Cecil won't 
 lend me hers, and I want to paint flags with stars 
 and stripes for my new boat." 
 
 " Tars and tipes," repeated Carrots, " what's tars 
 and tipes ? " 
 
 "What's that to you?" replied Mott, politely. 
 " Bless me, I am so thirsty. Give me your tea, 
 Carrots, and nurse will make you some more. What 
 awful weak stuff ! But I'm too thirsty to wait." 
 
 He seized Carrots' mug and drank off its contents 
 at one draught. But when he put the mug down 
 he made a very wry face. 
 
 " What horrible stuff ! " he exclaimed. " Nurse, 
 you've forgotten to put in any sugar." 
 
 " No, she hasn't," said Carrots, bluntly. 
 
 Nurse smiled, but said nothing, and Floss looked 
 fidgety. 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Mott. "Don't you 
 like sugar eh, young 'un ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do like it," replied Carrots, but he would 
 say no more. 
 
 Floss grew more and more uneasy. 
 
 " Oh, Mott," she burst out, " please don't tease 
 Carrots. It's nothing wrong; it's only something 
 we've planned ourselves." 
 
40 " CARROTS." 
 
 Mott's curiosity was by this time thoroughly 
 aroused. 
 
 "A secret, is it?" he exclaimed, pricking up his 
 ears ; " you'd best tell it me. I'm a duffer at keeping 
 secrets. Out with it." 
 
 Floss looked ready to cry, and Carrots shut his 
 mouth tight, as if determined not to give in. Nurse 
 thought it time to interfere. 
 
 " Master Maurice," she said, appealingly, " don't 
 tease the poor little things, there's a good boy. If 
 it - is a secret, there's no harm in it, you may be 
 sure." 
 
 " Tease ! " repeated Mott, virtuously, " I'm not 
 teasing. I only want to know what the mystery is 
 why shouldn't I ? I won't interfere." 
 
 Now Mott was just at the age when the spirit of 
 mischief is most apt to get thorough hold of a boy ; 
 and once this is the case, who can say where or at 
 what a boy will stop ? Every opposition or contra- 
 diction only adds fuel to the flames, and not seldom 
 a tiny spark may thus end in a great fire. Nurse 
 knew something of boys in general, and of Mott in 
 particular ; and knowing what she did, she decided 
 in her own mind that she had better take the bull by 
 the horns without delay. 
 
 " Miss Floss," she said seriously, " and Master 
 Carrots, I think you had better tell your brother 
 your secret. He'll be very kind about it, you'll see, 
 and he won't tell anybody." 
 
THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN. 41 
 
 " Won't you, Mott ?" said Floss, jumping up and 
 down on her chair in her anxiety. " Promise." 
 
 " Honour bright," said Mott. 
 
 Carrots opened his mouth as if about to speak, but 
 shut it down again. 
 
 " What were you going to say ? " said Mott. 
 
 " Nucken," replied Carrots. 
 
 " People don't open their mouths like that, if 
 they've c nucken ' to say," said Mott, as if he didn't 
 believe Carrots. 
 
 " I didn't mean that I wasn't going to say nucken," 
 said Carrots, " I mean I haven't nucken to say now." 
 
 " And what were you going to say ? " persisted 
 Mott. 
 
 Carrots looked frightened. 
 
 " I was only sinking if you knowed, and nurse 
 knowed, and Floss knowed, and I knowed, it wouldn't 
 be a secret." 
 
 Mott burst out laughing. 
 
 " What a precious goose you are," he exclaimed. 
 " Well, secret or no secret, I'm going to hear it ; so 
 tell me." 
 
 Floss looked at nurse despairingly. 
 
 " You tell, nurse, please," she said. 
 
 So nurse told, and Maurice looked more amused 
 than ever. " What an idea ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 don't believe Carrots'll hold out for a month, what- 
 ever Floss may do, unless he has a precious lump 
 of ac ac what is it the head people call it? 
 
42 
 
 acquisitiveness for his age. But you needn't have 
 made such a fuss about your precious secret. Here, 
 nurse, give us some tea, and you may put in all the 
 sugar Floss and Carrots have saved by now." 
 
 Floss and Carrots looked ready to cry, but nurse 
 reassured them. 
 
 " Never you fear," she said ; " he shall have what's 
 proper, but no more. Never was such a boy for sweet 
 things as you, Master Mott." 
 
 " It shows in my temper, doesn't it ? " he said 
 saucily. And then he was so pleased with his own 
 wit that for a few minutes he forgot to tease, 
 occupying himself by eating lots of bread and 
 butter instead, so that tea went on peaceably. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 CARROTS IN TROUBLE. 
 
 "But bitter while they flow, are childish tears." 
 
 "Now Carrots," said Mott, when he had eaten 
 what he considered might possibly support him for 
 the next two hours, "now Carrots, let's have the 
 paint-box. You needn't disturb yourself," he con- 
 tinued, for Carrots was preparing to descend from 
 his high chair, " I know where you keep it ; it's in 
 your drawer, isn't it ? Which is his drawer, nurse ? 
 It'll be a good opportunity for me to see if he 
 keeps it tidy." 
 
 " No, no, let me get it myself," cried Carrots, 
 tumbling himself off his chair anyhow in his eager- 
 ness. " Nurse, nurse, don't tell him which is mine ; 
 don't let him take my paint-box, let me get it my 
 own self." 
 
 Nurse looked at him with some surprise ; it was 
 seldom the little boy so excited himself. 
 
 " Master Mott won't hurt your drawer, my dear," 
 she said; "you don't mind his having your paint- 
 box, I'm sure. But do let him get it out himself, if 
 he wants, Master Maurice, there's a dear boy," she 
 
 43 
 
44 
 
 continued, for Maurice was by this time ferreting in 
 Floss's drawer with great gusto, and in another 
 moment would have been at Carrots' ! But Carrots 
 was at it before him. He pulled it open as far as 
 he could, for in consequence of Mott's investigations 
 in the upper story, he could not easily penetrate to 
 his own quarters. But he knew exactly where the 
 paint-box lay, and managed to slip it out, without 
 Maurice's noticing what he was doing. His triumph 
 was short-lived, however ; before he could open the 
 box, Mott was after him. 
 
 " Hi, you young sneak ! " he cried, " what are you 
 after now ? Give me the box ; I believe you want 
 to take the best paints out before you lend it to 
 me," and he wrenched the paint-box out of his little 
 brother's hands. 
 
 " I don't, I don't," sobbed Carrots, sitting down on 
 the floor and crying bitterly ; " you may have all the 
 paints, Mott, but it's my secret, oh, my secret ! " 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " said Mott, roughly, 
 pulling out the lid as he spoke. The box had been all 
 tumbled about in the struggle, and the paints came 
 rattling out, the paints and the brushes, and the little 
 saucers, and with them came rolling down on to the 
 floor, children, you know what the " fairies' six- 
 penny," the little bright shining yellow half-sover- 
 eign! 
 
 A strange change came over Mott's face. 
 
 "Nurse," he cried, "do you see that? What does 
 that mean ? " 
 
CARROTS IN TROUBLE. 45 
 
 Nurse hastened up to where he was standing ; she 
 stared for a moment in puzzled astonishment at the 
 spot on the carpet to which the toe of Maurice's 
 boot was pointing, then she stooped down slowly and 
 picked up the coin, still without speaking. 
 
 " Well, nurse," said Maurice, impatiently, " what 
 do you think of that ? " 
 
 "My half-sovereign," said nurse, as if hardly be- 
 lieving what she saw. 
 
 " Of course it's your half-sovereign," said Mott, 
 " it's as plain as a pike-staff. But how did it come 
 there, that's the question ? " 
 
 Nurse looked at Carrots with puzzled perplexity. 
 " He couldn't have known," she said in a low voice, 
 too low for Carrots to hear. He was still sitting on 
 the floor sobbing, and through his sobs was to be 
 heard now and then the melancholy cry, " My secret, 
 oh, my poor secret." 
 
 " You hear what he says," said Maurice ; " what 
 does his 'secret' mean but that 'he sneaked into 
 your drawer and took the half-sovereign, and now 
 doesn't like being found out. I'm ashamed to have 
 him for my brother, that I am, the little cad ! " 
 
 " But he couldn't have understood," said nurse, at 
 a loss how otherwise to defend her little boy. " I'm 
 not even sure that he rightly knew of my losing it, 
 and he might have taken it, meaning no harm, not 
 knowing what it was, indeed, very likely." 
 
 " Rubbish," said Maurice. " A child that is going 
 
46 
 
 without sugar to get money instead, must be old 
 enough to understand something about what money 
 is." 
 
 " But that was my plan ; it wasn't Carrots that 
 thought of it at all," said Floss, who all this time 
 had stood by, frightened and distressed, not knowing 
 what to say. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Floss," said Maurice, roughly ; 
 and Floss subsided. " Carrots," he continued, turn- 
 ing to his brother, " leave off crying this minute, and 
 listen to me. Who put this piece of money into 
 your paint-box ? " 
 
 " I did my own self," said Carrots. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To keep it a secret for Floss," sobbed Carrots. 
 
 Maurice turned triumphantly to nurse. 
 
 " There," he said, " you see ! And," he continued 
 to Carrots again, " you took it out of nurse's drawer 
 out of a little paper packet ? " 
 
 "No," said Carrots, "I didn't. I didn't know it 
 was nurse's." 
 
 " You didn't know nurse had lost a half-sover- 
 eign ! " exclaimed Mott, "Carrots, how dare you say 
 so?" 
 
 " Yes," said Carrots, looking so puzzled, that for 
 a moment or two he forgot to sob, " I did know ; 
 Floss told me." 
 
 " Then how can you say you didn't know this was 
 nurse's ? " said Mott. 
 
CAKKOTS IN TROUBLE. 47 
 
 "Oh, I don't know I didn't know I can't 
 under'tand," cried Carrots, relapsing into fresh sobs. 
 
 " I wish your mamma were in, that I do," said 
 nurse, looking ready to cry too ; by this time Floss's 
 tears were flowing freely. 
 
 " She isn't in, so it's no good wishing she were," 
 said Maurice ; " but papa is," he went on impor- 
 tantly, "and I'll just take Carrots to him and see 
 what he 9 II say to all this." 
 
 " Oh, no, Master Mott, don't do that, I beg and 
 pray of you," said nurse, all but wringing her hands 
 in entreaty. " Your papa doesn't understand about 
 the little ones ; do wait till your mamma comes in." 
 
 " No, indeed, nurse ; it's a thing papa should be 
 told," said Mott, in his innermost heart half inclined 
 to yield, but working himself up to imagine he was 
 acting very heroically. And notwithstanding nurse's 
 distress, and Floss's tears, off he marched his unfor- 
 tunate little brother to the study. 
 
 "Papa," he said, knocking at the door, "may I 
 come in? There's something I must speak to you 
 about immediately." 
 
 " Come in, then," was the reply. " Well, and 
 what's the matter now ? Has Carrots hurt himself ? " 
 asked his father, naturally enough, for his red-haired 
 little son looked pitiable in the extreme as he crept 
 into the room after Maurice, frightened, bewildered, 
 and, so far as his gentle disposition was capable of 
 such a feeling, indignant also, all at once. 
 
48 
 
 " No," replied Maurice, pushing Carrots forward, 
 "he's not hurt himself; it's worse than that. 
 Papa," he continued excitedly, "you whipped me 
 once, when I was a little fellow, for telling a story. 
 I am very sorry to trouble you, but I think it's 
 right you should know ; I am afraid you will have 
 to punish Carrots more severely than you punished 
 me, for he's done worse than tell a story." Maurice 
 stopped to take breath, and looked at his father to 
 see the effect of his words. Carrots had stopped 
 crying to listen to what Maurice was saying, and 
 there he stood, staring up with his large brown eyes, 
 two or three tears still struggling down his cheeks, 
 his face smeared and red and looking very miserable. 
 Yet he did not seem to be in the least ashamed of 
 himself, and this somehow provoked Mott and hard- 
 ened him against him. 
 
 " What's he been doing ? " said their father, look- 
 ing at the two boys with more amusement than 
 anxiety, and then glancing regretfully at the news- 
 paper which he had been comfortably reading when 
 Mott's knock came to the door. 
 
 " He's done much worse than tell a story," repeated 
 Maurice, "though for that matter he's told two or 
 three stories too. But, papa, you know about nurse 
 losing a half-sovereign? Well, Carrots had got it 
 all the time ; he took it out of nurse's purse, and hid 
 it away in his paint-box, without telling anybody. 
 He can't deny it, though he tried to." 
 
CAKROTS IN TROUBLE. 49 
 
 " Carrots," said his father sternly, " is this true ? " 
 
 Carrots looked up in his father's face ; that face, 
 generally so kind and merry, was now all gloom and 
 displeasure why ? Carrots could not understand, 
 and he was too frightened and miserable to collect 
 his little wits together to try to do so. He just gave 
 a sort of little tremble and began to cry again. 
 
 " Carrots," repeated his father, " is this true ? " 
 
 " I don't know," sobbed Carrots. 
 
 Now Captain Desart, Carrots' father, was, as I 
 think I have told you, a sailor. If any of you 
 children have a sailor for your father, you must not 
 think I mean to teach you to be disrespectful when 
 I say that sailors are, there is no doubt, inclined to 
 be hot-tempered and hasty. And I do not think on 
 the whole that they understand much about children, 
 though they are often very fond of them and very 
 kind. All this was the case with Carrots' father. 
 He had been so much away from his children while 
 they were little, that he really hardly knew how 
 they had been brought up or trained or anything 
 about their childish ways he had left them entirely 
 to his wife, and scarcely considered them as in any 
 way " his business," till they were quite big boys and 
 girls. 
 
 But once he did begin to notice them, though 
 Very kind, he was very strict. He had most 
 decided opinions about the only way of checking 
 their faults whenever these were serious enough to 
 
50 
 
 attract his attention, and he could not and would 
 not be troubled with arguing, or what he called 
 "splitting hairs," about such matters. A fault was 
 a fault ; telling a falsehood was telling a falsehood ; 
 and he made no allowance for the excuses or "pal- 
 liating circumstances " there might be to consider. 
 One child, according to his ideas, was to be treated 
 exactly like another ; why the same offence should 
 deserve severer punishment with a self-willed, self- 
 confident, bold, matter-of-fact lad, such as Maurice, 
 than with a timid, fanciful, baby-like creature as was 
 his little Fabian, he could not have understood had 
 he tried. 
 
 Nurse knew all this by long experience ; no 
 wonder, kind though she knew her master to be, 
 that she trembled when Mott announced his intention 
 of laying the whole affair before his father. 
 
 But poor Carrots did not know anything about 
 it. " Papa " had never been " cross " to him before, 
 and he was far from clearly understanding why he 
 was " cross " to him now. So he just sobbed and 
 said " I don't know," which was about the worst 
 thing he could possibly have said in his own defence, 
 though literally the truth. 
 
 "No or yes, sir," said Captain Desart, his voice 
 growing louder and sterner I think he really for- 
 got that it was a poor little shrimp of six years 
 old he was speaking to " no nonsense of ' don't 
 knows.' Did you or did you not take nurse's half- 
 
CARROTS IN TROUBLE. 51 
 
 sovereign out of her drawer and keep it for your 
 own?" 
 
 " No," said Carrots, " I never took nucken out of 
 nurse's drawer. I never did, papa, and I didn't know 
 nurse had any sovereigns." 
 
 " Didn't you know nurse had lost a half-sovereign ? 
 Carrots, how can you say so?" interrupted Mott. 
 
 " Yes, Floss told me," said Carrots. 
 
 " And Floss hid it away in your paint-box, I sup- 
 pose ? " said Mott, sarcastically. 
 
 " No, Floss didn't. I hided the sixpenny my own 
 self," said Carrots, looking more and more puzzled. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Maurice," said his father, 
 angrily. " Go and fetch the money and the torn-fool 
 paint-box thing that you say he had it in." 
 
 Mott did as he was told. He ran to the nursery 
 and back as fast as he could; but, unobserved by 
 him, Floss managed to run after him and crept into 
 the study so quietly that her father never noticed her. 
 
 Maurice laid the old paint-box and the half-sover- 
 eign down on the table in front of his father ; Captain 
 Desart held up the little coin between his finger and 
 thumb. 
 
 " Now," he said, " Carrots, look at this. Did you 
 or did you not take this piece of money out of 
 nurse's drawer and hide it away in your paint-box?" 
 
 Carrots stared hard at the half-sovereign. 
 
 " I did put it in my paint-box," he said, and then 
 he stopped. 
 
52 
 
 " What for?" said his father. 
 
 " I wanted to keep it for a secret," he replied. " I 
 wanted to to " 
 
 " What?" thundered Captain Desart. 
 
 " To buy something at the toy-shop with it," 
 sobbed Carrots. 
 
 Captain Desart sat down and looked at Mott for 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Upon my soul," he said, " one could hardly 
 believe it. A child that one would think scarcely 
 knew the value of money ! Where can he have 
 learnt such cunning ; you say you are sure he was 
 told of nurse's having lost a half-sovereign ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mott ; " he confesses to that much 
 himself." 
 
 " Floss told me," said Carrots. 
 
 "Then how can you pretend you didn't know this 
 was nurse's taking it out of her drawer, too," said 
 his father. 
 
 "I don't know. I didn't take it out of her 
 drawer; it was 'aside Floss's doll," said Carrots. 
 
 " He's trying to equivocate," said his father. 
 Then he turned to the child again, looking more 
 determined than ever. 
 
 " Carrots," he said, " I must whip you for this. 
 Do you know that I am ashamed to think you are 
 my son ? If you were a poor boy you might be put 
 in prison for this." 
 
 Carrots looked too bewildered to understand. " In 
 
CARROTS IN TROUBLE. 53 
 
 prison," he repeated. " Would the prison-man take 
 me?" 
 
 " What does he mean ? " said Captain Desart. 
 
 Floss, who had been waiting unobserved in her 
 corner all this time, thought this a good opportunity 
 for coming forward. 
 
 " He means the policeman," she said. " Oh, papa," 
 she went on, running up to her little brother and 
 throwing her arms round him, the tears streaming 
 down her face, " oh, papa, poor little Carrots I he 
 doesn't understand.". 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " said her father, 
 gruffly but not unkindly, for Floss was rather a 
 favourite of his. " What do you mean about his not 
 understanding? Did you know about this business, 
 Floss?" 
 
 " Oh no, papa," said Floss, her face flushing ; 
 " I'm too big not to understand." 
 
 " Of course you are," said Captain Desart ; " and 
 Carrots is big enough, too, to understand the very 
 plain rule that he is not to touch what does not 
 belong to him. He was told, too, that nurse had lost 
 a half-sovereign, and he might then have owned to 
 having taken it and given it back, and then things 
 would not have looked so bad. Take him up to my 
 dressing-room, Maurice, and leave him there till I 
 come." 
 
 "May I go with him, papa?" said Floss very 
 timidly. 
 
54 
 
 " No," said her father, " you may not." 
 
 So Mott led off poor weeping Carrots, and all the 
 way upstairs he kept sobbing to himself, " I never 
 touched nurse's sovereigns. I never did. I didn't 
 know she had any sovereigns." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said Mott ; " what is the use 
 of telling more stories about it ? " 
 
 "I didn't tell stories. I said I hided the sixpenny 
 my own self, but I never touched nurse's sovereigns ; 
 I never did." 
 
 " I believe you're more than half an idiot," said 
 Mott, angry and yet sorry angry with himself, too, 
 somehow. 
 
 Floss, left alone with her father, ventured on 
 another appeal. 
 
 " You won't whip Carrots till mamma comes in, 
 will you, papa ? " she said softly. 
 
 " Why not ? Do you think I want her to help me 
 to whip him ? " said Captain Desart. 
 
 "Oh no but I think perhaps mamma would 
 understand better how it was, for, oh papa, dear, 
 Carrots isn't a naughty boy; he never, never tells 
 stories." 
 
 " Well, we'll see," replied her father ; " and in the 
 meanwhile it will do him no harm to think things 
 over by himself in my dressing-room for a little." 
 
 " Oh, poor Carrots I " murmured Floss to herself ; 
 "it'll be getting dark, and he's all alone. I wish 
 mamma would come in ! " 
 
FLOSS TAPPED AT THE DOOR. "CARROTS," SHE SAID, " ARE 
 YOU THERE? " p. 55. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CARROTS "ALL ZIGHT " AGAIN. 
 
 " When next the summer breeze comes by, 
 And waves the bush, the flower is dry." 
 
 WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 FLOSS crept upstairs to the dressing-room door. It 
 was locked. Though the key was in the lock, she 
 knew she must not turn it ; and even had it been 
 open she would not have dared to go in, after her 
 father's forbidding it. Bat she thought she might 
 venture to speak to Carrots, to comfort him a little, 
 through the door. She was dreadfully afraid that he 
 might feel frightened in there alone if it got dark 
 before he was released, for sometimes he was afraid 
 of the dark he was such a little boy, remember. 
 
 Floss tapped at the door. 
 
 " Carrots," she said, " are you there ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Carrots ; " but you can't come in, 
 Floss. Mott has locked me in." 
 
 " I know," said Floss ; " what are you doing, 
 Carrots. Are you very unhappy ? " 
 
 " Not so very. I'm crying I'm crying a great 
 lot, Floss, but I don't think I'm so very unhappy - 
 not now you've come to the door." 
 
 " Poor Carrots," said Floss, " I'll stay by the door, 
 
 55 
 
56 " CARROTS." 
 
 if you like. I'll just run down to the front door 
 now and then, to see if mamma is coming, and then 
 I'll come straight back to you." 
 
 " All zight," said Carrots. Whenever he wanted 
 to seem very brave, and rather a big boy, he used to 
 say " all zight," and just now he was trying very 
 hard to be like a big boy. 
 
 There was silence for a minute or two. Then 
 Carrots called out again. 
 
 " Floss," he said, " are you there ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," replied faithful Floss. 
 
 " I want just to tell you one thing," he said. " Floss, 
 I never did touch nurse's sovereigns. I never knowed 
 she had any." 
 
 " It wasn't a sovereign ; it was a A(/*-sovereign," 
 corrected Floss. 
 
 " I don't under' tan d how it could be a half- 
 sovereign," said Carrots. "But I never touched 
 nurse's drawer, nor nucken in it." 
 
 " Then where did you find the half-sovereign ? " 
 began Floss, " and why oh, Carrots," she broke off, 
 " I do believe that's the front door bell. It'll be 
 mamma coming. I must run down." 
 
 " All zight," called out Carrots again. " Don't be 
 long, Floss ; but please tell mamma all about it. I 
 don't under'tand." 
 
 He gave a little sigh of perplexity, and lay down 
 on the floor near the window, where the room was 
 lightest, for the darkness was now beginning to creep 
 in, and he felt very lonely. 
 
AGAIN. 57 
 
 Poor Mrs. Desart hardly knew what to think or 
 say, when, almost before she had got into the house, 
 she was seized upon by Maurice and Floss, each eager 
 to tell their own story. Carrots naughty, Carrots in 
 disgrace, was such an extraordinary idea ! 
 
 " Nurse," she exclaimed, perceiving her at the end 
 of the passage, whence she had been watching as 
 anxiously as the children for her mistress's return, 
 " nurse, what is the meaning of it all?" 
 
 "Indeed, ma'am," nurse was beginning, but she 
 was interrupted. " Come in here, Lucy," said 
 Captain Desart to his wife, opening the study door, 
 "come in here before you go upstairs." 
 
 And Mrs. Desart did as he asked, but Floss again 
 managed to creep in too, almost hidden in the folds 
 of her mother's dress. 
 
 " I can't believe that Carrots is greedy, or cunning, 
 or obstinate," said his mother, when she had heard 
 all. "I cannot think that he understood what he 
 was doing when he took the half-sovereign." 
 
 "But the hiding it," said Captain Desart, "the 
 hiding it, and yet to my face persisting that he had 
 never touched nurse's half-sovereign. I can't make 
 the child out." 
 
 "He says he didn't know nurse had any sover- 
 eigns," put in Floss. 
 
 "Are you there again, you ubiquitous child?" 
 said her father. 
 
 Floss looked rather frightened such a long word 
 
58 
 
 as ubiquitous must surely mean something very 
 naughty ; but her father's voice was not angry, so she 
 took courage. 
 
 " Does he know what a sovereign means ? " said 
 Mrs. Desart. " Perhaps there is some confusion in 
 his mind which makes him seem obstinate when he 
 isn't so really." 
 
 " He said he knew / had sovereigns," said Floss, 
 "and I couldn't think what he meant. Oh, mamma," 
 she went on suddenly, " I do believe I know what he 
 was thinking of. It was my kings and queens." 
 
 And before her father or mother could stop her, 
 she had darted off to the nursery. In two minutes 
 she was back again, holding out to her mother a 
 round wooden box the sort of box one often used 
 to see with picture alphabets for little children, but 
 instead of an alphabet, Floss's box contained a set of 
 round cards, each about the size of the top of a wine- 
 glass, with the heads of all the English kings and 
 queens, from William the Conqueror down to 
 Victoria ! 
 
 " ' Sovereigns of England,' mamma, you see," she 
 exclaimed, pointing to the words on the lid, and 
 quite out of breath with hurry and excitement, 
 " and I very often call them my sovereigns ; and of 
 course Carrots didn't understand how there could 
 be a half one of them, nor how nurse could have any." 
 
 " It must be so," said Mrs. Desart to her husband ; 
 " the poor child really did not understand." 
 
CARROTS "ALL ZIGHT " AGAIN. 59 
 
 " But still the taking the money at all, and hiding 
 it?" said Captain Desart. "I don't see that it would 
 be right not to punish him." 
 
 "He has been punished already pretty severely 
 for him, I fancy," said Floss's mother, with a rather 
 sad smile. " You Avill leave him to me now, won't 
 you, Frank ? " she asked her husband. " I will go 
 up and see him, and try to make him thoroughly 
 understand. Give me the sovereigns, Floss dear, I'll 
 take them with me." 
 
 Somewhat slowly, Carrots' mother made her way 
 upstairs. She was tired and rather troubled. She 
 did not believe that her poor little boy had really 
 done wrong wilfully, but it seemed difficult to man- 
 age well among so many children ; she was grieved, 
 also, at Maurice's hastiness and want of tender feel- 
 ing, and she saw, too, how little fitted Carrots was to 
 make his way in this rough-and-ready world. 
 
 " How would it be without me ! My poor chil- 
 dren," she thought with a sigh. 
 
 But a little hand was slipped into hers. 
 
 "Mamma, dear, I'm so glad you thought of the 
 sovereigns. I'm sure Carrots didn't mean to be 
 naughty. Mamma dear, though he is so little, Car- 
 rots always means to be good ; I don't think he could 
 even be frightened into doing anything that he un- 
 derstood was naughty, though he is so easily fright- 
 ened other ways." 
 
 "My good little Floss, my comforter," said her 
 
60 
 
 mother, patting Floss's hand, and then they together 
 made their way to the dressing-room. 
 
 It was almost dark. The key was in the lock, and 
 Mrs. Desart felt for it and turned it. But when she 
 opened the door it was too dark in the room to dis- 
 tinguish anything. 
 
 "Carrots," she said, but there was no answer. 
 " Where can he be ? " she said rather anxiously. 
 "Floss, run and get a light." 
 
 Floss ran off : she was back again in a minute, for 
 she had met nurse on the stairs with a candle in her 
 hand. But even with the light they could not all 
 at once find Carrots, and though they called to him 
 there was no answer. 
 
 " Can he have got out of the window ? " Mrs. 
 Desart was beginning to say, when Floss interrupted 
 her. 
 
 " Here he is, mamma," she exclaimed. " Oh, poor 
 little Carrots ! mamma, nursie, do look." 
 
 There he was indeed fast, fast asleep ! Extra 
 fast sleep, for his troubles and his tears had worn 
 him out. He was lying in a corner of a large closet 
 opening out of the dressing-room. In this closet 
 Captain Desart hung up his coats and dressing- 
 gowns, and doubtless Carrots had crept into it when 
 the room began to get dark, feeling as if in the 
 hanging garments there was some comfort and pro- 
 tection ; and there he lay, looking so fair and inno- 
 cent, prettier than when he was awake, for his 
 
CARROTS " ALL ZIGHT " AGAIN. 61 
 
 cheeks had more colour, and his long eye-lashes, 
 reddy-brown like his hair, showed clearly on his fair 
 skin. 
 
 " Poor little fellow, how sweet he looks," said Mrs. 
 Desart. " Nurse, lift him up and try to put him to 
 bed without waking him. We must wait to dis- 
 entangle the confusion in his mind till to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 And very tenderly nurse lifted him up and carried 
 him off. 
 
 " My bonnie wee man," she murmured ; for though 
 it was many and many a day since she had seen her 
 native land, and she had journeyed with her master 
 and mistress to strange countries " far over the sea," 
 she was apt when her feelings were stirred to fall 
 back into her own childish tongue. 
 
 So no more was said to or about Carrots that even- 
 ing ; but Floss went to bed quite happy and satisfied 
 that "mamma" would put it all right in the morning. 
 I don't think Mott went to bed in so comfortable a 
 mood ; yet his mother had said nothing to him ! 
 
 Cecil and Louise had, though. Cecil told him 
 right out that he was a horrid tell-tale, and Louise 
 said she only wished he had red hair instead of 
 Carrots ; which expressions of feeling on the part of 
 such very grown-up young ladies meant a good deal, 
 for it was not often they troubled themselves much 
 about nursery matters. Cecil, that is to say, for 
 Louise, who was fair-haired and soft and gentle, and 
 
62 " CARROTS." 
 
 played very nicely on the piano, was just a shadow 
 of Cecil, and if Cecil had proposed that they should 
 stay in bed all day and get up all night, would have 
 thought it a very good idea ! 
 
 And the next morning Mrs. Desart had a long talk 
 with Carrots. It was all explained and made clear, 
 and the difference between the two kinds of " sover- 
 eigns " shown to him. And he told his mother all 
 all, that is to say, except the " plan " for saving 
 sugar and getting money instead, which had first put 
 it into his head to keep the half-sovereign to get a 
 new doll for Floss. He began to tell about the plan, 
 but stopped when he remembered that it was Floss's 
 secret as well as his own; and when he told his 
 mother this, she said he was quite right not to tell 
 without Floss's leave, and that as nurse knew about 
 it, they might still keep it for their secret, if they 
 liked, which Carrots was very glad to hear. 
 
 He told his mother about his thinking perhaps the 
 fairies had brought the " sixpenny," and she explained 
 to him that now-a-days, alas ! that was hardly likely 
 to be the case, though she seemed quite to understand 
 his fancying it, and did not laugh at him at all. But 
 she spoke very gravely to him, too, about never tak- 
 ing anything that was not his ; and after listening 
 and thinking with all his might, Carrots said he 
 thought he " kite under'tood." 
 
 "I am never, never to take nucken that I'm not 
 sure is mine," he said slowly. " And if ever I'm not 
 
CAKROTS "ALL ZIGHT " AGAIN. 63 
 
 sure I'm to ask somebody, you, or nursie, or Floss 
 or sometimes, perhaps, Cecil. But I don't think I'd 
 better ask Mott, for perhaps he wouldn't under' tand." 
 But Mott's mother took care that before the day 
 was over Mott should " under' tand" something of 
 where and how he had been in fault ; that there are 
 sometimes ways of doing right which turn it into 
 " wrong " ; and that want of pity and tenderness for 
 the wrong-doer never, never can be right. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A LONG AGO STORY. 
 
 " You may laugh, my little people, 
 
 But be sure my story's true ; 
 
 For I vow by yon church steeple, 
 
 I was once a child like you." 
 
 THE LAND OP LONG AGO. 
 
 IF any of you children have travelled much, have 
 you noticed that on a long journey there seem to 
 come points, turns I hardly know what to call 
 them after which the journey seems to go on 
 differently. More quickly, perhaps more cheerfully, 
 or possibly less so, but certainly differently. Looking 
 back afterwards you see it was so " from the time 
 we all looked out of the 'window at the ruined abbey 
 we seemed to get on so much faster," you would say, 
 or " after the steamer had passed the Spearhead 
 Point, we began to feel dull and tired, and there 
 was no more sunshine." 
 
 I think it is so in life. Suddenly, often quite 
 unknowingly, we turn a corner sometimes of our 
 history, sometimes of our characters, and looking 
 back, long afterwards, we make a date of that point. 
 It was so just now with my little Carrots. This 
 trouble of his about the half-sovereign changed him. 
 
 64 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 65 
 
 I do not mean to say that it saddened him and made 
 him less happy than he had been at his age, thank 
 God, few, if any children have it in them to be so 
 deeply affected but it changed him. It was his 
 first peep out into life, and it gave him his first real 
 thoughts about things. It made him see how a little 
 wrong doing may cause great sorrow ; it gave him 
 his first vague, misty glimpse of that, to my think- 
 ing, saddest of all sad things the way in which it 
 is possible for our very nearest and dearest to mis- 
 take and misunderstand us. 
 
 He had been in some ways a good deal of a baby 
 for his age, there is no doubt. He had a queer, baby- 
 like way of not seeming to take in quickly what 
 was said to him, aiid staring up in your face with 
 his great oxen-like eyes, that did a little excuse 
 Maurice's way of laughing at him and telling him 
 he was " half-witted." But no one that really looked 
 at those honest, sensible, tender eyes could for an 
 instant have thought there was any " want " in their 
 owner. It was all there the root of all goodness, 
 cleverness, and manliness just as in the acorn 
 there is the oak ; but of course it had a great deal of 
 groiving before it, and, more than mere growing, it 
 would need all the care and watchful tenderness and 
 wise directing that could be given it, just as the 
 acorn needs all the rain and sunshine and good nour- 
 ishing soil it can get, to become a fine oak, straight 
 and strong and beautiful. For what do I mean by 
 
66 " CARROTS." 
 
 "it," children? I mean the "own self" of Carrots, 
 the wonderful "something" in the little childish 
 frame which the wisest of all the wise men of either 
 long ago or now-a-days have never yet been able to 
 describe the "soul," children, which is in you all, 
 which may grow into so beautiful, so lovely and per- 
 fect a thing ; which may, alas ! be twisted and stunted 
 and starved out of all likeness to the " image " in 
 which it was created. 
 
 Do you understand a little why it seems some- 
 times such a very, very solemn thing to have the 
 charge of children? When one thinks what they 
 should be, and again when one thinks what they 
 may be, is it not a solemn, almost too solemn a 
 thought? Only we, who feel this so deeply, take 
 heart when we remember that the Great Gardener 
 who never makes mistakes has promised to help us ; 
 even out of our mistakes to bring good. 
 
 As I have said, the affair of the lost half-sovereign 
 did not leave any lastingly painful impression on 
 Carrots, but for some days he seemed unusually 
 quiet and pale and a little sad. He had caught 
 cold, too, with falling asleep on the dressing-room 
 floor, nurse said, for the weather was still exceed- 
 ingly chilly, though the spring was coming on. So 
 altogether he was rather a miserable looking little 
 Carrots. 
 
 He kept out of the way and did not complain, but 
 " mamma " and nurse and Floss did not need com- 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 67 
 
 plaints to make them see that their little man was 
 not quite himself, and they were extra kind to him. 
 
 There came just then some very dull rainy days, 
 regular rainy days, not stormy, but to the children 
 much more disagreeable than had they been so. 
 For in stormy weather at the seaside there is too 
 much excitement for any one to think whether it is 
 disagreeable or not there is the splendid sight of 
 the angry, troubled sea, there are the wonderful 
 " storm songs " of the wind to listen to. Of course, 
 as Carrots used to say, at such times it is " dedful " 
 to think of the poor sailors ; but even in thinking 
 of them there is something that takes one's thoughts 
 quite away from one's self, and one's own worries 
 and troubles all the marvellous stories of ship- 
 wreck and adventure, from Grace Darling to old 
 Sin bad, come rushing into one's mind, and one feels 
 as if the sea were the only part of the world worth 
 living on. 
 
 But even at the seaside, regular, steady, " stupid " 
 rainy days are trying. Carrots sat at the nursery 
 window one of these dull afternoons looking out 
 wistfully. 
 
 " Floss," he said, for Floss was sitting on the floor 
 learning her geography for the next day, "Floss, it 
 is so raining." 
 
 "I know," said Floss, stopping a minute in her 
 " principal rivers of northern Europe." " I wish 
 there wasn't so much rain, and then there wouldn't 
 
68 "CARROTS." 
 
 be so many rivers; or perhaps if there weren't so 
 many rivers there wouldn't be so much rain. I 
 wonder which it is ! " 
 
 " Which beginned first rivers or rain ? " said 
 Carrots, meditatively, " that would tell." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, and I don't believe any- 
 body does," said Floss, going on again with her 
 lesson. " Be quiet, Carrots, for one minute, and 
 then I'll talk to you." 
 
 Carrots sat silent for about a minute and a half ; 
 then he began again. 
 
 " Floss," he said. 
 
 " Well," replied Floss, " I've very nearly done, 
 Carrots." 
 
 " It's werry dull to-day, Floss ; the sea looks dull 
 too, it isn't dancey a bit to-day, and the sands look 
 as if they would never be nice for running on 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, but they will, Master Carrots," said nurse, 
 who was sitting near, busy darning stockings. 
 " Dear, dear ! don't I remember feeling just so 
 when I was a child? In winter thinking summer 
 would never come, and in summer forgetting all 
 about winter ! " 
 
 " Is it a werry long time since you were a child ? " 
 inquired Carrots, directing his attention to nurse. 
 
 " It's getting on for a good long time, my dear," 
 said nurse, with a smile. 
 
 " Please tell me about it," said Carrots. 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 69 
 
 " Oh yes, nursie dear, do," said Floss, jumping up 
 from the floor and shutting her book. " I've done 
 all my lessons, and it would just be nice to have 
 a story. It would amuse poor little Carrots." 
 
 " But you know all my stories as well, or even 
 better, than I do myself," objected nurse, "not that 
 they were ever much to tell, any of them." 
 
 " Oh yes, they were. They are very nice stories 
 indeed," said Floss, encouragingly. " And I'm very 
 fond of what you call your mother's stories, too 
 aren't you, Carrots ? about the children she was 
 nurse to Master Hugh and Miss Janet. Tell us 
 more about them, nursie." 
 
 " You've heard all the stories about them, my 
 dears, I'm afraid," said nurse* " At least, I can't 
 just now think of any worth telling but what you've 
 heard." 
 
 " Well, let's hear some not worth the telling," said 
 Floss, persistently. " Nurse," she went on, " how old 
 must Master Hugh and Miss Janet be by now ? Do 
 you know where they are ? " 
 
 " Master Hugh is dead," said nurse, " many a year 
 ago, poor fellow, and little Miss Janet why she was 
 fifteen years older than I ; mother only left them to 
 be married when Miss Janet was past twelve. She 
 must be quite an old lady by now, if she is alive - 
 with grandchildren as old as you, perhaps ! How 
 strange it seems ! " 
 
 " She must have been a very nice little girl, and 
 
70 " CARROTS." 
 
 so must Master Hugh have been a nice little boy, 
 I mean. That story of 4 Mary Ann Jolly ' was so 
 interesting. I suppose they never did anything 
 naughty ? " said Floss, insinuatingly. 
 
 " Oh, but they did," replied nurse, quite unsus- 
 picious of the trap laid for her. " Master Hugh was 
 very mischievous. Did I never tell you what they 
 did to their dog Caesar ? " 
 
 " No, never," said both the children in a breath ; 
 " do tell us." 
 
 " Well, it was one Sunday morning, to tell it as 
 mother told me," began nurse. " You know, my 
 dears," she broke off again, " it was in Scotland, and 
 rather an out-of-the-way part where they lived. I 
 know the place well, of course, for it wasn't till I 
 was seventeen past that I ever left it. It is a pretty 
 place, out of the way even now, I'm told, with rail- 
 ways and all, and in those days it was even more 
 out-of-the-way. Six miles from the church, and the 
 prayers and the sermon very long when you got 
 there ! Many and many a time I've fallen asleep 
 at church, when I was a little girl. Well, to go 
 back to Master Hugh and Miss Janet. It was on a 
 Sunday morning they did the queer piece of mischief 
 I'm going to tell you of. They had been left at home 
 with no one but an old woman, who was too deaf to 
 go to church, to look after them. She lived in the 
 lodge close by, and used to come into the house to 
 help when the servants were busy, for she was a very 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 71 
 
 trusty old body. It was not often the children were 
 left without mother, or perhaps one of the house- 
 maids, to take care of them, and very often in fine 
 weather they used to be taken to church themselves, 
 though it was tiring like for such young things. But 
 this Sunday, everybody had gone to church because 
 it was the time of the preachings " 
 
 "The what, nurse?" said Floss. "Isn't there 
 preaching every Sunday at church?" 
 
 " Oh yes, my dear ; but what we call the preach- 
 ings in Scotland means the time when there is the 
 communion service, which is only twice a year. You 
 can't understand, my dear," seeing that Floss looked 
 as mystified as ever; "but never mind. When you 
 are older, you will find that there are many differ- 
 ent ways of saying and doing the same things in 
 churches, just like among people. But this Sunday 
 I am telling you of, the services were to be very long 
 indeed, too long for the children, considering the six 
 miles' drive and all. So they were left at home with 
 old Phemie." 
 
 "Did they mind?" said Carrots. 
 
 " Oh no ; I fancy they were very well pleased. 
 They were always very happy together, the two of 
 them and Csesar." 
 
 "And of course they promised to be very good," 
 said Floss. 
 
 "No doubt of that," said nurse, with a smile. 
 " Well, they certainly hit upon a queer way of am us- 
 
72 
 
 ing themselves. Mother came home from church one 
 of the earliest ; she had a lift in one of the farmer's 
 carts, and came in at the lodge gate just as the car- 
 riage with her master and mistress and the young 
 ladies was driving up. They all got out at the big 
 gate, and let the coachman drive round to the stable 
 the back way, and mother came quietly walking up 
 the drive behind them. They were talking seriously 
 about the sermon they had heard, and feeling rather 
 solemn-like, I dare say, when all at once there flew 
 down the drive to meet them the most fearsome-like 
 creature that ever was seen. It was like nothing in 
 nature, my mother said, about the size of a large 
 wolf, but with a queer-shaped head and body at 
 least they looked queer to them, not knowing what 
 it was and not a particle of hair or coat of any 
 kind upon it. It rushed up to my lady, that was 
 Miss Janet's mother, and tried to leap upon her; but 
 she shrieked to her husband, and he up with his stick 
 he always took a stick about with him and was 
 just on the point of giving it a fearful blow, never 
 thinking but what it was one of the beasts escaped 
 from some travelling show, when one of the young 
 ladies caught his arm. 
 
 " ' Stop, father ! ' she cried. ' Don't you see who 
 it is ? It's CcesarS 
 
 " 4 Ccesar! ' said he. ' My dear, that's never Caesar.' 
 
 " But Caesar it was, as they soon saw by the way 
 
 he jumped and whined, and seemed to beg them to 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 73 
 
 understand he was himself. He was frightened out 
 of his wits, poor doggie, for he had never felt so 
 queer before, and couldn't understand what had 
 come over him." 
 
 " And what had come over him ? " asked the chil- 
 dren eagerly. 
 
 "Why, Master Hugh and Miss Janet had spent 
 the morning in cropping him ! " replied nurse. 
 " The hair, and he had great long tfcick hair, was 
 cut off as close and as neat as if it had been shaved ; 
 it was really wonderful how clean they had done 
 it without cutting or wounding the poor doggie. 
 They had taken great pains about it, and had spent 
 the best part of the morning over it the two of 
 them, Master Hughie with the great kitchen scis- 
 sors, and Miss Janet with a wee fine pair she had 
 found in her mamma's workbox, the little monkey! 
 And such a sight as the kitchen dresser was with 
 hair ! For they told how they had made Caesar 
 jump up on to the dresser and lie first on one side 
 and then on the other, till all was cut off." 
 
 "Were they punished?" asked Floss, anxiously. 
 And at this question Carrots looked very woe-be- 
 gone. 
 
 " They were going to be," said nurse, " but some- 
 how, I cannot justly say how it was, they were let 
 off. The whole thing was such a queer idea, their 
 father and mother could not but laugh at it, though 
 they didn't let the children see them- And what do 
 
74 " CAKROTS." 
 
 you think my lady did ? She took all poor Csesar's 
 hair and spun it up into worsted for knitting, mixing 
 it, of course, with long yarn." 
 
 "Did she spin?" asked Floss. "I thought you 
 said she was a lady." 
 
 "And that she was, Miss Flossie, and none the 
 less so for being able to spin and to knit, and to 
 cook too, I dare say," said nurse. "But ladies, 
 and high born ones too, in those days turned their 
 hands to many things they think beneath them now. 
 I know Miss Janet's mother would never have 
 thought of letting any one but herself wash up 
 her breakfast and tea services. The cups were a 
 sight to be seen, certainly, of such beautiful old 
 china ; they were worth taking care of ; and that's 
 how old china has been kept together. There isn't 
 much of what's in use now-a-days will go down to 
 your grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, Miss 
 Flossie, with the smashing and dashing that goes on. 
 My lady had a white wood bowl kept on purpose, 
 and the napkin of the finest damask, and a large 
 apron of fine holland that she put on, and, oh yes, 
 a pair of embroidered holland cuffs she used to draw 
 on over her sleeves up to the elbow ; and a lady she 
 looked, I can assure you, rinsing out and drying her 
 beautiful cups, with her pretty white hands ! " 
 
 "Did you ever see her?" asked Floss. 
 
 " Yes, when she was getting to be quite an old 
 lady, I've seen her several times when I've been 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 75 
 
 sent up a message by mother to the house. For my 
 mother was a great favourite of hers ; I never went 
 there but my lady would have me in to have a 
 piece." 
 
 " A piece ? " repeated Floss. 
 
 Nurse laughed. U A slice of bread and jam, I 
 should say, my dear. I forget that I'm far away 
 from the old life when I get to talking of those days. 
 And to think I'm getting on to be quite an old 
 woman myself; older in some ways than my lady 
 ever was, for my hair is fast turning gray, and hers 
 had never a silver streak in it to the last day of her 
 life, and she died at eighty-four ! " 
 
 Carrots was getting a little tired, for he hardly 
 understood all that nurse was saying. To create 
 a diversion he climbed up on to her knee, and began 
 stroking her face. 
 
 " Never mind, nursie," he said. " I'll always love 
 you, even when your hair's kite gray, and I would 
 marry you if you like when I'm big, only I've 
 promised to marry Floss." 
 
 " Oh you funny little Carrots," said Floss. " But 
 nurse," she went on, " what did Janet's mamma do 
 with the hair when she had spun it?" 
 
 " She knitted it into a pair of stockings for Mas- 
 ter Hughie," said nurse ; " but they weren't much 
 use. They were well enough to look at, but no 
 mortal boy could have worn them without his legs 
 being skinned, they were so pricky." 
 
76 " CARROTS." 
 
 " And what became of Caesar? " said Floss. " Did 
 his hair ever grow again ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said nurse, " in time it did, though I 
 believe it never again looked quite so silky and nice. 
 But Caesar lived to a good old age, for all that. He 
 didn't catch cold, for my lady made mother make 
 him a coat of a bit of soft warm cloth, which he wore 
 for some time." 
 
 " How funny he must have looked," said Floss. 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " said a voice behind 
 her, and turning round, Floss saw Cecil, who had 
 come into the room without their hearing her. 
 
 "About a doggie," answered Carrots. " Oh, Cis, 
 nurse has been telling us such a lubly story about 
 a doggie. Nursie, dear, won't you tell us another 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 " My stories are all worn out, my dear," said 
 nurse, shaking her head. 
 
 " Couldn't you tell us one, Cis ? " said Carrots. 
 
 " Make up one, do you mean ? " said Cecil. " No, 
 indeed, I'm sure I never could. Are they always 
 at you to tell them stories, nurse? If so, I pity 
 you." 
 
 "Poor little things," said nurse, "it's dull for 
 them these wet days, Miss Cecil, and Master Carrots' 
 cold has been bad." 
 
 Cecil looked at her little brother's pale face as 
 he sat nestling in nurse's arms, and a queer new 
 feeling of compunction seized her. 
 
A LONG AGO STORY. 77 
 
 "I couldn't tell you a story," she said; "but if 
 you like, the first afternoon it's rainy, and you 
 can't go out, I'll read you one. Miss Barclay lent 
 me a funny old-fashioned little book the other 
 day, and some of the stories in it are fairy ones. 
 Would you like that, Carrots?" 
 
 Floss clapped her hands, and Carrots slid down 
 from nurse's knee, and coming quietly up to Cecil, 
 threw his arms round her neck, and gave her a kiss. 
 
 " I hope it'll rain to-morrow," he said, gravely. 
 
 " It is kind of Miss Cecil," said nurse ; and as 
 Cecil left the nursery she added to herself, " it will 
 be a comfort to her mother if she begins to take 
 thought for the little ones, and I've always felt 
 sure it was in her to do so, if only she could get 
 into the way of it." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "THE BEWITCHED TONGUE." 
 
 " Thou wilt not fail 
 To listen to a fairy tale." 
 
 LEWIS CARROLL. 
 
 IT did rain the next day ! And Cecil did not for- 
 get her promise. Just as the old nursery clock was 
 striking four, a full hour still to her tea-time, she 
 marched into the room with a little old brown book 
 in her hand. I wonder if any of you have ever seen 
 that little old book, or one like it, I should say ? It 
 was about the size of the first edition of " Evenings 
 at Home," which some of you are sure to have in 
 your book-cases. For I should think everybody's 
 grandfathers and grandmothers had an " Evenings 
 at Home " among their few, dearly-prized children's 
 books. 
 
 Do you know how very few those books were ? 
 You may have heard it, but I scarcely fancy you 
 have ever thought over the great difference between 
 yourselves and long-ago-children in this respect. 
 Now-a-days, when you have galloped through all 
 the brilliant blue and green and scarlet little vol- 
 umes that have been given to you on birthdays and 
 Christmas-days, you come with a melancholy face 
 
 78 
 
"THE BEWITCHED TONGUE." 79 
 
 to your mother, and tell her you have "nothing 
 to read." And then, most likely, when your mother 
 goes to the library, she chooses a book for you out 
 of the "juvenile department," and when it is done 
 you get another, till you can hardly remember what 
 you have read and what you haven't. But as for 
 reading any book twice over, that is never to be 
 thought of. 
 
 Not so was it long ago. Not only had no children 
 many books, but everywhere children had the same ! 
 There was seldom any use in little friends lending 
 to each other, for it was always the same thing 
 over again : " Evenings at Home," " Sandford and 
 Merton," " Ornaments Discovered," and so on. 
 
 You think, I dare say, that it must have been very 
 stupid and tiresome to have so little variety, but 1 
 think you are in some ways mistaken. Children 
 really read their books in those days ; they put more 
 of themselves into their reading, so that, stupid as 
 these quaint old stories might seem to you now-a- 
 days, they never seemed so then. What was want- 
 ing in them the children filled up out of their own 
 fresh hearts and fancies, and however often they 
 read and re-read them, they always found something 
 new. They got to know the characters in their 
 favourite stories like real friends, and would talk 
 'them over with their companions, and compare their 
 opinions about them in a way that made each book 
 as good, or better, than a dozen. 
 
80 
 
 So there is something to be said for this part of 
 the "ancien regime" if you do not understand 
 what that means, you will some day after all ! 
 
 The volume that Cecil Desart brought into the 
 nursery was called " Faults Corrected ; or," (there 
 was always long ago an " or " in the titles of books) 
 " Beneficent Influences." 
 
 " Some of the stories are stupid," said Cecil, as 
 she sat down. " Miss Barclay said it was her mother's 
 when she was a little girl, so it must be rather 
 ancient ; but I think I've found one that will amuse 
 you, and that Carrots can understand." 
 
 " What's it called ? " said Floss, peering over her 
 sister's shoulder. " 4 Faults Corrected ; or, Ben 
 ben ' what word's that, Cecil?" 
 
 " Sit down, Floss, and be quiet, or I won't read to 
 you," said Cecil, emphatically. " That's the name 
 of the whole book you are looking at, and you 
 wouldn't understand the word if I told it you. 
 The name of the story I'm going to read to you 
 is, ' The Bewitched Tongue ; or, Think before 
 you speak. A Fairy Tale.' ' : 
 
 Floss would have liked to clap her hands, but she 
 was afraid of another snub from Cecil, so she re- 
 strained her feelings. 
 
 " When there come very long words," continued 
 Cecil " there often are in old books I'll change 
 them to easy ones, so that Carrots may understand. 
 Now, be quiet all of you, I'm going to begin. 4 The 
 
"Now, BE QUIET ALL OF YOU, I'M GOING TO BEGIN." p. 80. 
 
"THE BEWITCHED TONGUE." 81 
 
 Bewitched Tongue, etc.' I'm not going to read all 
 the title again. 4 In a beautiful mansion ' (that just 
 means a fine house, Carrots) ' surrounded by pleasure 
 grounds of great extent, there lived, many years ago, 
 a young girl named Elizabetha. She was of charming 
 appearance and pleasing manners ; her parents loved 
 her devotedly, her brothers and sisters looked upon 
 her with amiable affection, her teachers found her 
 docile and intelligent. Yet Elizabetha constantly 
 found herself, despite their affection, shunned and 
 feared by her best and nearest friends, and absolutely 
 disliked by those who did not know her well enough 
 to feel assured of the real goodness of her heart. 
 
 'This sad state of things was all owing to one 
 unfortunate habit. She had a hasty tongue. What- 
 ever thought was uppermost in her mind at the 
 moment, she expressed without reflection; she never 
 remembered the wholesome adage, "Think before 
 you speak," or that other excellent saying, " Second 
 thoughts are best." 
 
 4 Her disposition was far from unamiable or mali- 
 cious, yet the mischief of which she was the cause 
 was indescribable. Every servant in the household 
 dreaded to hear the sound of her voice, for many 
 had she involved in trouble and disgrace ; and as her 
 temper was naturally quick and impetuous, and she 
 never attempted to check her first expressions of 
 provocation, small and even trifling disagreements 
 were by her foolish tongue exaggerated into lasting 
 
82 
 
 discord, long after all real cause of offence had passed 
 from her mind. 
 
 4 " My brother will not forgive me," she confessed 
 one day to her mother, with many tears, " and the 
 quarrel was only that he had broken the vase of 
 flowers that stand on my table. I forgave him I 
 would rather lose twenty vases than his affection 
 and yet he will not speak to me, and passes me by 
 with indignant looks." 
 
 4 " And did you at once express your forgiveness 
 to him, Elizabetha ? " said her mother. " When you 
 first discovered the accident, what words escaped 
 you?" 
 
 'Elizabetha reflected, and presently her colour 
 rose. 
 
 4 " I fear, ma'am," she said, " I fear that at the 
 first sight of the broken vase I spoke unguardedly. 
 I exclaimed that without doubt Adolphus had 
 thrown down the ornament on purpose to annoy 
 me, and that I wished so mean-spirited a youth 
 were not my brother. My little sister Celia was 
 beside me at the time can she have carried to 
 him what I said? I did not really mean that; my 
 words were but the momentary expression of my 
 vexation." 
 
 4 Her mother gravely shook her head. 
 
 4 44 It is your own doing altogether, Elizabetha," 
 she said, 44 and you cannot complain that your 
 brother resents so unkind and untrue a charge." 
 
"THE BEWITCHED TONGUE." 83 
 
 4 Elizabetha burst into tears, but the harm was 
 done, and it was some time before Adolphus could 
 forget the pain of her unjust and hasty words. 
 
 4 Another day her little brother Jacky had just 
 with great pains and care written out his task for the 
 next morning, when, having been called to supper, 
 he found on his return to the schoolroom his exercise 
 book all blotted and disfigured. 
 
 4 " Who can have done this ? " he cried in dis- 
 tress. 
 
 4 Elizabetha was just entering the room. 
 
 4 44 Oh,*' she exclaimed, 44 it is Sukey, the under- 
 housemaid, that you have to thank for that. I saw 
 her coming out of the room, and she had no reason to 
 enter it. Out of curiosity she has been looking at 
 your books, and blotted your exercise." 
 
 4 Jacky was but eight years old, full young for 
 prudence or reflection. Downstairs he flies, his 
 face inflamed with anger, and meeting the unfortu- 
 nate Sukey at the door of the servants' hall, upbraids 
 her in no gentle terms for her impertinence. In 
 vain the poor girl defends herself, and denies Master 
 Jacky 's accusation ; the other servants come to the 
 rescue, and the whole household is in an uproar, till 
 suddenly Miss Elizabetha is named as the source of 
 the mischief. 
 
 4 44 Ah," says the old housekeeper, 44 do not distress 
 yourself, Sukey ; we all know what Miss Elizabetha's 
 tongue is ! " 
 
84 " CAKROTS." 
 
 
 
 4 And thereupon the poor girl is freed from blame. 
 She had only gone to the schoolroom by the desire 
 of an upper servant to mend the fire, and the real 
 offender was discovered to have been the cat ! 
 
 4 This affair coming to the ears of Elizabetha's 
 father, he reproved her with great severity. Morti- 
 fied and chagrined, she, as usual, wept bitterly, and 
 ashamed to meet the cold looks of the household, 
 she hastened out into the garden and paced up and 
 down a shady walk, where she imagined herself 
 quite hidden from observation.' ' 
 
 " Cis," interrupted Carrots at this point, " I don't 
 understand the story." 
 
 " I'm very sorry," said Cecil, " I didn't notice 
 what a lot of long words there are. Shall I leave 
 off?" 
 
 "7 understand it," said Floss. 
 
 " Then read it for Floss, please, Cis," said Carrots. 
 " I'll be kite still." 
 
 " You're a good little boy," said Cecil ; " I suppose 
 I may as well finish it as I have begun. We're 
 coming to the fairy part now. Perhaps you'll 
 understand it better. Where was I ? Oh yes, 
 ' imagined herself quite hidden from observation. 
 But in this she was mistaken, as my readers will see. 
 
 4 She walked slowly up and down. " Oh my 
 tongue, my cruel tongue ! " she exclaimed, " what 
 trouble it is the cause of ! How can I cure myself 
 of my rash speech ? " 
 
"THE BEWITCHED TONGUE." 85 
 
 4 " Do you in all sincerity wish to cure yourself, 
 Elizabetha?" said a voice beside her; and turning 
 in surprise at its sound, the young girl perceived at 
 a few steps' distance a fair and sweet looking lady, 
 clad in silvery- white, adorned with wreaths of the 
 loveliest flowers. 
 
 "'Assuredly I do, gracious lady," replied Eliza- 
 betha, mastering as well as she was able her surprise, 
 for she felt that this beautiful lady must be a fairy 
 of high degree. 
 
 4 " Then I will help you," said the lady, " but on 
 one condition, hereafter to be explained. You are 
 content to agree to this beforehand?" 
 
 4 " To anything, kind fairy," replied the young girl, 
 " if only my unhappy fault can be cured." 
 
 4 The fairy smiled. 44 Hasty as ever," she mur- 
 mured; 44 however, in this instance, you shall have 
 no reason to regret your words. Put out your 
 tongue, Elizabetha." 
 
 4 Trembling slightly, the young girl obeyed. But 
 her fears were uncalled for the fairy merely 
 touched the unruly member with her wand and 
 whispered some words, the meaning of which Eliza- 
 betha could not understand. 
 
 4 44 Meet me here one week hence," said the fairy, 
 44 till then your tongue will obey my commands. 
 And if you then feel you have reason to feel 
 grateful to me, I will call upon you to redeem your 
 promise." 
 
86 CARROTS." 
 
 4 And before Elizabetha could reply, the lady had 
 disappeared. 
 
 'Full of eagerness and curiosity, Elizabetha re- 
 turned to the house. It was growing dusk, and 
 as she sped along the garden paths something ran 
 suddenly against her, causing her to trip and fall. 
 As she got up she perceived that it was Fido, the 
 dog of her brother Adolphus. The creature came 
 bounding up to her again, full of play and affection. 
 But in her fall Elizabetha had bruised herself; she 
 felt angry and indignant. 
 
 4 " Get off with you, you clumsy wretch," she 
 exclaimed, or meant to exclaim. But to her amaze- 
 ment the words that issued from her mouth were 
 quite otherwise. 
 
 4 " Gently, gently, my poor Fido. Thou didst not 
 mean to knock me down, however," she said in a 
 kind and caressing tone, which the dog at once 
 obeyed. 
 
 'Hardly knowing whether she were awake or 
 dreaming, Elizabetha entered the house. She was 
 met by her sister Maria. 
 
 4 "Where have you been, Elizabetha?" she in- 
 quired. " Your friends the Misses Larkyn have 
 been here, but no one could find you, so they have 
 gone." 
 
 4 Elizabetha felt extremely annoyed. She had not 
 seen her friends for some weeks, and had much 
 wished for a visit from them. 
 
"THE BEWITCHED TONGUE." 87 
 
 4 " I think it was most ill-natured of none of you 
 to look for me in the garden. You might have 
 known I was there if you had cared to oblige me," 
 were the words she intended to say, but instead of 
 which were heard the following : 
 
 4 " I thank you, my dear Maria. I am sorry to 
 have missed my friends, but it cannot be helped." 
 
 4 And when Maria, pleased by her gentleness, went 
 on to tell her, that knowing that her disappointment 
 would be great, and as the Misses Larkyn had been 
 too pressed for time to linger, she had arranged to 
 walk with Elizabetha the following day to see them, 
 how rejoiced was Elizabetha that her intended words 
 of unkindness had not been uttered ! " Kind fairy, 
 I thank thee ! " she whispered to herself. 
 
 4 The following day the same state of things con- 
 tinued. Many times before its close did Elizabetha's 
 hasty temper endeavour to express itself in rash 
 speech, but each time the tongue remained faithful 
 to its new mistress. Whenever Elizabetha attempted 
 to speak hastily, the words that issued from her lips 
 were exactly the opposite of those she had intended 
 to utter ; and as her real disposition was amiable and 
 good, not once did she regret the metamorphosis. 
 
 4 Her parents, her brothers and sisters, and even 
 the servants of the family, were amazed and delighted 
 at the change. 
 
 4 44 Go on as thou hast begun, my child," said her 
 father, on the morning of the day on which Eliza- 
 
88 
 
 betha was again to meet the fairy, " and soon the 
 name of Elizabetha will be associated with gentle- 
 ness and discretion in speech as in deed." 
 
 'Elizabetha blushed. She would have liked to 
 confess that the credit of the improvement was not 
 her own ; but a moment's reflection reminded her 
 that she had not received permission to divulge the 
 secret, and kissing affectionately her father's hand, 
 she thanked him for his encouragement. 
 
 'At the appointed hour she was on the spot, 
 awaiting the fairy, who soon appeared. A benig- 
 nant smile overspread her features. 
 
 4 " Well, Elizabetha," she said, " and hast thou 
 found that I have deserved thy gratitude ? " 
 
 ' " Kind fairy," cried the young girl, " I cannot 
 thank thee enough. Ask of me what thou wilt, I 
 shall be only too ready to perform it." 
 
 4 The fairy smiled. " My condition is a very 
 simple one," she said. " It is only this. Whenever, 
 Elizabetha, you feel yourself in the least degree dis- 
 composed or out of temper, utter no word till you 
 have mentally counted the magic number seven. 
 And if you follow this rule, it will be but seldom 
 that your tongue, of which I now restore to you the 
 full control" (she touched it again with her wand 
 as she spoke) " will lead you into trouble. Your 
 disposition, though generous, is naturally hasty and 
 impulsive, and till by a long course of self-restraint 
 you have acquired complete mastery over yourself, 
 
89 
 
 you will find that I was right in my experiment 
 of obliging your tongue to utter the exact opposite 
 of what you, in your first haste, would have ex- 
 pressed." 
 
 4 And before Elizabetha could reply, she had 
 disappeared. 
 
 4 But Elizabetha kept her promise, and to thus 
 following her fairy friend's advice she owes it that 
 she is now the object of universal esteem and affec- 
 tion, instead of being hated, despised, and feared as 
 the owner of " a hasty tongue." 
 
 Cecil stopped. 
 
 "Is that all? " said Carrots. 
 
 " Yes, that's all. Did you like it? " 
 
 " I did understand better about the fairy," Carrots 
 replied. " I think she was a werry good fairy; don't 
 you, Floss ? " 
 
 " Very" said Floss. " I think," she went on, 
 " whenever I am cross, I shall fancy my tongue is 
 bewitched, just to see if it would be best to say the 
 opposite of what I was going to say. Wouldn't it 
 be fun ? " 
 
 " Better than fun, perhaps, Miss Flossie," said 
 nurse. " I think it would be a very good thing if 
 big people, too, were sometimes to follow the fairy's 
 rule." 
 
 " People as big as you, nursie ? " asked Carrots. 
 
 " Oh yes, my dear," said nurse. " It's a lesson 
 we're all slow to learn, and many haven't learnt it 
 
90 "CARROTS." 
 
 by the end of their threescore years and ten 4 to 
 be slow to anger,' and to keep our tongues from 
 evil." 
 
 ''That's out of the Bible, nursie, all of it," said 
 Floss, as if not altogether sure that she approved of 
 the quotation. 
 
 Cecil laughed. 
 
 " What are you laughing at, Cis ? " said Floss. 
 " It is out of the Bible." 
 
 " Well, no one said it wasn't," said Cecil. 
 
 " Cis," said Carrots, " will you read us another 
 story, another day ? " 
 
 " If I can find one that you can understand," said 
 Cecil. 
 
 " Never mind if I can't," replied Carrots. " I like 
 to hear you reading, even if I can't understand. I 
 like your voice. I think" he added after a pause, 
 " I think, Cis, I'll marry you too, when I'm big. 
 You and Floss, and nurse." 
 
 So Cecil had good reason to feel that she was 
 greatly appreciated in the nursery. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SYBIL. 
 
 " The children crowned themselves with wishes, 
 And every wish came true." 
 
 CROWNS FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 BUT it is not always, or even often, that wishes 
 " come true," is it children ? Or if they do come 
 true, it is in a different way ; so different that they 
 hardly seem the same. Like the little old woman 
 in the ballad, who turned herself about and wondered 
 and puzzled, but couldn't make out if she was her- 
 self or not, we stare at our fulfilled wishes and 
 examine them on every side, but in their altered 
 dress so different from, and, very seldom, if ever, 
 as pretty as that which they wore in our imagination 
 we cannot believe that they are themselves ! 
 
 Do you remember the fancies that Carrots and 
 Floss used to have about their cousin Sybil, and how 
 they wished for her to come to see them? Well, 
 about a fortnight after the affair of the lost half- 
 sovereign, Sybil actually did come to see them ! She 
 and her mamma. But it all happened quite differ- 
 ently from the way the children had planned it, so 
 that just at first they could hardly believe it was 
 " a wish come true," though afterwards, when it was 
 
 91 
 
92 
 
 over, and they began to look back to it as a real 
 thing instead of forwards to it as a fancy, they grew 
 to think it had really turned out nicer than any of 
 their fancies. 
 
 You would like to hear all about it, I dare say. 
 
 It took them all by surprise this sudden visit of 
 Sybil and her mother, I mean. There was no time 
 for planning or arranging anything. There just 
 came a telegram one afternoon, to say that Mrs. 
 no, I don't think I will tell you the name of Sybil's 
 mother, I want you just to think of her as " auntie " 
 and her little girl would arrive at Sandyshore, late 
 that same evening, " to stay one day," said the tele- 
 gram, on their way to some other place, it does not 
 matter where. 
 
 It was several years since Captain Desart had seen 
 his sister that is, "auntie." He had been abroad 
 at the time of her marriage, for she was a good many 
 years younger than he, and since then, she and her 
 husband had been a great deal out of England. But 
 now at last they were going to have a settled home, 
 and though it was a good way from Sandyshore, still 
 it was not like being in another country. 
 
 "I am sorry Florence can only stay one day," said 
 Mrs. Desart to her husband ; " it seems hardly worth 
 while for her to come so far out of her way for so 
 short a time." 
 
 "I am sorry too," said Captain Desart; "but a 
 day's better than nothing." 
 
SYBIL. 93 
 
 Floss and Carrots were sorry too but what they 
 were most sorry for was not that Sybil and her 
 mamma were only going to stay there one day, it 
 was that they would not arrive till after the chil- 
 dren's bedtime ! So much after, that there could 
 not even be a question of their " sitting up till they 
 corne." There was even a doubt of Cecil and Louise 
 doing so, and Floss could not help feeling rather 
 pleased at Mott's getting a decided snub from his 
 father when he broached the subject on his own 
 account. 
 
 " Sit up till after ten o'clock nonsense. Nobody 
 wants you. Go to bed as usual, of course," said 
 Captain Desart. 
 
 " How tired that poor little girl will be ! " said 
 Mrs. Desart pityingly. " Children, you must all 
 be quiet in the morning so as not to wake her 
 early. And you must be very gentle and kind to 
 her, for you know she is not accustomed to com- 
 panions." 
 
 " Yes, mamma," said Floss and Carrots promptly. 
 Mott said nothing, for, of course, the speech could 
 not have been addressed to him. Mr. Maurice 
 Desart, nearly thirteen years old, could not be 
 supposed to be a companion to a mite of a girl of 
 six. 
 
 " It won't be difficult to be quiet to-morrow 
 morning," said Floss to Carrots, " for I expect I 
 shall be very sleepy, as I have quite made up my 
 
94 " CARROTS." 
 
 mind to stay awake to-night, till I hear them 
 come." 
 
 It was then eight o'clock, and Floss was going 
 to bed. Carrots had been in bed nearly an hour, 
 but was not yet asleep. He soon dropped off, how- 
 ever, and how long do you think Floss kept awake ? 
 Till twenty-three minutes past eight, or not so late 
 probably, for that was the time by the nursery clock, 
 when nurse came in to see that her charges were 
 tucked up for the night, and found them both fast 
 asleep ! 
 
 They were in a state of great expectation the 
 next morning when they were being dressed, but 
 they remembered their promise and were very quiet. 
 
 " When shall we see Sybil ? " asked Carrots ; 
 "will she have breakfast in the nursery?" 
 
 " Of course riot," said Floss, " she won't be up for 
 ever so long, I dare say." 
 
 "Poor little thing, she must be very tired," said 
 nurse. 
 
 "Did you see her last night?" asked Floss 
 eagerly. 
 
 Nurse shook her head. "It was past ten when 
 they arrived," she said, " the little lady was put to 
 bed at once, your mamma and sisters only saw her 
 for a minute." 
 
 So Floss and Carrots ate their bread and milk in 
 undiminished curiosity. Not long afterwards the bell 
 rang for prayers in the dining-room as usual, and the 
 
SYBIL. 95 
 
 two, hand in hand, went in to take their places among 
 the others. 
 
 They were rather late, Captain Desart had the 
 Prayer Book and Bible open before him, and was 
 looking impatient, so Floss and Carrots sat down 
 on their little chairs and left " good-mornings " till 
 after prayers. There was a strange lady beside their 
 mother, and, yes, beside the strange lady a strange 
 little girl ! Was t hat Sybil ? Where was the fair- 
 haired, blue-eyed, waxen, doll-like Sybil, they had 
 expected to see ? 
 
 What they did see was worth looking at, however. 
 It was a very pretty Sybil after all. Small and dark, 
 dark-eyed, dark-haired, and browny-red as to com- 
 plexion, Sybil was more like a gipsy than an angel 
 as they had fancied her. She had very pretty, very 
 bright, noticing eyes, and she was pretty altogether. 
 She was dressed in black velvet with a bright crim- 
 son sash, and her hair was tied with crimson ribbon ; 
 her neat little legs were clothed in black silk stock- 
 ings, and there were buckles on her tiny shoes. 
 
 Floss and Carrots hardly dared to stare at her, 
 for her eyes seemed to be noticing them all over, 
 and when prayers were finished, and their mamma 
 called them to come to speak to their aunt and 
 cousin, do you know they actually both felt quite 
 shy of Sybil, small as she was? More shy of her 
 than of their aunt, somehow ; she seemed more like 
 what they had expected, or, perhaps, the truth was 
 
96 " CARROTS." 
 
 they had "expected" much less about her. Besides 
 no children ever were shy with auntie, such a thing 
 would have been impossible. 
 
 They kissed Sybil, Floss feeling very tall and 
 lanky beside her compact tiny cousin, and Carrots 
 feeling I don't know how. He just looked at Sybil 
 with his soft wondering brown eyes, in such a sol- 
 emn way that at last she burst out laughing. 
 
 " What a funny boy you are ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Mother dear, isn't he a funny boy ? " 
 
 " Aren't you very tired, Sybil ? " said Floss, afraid 
 that she would be laughed at as " a funny girl," next. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Sybil, quite grave, and like 
 a grown-up person, all in a minute. "I'm becus- 
 tomed to travelling. I'm not tired at all, but I'll 
 tell you what I am I'm," and out broke her merry 
 laugh again, " I'm very hungry" 
 
 " That's a broad hint," said Captain Desart, laugh- 
 ing too. " Florence, your daughter is ready for 
 breakfast, do you hear? Where will you sit, Miss 
 Sybil ? Beside your old uncle, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes, thank you," replied Sybil, "if you won't 
 call me Miss Sybil, please. And may this little boy 
 sit 'aside me ? " 
 
 " This little boy and this little girl have had their 
 breakfast," said Mrs. Desart. "Run off, Carrots and 
 Floss, you are both to have a whole holiday you 
 know, so Sybil will see plenty of you." 
 
 " I wish they could see more of each other,' v said 
 
SYBIL. 97 
 
 auntie, as the children left the room. " Some time 
 you must let them both come and pay us a long 
 visit, when we are really settled you know." 
 
 Auntie gave a little sigh as she said this she 
 felt so tender and kind to Carrots and Floss, and 
 something made her a little sorry for them. Though 
 the}^ were healthy, happy-looking children, and their 
 dress was neat and cared for, they did not look like 
 her Sybil, whose clothes were always like those of 
 a little princess. Floss's frock was rather faded- 
 looking, and there was a mark where it had been let 
 down, and Carrots' brown holland blouse had arrived 
 at a very whitey-brown shade, through much wear 
 and washing. 
 
 "It must be hard work with so many children, 
 and such small means," she thought to herself, for 
 auntie had been married young to a rich man, and 
 knew little of " making both ends meet," but aloud 
 she only said, " how lovely little Fabian would look 
 in black velvet, Lucy! What a complexion he 
 has!" 
 
 " Yes, if you can forgive him his hair," said Mrs. 
 Desart. 
 
 " I think his hair is beautiful," observed Sybil and 
 then went on eating her breakfast. 
 
 They all laughed, but there was still a little sigh 
 at the bottom of auntie's heart. There was reason 
 for it greater than the sight of her little nephew's 
 and niece's shabby clothes. 
 
98 
 
 But there was no sigh in the hearts of Floss and 
 Carrots. 
 
 " Carrots," said Floss, as they made their way to 
 the nursery to decide which of their small collection 
 of toys were fit for Sybil's inspection, " Carrots, did 
 you hear." 
 
 "What auntie said?" asked Carrots. "Yes, I 
 heard. Do you think mamma will ever let us go ? " 
 
 "Some day, perhaps," said Floss, and oh what 
 dreams and plans and fancies hung on that "per- 
 haps ! " "Fancy, Carrots, we should go in the rail- 
 way, you and me, Carrots, alone perhaps." 
 
 " Oh, Floss ! " said Carrots, his feelings being 
 beyond further expression. 
 
 That " some day " was a good way off, however, 
 but " to-day " was here, and a nice bright-looking 
 to-day it was. How happy they were ! How happy 
 Sybil was! 
 
 For, somehow, though she was dressed like a prin- 
 cess, though since babyhood she had had everything 
 a child could wish for, though very often, I must 
 confess, she had had " her own way," a good deal 
 more than would have been good for most children, 
 little Sybil was not spoilt. The spoiling dropped off 
 her like water down a duck's back, and auntie never 
 found out it had been there at all ! Perhaps after 
 all there is a kind of spoiling that isn't spoiling 
 love and kindness, and even indulgence, do not spoil 
 when there is perfect trust and openness, and when 
 
SYBIL. 99 
 
 a child at the same time is taught the one great 
 lesson, that the best happiness is trying to make 
 others happy too. 
 
 They played on the sands nearly all day, and Sybil, 
 to her great delight, was covered up from damage 
 by one of Carrots' blouses. The sun came out 
 bright and warm, and they built the most lovely 
 sand house you ever saw. 
 
 " I'd like to live in it always," said Carrots. 
 
 " Oh you funny boy," said Sybil patronisingly, 
 " and what would you do at night, when it got cold, 
 and perhaps the sea would come in." 
 
 "Perhaps the mermaids would take care of him 
 till the morning," said Floss. 
 
 " What are the mermaids ? " asked Sybil. 
 
 " Pretty ladies," said Carrots, " who live at the 
 bottom of the sea, only they've got tails." 
 
 44 Then they can't be pretty," said Sybil decidedly, 
 44 not unless their tails are beautiful and sweeping 
 out, like peacocks ! Are they ? one day I tied a 
 shawl of mother's on, it was a red and gold shawl, 
 and I sweeped it about just like a peacock, that 
 would be pretty." 
 
 44 1 don't think mermaids' tails are like that," said 
 Carrots, doubtfully, 44 but they are pretty ladies, 
 aren't they, Floss ? " 
 
 44 Beautiful," said Floss, 44 but they're very sad. 
 They come up to the shore at night and comb their 
 hair and cry dreadfully." 
 
100 " CAHROTS." 
 
 " What do they cry for ? " asked Sybil and Carrots, 
 pressing up to Floss, and forgetting all about the 
 lovely sand house. 
 
 " Because they no, you couldn't understand," 
 she broke off ; " it is no good telling you." 
 
 " Oh do tell," said the children. 
 
 " Well," said Floss, " I read in a book of Cecil's, 
 they cry because they haven't got any souls. When 
 they die they can't go to heaven, you see." 
 
 Sybil and Carrots looked very solemn at this. 
 Then a sudden thought struck Carrots. 
 
 " How can they cry if they haven't got souls, 
 Floss ? " he said, " nurse says it's our souls that make 
 us glad and sorry. Are you sure the poor mermaids 
 haven't got souls ? " 
 
 " I'm only telling you what I read in a book," 
 said Floss. " I dare say it's all a sort of fairy tale. 
 Don't you like fairy tales, Sybil ? " 
 
 " No," said Sybil, " I like stories of naughty boys 
 and girls best very naughty boys and girls." 
 
 " Oh, Sybil ! " said Carrots, " I don't, because they 
 are always unhappy in the end." 
 
 " No, they're not. Sometimes they all get good. 
 Mother always makes them get good at the end," 
 replied Sybil. 
 
 " Does auntie tell you stories ? " said Floss. 
 
 " Yes, of course, for I can't read them to myself 
 yet. I'm learning, but it is so hard," said Sybil 
 dolefully. 
 
SYBIL. 101 
 
 " I wish auntie would tell us stories." 
 
 " P'raps she will when you come to my house," 
 said Sybil, encouragingly. " Would you think that 
 a treat ? " 
 
 " It would be a 'normous treat." 
 
 " We're going to have a treat to-day," said Floss. 
 " We're going to have tea in the dining-room with 
 you, Sybil, and auntie and everybody, and I think 
 it's time to go in now, because we must change our 
 frocks." 
 
 Carrots had never had tea in the dining-room 
 before, and felt a little overpowered by the honour. 
 He sat very still, and took whatever was offered to 
 him, as nurse had taught him. Cecil poured out 
 the tea, and to please the children she put an extra 
 allowance of sugar into their cups. Carrots tasted 
 his, and was just thinking how very nice it was, 
 when it flashed across his mind that he should not 
 have had any sugar. He put down his cup and 
 looked Around him in great perplexity. If only he 
 could ask Floss. But Floss was at the other side of 
 the table, she seemed to be drinking her tea without 
 any misgiving. Wasn't it naughty? Could she 
 have forgotten? Carrots grew more and more 
 unhappy; the tears filled his eyes, and his face 
 got scarlet. 
 
 " What's the matter, dear ? " said auntie, who 
 was sitting next him, "is your tea too hot? Has 
 it scalded your poor little mouth ? " 
 
102 CARROTS." 
 
 She said it in a low voice. She was so kind and 
 " understanding," she knew Carrots would not have 
 liked everybody round the table to begin noticing 
 him, and as she looked at him more closely, she saw 
 that the tears in his eyes were those of distress, not 
 of " scalding." 
 
 "No, thank you," said Carrots, looking up in 
 auntie's face in his perplexity; "it isn't that. My 
 tea is werry good, but it's got sugar in." 
 
 u And you don't like sugar? Poor old man! 
 Never mind, Cecil will give you another cup. 
 You're not like Sybil in your tastes," said auntie, 
 kindly, and she turned to ask Cecil for some sugar- 
 less tea for her little brother. 
 
 "No, no, auntie. Oh, please don't," whispered 
 Carrots, his trouble increasing, and pulling hard at 
 his aunt's sleeve as he spoke, " I do like sugar werry 
 much it isn't that. But mamma said I was never, 
 never to take nucken that wasn't mine, and sugar 
 won't be mine for two weeks more, nurse sayj." 
 
 Auntie stared at her little nephew in blank 
 bewilderment. What did he mean? Even her 
 quick wits were quite at fault. 
 
 " What do you mean, my dear little boy ? " she said. 
 
 Suddenly a new complication struck poor Carrots. 
 
 " Oh ! " he exclaimed, " it's a secret, it's a secret, 
 and I'm telling it," and he burst into tears. 
 
 It was impossible now to hide his trouble. Every- 
 body began to cross-question him. 
 
WHAT ARE YOU THINKINU ABOUT, MY POOR OLD MAN ? : 
 AUNTIE, FONDLY. p. 103. 
 
SYBIL. 103 
 
 "Cry-baby," muttered Maurice, and even Mrs. 
 Desart said, " Carrots, I wonder at your behaving 
 so when your aunt and cousin are here. Floss, do 
 you know what is the matter with him ? " 
 
 "No, mamma," said Floss, looking as she always 
 did when Carrots was in distress, ready to cry 
 herself. 
 
 " Carrots," said Captain Desart, sharply, " go to 
 the nursery till you learn to behave properly." 
 
 Carrots got slowly down off his high chair, and 
 crept away. But everybody looked troubled and 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 Auntie hated to see people looking troubled and 
 uncomfortable. She thought a minute, and then she 
 turned to Mrs. Desart. 
 
 " Lucy," she said, " will you let me try what I can 
 do with the poor little fellow ? I am sure it was not 
 naughtiness made him cry." 
 
 And almost before Mrs. Desart could reply, auntie 
 was off to the nursery in search of Carrots. 
 
 He had left off crying, and was sitting quietly 
 by the window, looking out at his old friend the sea. 
 
 " What are you thinking about, my poor old 
 man ? " said auntie, fondly. 
 
 Carrots looked up at her. " I like you to call me 
 that," he said. " I was thinking about our hoops and- 
 what a long time four weeks is." 
 
 " Has that to do with you having no sugar ? " 
 asked auntie. 
 
104 " CARROTS." 
 
 "Yes," said Carrots. "How did you guess? 
 You're like a fairy, auntie." But then his face grew 
 troubled again. " I forgot," he went on, " it's a 
 secret. It's Floss's secret too. I would so like to 
 tell you, for I don't know what to do. I don't mind 
 having no tea, but they all thought I was naughty." 
 
 " Wait a minute," said auntie. She hurried out 
 of the room, but was back in a minute. 
 
 " I've asked Floss," she said, " and she gives you 
 leave to tell me. So now, perhaps, when I know all 
 about it, I can tell you what to do." 
 
 The telling did not take Carrots long ; he was so 
 glad to show auntie he had not meant to be naughty. 
 Auntie listened quite gravely, and when he had fin- 
 ished she said she thought he was quite right not to 
 take any sugar. 
 
 "But do you think Floss did?" said Carrots, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Perhaps having tea in the dining-room made her 
 forget," said auntie. " We'll ask her afterwards, and 
 if she did forget, I'll tell you what she must do. She 
 must go without one day longer than you. Now 
 come along with me, and I'll make it all right, you'll 
 see." 
 
 When they got back to the dining-room auntie 
 quietly lifted Carrots on to his chair again, and said 
 to his mamma with a smile, " It was all a mistake ; I 
 thought it was ; Carrots was not naughty at all, and 
 he is quite happy again now." 
 
SYBIL. 105 
 
 And Mrs. Desart smiled too, so Carrots really did 
 feel happy again. But he wondered what auntie 
 would do about the tea, which was -still standing 
 there as he had left it, and it would be wrong to 
 " waste " it, thought Carrots. 
 
 Sybil was sitting on auntie's other side, and auntie 
 glancing at her cup saw that it was empty. So 
 auntie quietly put Carrots' cup before Sybil and 
 gave Carrots the empty one. 
 
 " Cecil," she said, " will you give Carrots some tea 
 without any sugar ? " 
 
 Cecil saw that auntie had some reason for asking 
 this, so she gave Carrots the tea as auntie said, and 
 Carrots drank it and ate his bread and butter and a 
 piece of cake, with great content. 
 
 The only person who did not seem quite contented 
 was Sybil. 
 
 " Mother," she whispered, " I don't like having 
 Carrots' tea. It's quite cold." 
 
 But as Carrots didn't hear it, it didn't much mat- 
 ter. For you see, Sybil had had one cup of nice hot 
 tea, so she was not so badly off after all. 
 
 And, alas ! the very next morning auntie and 
 Sybil had to go away. And the long talked-of and 
 fancied-about visit was over. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 
 
 " The way was long, the wind was cold." 
 
 SOON after auntie's visit summer really began to 
 come. It was very pleasant while it lasted, but this 
 year it was a very short summer, and the winter that 
 came after was a very severe one, and made many 
 people ill. It did not make Carrots ill, nor Floss, 
 nor any of the Desart children, for they were all 
 strong, but it was very bad for their mother. As 
 the winter went on, she seemed to get weaker and 
 weaker ; there were very few days on which she 
 could go out, and if the spring had not been an early 
 and very mild one, I hardly think her strength would 
 have lasted. 
 
 But with the finer weather she seemed to get 
 better again. The children were of course very glad, 
 but still they had not felt frightened by her illness. 
 It had come on so slowly and gradually that they 
 had got accustomed to it, as children do. They 
 thought it was just the cold wintry weather that had 
 made her ill, and that when the spring came she 
 would get better. And when the spring came and 
 
 106 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 107 
 
 she did get better, they were perfectly satisfied and 
 happy. 
 
 By the end of this summer Carrots was seven years 
 old no longer in the least a baby, though he was 
 not tall for his age. He could read, of course, per- 
 fectly, and write a little. Now and then he wrote 
 little letters to Sybil in answer to hers, for she was 
 very particular about getting answers. She was only 
 just beginning to learn to write, and sometimes when 
 she got tired of working away at real " A's " and 
 " B's " and " C's " in her letters, she would dash off 
 into a lot of " scribble," which she said was " chil- 
 dren's writing," and " if Carrots didn't know what it 
 meant he must be very stupid, as he was a child too." 
 
 Carrots didn't know what it meant, but he never 
 liked to say so, and I dare say it did not much matter. 
 But his letters to Sybil were quite real. Any one 
 could have understood them. 
 
 Long ago Floss and he had bought their hoops. 
 They were quite " old friends " now. They had 
 bought them at the toy-shop, just as they had planned, 
 and, curiously enough when their mamma and nurse 
 counted up how much was owing to them for the 
 sugar, it came to exactly the price of the hoops. 
 
 But I must tell you what happened just about the 
 time Carrots had his seventh birthday. The summer 
 was nearly over again, and already the cold winds, of 
 which there were so many at Sandyshore, were begin- 
 ning to be felt. Floss noticed that her mother very 
 
108 CARROTS." 
 
 seldom went out now, and even in the house she gen- 
 erally had to wrap herself up in a shawl. 
 
 " Mamma, I hope the cold weather isn't going to 
 make you ill again ? " Floss said, one day when she 
 and Carrots came in from a race on the sands, all hot 
 and rosy with running. 
 
 " I don't know, dear," said her mother with a little 
 sigh. 
 
 " I wish you could run about like us. That would 
 make you so hot," said Carrots. 
 
 Mrs. Desart smiled. Just then her glance hap- 
 pened to fall on Floss's boots. " My dear child," she 
 said, "those boots are really not fit to go out with. 
 There's a great hole at the side of one of them." 
 
 "I know, mamma," said Floss, "but they're going 
 to be mended. Nurse thinks they'll do a good while 
 longer, if they're mended. I hope they will, for I 
 know you always have so many new things to get 
 when winter begins to come haven't you, mamma ? " 
 
 Mrs. Desart sighed again. 
 
 " I should have liked all your things to be so nice," 
 she said, more as if speaking to herself than to Floss, 
 "but it can't be helped." 
 
 Something in her tone caught Floss's attention. 
 
 " Why, mamma ? " she asked, " why did you want 
 our things to be so nice ? " 
 
 "Because, dears, you may be going away from 
 home," replied Mrs. Desart. 
 
 Floss and Carrots stared with astonishment. " Go- 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 109 
 
 ing away from home," Floss repeated, utterly unable 
 to say more. Carrots could say nothing at all, he 
 could only stare. 
 
 " Yes," continued Mrs. Desart, " I had meant to 
 tell you all about it before, but I have kept putting 
 it off " she stopped and seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " Why, mamma ? " said Floss again. " Don't you 
 like us to go ? Are you coming with us, mamma ? " 
 
 " Are we going to auntie's?" said Carrots. 
 
 His asking this seemed to please his mother. 
 
 "You would like to go to auntie's, wouldn't you, 
 Carrots ? " she said. 
 
 Carrots stroked his mother's shawl up and down 
 two or three times before he answered. 
 
 " I'd like to go if you would come too," he said 
 at last, "but I think I would rather stay at home, 
 thank you, if you can't come." 
 
 Mrs. Desart's eyes filled with tears. " Poor little 
 Carrots ! " she said, softly smoothing his curls with 
 her hand. "But if it would please me for Floss and 
 you to go without me ? " she said. 
 
 "I'll go if you want me to go, mamma," said 
 Carrots. 
 
 " I must explain a little," said Mrs. Desart, and 
 then she went on to tell the children how it was. 
 The doctor had said she must not risk another winter 
 at Sandyshore, and it had been arranged for her to 
 go to a warmer climate. Cecil and Louise were to 
 go with her ; Captain Desart would be with them as 
 
110 
 
 much as he possibly could, and Maurice was to live 
 at school. And what concerned the two little ones 
 almost more than anything, nurse was to go too ! 
 "I must have some one kind and sensible with me, 
 in case, in case " and again Mrs. Desart hesitated. 
 
 "In case you were very tired with travelling, or 
 if you were to get a bad cold again ; somebody who 
 could make nice white wine whey and things like 
 that," said Floss, who was of a practical turn of 
 mind, "oh yes, mamma, I quite understand." 
 
 " Though nurse is getting old, she has been so 
 much accustomed to travelling, too," said Mrs. 
 Desart, " and we are going a long way to Algeria ; 
 Floss, do you know where that is ? " 
 
 " Over the sea ! " said Floss, " I wish we might 
 come too, mamma, Carrots and I," she exclaimed. 
 " You will be so far away." 
 
 " But you will be with auntie, and you know how 
 kind auntie is," said her mother, forcing herself to 
 speak cheerfully. "And it is such a pretty place 
 where auntie lives." 
 
 " Is the sea there ? " said Carrots. 
 
 " No, but the hills are," answered Mrs. Desart with 
 a smile. " I am quite sure you will like it." And 
 she went on to tell them so much about auntie's 
 pretty home that for a little they almost forgot 
 everything but the pleasant part of the change that 
 was to come so soon. 
 
 And it did come very soon. It seemed but a few 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. Ill 
 
 days from the afternoon they had first heard about 
 it all, when Floss and Carrots found themselves early 
 one morning at the little railway station with their 
 father, waiting for the train. 
 
 Captain Desart was to travel with them for the 
 first hour, to take them to the "junction " where they 
 were to change and get into a train which would take 
 them straight to Whitefriars, near which was auntie's 
 house. 
 
 You will laugh, children, I dare say, and think 
 Floss and Carrots very countrified and ignorant 
 when I tell you that they had never been a long 
 railway journey before. Never, that is to say, that 
 they could remember for their parents had come to 
 Sandyshore when Floss was a baby, and Carrots, as 
 you know, had been born there. 
 
 So you can hardly fancy what a wonderful event 
 this journey was to them. 
 
 Their little hearts were very full at first after part- 
 ing with their mother, and sisters, and nurse, and all 
 that made the Cove House home to them. 
 
 And their mamma had kissed them so many times, 
 as if she could not really say good-bye, though she 
 was not generally a very petting or kissing mamma, 
 but rather quiet and grave. 
 
 And nurse had the tears in her eyes, and Louise 
 had them pouring down her face, and Cecil had her face 
 squeezed up in a sort of way that Floss knew meant 
 she was determined she would not cry. Floss felt 
 
112 
 
 troubled in a way she could not understand, and I 
 think Carrots did too. They had a feeling that the 
 bigger people knew of more reason for sorrow than 
 had been told to them, and yet they could not im- 
 agine what it could be. And after all, to them the 
 parting for even four or five months was almost as 
 great a trouble as they could understand ! only they 
 were going to " auntie's " ! 
 
 " And we will try to be so good, dear mamma," 
 said Floss, bravely choking down her tears. " We 
 will try to get on with our lessons, too, and write 
 you nice letters. And and ' here a sob or 
 two would make its way, " I can't help crying a 
 little ; but I'm sure we shall be very happy, won't 
 we, Carrots ? " 
 
 "If mamma wants us to be happy, we'll try, won't 
 we, Floss?" said Carrots. He wiped the tears on 
 his mother's cheeks with his own little pocket- 
 handkerchief and looked up in her face piteously. 
 " Please don't cry, poor mamma," he said ; " we 
 will be good and happy." 
 
 Then their father came in and hurried them off, 
 and the farewells were over that part of them, at 
 least, for the saying good-bye to Captain Desart at 
 the junction was rather hard too. 
 
 And at last Floss and Carrots find themselves at 
 the height of their ambition alone in a railway 
 carriage travelling to auntie's ! But they do not 
 seem so delighted as they used to fancy they would ; 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 113 
 
 they do not jump about and laugh and chatter in 
 their overflowing pleasure they sit quite still, side 
 by side, holding each other's hands and with little 
 quiet grave faces. 
 
 " Things never come the same as people fancy," 
 said Floss at last. "We never thought we should 
 go to auntie's because poor mamma was ill, did we, 
 Carrots ? " 
 
 " No, we never did," said Carrots. " But mamma 
 will soon get better, won't she, Floss, at that nice 
 warm place ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, of course she will," said Floss. " But 
 it's a long way away, Carrots, and I never thought 
 going to auntie's would be like this." 
 
 " No," agreed Carrots again, " we never did." 
 
 "I'm so sorry to leave them all, aren't you, 
 Carrots ? " said Floss, her voice trembling a little. 
 
 " Yes," said Carrots ; " and, Floss, I'm very sorry, 
 too, to leave the sea. I never left the sea before, 
 you know." 
 
 "But the sea won't miss you," said Floss, "and 
 poor mamma and nursie and all of them will miss 
 us. That's what I keep thinking of." 
 
 "When should we eat our dinner, Floss?" said 
 Carrots, with an instinct that it would be as well 
 to change the subject. 
 
 "Not just yet. When we've gone about half- 
 way would do ; and papa said that great big place, 
 Millingham, would be about half-way." 
 
114 " CARKOTS." 
 
 " But if there were any other people to get into 
 the carriage ? " said Carrots. 
 
 " Well, it wouldn't matter," said Floss. " People 
 must eat when they are travelling." 
 
 " But wouldn't we have to ask them to have some 
 too ? " suggested Carrots. 
 
 "I don't know," said Floss; "I never thought 
 of that. Perhaps it would be polite. But there 
 are only eight sandwiches, Carrots ; eight sand- 
 wiches and four sponge cakes and a packet of 
 Albert biscuits. I hope a great many people won't 
 get in." 
 
 No one got in at the next station. Only the 
 guard put his head in at the door, as Captain 
 Desart had asked him to do, to see how the little 
 pair were getting on. Carrots had thoughts of offer- 
 ing him a sandwich, but he disappeared before there 
 was time to do so, which Floss thought very fortu- 
 nate when she heard of Carrots' intention. "For 
 you see," she said, " if we began offering them to 
 him, we would have to do it at every station, and if 
 there are eight stations before Whitefriars, all our 
 sandwiches would be gone." 
 
 " He might have a biscuit for a change," said 
 Carrots, submissive, but scarcely convinced. " He 
 is a nice man, Floss he calls us ' Well, sir,' and 
 ; Miss.' Do you think papa told him to say ' Well, 
 sir,' and 'Miss'?" 
 
 But before Floss had time to answer they had 
 
A JOUKNEY AND ITS ENDING. 115 
 
 stopped again, and this time some one did get 
 into their carriage. The new-comer was a small, 
 neat, oldish lady. She looked rather grim at first, 
 but after a while she grew decidedly friendly, and 
 no wonder; for at Millingham, Floss and Carrots 
 unpacked their little basket of provisions, and I 
 don't think the grimmest of maiden ladies could 
 have remained grim after the politeness with which 
 the children treated her. 
 
 They selected the nicest-looking sandwich, putting 
 it on an Albert biscuit by way of a plate, and then, 
 at a sign from Floss, Carrots clambered down from 
 his seat and gravely offered it to the lady. 
 
 " I'm sorry there's no mustard, if you like mus- 
 tard," said Floss ; " but Carrots and I don't like 
 it, and and I suppose nurse didn't think of any 
 one else." 
 
 The oldish lady looked at the children for a 
 moment before she replied. 
 
 "I am very much obliged to you," she said at 
 last, "but I think I won't take a sandwich, as I 
 had luncheon before I left home. But if you will 
 allow me I will have a biscuit. I am very fond 
 of biscuits." 
 
 " I'm so glad," said Floss, hospitably. " Now, 
 Carrots," she said in a lower voice, u you eat two 
 sandwiches and I'll eat two, and we'll each have 
 one sponge cake. And that'll do for dinner. We'll 
 eat the rest in about an hour and pretend we're 
 having tea early." 
 
116 " CARKOTS." , 
 
 The lady asked them a good many questions 
 after this, and told them they were such well-be- 
 haved children, she would not mind travelling all 
 the way to Whitefriars with them. Floss blushed 
 a little at this ; it made her feel shy to be praised 
 to her face, but still no doubt the lady meant it 
 kindly, and they were rather sorry when she left 
 them, some stations before they got to Whitefriars. 
 Their old friend the guard left them here, too, 
 but he popped his head in for the last time to 
 say that he was going to speak for them to "him 
 that was coming on now." And Floss thanked 
 him, though she had not the least idea what he 
 meant. 
 
 But there must have been some mistake about 
 it, for the new guard never came near them, and 
 when, at the last stoppage before Whitefriars, an- 
 other man threw the door open and demanded 
 " tickets," Floss felt too startled by his rough man- 
 ner to ask him what they were longing to know, 
 how far they still had to go. But he took away 
 the tickets. " So we can't have very far to go," 
 said Floss. " Papa said they would take away the 
 tickets a little before we got to Whitefriars." 
 
 " Will auntie be at the station ? " said Carrots. 
 
 "Yes, I'm sure she will," said Floss. "Auntie 
 and Sybil too, perhaps. Carrots, I do believe we're 
 there ; the train's stopping." 
 
 And in another minute they found themselves 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 117 
 
 in a nice clean-looking station with several people 
 standing about on the platform, evidently waiting 
 for the train. 
 
 The children looked out eagerly. There were 
 two or three ladies, one little girl, and a few other 
 people but no auntie, no Sybil ! 
 
 " P'raps this isn't the place," said Carrots. 
 
 " Please, is this Whitefriars ? " inquired Floss of a 
 porter who just then threw open the door. 
 
 " Whitefriars, yes, miss. Any lugguge ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said Floss anxiously, "a great deal. 
 It's in one of the luggage carriages, and it's marked 
 with our name." 
 
 The man smiled. " Will you come with me, 
 missie, and show me which it is, and I'll get it all 
 right for you." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," said Floss, gathering together 
 their cloaks and baskets, and preparing to de- 
 scend. 
 
 " What a kind man," whispered Carrots ; and 
 when the porter lifted him out of the carriage he 
 took hold of his hand and ran along beside him as 
 fast as his little legs could keep up. 
 
 Floss felt quite bewildered at first, when she saw 
 the heaps and heaps of luggage lying on the plat- 
 form, all labelled "Whitefriars." It seemed to her 
 that everybody must have been travelling to White- 
 friars to-day! But by degrees it was claimed 
 and melted away, and the kind porter, to whom 
 
118 "CABKOTS." 
 
 she had already pointed out their " great deal " 
 one portmanteau, one bag, and a small tin hat-box 
 soon picked it up and stood waiting for further 
 orders. 
 
 " Where am I to take it to, please, miss ? " he said. 
 " Is there no one here to meet you ? " 
 
 "I don't think so, I don't know what to do," 
 said Floss, looking sadly troubled again. In the 
 excitement of rinding the luggage she had for- 
 gotten this new difficulty, but now it returned in 
 full force. 
 
 " Have you far to go ? " said the man. 
 
 " Oh no," said Floss, " auntie's house is near here, 
 I know." 
 
 "Then perhaps little master and you had better 
 walk on, and send for the luggage afterwards ? " 
 suggested the man, never doubting from Floss's 
 manner that the children were accustomed to the 
 place, and knew their way. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said Floss uncertainly. 
 
 " Or shall I fetch you a fly from the Blue Boar ? " 
 said the man. " The station flies has all drove 
 off." 
 
 "No, thank you; I don't think I have enough 
 money for that," said Floss, feeling in her pocket 
 for her purse, which she knew contained only her 
 father's parting gift of half-a-crown, a sixpence 
 with a hole in it, and three pennies of Carrots ' ! 
 " Your auntie says she will get you everything you 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 119 
 
 want, so I need not give you any money with 
 you," their mother had said. Floss had no idea 
 what a fly from the Blue Boar would cost, but it 
 sounded very grand, and she hardly dared to risk 
 it. 
 
 " Well, I dare say you'll be safest to walk," said 
 the porter, rather afraid of getting himself into a 
 scrape if he fetched the children a fly without proper 
 authority, and feeling uncertain, from their very 
 plain and rather " countrified " appearance, if their 
 friends belonged to the fly patronising class or not. 
 " I'll keep the luggage safe till it's sent for no 
 fear," and with a friendly nod he marched off with 
 their possessions. 
 
 Holding Carrots by the hand, Floss made her 
 way out of the station. For about a quarter of a 
 mile the road ran straight before them and they 
 trudged along contentedly enough. But after 
 awhile they came to a point where two roads met, 
 one leading to the little watering-place (for the station 
 was some way from the town), the other out into 
 the country. And for the first time it struck Floss 
 that she did not know the way. She looked about 
 her in perplexity. 
 
 '.' It cannot be far," she said ; " mamma always 
 said auntie lived near White friars. But I wish I 
 knew which way to go." 
 
 Carrots had no suggestion to offer. To make 
 matters worse, it began to rain a cold, sleety, late 
 
120 "CARROTS." 
 
 October rain ; the children had no umbrella, and 
 were already tired and hungry. I think it was 
 much to their credit that they did not lose heart 
 altogether. 
 
 Just as Floss was making up her mind to take the 
 turn leading in the distance to terraces of houses and 
 gardens and other signs of civilisation, there came, 
 jogging along the road on a cart-horse, a farmer's 
 boy. Joyful sight ! Floss plucked up heart. 
 
 " Can you tell me, please," she called out, " which 
 is the way to Greenmays ? " 
 
 The farmer's boy turned his thumb in the direc- 
 tion of the country road. " Yonder," he shouted, 
 without stopping in his jog, "straight on past the 
 church, and down lane to left." 
 
 "Is it far?" asked Floss, but the boy did not 
 seem to hear. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to go on with their 
 trudge. The rain was not heavy but very piercingly 
 cold, and the daylight was beginning to fade. Two 
 or three hot tears at last forced their way down 
 Floss's cheeks, but she wiped them quickly away, 
 before Carrots could see them. Carrots said nothing, 
 but Floss knew he was getting tired by the way he 
 kept lagging behind, every now and then giving a 
 little run to get up to Floss again. 
 
 "I shouldn't mind so much, Floss," he said at last, 
 " if it would be home when we get there, and if we 
 were to find mamma and nurse and tea in our own 
 nursery waiting for us." 
 
A JOUKNEY AND ITS ENDING. 121 
 
 This was altogether too much for Floss. For a 
 moment or two she could not speak, she was choked 
 with sobs. " Oh, how I do wish poor mamma hadn't 
 got ill," she said at last. 
 
 44 Poor Flossie, dear Flossie," said Carrots, pulling 
 down her face to kiss in spite of the rain and the 
 dark and the cold and everything. " I didn't mean 
 to make you cry. And auntie will be very kind 
 when we get there, won't she, Floss?" 
 
 " Oh yes," said Floss, trying to speak cheerfully, 
 though in her secret heart there was a little misgiv- 
 ing. It did not look very kind not to have sent to 
 meet them at the station, and even without this, 
 Floss, though she had not said so, had felt a little 
 shy and frightened at the thought of meeting auntie 
 and the strange uncle, and even Sybil again. It was 
 nearly two years since the visit to Sandyshore, and 
 two years is a lifetime to a child it seemed to 
 Floss like going altogether among strangers. She 
 clasped her little brother's hand tighter as these 
 feelings passed through her mind. " It won't be so 
 bad for Carrots,"- she reflected; "anyway he will 
 have me." 
 
 They seemed to have walked a very weary way 
 when at last the church, of which the farmer's boy 
 had spoken, came in sight very dimly in sight, for 
 the daylight was fast dying away. Floss would have 
 passed the church without noticing it, but the road 
 divided in two just at this place, and she was obliged 
 
122 
 
 to think which way to go. Then the boy's directions 
 came into her mind. 
 
 " To the left past the church, didn't he say, 
 Carrots?" she said. 
 
 " 4 Down lane to left,' he said," replied Carrots. 
 
 "Then it must be this way," said Floss, and on 
 they trudged. 
 
 In a few minutes they came to large gates, on one 
 side of which stood a pretty little house ; but such a 
 little house, hardly bigger than a cottage. 
 
 " Is that auntie's house ? " said Carrots. 
 
 "I'm afraid it's too little to be auntie's house," 
 said Floss. " I wish it was. I would much rather 
 auntie lived in a cottage." 
 
 " Just like Mrs. White's," said Carrots. 
 
 Floss could not help laughing at him ; it had left 
 off raining and her spirits were rising a little. 
 
 " Look, Carrots," she said, " there is a light in the 
 cottage window. We'd better knock at the door 
 and ask if it is auntie's house. It's getting rather 
 like a fairy story, isn't it, Carrots ?. Fancy if some- 
 body calls out 'Pull the string and the latch will 
 open.' " 
 
 " But that would be the wolf, Floss," said Carrots, 
 pressing closer to his sister. 
 
 It was no wolf, but a nice, tidy-looking woman 
 with a white cap and a baby in her arms who 
 opened the door, and stood staring at the two little 
 wayfarers in bewilderment. Floss grew afraid that 
 she was angry. 
 
A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING. 123 
 
 
 
 "I'm very sorry I mean I beg your pardon," 
 she began. "I didn't know this was your house. 
 We thought perhaps it was auntie's. Can you tell 
 me, please, where Greenmays is ? " 
 
 " This is Greenmays," said the woman. Floss 
 stared : the door opened right into the kitchen, it 
 couldn't be auntie's house. 
 
 " This is the lodge," continued the woman. " If 
 it's some one at the big house you're wanting, you 
 must just go straight up the drive. I'd show you 
 the way," she went on, " but my husband's up 
 at the stables and it's too cold for baby. You 
 seem wet and tired, you do have you come 
 far?" 
 
 u Yes," said Floss, wearily, "very far. We 
 thought auntie would meet us at the station, but 
 there wasn't anybody." 
 
 " They must be kin to the housekeeper, surely," 
 thought the woman. And yet something inde- 
 scribable in Floss's manner, and in the clear, well- 
 bred tones of her small, childish voice, prevented 
 her asking if this was so. " I wish I could go with 
 you to the house," she repeated, curiosity and 
 kindliness alike prompting her, " but," she added, 
 looking doubtfully at the sleeping child in her 
 arms, " I'm afeared for baby." 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't matter, thank you," said Floss, 
 " we can find the way, I dare say. Good-evening," 
 and taking Carrots by the hand, she turned to go. 
 
 " Good-evening," said little Carrots also. 
 
124 " CAKKOTS." 
 
 " Good-evening, and I hope you'll find your 
 auntie in," said the woman. And for a few minutes 
 she stood at the door straining her eyes after the 
 two forlorn little figures till she could distinguish 
 them no longer in the darkness of the trees bordering 
 the avenue. " Who can they be ? " she said to her- 
 self. " Such a pretty spoken, old-fashioned little 
 pair I never did see I " 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 HAPPY AND SAD. 
 
 " 'Tis gone and in a merry fit 
 
 They run upstairs in gamesome race. 
 ****** 
 A moment's heaviness they feel, 
 A sadness at the heart." 
 
 THE MOTHER'S KETURN. 
 
 IT was very dark in the drive, and Carrots crept 
 close to Floss. But Floss felt far less afraid of 
 the dark than of the light ! when at last the house 
 came in view and the brightly lit up windows shone 
 out into the gloom. 
 
 " Oh, what a big house," said Floss. " Oh 
 Carrots, how I do wish that little cottage had been 
 auntie's house, even though the door did open right 
 into the kitchen. Don't you, Carrots ? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Carrots, " auntie will be 
 very kind to us, won't she, Floss ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said Floss, " but supposing she is 
 having a party to-night, Carrots ? " 
 
 " Well, we could have tea in the nursery, and 
 go to bed," said Carrots philosophically. " Oh 
 Floss, wouldn't you like some nice hot tea and 
 bread and butter?" 
 
 125 
 
126 CARROTS." 
 
 "Poor Carrots," said Floss. And her anxiety 
 to see her little brother in comfort again gave her 
 courage to ring the bell as loudly as she could. 
 
 A man servant opened the door. Very tall and 
 formidable he looked to the two children, whose 
 eyes were dazzled by the sudden light, after their 
 long walk in the dusk. 
 
 "If you please," "said Floss, "is auntie at 
 home?" 
 
 The man stared. "What did you say?" he 
 inquired. " Is it a message from some one ?" 
 
 " Oh no," said Floss, "it's just that we've come, 
 Carrots and I will you please tell auntie ? We've 
 walked all the way from the station, because there 
 was no one to meet us." 
 
 The man still stared. He had heard something 
 about a young lady and gentleman, his mistress's 
 nephew and niece, being expected on a visit, but 
 his ideas were rather slow. He could not all at 
 once take in that the dilapidated little couple 
 before him could possibly be the looked for 
 guests. 
 
 But just then another person came upon the 
 scene. A little figure with bright dark eyes and 
 flying hair came dancing into the hall. 
 
 "Who's there, Fletcher?" she said. "Is it the 
 post?" 
 
 "No, miss," said Fletcher, rather glad of some 
 one to consult in his perplexity. " I don't know 
 
"IT is FLOSSIE AND MB, SYBIL DON'T YOU REMEMBER us?" 
 
 p. 127. 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 127 
 
 who it is that's to say, it's a little boy and girl 
 who say as they've come from the station, but I 
 can't justly make out who it is they want." 
 
 " How funny," said Sybil, coming forward and 
 peering our from under Fletcher's arm, "perhaps 
 they'll tell me what they want. Who are you, little 
 girl? Is it my mother you want? Will you give 
 me your message ? " 
 
 She looked more like a little princess than ever. 
 She was dressed to go down to the drawing-room 
 before dinner all white embroidery and lace and 
 rose-coloured ribbons. Floss and Carrots looked 
 at her with a sort of dazzled admiration, mingled 
 with shy bewilderment. It all seemed more of a 
 mistake than ever Sybil was evidently not expect- 
 ing them if only the railway station had not been 
 so dreadfully far away, Floss felt as if she would 
 have liked to take Carrots by the hand and go 
 away back again, all the long weary way to Sandy- 
 shore ! 
 
 But Carrots' faith in auntie and Sybil was un- 
 shaken and his childlike confidence less susceptible 
 of chill. Partly from mortification, partly to hide 
 that she was crying, Floss stood perfectly silent, but 
 Carrots pressed forward. 
 
 " It is Flossie and me, Sybil don't you re- 
 member us? We've walked such a long way, and 
 there was nobody to meet us at the station, and we 
 are so cold and so hungry ! " 
 
128 " CARROTS." 
 
 Sybil gave a sort of leap into the air. " Floss 
 and Carrots ! " she cried, " oh mother, mother, come 
 quick, here are Floss and Carrots ! " 
 
 She seemed to fly across the hall in one second, 
 and darting down a passage disappeared, crying out 
 all the way, " Flossie and Carrots oh mother, 
 mother, come." 
 
 And before the children had time to consider 
 what they had best do, and long before the very 
 deliberate Mr. Fletcher had collected his wits suffi- 
 ciently to decide upon inviting them to come in, 
 Sybil was back again, closely followed by her mother, 
 whom she had dragged out of the drawing-room 
 without any other explanation than her cry of " Floss 
 and Carrots, oh mother, Flossie and Carrots." 
 
 And when Floss saw auntie running to them, 
 with her kind face all eagerness and anxiety, the 
 shyness and the disappointment and the mortification 
 all seemed suddenly to melt away. She rushed into 
 the hall and threw herself sobbing into auntie's 
 arms. " Oh auntie," she cried, " we are so tired 
 poor Carrots is I mean, and so hungry, and I thought 
 you had forgotten us, and we're so far away from 
 mamma." 
 
 Auntie understood all about it in a moment. She 
 hugged Floss tight, and only let go of her for an 
 instant to get hold of Carrots and hug him tight too. 
 And then, when she saw the two tired little white 
 faces, and felt how wet they were, and saw the tears 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 129 
 
 on Floss's cheeks, she sat down on the hall floor, still 
 clasping them tight, and actually cried too. 
 
 " My two poor dear little babes in the wood," she 
 exclaimed. " What a dreadful mistake ! What a 
 cruel auntie you must have thought me ! " 
 
 " I didn't know if you wanted us I thought 
 perhaps you had forgotten about us coming," whis- 
 pered Floss. 
 
 " No wonder," said auntie ; " but Flossie, darling, 
 I haven't got any letter to say what day you were 
 coming. That was why we were not at the station. 
 Sybil and I had been making such delightful plans 
 about how we should meet you at the station do 
 you think your father and mother could have for- 
 gotten to write to tell me the day ? " 
 
 " Oh no," said Floss, " I know papa wrote to tell 
 you he wrote the day before yesterday, for I heard 
 him tell mamma so. And this morning when the 
 post came, just as we were leaving, he wondered a 
 little that there was no letter from you, but he said 
 perhaps you hadn't thought it worth while to write, 
 as you had said any day this week would do for us 
 to come." 
 
 " Of course I would have written," said auntie ; 
 " but what can have become of the letter ? " 
 
 It had evidently gone astray somehow, and that 
 very evening the mystery was explained, for the 
 postman brought it a very travel-worn letter in- 
 deed, with two or three scrawls across it in red ink 
 
130 
 
 - " Missent to Whitehurst," " Try Whitefield," etc., 
 etc. 
 
 " Whenever a letter does go wrong, which certainly 
 is not very often, it is sure to be one of consequence," 
 said auntie. But long before the letter came Floss 
 and Carrots had forgotten their troubles at least if 
 they hadn't it was not auntie's fault, for I can't tell 
 you how kind she was and what a fuss she made 
 about them. She took them up to Sybil's nice beau- 
 tiful warm nursery, and all their wet things were 
 taken off, and Floss was wrapped up in a dressing- 
 gown of auntie's and Carrots in one of Sybil's, and 
 then they had the most lovely tea you can imagine. 
 
 Sybil's father was away that night and was not 
 coming back till the next day, and auntie was to 
 have dinner alone, with Sybil beside her, you may be 
 sure, to "keep her company," and help her to get 
 through dinner by opening her little mouth for 
 " tastes " every now and then. But auntie had to 
 manage alone, after all, for of course Sybil would 
 not leave Floss and Carrots, and auntie sent up the 
 very nicest things from the dining-table for the chil- 
 dren to eat with their tea, and Sybil did get some 
 " tastes," I can assure you. 
 
 And they laughed at each other in the dressing- 
 gowns, and Floss quite forgot that she had expected 
 to feel shy and strange. Only when auntie came up 
 to the nursery again after dinner and made Floss tell 
 her all about the long walk in the cold and the dark, 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 131 
 
 and about the " kind porter," and the oldish-looking 
 lady, and, further back still, about the leaving home 
 in the morning and how poor mamma kissed them 
 " so many, many times " Floss could not help 
 crying again a little, nor could auntie either. And 
 though Carrots and Sybil did not cry, their little 
 faces looked very solemn and as if they almost 
 thought they should cry, as they sat side by side on 
 the rug in front of the high nursery guard, Carrots 
 in the funny red-flannel dressing-gown which made 
 him look so " old fashioned," and Sybil in her white 
 embroidery and rose ribbons, crumpling them all up 
 " anyhow " in a way which really went to Floss's 
 heart, though auntie did not seem to mind. 
 
 Then came bed-time. Such a nice bed-time, for 
 auntie had prepared for them two dear little rooms, 
 with a door between, that they should not feel far 
 away from each other. And though it was the very 
 first time in Carrots' life that he had gone to bed 
 without kind old nurse to tuck him up, he did not feel 
 unhappy, for Floss reminded him what a good thing 
 it was that their mother had nurse with her now she 
 was ill, and besides, Sybil's French maid Denise was 
 very kind and merry, and not at all " stuck up " or 
 grand. 
 
 And the waking the next morning ! 
 
 Who does not know those first wakings in a strange 
 place ! Sometimes so pleasant, sometimes so sad, but 
 never, I think, without a strange interestingness of 
 
132 "CARROTS." 
 
 their own. This waking was pleasant, though so 
 strange. The sun was shining for one thing a 
 great thing, I think I should call it, and the children 
 felt it to be so. 
 
 They woke about the same time and called out 
 to each other, and then Floss got out of bed and 
 went to see how Carrots was looking, after all his 
 adventures. 
 
 "You haven't caught cold I hope, Carrots," she 
 said in a motherly tone. 
 
 " Oh no. I'm quite well," replied Carrots, " I 
 haven't even a cold in my nose. And isn't it a nice 
 morning, Floss, and isn't this a lovely room ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Floss, " and so is mine, Carrots." 
 
 " And auntie is kind, isn't she, Floss ? " 
 
 " Oh, very" said Floss. 
 
 "Isn't it nice to see the sun?" said Carrots. 
 " Floss, I can't understand how it can always be 
 the same sun, however far we go." 
 
 "But don't you remember what I showed you," 
 said Floss, " about the world being like a little ball, 
 always going round and round a great light, so of 
 course the great light must always be the same ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Carrots dreamily, "but still it seems 
 funny. Will mamma see the sun at that nice warm, 
 place over the sea ? " 
 
 " Why of course," said Floss, " it's the sun that 
 makes that place nice and warm." 
 
 " Is it ? " said Carrots. " Is that place nearer the 
 sun than Sandyshore is, Floss? " 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 133 
 
 " No, not exactly. At least it is in a sort of a way 
 the sunshine falls straighter on it, but I couldn't 
 explain without a globe and a lot of fuss," said Floss. 
 " Never mind just now, Carrots perhaps auntie can 
 show you." 
 
 " But Floss," persisted Carrots, " I do want to 
 know one thing. Shall we see the sun in heaven ? " 
 
 " No," said Floss decidedly, " certainly not. It 
 says in the Bible there will be no sun or moon in 
 heaven." 
 
 " Then I don't think I shall like it at all," said 
 Carrots, " for there won't be any sea there either. I 
 can't think how it can be a nice place." 
 
 " Bat, Carrots dear," said Floss in some distress, 
 "you mustn't think of heaven that way. It isn't 
 like that. Heaven isn't like a place exactly, mamma 
 says. It is just being quite good." 
 
 " Being quite good," repeated Carrots thoughtfully. 
 " I wish I could be quite good, Floss, I wish every- 
 body could, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Floss. " But really you must get up, 
 Carrots dear ; that will be good for just now. Being 
 good always comes in little bits like that. " 
 
 " But in heaven, the being good will be all in one 
 great big piece, that's how it will be, isn't it ? " said 
 Carrots, as he got out of bed and began hunting for 
 his slippers. 
 
 I cannot tell you half the history of that first day 
 at Greenmays, or of many others that followed. They 
 
134 " CARROTS." 
 
 were very happy days, and they were full of so many 
 new pleasures and interests for Carrots and Floss 
 that I should really have to write another book to 
 tell you all about them. Everybody was kind to the 
 children, and everything that could be thought of to 
 make them feel "at home" was done. And Green- 
 mays was such a pretty place Carrots could hardly 
 miss his dear old sea, once he had learnt to make 
 friends with the hills. At first he could do nothing 
 but gaze at them in astonishment. 
 
 " I didn't think hills were so big, or that they 
 would have so many faces," he said to Floss and 
 Sybil the first morning when they were out in the 
 garden together. 
 
 Sybil burst out laughing. "Oh you funny Car- 
 rots ! " she said ; " you're just like a boy in a fairy 
 story you've got such queer fancies." 
 
 " But they're not fancies, Sybil," said Carrots, 
 gravely, turning his great brown eyes on his cousin. 
 " The hills have got lots of different faces : that one 
 up there, the one with the round knobby top, has 
 looked quite different several times this morning. 
 First it looked smiley and smooth, and then it got 
 all cross and wrinkly, and now it looks as if it was 
 going to sleep." 
 
 Sybil stared up at the hill he was pointing to. " I 
 see what you mean," she said; "but it's only the 
 shadows of the clouds." 
 
 " That's pretty," said Carrots : " who told you 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 185 
 
 that, Sybil? I never thought of clouds having 
 shadows." 
 
 " Nobody told me," said Sybil ; " I finded it out 
 my own self. I find out lots of things," she con- 
 tinued, importantly. "I dare say it's because of my 
 name papa says my name means I should find out 
 things, like a sort of a fairy, you know." 
 
 " Does it?" said Carrots, in a rather awe-struck 
 tone. " I should like that. When you were little, 
 Sybil," he continued, " were you ever frightened of 
 shadows? /was." 
 
 " No," said Sybil, " I only thought they were 
 funny. And once papa told me a story of a shadow 
 that ran away from its master. It went across the 
 street, at night, you know, when the lamps were 
 lighted: there were houses opposite, you see, and 
 the shadow went into such a beautiful house, and 
 wouldn't come back again ! " 
 
 "And what after that?" said both Floss and Car- 
 rots in a breath. 
 
 "Oh, I can't tell it you all," said Sybil; "you 
 must ask papa." 
 
 "Does he often tell you stories?" asked Floss. 
 
 "Bits," said Sybil; "he doesn't tell them all 
 through, like mother. But he's very nice about 
 answering things I ask him. He doesn't say 'you 
 couldn't understand,' or ' you'll know when you're 
 older,' that horrid way." 
 
 " He must be nice," said Floss, who had secretly 
 
136 
 
 been trembling a little at the thought of the strange 
 uncle. 
 
 And he did turn out very nice. He was older than 
 Floss had expected ; a good deal older than auntie, 
 whom he sometimes spoke to as if she were quite a 
 little girl, in a way which amused the children very 
 much. At first he seemed very quiet and grave, but 
 after a while Floss found out that in his own way he 
 was very fond of fun, and she confided to auntie that 
 she thought he was the funniest person she had ever 
 seen. I don't know if auntie told him this, or if he 
 took it as a compliment, but certainly he could not 
 have been offended, for every day, as they learnt 
 to know him better, the children found him kinder 
 and kinder. 
 
 So they were very happy at Greenmays, and no 
 doubt would have gone on being so but for one thing. 
 There came bad news of their mother. 
 
 This was how they heard it. Every week at least, 
 for several weeks, Floss or Carrots, and sometimes 
 both, got a letter from their mother or from Cecil 
 and Louise ; and at first these letters were so cheer- 
 ful, that even the little bit of anxiety which the 
 children had hardly known was in their hearts melted 
 away. 
 
 "What a good thing mamma went to that nice 
 warm place, isn't it, auntie?" Carrots used to say 
 after the -arrival of each letter, and auntie most 
 heartily agreed with the happy little fellow. But 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 137 
 
 at last, just about Christmas time, when the thin 
 foreign-looking letter, that the children had learnt 
 to know so well, made its appearance one morning 
 on the breakfast-table, it proved to be for auntie 
 that, of course, they did not object to, had there been 
 one for them too, but there was not ! 
 
 " Auntie dear, there is no letter for us," said Floss, 
 when auntie came into the room. "Will you please 
 open yours quick, and see if there is one inside it ? " 
 
 "I don't think there is," said auntie; "it doesn't 
 feel like it." 
 
 However, she opened the letter at once. No, 
 there was no enclosure ; and Floss, who was watching 
 her face, saw that it grew troubled as she ran her 
 eyes down the page. 
 
 " My letter is from your father. I cannot read it 
 properly till after breakfast, for uncle is waiting for 
 me to pour out his coffee. Run off now, dears, and 
 I'll come to the nursery and tell you all about it after 
 breakfast," she said, trying to look arid speak just the 
 same as usual. 
 
 But Floss saw that she was trying ; she did not 
 persist, however, but took Carrots by the hand, and 
 went off obediently without speaking, only giving 
 auntie one wistful look as she turned away. 
 
 "What's wrong, Florence?" said Sybil's father, 
 as the door closed after the children. 
 
 "It is about Lucy," said auntie; "she is much 
 worse ; very ill indeed. She has caught cold some- 
 
138 
 
 how, and Frank seems almost to have lost hope 
 already." 
 
 Two or three tears rolled down auntie's face as 
 she spoke. For a minute or two Sybil's father said 
 nothing. 
 
 "How about telling the children?" he asked at 
 last. 
 
 "That's just it," replied auntie. "Frank leaves 
 it to me to tell them or not, as I think best. He 
 would not let Cecil or Louise write, as he thought if 
 it had to be told I had better do so as gently as I 
 could, by word of mouth. But they must be told 
 they are such quick children, I believe Floss suspects 
 it already. And if and if the next news should be 
 worse" continued auntie with a little sob, "I would 
 never forgive myself for not having prepared them, 
 and they would be full of self-reproach for having 
 been happy and merry as usual. Floss would say 
 she should have known it by instinct." 
 
 " Would they feel it so much ? could they realise 
 it ? They are so young," said Sybil's father. 
 
 Auntie shook her head. "Not too young to feel 
 it terribly," she said. "It is much better to tell 
 them. I could not hide the sorrow in my face from 
 those two honest pairs of eyes, for one thing." 
 
 " Well, you know best," said her husband. 
 
 A sad telling it was, and the way in which the 
 children took it touched auntie's loving heart to the 
 quick. They were so quiet and "pitiful," as little 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 139 
 
 Sybil said. Floss's face grew white, for, with a 
 child's hasty rush at conclusions, she fancied at first 
 that auntie was paving the way for the worst news 
 of all. 
 
 "Is mamma dead?" she whispered, and auntie's 
 " Oh no, no, darling. Not so bad as that," seemed 
 to give her a sort of crumb of hope, even before she 
 had heard all. 
 
 And Carrots stood beside auntie's knee, clasping 
 his little mother Floss's hand tight, and looking up 
 in auntie's face with those wonderful eyes of his, 
 which auntie had said truly one could not deceive ; 
 and when he had been told all there was to tell, he 
 just said softly, " Oh poor mamma ! Auntie, she 
 kissened us so many times ! " 
 
 And then, which auntie was on the whole g-lad of, 
 the three children sat down on the rug together and 
 cried; Sybil, in her sympathy, as heartily as the 
 others, while she kept kissing and petting them, and 
 calling them by every endearing name she could 
 think of. 
 
 "When will there be another letter, auntie?" 
 said Floss. 
 
 "The day after to-morrow," said auntie. "Your 
 father will write by every mail." 
 
 In her own heart auntie had not much hope. 
 From what Captain Desart said, the anxiety was not 
 likely to last long. The illness had taken a different 
 form from Mrs. Desart's other attacks. " She must 
 
140 CARROTS." 
 
 be better or worse in a day or two," he wrote, and 
 auntie's heart sorely misgave her as to which it 
 would be. 
 
 The sorrowful day seemed very long to the chil- 
 dren. They did their lessons as usual, for auntie 
 told them it would be much better to do so. 
 
 "Would it please mamma?" said Carrots; and 
 when auntie said " Yes, she was quite sure it would," 
 he got his books at once, and " tried " even harder 
 than usual. 
 
 But after lessons they had no heart to play, and 
 there was no " must " about that. By bed-time they 
 all looked worn out with crying and the sort of 
 strange excitement there is about great sorrows 
 above all to children which is more exhausting 
 than almost anything. 
 
 " This will never do," thought auntie. " Hugh " 
 (that was the name of Sybil's father) "will have 
 reason to think I should have taken his advice, and 
 not told them, if they go on like this." 
 
 "Sybil," she said, "Floss and Carrots will make 
 themselves ill before the next letter comes. What 
 can we do for them ? " 
 
 Sybil shook her head despondently. 
 
 " I don't know, mother dear," she said ; " I've got 
 out all my best things to please them, but it's no 
 good." She stood still for a minute, then her face 
 lightened up. "Mother," she said, "'aposing you 
 were to read aloud some of those stories you're 
 
HAPPY AND SAD. 141 
 
 going to get bounded up into a book some day? 
 They would like that." 
 
 Floss hardly felt as if she could care to hear any 
 stories, however pretty. But she did not like to 
 disappoint kind auntie by saying so, especially when 
 auntie told her she really wanted to know if she 
 and Carrots liked her stories, as it would help her 
 to judge if other children would care for them when 
 they were " bounded up into a book." 
 
 So the next day auntie read them some, and they 
 talked them over and got quite interested in them. 
 Fortunately, she did not read them all that day, 
 for the next day there was still more need of some- 
 thing to distract the children's sorrowful thoughts, 
 as the looked-for letter did not come. Auntie would 
 have liked to cheer the children by reminding them 
 of the old sayings that " No news is good news," and 
 " It is ill news which flies fast," but she dared not, for 
 her own heart was very heavy with anxiety. And she 
 was very glad to see them interested in the rest of 
 the stories for the time. 
 
 I cannot tell you these stories, but some day 
 perhaps you may come across the little book which 
 they were made into. But there is one of them 
 which I should like to tell you, as it is not very 
 long, and in the children's mind it was always asso- 
 ciated with something that happened just as auntie 
 had finished reading it. For it was the last of her 
 little stories, and it was called 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 
 
 " Like to a double cherry." 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 ' " OH mamma," cried I, from the window by 
 which I was standing, to my mother who was work- 
 ing by the fire, " do come here and look at these two 
 funny little trots." : 
 
 [Auntie had only read this first sentence of her 
 story when Sybil interrupted her. 
 
 "Mother dear," she said, in her prim little way, 
 " before you begin, do tell us one thing. Does the 
 story end sadly ? " 
 
 Auntie smiled. "You should have asked me 
 before I had begun, Sybil," she said. "But never 
 mind now. I don't really think I can tell you if 
 it ends sadly or not. It would be like telling 
 you the end at the beginning, and it would spoil 
 the interest, if you understand what that means." 
 
 " Very well," said Sybil, resignedly, " then I sup- 
 pose I must wait. But I won't like it if it ends 
 badly, mother, and Floss won't, and Carrots won't. 
 Will you, Floss and Carrots ?" 
 
 " I don't think Floss and Carrots can say, till 
 142 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 143 
 
 they've heard it," said auntie. " Now, Sybil, you 
 mustn't interrupt any more. Where was I ? Oh 
 yes "] ' " do come and look at these two funny 
 little trots." 
 
 ' My mother got up from her seat and came to the 
 window. She could not help smiling when she saw 
 the little couple I pointed out to her. 
 
 4 " Aren't they a pair of fat darlings ? " I said. " I 
 wonder if they live in our terrace ? " 
 
 4 We knew very little of our neighbours, though 
 we were not living in London, for we had only just 
 come to St. Austin's. We had come there to spend 
 the winter, as it was a mild and sheltered place, for 
 I, then a girl of sixteen, had been in delicate health 
 for some time.' ["You wouldn't believe it to see 
 rne now, would you? " said auntie, looking up at the 
 children with a smile on her pretty young-looking 
 face, but it was quite true, all the same.] ' I was my 
 mother's only girl,' she went on, turning to her 
 manuscript again, ' and she was a widow, so you can 
 fancy what a pet I was. My big brothers were 
 already all out in the world, in the navy, or the 
 army, or at college, and my mother and I generally 
 lived by ourselves in a country village much farther 
 north than St. Austin's, and it was quite an event 
 to us to leave our own home for several months 
 and settle ourselves down in lodgings in a strange 
 place. 
 
 4 It seemed a very strange place to us, for we had 
 
144 " CARROTS.'' 
 
 not a single friend or acquaintance in it, and at home 
 in our village we knew everybody, and everybody 
 knew us, from the clergyman down to farmer Grin- 
 thwait's sheep-dog, and nothing happened without 
 our knowing it. I suppose I was naturally of rather 
 a sociable turn. I knew my mother used sometimes 
 in fun to call me " a little gossip," and I really very 
 much missed the sight of the accustomed friendly 
 faces. We had been two days at St. Austin's, and I 
 had spent most of those two days at the window, 
 declaring to my mother, that I should not feel so 
 " strange " if I got to know some of our neighbours 
 by sight, if nothing more. 
 
 4 But hitherto I had hardly succeeded even in this. 
 There did not seem to be any " neighbours " in the 
 passers-by; they were just passers-by who never 
 seemed to pass by again, and without anything par- 
 ticular to distinguish them if they did. For St. 
 Austin's was a busy little place, and our house was 
 on the South Esplanade, the favourite " promenade " 
 for the visitors, none of whom, gentlemen, ladies, or 
 children, had particularly attracted me till the morn- 
 ing I first caught sight of my funny little trots. 
 
 4 1 do think they would have attracted any one 
 any one certainly that loved children. I fancy I 
 see them now, the two dears, coming slowly and 
 solemnly along, each with a hand of their nurse, 
 pulling ivell back from her, as if the effort to keep 
 up, even with her deliberate rate of walking, was 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 145 
 
 almost too much for their fat little legs. They 
 looked exactly the same size, and were alike in 
 everything, from their dresses which this first day 
 were brown holland, very easy about the bodies, very 
 short and bunchy about the skirts to the two 
 white woolly lambs, clasped manfully by each in his 
 or her disengaged hand. Whether they were boys or 
 girls I could not tell in the least, and to this day I 
 do not know. 
 
 4 " Aren't they darlings, mamma? " I said. 
 
 4 " They certainly are two funny little trots," she 
 replied with a smile, using my own expression. 
 
 4 Mamma went back to her knitting, but I stayed 
 by the window, watching my new friends. They 
 passed slowly up the Esplanade, my eyes following 
 them till they were out of sight, and then I turned 
 away regretfully. 
 
 4 44 They are sure not to pass again," I said, 44 and 
 they are so nice." 
 
 4 44 If they live near here, very likely the Esplanade 
 is their daily walk, and they will be passing back 
 again in a few minutes," said my mother, entering 
 into my fancy. 
 
 4 1 took up her suggestion eagerly. She was right : 
 in about a quarter of an hour my trots appeared 
 again, this time from the other direction, and, as good 
 luck would have it, just opposite our window, their 
 nurse happening to meet an acquaintance, they came 
 to a halt ! 
 
146 
 
 ' " Mamma, mamma," I exclaimed, " here they are 
 again ! " 
 
 'Mamma nodded her head and smiled without 
 looking up. She was just then counting the rows of 
 her knitting, and was afraid of losing the number. I 
 pressed my face close to the window if only the 
 trots would look my way ! I could hardly resist 
 tapping on the pane. 
 
 ' Suddenly a bright thought struck me. I seized 
 Gip, my little dog, who was asleep on the hearth-rug, 
 and held him up to the window. 
 
 '"T'ss, Gip; T'ss, cat. At her; at her," I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 'Poor Gip had doubtless been having delightful 
 dreams it was very hard on him to be wakened up 
 so startlingly. He blinked his eyes and tried to see 
 the imaginary cat no doubt he thought it was his 
 own fault he did not' succeed, for he was the most 
 humble-minded and unpresuming of little dogs, and 
 his faith in me was unbounded. He could not see a 
 cat, but he took it for granted that I did ; so he set 
 to work barking vigorously. That was just what I 
 wanted. The trots heard the noise and both turned 
 round ; then they let go their nurse's hands and made 
 a little journey round her skirts till they met. 
 
 4 " Dot," said one, " pretty doggie." 
 
 4 " Doll," said the other, both speaking at once, you 
 understand, "pretty doggie." 
 
 4 1 don't mean to say that I heard what they said, I 
 
" SUDDENLY A BRIGHT THOUGHT STRUCK ME, I SEIZED GIP, 
 MY LITTLE Doa, WHO WAS ASLEEP ON THE HEARTH-RUO, ANB 
 
 HELD HIM UP AT THE WINDOW." p. 146. 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 147 
 
 only saw it. But afterwards, when I had heard their 
 voices, I felt sure that was what they had said, for 
 they almost always spoke together. 
 
 4 Then they joined their disengaged hands (the 
 outside hand of each still clasping its woolly lamb), 
 and there they stood, legs well apart, little mouths 
 and eyes wide open, staring with the greatest interest 
 and solemnity at Gip and me. At Gip, of course, far 
 more than at me. Gip was a dog, I was only a girl ! 
 quite a middle-aged person, no doubt, the trots 
 thought me, if they thought about me at all ; perhaps 
 they did a little, as I was Gip's owner ; for I was six- 
 teen, and they could not have been much more than 
 three. 
 
 ' But all this time they were so solemn. I wanted 
 to make them laugh. There was a little table in 
 the window a bow window, of course, as it was at 
 the sea-side, and certain to catch winds from every 
 quarter of the heavens upon which I mounted Gip, 
 and set to work putting him through his tricks. I 
 made him perform " ready, present, fire" with a leap 
 to catch the bit of biscuit on his nose. I made him 
 " beg," " lie dead," like Mother Hubbard's immortal 
 pet, and do everything a well-educated dog could 
 be expected to do. And, oh, how funny it was to 
 watch the trots ! Evidently they had never seen any- 
 thing of the kind before ; they stared at first as if 
 they could hardly believe their eyes, and then they 
 smiled, and, at last, they laughed. How prettily they 
 
148 
 
 laughed they looked more like two fat cherubs 
 than ever. 
 
 'But their laughing attracted their maid's atten- 
 tion. She too turned round, and I was pleased 
 to see that she had a pleasant pretty young face. 
 "I shouldn't have liked those dear trots to have 
 a cross old nurse," I said to myself, and the maid 
 still further raised herself in my good opinion by 
 laughing and smiling too. In a minute or two 
 when she thought "that was enough for to-day," 
 she stooped and whispered to the trots. They 
 immediately lifted their little hands, the right of 
 one, the left of the other for nothing, you see, 
 could have persuaded them to let go of their 
 precious lambs to their rosy mouths and blew a 
 kiss to me, and I could see them say, " Zank zou, 
 lady ; zank zou, doggie." 
 
 4 You may be sure I kissed my hand to them in 
 return, and off they toddled, each with a hand of 
 "Bessie," as I afterwards heard them call their 
 maid, and hauling back manfully as before, which 
 gave Bessie the look of a very large steam-tug 
 convoying two very little vessels. 
 
 4 1 watched them till they were quite out of sight. 
 Then I turned to my mother. 
 
 4 " I have made two friends here anyway, 
 mamma," I said. " The trots are sure to stop 
 every time they pass. It will be something to 
 watch for." 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TBOTS." 149 
 
 'Mamma smiled. She was pleased to see me 
 pleased and interested, for she had been beginning 
 to fear that the dulness and strangeness of our new 
 life would prevent St. Austin's doing me as much 
 good as she had hoped. 
 
 ' " To-morrow, dear," she said, "if it is fine, I 
 hope you will be able to go a little walk, and we'll 
 look out for your little friends." 
 
 'It was fine the next day, and we did go out, 
 and we did meet the trots ! 
 
 ' They caught sight of me (of Gip, rather, I 
 should perhaps say) and I of them, just about 
 the same moment. I saw them tug their nurse, 
 and when they got close up to me they stopped 
 short. It was no use Bessie's trying to get them 
 on ; there they stood resolutely, till the poor girl's 
 face grew red, and she looked quite ashamed. Gip, 
 who I must say, had a wonderful amount of tact, 
 ran up to them with a friendly little bark. Bessie 
 let go the trots' hands and stooped to stroke him. 
 
 ' " He won't bite, miss, will he ? " she said gently, 
 looking up at me. 
 
 ' " Oh, dear, no," I said, and the trots, smiling 
 with delight, stooped not that they had so very 
 far to stoop to stroke him too. 
 
 ' " Pretty doggie," said Doll. 
 
 4 " Pretty doggie," said Dot. 
 
 'Then they held up their dear little mouths to 
 kiss me. " Zank zou, lady," they said, and each 
 
150 " CARROTS." 
 
 taking a hand of Bessie again, they proceeded on 
 their way. 
 
 4 After that day, not many passed without my 
 seeing them, and talking to them, and making 
 Gip show off his tricks. Sometimes our meetings 
 were at the window, sometimes on the road ; once 
 or twice, when there came some unusually fine 
 mild days, mamma let me sit out on the shore, 
 and I taught the trots to dig a hole for Gip and 
 bury him in the sand, all bat his bright eyes and 
 funny black nose that was a beautiful game ! I 
 never found out exactly where my friends lived; 
 it was in one of the side streets leading on to 
 the Esplanade^ that was all I knew. I never knew, 
 as I said, if they were boys or girls, or perhaps 
 one of each. Mamma wanted one day to ask Bessie, 
 but I wouldn't let her. They were just my 'two 
 little trots, that was all I wanted to know. 
 
 4 " It would spoil them to fancy them growing up 
 into great boys or girls," I said. " I want them to 
 be always trots nothing else." 
 
 4 And as Bessie called them simply Doll and Dot, 
 without any "master" or "miss," I was able to 
 keep my fancy. 
 
 4 When the weather grew colder, the trots came 
 out in a new costume sealskin coats, sealskin caps, 
 and sealskin gloves they were just little balls of 
 sealskin, and looked " trottier " than ever. About 
 this time they left off carrying their woolly lambs. 
 
151 
 
 I suspect the real reason was that their extreme af- 
 fection for the lambs had resulted in these favoured 
 animals growing more black than white, and that 
 Bessie judged them unfit for appearing in public, 
 but if this was the case, evidently Bessie had been 
 obliged to resort to artifice to obtain their owners' 
 consent to the lambs being left at home. For, when 
 I asked the trots where the precious creatures were, 
 they looked melancholy and distressed and shook 
 their heads. 
 
 4 " Too told ! " said Doll, and Dot repeated, like 
 mournful echo, " too told ! " 
 
 4 "Of course," said I, "how stupid of me not to 
 think of it ! of course it's far too cold for such very 
 little lambs to be out." 
 
 'Bessie looked gratefully at me. "We're going 
 to buy some cakes for tea," she said, with a smile, 
 and sure enough in about half-an-hour the trio reap- 
 peared again, and came to a standstill as usual, oppo- 
 site our window. And, instead of a lamb, each trot 
 hugged a little parcel, neatly done up in white paper. 
 I opened the window to hear what they were saying, 
 they looked so excited. 
 
 ' " Takes for tea," they both called out at once, 
 " takes for tea. Lady have one. Dip have one." 
 
 'And poor Bessie was obliged to open the par- 
 cels, and extract one " take " from each and hand 
 them up to me, before my little dears would be 
 satisfied. 
 
152 
 
 'Can you fancy that I really got to love the 
 trots? I did not want to know who they were, 
 or what sort of a father and mother they had 
 they were well taken care of, that was evident, 
 for somehow, knowing anything more about them 
 would have spoilt them for being my funny little 
 trots. 
 
 ' But, for several weeks of the three months we 
 spent at St. Austin's, the sight of these happy little 
 creatures was one of my greatest pleasures, and a 
 day without a glimpse of them would have seemed 
 blank and dull. 
 
 ' There came a time, however, when for many days 
 I did not see my little friends. The weather was 
 bad just then, and mamma said she was sure they 
 had got colds, that would be all that was wrong with 
 them, but somehow I felt uneasy. I asked our doc- 
 tor, when he called, if there was much illness about, 
 and he, fancying I was nervous on my own account, 
 replied, " Oh no, with the exception of two or three 
 cases of croup, he had no serious ailments among his 
 patients : it was a very healthy season." 
 
 4 1 got frightened at the idea of croup, and cross- 
 questioned him to discover if my trots were among 
 the sufferers, but he shook his head. All his little 
 patients were mere infants ; he did not even know 
 the trots by sight. 
 
 4 Then mamma suggested another very reasonable 
 explanation of their disappearance. 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 153 
 
 4 "They have probably left St. Austin's," she 
 said. "Many people come here for only the very 
 worst of the winter, and that is about over now." 
 
 4 But even this did not satisfy me. I was certain 
 something was wrong with Doll and Dot, and I 
 wasted, I should be ashamed to say how many hours 
 gazing out of the window in hopes of catching sight 
 of the familiar little figures. 
 
 4 At last, one day, when I had almost left off 
 hoping ever to see them again, suddenly, two figures 
 appeared on the Esplanade, a stone's throw from our 
 window. 
 
 4 Who were they ? Could it be yes, it must be 
 one of the trots, led by, not Bessie, no, this maid 
 was a stranger. Where could Bessie be ? And oh, 
 where was my other little trot? For, even at some 
 yards' distance, I saw something sadly different in 
 the appearance of the one little figure, slowly coming 
 along in our direction. It was dressed hat, coat, 
 gloves, socks and all it was dressed in deep 
 mourning. 
 
 4 1 seized my hat and rushed out to meet them. 
 Mamma thought I was going out of my mind I 
 believe. When I found myself in the open air, 
 I tried to control myself and look like the rest 
 of the people walking quietly along, though my 
 heart was beating violently, and I felt as if I 
 could not speak without crying. But when I got 
 up to the one little trot and its attendant, the 
 
154 
 
 sight of her strange face composed me. She was 
 so different from Bessie old and stiff and prim- 
 looking. I stooped to kiss the child, Dot or Doll, 
 I knew not which. " How are you, darling ? " I 
 said, " And where is " I stopped short. 
 
 4 The trot looked up in my face. 
 
 4 " Oh lady," it said, " Dot is all alone. Doll is 
 done to 'Ebben," and the great tears gathered in 
 Dot's mournful eyes and rolled down Dot's rosy 
 cheeks. 
 
 4 " Hush, hush, my dear. You mustn't cry. You'll 
 make yourself ill if you cry any more," said the hard- 
 looking nurse. 
 
 4 A moment before, I had intended turning to her 
 and asking for some particulars of the baby's sad 
 words, but now I felt I could not. She was so 
 stiff and unsympathising. I could not bear her to 
 see me, a stranger, crying about what I had heard. 
 Besides, what good would it do? Why should I 
 hear any more? I shrank from doing so. The 
 bare fact was enough. I just bent down and 
 kissed the solitary darling. 
 
 4 4t Good-bye, my trot," I said. I could not say 
 another word. 
 
 ' 44 Dood-bye, don't ky," said Dot, stroking my cheek. 
 44 Doll won't turn back, but Dot will do to 'Ebben too 
 some day." 
 
 4 That was quite too much for me. I turned away 
 and hurried back home as fast as I could. 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 155 
 
 4 " Mamma," I exclaimed, rushing into our sitting- 
 room, and throwing myself down on the sofa, " it's 
 just what I thought. I wish you would come away 
 from St. Austin's at once. I shall never, never like 
 it again." 
 
 4 "What is the matter, Florence?" said poor 
 mamma, quite startled. 
 
 4 44 It's about the trots," I said, now fairly sobbing, 
 44 1 have just seen one in deep mourning, mamma, 
 and and the other one is dead" 
 
 4 4t Poor little angel ! " said mamma. And the 
 tears came into her eyes too. 
 
 4 1 did not see Dot again after that day. I fancy 
 that was its last walk before leaving St. Austin's for 
 its regular home, wherever that was. And a very 
 short time after, we ourselves left too. 
 
 ********* 
 
 4 1 never forgot the trots. Of course the pleasure 
 of going back to our own dear home again, and 
 seeing all our old friends, raised my spirits, and 
 softened the real grief I had felt. But whenever 
 we spoke of St. Austin's", or people asked me about 
 it, and mentioned the esplanade or the shore, or any 
 of the places where I had seen the trots, the tears 
 would come into my eyes, as again I seemed to see 
 before me the two dear funny little figures. And 
 whenever our plans for the following winter were 
 alluded to, I always said one thing : 44 Wherever 
 you go, mamma, don't go to St. Austin's." 
 
156 "CARROTS." 
 
 < 
 
 4 My mother gave in to me. When did she not ? 
 How patient she was with me, how sympathising, 
 even in my fancies ! And how unselfish it was 
 not till long after we had left St. Austin's, that she 
 told me what anxiety she had gone through on 
 hearing of my having kissed little Dot. For how 
 sadly probable it seemed that Doll had died of 
 some infectious illness, such as scarlet-fever, for 
 instance, which I had never had ! 
 
 4 " But Dot couldn't have been ill, mamma," I 
 said. " Dot looked perfectly well." 
 
 4 44 Did he ? " said my mother. Sometimes she 
 called the trots 4t he " and sometimes 44 she," in the 
 funniest way ! 44 1 wonder what the other little dear 
 died of?" ' 
 
 444 So do I," I replied. "Still, on the whole, I 
 think I am just as well pleased not to know." 
 
 4 Our uncertainty for the next winter ended in 
 what was to me a delightful decision. We deter- 
 mined to go to the South of France. I could amuse 
 you children by a description of our journey 
 journeys in those days really were much more amus- 
 ing than now ; but I must hasten on to the end of 
 my story. We had fixed upon Pan as our head- 
 quarters, and we arrived there early in November. 
 What a different thing from our November at home ! 
 I could hardly believe it was November ; it would 
 have seemed to me far less wonderful to have been 
 told I had been asleep for six months, and that really 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 157 
 
 it was May, and not November at all, than to have 
 awakened as I did, that first morning after our arri- 
 val, and to have seen out of the window the lovely 
 sunshine and bright blue sky, and summer-look of 
 warmth, and comfort, and radiance ! 
 
 4 We had gone to an hotel for a few days, intend- 
 ing to look out for a little house, or " apartement " 
 (which, children, does .not mean the same thing as 
 our English lodgings by any means), at our leisure. 
 Your grandmother was not rich, and the coming so 
 far cost a great deal. The hotel we had been rec- 
 ommended to, was a very comfortable one, though 
 not one of the most fashionable, and the landlord 
 was very civil, as some friend who had stayed with 
 him the year before had written about our coming. 
 He showed us our rooms himself, and hoped we 
 should like them, and then he turned back to say 
 he trusted we should not be disturbed by the voices 
 of some children in the next "salon.'.' He would 
 not have risked it, he said, had he been able to help 
 it, but there were no other rooms vacant, and the 
 family with the children were leaving the next day. 
 Not that they were noisy children by any means ; 
 they were very chers petits, but there were ladies, to 
 whom the very name of children in their vicinity 
 was here the landlord held up his hands and made 
 a grimace ! 
 
 4 " Then they must be old maids ! " I said, laugh- 
 ing, " which mamma and I are not. We love chil- 
 
158 " CAKROTS." 
 
 dren," at which Mr. Landlord bowed and smiled, and 
 said something complimentary about mademoiselle 
 being so " aimable." 
 
 ' I listened for the children's voices that evening, 
 and once or twice I heard their clear merry tones. 
 But as for any " disturbance," one might as well 
 have complained of a cuckoo in the distance, as of 
 anything we heard of our little neighbours. We 
 did not see them ; only once, as I was running along 
 the passage, I caught a glimpse at the other end of 
 a little pinafored figure led by a nurse, disappearing 
 through a doorway. I did not see its face ; in fact 
 the glimpse was of the hastiest. Yet something 
 about the wee figure, a certain round-about bunchi- 
 ness, and a sort of pulling back from the maid, as 
 she went into the room, recalled vaguely to my heart, 
 rather than to my mind, two little toddling creat- 
 ures, that far away across the sea I had learnt to 
 love and look for. When I went into our room, 
 there were tears in my eyes, and when mamma asked 
 me the reason, I told her that I had seen a child 
 that somehow had reminded me of my two little 
 trots. 
 
 4 " Poor little trots," said mamma. " I wonder if 
 the one that was left still misses the other ? " 
 
 4 But that was all we said about them. 
 
 4 The next morning I was in a fever to go out and 
 see all that was to be seen. I dragged poor mamma 
 into all the churches, and half the shops, and would 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TKOTS." 159 
 
 have had her all through the castle too, but that she 
 declared she could do no more. So we came to a 
 halt at the great " Place," and sat down on a nice 
 shady seat to watch the people. I, consoling myself 
 with the reflection, that as we were to be four months 
 at Pau, there was still a little time left for sight- 
 seeing. 
 
 4 It was very amusing. There were people of all 
 nations children of all nations, little French boys 
 and girls, prettily but simply dressed, some chatting 
 merrily, some walking primly beside their white- 
 capped bonnes ; little Russians, looking rather 
 grand, but not so grand as their nurses in their 
 rich costumes of bright scarlet and blue, embroid- 
 ered in gold; some very pert, shrill-voiced Ameri- 
 cans, and a few unmistakable English. We amused 
 ourselves by guessing the nationality of all these 
 little people. 
 
 '"Those are Italians or Spaniards, mamma, look 
 what dark eyes they have, and those are "I sud- 
 denly stopped. " Oh, mamma ! " I exclaimed, and 
 when she looked at me, she saw I had grown quite 
 pale, and in another moment, seeing to what I was 
 pointing, she understood the reason. There, right 
 before us, coming slowly up the middle of the Place, 
 Bessie in the middle, each child with a hand of hers 
 tugging back manfully in the old way, each, yes, 
 really, each under the other arm hugging a woolly 
 lamb, came the two funny little trots I 
 
160 
 
 4 1 felt at first as if I were dreaming. Could it be 
 the trots ? I sat still in a half stupid way, staring, 
 but Gip I was forgetting to tell you that of course 
 Gip had come with us to Pau Gip had far more 
 presence of mind than I. He did not stop to 
 wonder how it could be the trots, he was simply 
 satisfied that it was the trots, and forwards he darted, 
 leaping, barking furiously, wagging his tail, giving 
 every sort of welcome in dog language, that he 
 could think of. 
 
 4 " Dip, Dip; see Bessie, here is a doggie like Dip," 
 said one trot. 
 
 ' " Dip, Dip, pretty Dip," said the other. 
 
 ' The sound of their voices seemed to bring back 
 my common sense. They were my own dear trots. 
 " Dip, Dip " would have satisfied me, even if I had 
 not seen them. The trots never could manage the 
 letter " G"! I flew forwards, and kneeling down on 
 the ground, little caring how I soiled my nice new 
 dress, or what the people on the Place thought of 
 me, I regularly hugged my two pets. 
 
 4 " Here is Dip's kind lady too," they both said at 
 once, smiling and happy, but not by any means par- 
 ticularly surprised to see me. I looked up at Bessie 
 at last, and held out my hand. She shook it heartily. 
 
 ' " I am pleased to see you again, miss, to be sure ; 
 who would have thought it?" she said. " And they 
 haven't forgot you, haven't Doll and Dot. They are 
 always speaking of Gip and you, miss." 
 
"THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS." 161 
 
 ' " But, Bessie," I began, and then I hesitated. 
 How could I tell her what I had thought? "How 
 was it you left St. Austin's so suddenly?" the 
 trots were not in mourning now, they were pret- 
 tily dressed in dark blue sailor serge, as bunchy as 
 ever. 
 
 4 Bessie thought for a minute. 
 
 4 " Let me see," she said, " oh yes, I remember ! 
 We did leave suddenly. My mistress's father died, 
 and she was sent for off to Edinburgh, and she took 
 Doll and me, and left Dot to keep her papa com- 
 pany. Master said he'd be lost without one of them, 
 and he couldn't get off to Edinburgh for a fortnight 
 after us. But we'll never try that again, miss. 
 Dot did nothing but cry for Doll, and Doll for 
 Dot. Dot, so Martha the housemaid said, was always 
 saying, 4 Doll's done to 'Ebben,' till it was pitiful to 
 hear, and Dot was just as bad in Edinburgh about 
 Doll." 
 
 4 " But Dot did do to 'Ebben," said Doll, who as 
 well as Dot was listening to what Bessie was saying. 
 " And then Doll tummed to 'Ebben too," said Dot, 
 " and then 'Ebben was nice." 
 
 4 1 kissed the pets again, partly to prevent Bessie 
 seeing the tears in my eyes. I understood it all 
 now, without asking any more, and Bessie never 
 knew what it was I had thought. 
 
 4 Only you can fancy how sorry I was to find the 
 trots were leaving Pau that very afternoon ! They 
 
162 " CARROTS." 
 
 were the children whose dear little voices I had 
 heard through the wall, who the landlord had feared 
 might disturb us ! They were going on to Italy for 
 the winter. 
 
 4 " If only I had known last night who they were," 
 I said to mamma regretfully. 
 
 'Mamma, however, was always wise. "Think 
 rather," she said, " how very glad you should be 
 to know it this morning. And who can tell but 
 what some time or other you may see the trots 
 again." 
 
 But I never did I ' " 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GOOD ENDINGS. 
 
 But I lost my happy childhood. 
 
 ***** 
 It slipped from me you shall know, 
 
 It was in the dewy alleys 
 Of the land of long ago. 
 
 ***** 
 Not in sadness, 
 
 Nor reproach, these words I say, 
 God is good, and gives new gladness, 
 
 When the old He takes away. 
 
 " You never did ? oh what a pity ! " exclaimed 
 Sybil. " You really never, never did, mother ? " 
 
 Auntie looked rather "funny," as the children 
 call it. 
 
 " As trots I never saw them again," she said, " and 
 at the time I wrote out that story I had not seen 
 them again at all." 
 
 "But you've seen them since," cried all the 
 three children at once, "you've seen them since 
 they've grown big. Oh auntie, oh mother, do tell 
 us." 
 
 "I couldn't just now, truly I couldn't," said 
 auntie, " it would lead me into another story which 
 isn't written yet. All that I know about ' the two 
 
 163 
 
164 
 
 funny little trots ' I have told you. Do you like 
 it?" 
 
 " Awfully," said Sybil. 
 
 " Very much," said Floss. 
 
 " It's lovely," said Carrots. 
 
 Auntie smiled at the children. They looked so 
 pleased and interested, it was evident that for the 
 time they had forgotten their sorrow and anxiety. 
 Suddenly, just as she was thinking sadly how soon 
 it must return to their minds, there came a loud ring 
 at the bell. They all started, they had been sitting 
 so quietly. 
 
 " It must be the post," said Sybil. Auntie had 
 thought so too, but had not said it, as it was very 
 unlikely this post would bring any letter from 
 Captain Desart. 
 
 It did however! Fletcher appeared with one in 
 another minute ; the thin large envelope, and the 
 black, rather scrawly writing that Floss and Carrots 
 knew so well. It would have been no use trying to 
 conceal it from them, so auntie opened it quietly, 
 though her ringers trembled as she did so. She read 
 it very quickly, it was not a long letter, and then she 
 looked up with the tears in her eyes. " Children, 
 dear children," she said, "it is good news. Your 
 dear mother is a little better, and they have good 
 hopes of her." 
 
 Oh how glad they were ! They kissed auntie and 
 Sybil and each other, and it seemed as if a great 
 
GOOD ENDINGS. 165 
 
 heavy stone had been lifted off their hearts. There 
 was still of course reason for anxiety, but there was 
 hope, " good hope," wrote Captain Desart, and what 
 does not that mean ? Auntie felt so hopeful herself 
 that she could not find it in her heart to check the 
 children for being so. 
 
 "It is because you made the story of the trots 
 end nicely that that nice letter came," said Sybil, 
 and nothing that her mother could say would 
 persuade her that she had nothing to do with 
 the ending, that she had just told it as it really 
 happened ! 
 
 Jam telling you the story of Floss and Carrots 
 as it really happened too, and I am so glad that 
 it the story of this part of their young lives, that 
 is to say ends happily too. Their mother did get 
 better, wonderfully better, and was able to come 
 back to England in the spring, looking stronger 
 than for many years. To England, but not to 
 Sandyshore. Captain Desart got another appoint- 
 ment much farther south, where the climate was 
 milder and better and the winters not to be dreaded 
 for a delicate person. So they all left the Cove 
 House ! 
 
 Their new home was of course by the sea too, 
 but Carrots never would allow that it was the 
 same sea. His own old sea stayed behind at Sandy- 
 shore, though if he were to go to look for it there 
 now I doubt if he would find it. When old 
 
166 
 
 friends once get away into the country of long ago, 
 they are hard to find again we learn to doubt 
 if they are to be found anywhere except in their 
 own corners of our memory. 
 
 And it is long ago now since the days when 
 Carrots and his dear Floss ran races on the sands 
 and made " plans " together. Long ago, in so far 
 that you would not be able anywhere to find these 
 children whom I loved so much, and whom I have 
 told you a little about. You would, at least I 
 hope you would, like to know what became of them, 
 how they grew up, and what Carrots did when he 
 got to be a man. But this I cannot now tell 
 you, for my little book is long enough I only 
 hope you are not tired of it only I may tell 
 j^ou one thing. If any of you know a very good, 
 kind, gentle, brave man so good that he cannot 
 but be kind ; so brave that he cannot but be gentle, 
 I should like you to think that, perhaps, whatever 
 he is clergyman, doctor, soldier, sailor, it doesn't 
 matter in the least perhaps when that man was 
 a boy, he was my little Carrots. Especially if 
 he has large "doggy-looking," brown eyes, and 
 hair that once might have been called "red." 
 
 THE ENDo 
 
"THE STORY OF SUNNY." p. 63. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD 
 
 State!) of a 
 
 BY 
 
 MKS. MOLESWOETH 
 
 AUTHOR OF " CARROTS," " CUCKOO CLOCK," " TELL MB A STORY," 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE 
 
 " O Christmas, merry Christmas ! 
 
 Is it really come again ? 
 With its memories and greetings, 
 With its joy and with its pain " 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 1893 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
First Edition printed 1880. Reprinted 1886, 1888, 1892. 
 
TO 
 
 WHO WILL BEST UNDERSTAND 
 THIS SIMPLE LITTLE STORY 
 
 I DEDICATE IT 
 WITH MUCH AFFECTION 
 
 PARIS, May, 1880 
 
A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BABY TED. 
 
 "Where did you get those eyes so blue?" 
 " Out of the sky as I came through." 
 
 CHRISTMAS WEEK a good many years ago. Not 
 an "old-fashioned" Christmas this year, for there 
 was no snow or ice; the sky was clear and the air 
 pure, but yet without the sharp, bracing clearness 
 and purity that Master Jack Frost brings when he 
 comes to see us in one of his nice, bright, sunny 
 humours. For he has humours as well as other 
 people not only is he fickle in the extreme, but 
 even black sometimes, and he is then, I can assure 
 you, a most disagreeable visitor. But this Christ- 
 mas time he had taken it into his head not to come 
 at all, and the world looked rather reproachful and 
 disconcerted. The poor, bare December world it 
 misses its snow garment, so graciously hiding all 
 imperfections revealed by the absence of green grass 
 and fluttering leaves; it misses, too, its winter 
 
 1 
 
Z A CHRISTMAS CHILD.- 
 
 jewels of icicles and hoar frost. Poor old world! 
 What a great many Decembers you have jogged 
 through; no wonder you begin to feel that you need 
 a little dressing up and adorning, like a beauty no 
 longer as young as she has been. Yet ever-young 
 world, too! Who, that gazes at March's daffodils 
 and sweet April's primroses, can believe that the 
 world is growing old? Sometimes one could almost 
 wish that it would leave off being so exquisitely, 
 so heartlessly young. For the daffodils nod their 
 golden heads, the primroses smile up through their 
 leafy nests year after year, they never fail us. 
 But the children that loved them so; the little feet 
 that trotted so eagerly down the lanes, the tiny 
 hands that gathered the flower-treasures with such 
 delight where are they all? Men and women, 
 some in far-off lands, perhaps; or too wearied by 
 cares and sorrows to look for the spring flowers of 
 long ago. And some the sweetest of all, these 
 seem farther away still, and yet surely nearer? 
 in the happier land, whose flowers our fancy tries 
 in vain to picture. 
 
 But I am forgetting a little, I think, that I am 
 going to tell about a child to children, and that 
 my "tellings" begin, not in March or April, but at 
 Christmas time. Christmas time, fortunately, does 
 not depend on Jack Frost for all its pleasures. 
 Christmas boxes are just as welcome without as 
 with his presence. And never was a Christmas 
 
BABY TED. 6 
 
 box more welcome than one that came to a certain 
 house by the sea one twenty-sixth of December, 
 now a good many years ago. 
 
 Yet it was not a very big present, nor a very 
 uncommon present. But it was very precious, and, 
 to my thinking, very, very pretty; for it was a wee 
 baby boy. Such a dear wee baby, I think you 
 would have called it; so neat and tiny, and with 
 such nice baby-blue eyes. Its hands and feet, 
 especially, were very delightful. "Almost as pretty 
 as newly-hatched ducklings, aren't they?" a little 
 girl I know once said of some baby feet that she 
 was admiring, and I really think she was right. 
 No wonder was it, that the happy people in the 
 house by the sea were very proud of their Christ- 
 mas box, that the baby's mother, especially, thought 
 there never was, never could be, anything so sweet 
 as her baby Ted. 
 
 But poor baby Ted had not long to wait for his 
 share of the troubles which we are told come to all, 
 though it does seem as if some people, and children 
 too, had more than others. He was a very delicate 
 little baby. His mother did not notice it at first, 
 because, you see, he was the first baby she had ever 
 had of her very own, and she was too pleased to 
 think him anything but perfect. And indeed he 
 was perfect of his kind, only there was so little of 
 him! He was like one of those very, very tiny 
 little white flowers that one has to hunt under the 
 
4 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 hedges for, and which surprise you by their dainti- 
 ness when you look at them closely. Only such 
 fragile daintiness needs tender handling, and these 
 little half-opened buds sometimes shrink from the 
 touch of even the kindest of mothers and nurses, 
 and gently fade out of their sight to bloom in a 
 sunnier and softer clime than ours. And knowing 
 this, a cold chill crept round the heart of little 
 Ted's mother when his nurse, who was older and 
 wiser than she, shook her head sadly as she owned 
 that he was about the tiniest baby she had ever 
 seen. But the cold chill did not stay there. Ted, 
 who was scarcely a month old, gave a sudden smile 
 of baby pleasure as she was anxiously looking at 
 him. He had caught sight of some bright flowers 
 on the wall, and his blue eyes had told him that 
 the proper thing to do was to smile at them. And 
 his smile was to his mother like the sun breaking 
 through a cloud. 
 
 "I will not be afraid for my darling," said she. 
 "God knows what is best for him, but I think, I 
 do think, he will live to grow a healthy, happy 
 boy. How could a Christmas child be anything 
 else?" 
 
 And she was right. Day after day, week by 
 week, month after month, the wee man grew bigger 
 and stronger. It was not all smooth sailing, how- 
 ever. He had to fight pretty hard for his little 
 share of the world and of life sometimes. And 
 
BABY TED. O 
 
 many a sad fit of baby-crying made his mother's 
 heart ache as she asked herself if after all it might 
 not be better for her poor little boy to give up the 
 battle which seemed so trying to him. But no 
 that was not Master Ted's opinion at all. He 
 cried, and he would not go to sleep, and he cried 
 again. But all through the crying and the rest- 
 lessness he was growing stronger and bigger. 
 
 "The world strikes me as not half a bad place. 
 I mean to look about me in it and see all that 
 there is to be seen," I could fancy his baby mind 
 thinking to itself, when he was held at his nursery 
 window, and his bright eyes gazed out unweariedly 
 at the beautiful sights to be seen from it the 
 mountains in the distance lifting their grand old 
 heads to the glorious sky, which Ted looked as if 
 he knew a good deal about if he chose to tell ; the 
 sea near at hand with its ever-changing charm and 
 the white sails scudding along in the sunlight. 
 Ah yes, little Ted was in the right the world is 
 a very pretty place, and a baby boy \vhose special 
 corner of it is where his was, is a very lucky little 
 person, notwithstanding the pains and grievances 
 of babyhood. 
 
 And before long Ted's fits of crying became so 
 completely a thing of the past that it was really 
 difficult to believe in them. All his grumbling 
 and complaining and tears were got over in these 
 first few months. For "once he had got a start," 
 
6 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 as his nurse called it, never was there a happier 
 little fellow. Everything came right to him, and 
 the few clouds that now and then floated over his 
 skies but made the sunshine seem the brighter. 
 
 And day by day the world grew prettier and 
 pleasanter to him. It had been very pleasant to 
 be carried out in his nurse's arms or wheeled along 
 in his little carriage, but when it came to toddling 
 on the nice firm sands on his own sturdy legs, and 
 sometimes when nurse would let him going 
 "kite kite close" to the playful waves, and then 
 jumping back again when they "pertended," as he 
 said, to wet his little feet ah, that was too 
 delightful! And almost more delightful still was 
 it to pick up nice smooth stones on the beach and 
 try how far he could throw them into the sea. The 
 sea was so pretty and kind, he thought. It was 
 for a long time very difficult for him to believe 
 that it could ever be angry and raging and wild, as 
 he used to hear said, for of course on wet or stormy 
 days little Ted never went down to the shore, but 
 stayed at home in his own warm nursery. 
 
 There were pretty shells and stones and seaweed 
 to be found on this delightful sea-shore. Ted was 
 too little to care much for such quiet business as 
 gathering stones and shells, but one day when he 
 was walking with his mother she stopped so often 
 to pick up and examine any that took her fancy, 
 that at last Ted's curiosity was awakened. 
 
BABY TED. 7 
 
 "What is thoo doing?" he said gravely, as if not 
 quite sure that his mother Avas behaving correctly, 
 for nurse always told him to "walk on straight, 
 there's a good boy, Master Ted," and it was a little 
 puzzling to understand that mammas might do what 
 little boys must not. It was one of the puzzles 
 which Ted found there were a good many of in the 
 world, and which he had to think over a good deal 
 in his own mind before it grew clear to him. 
 "What is thoo doing?" he asked. 
 
 " I am looking for pretty stones to take home and 
 keep," replied his mother. 
 
 "Pitty 'tones," repeated Ted, and then he said 
 no more, but some new ideas had wakened in his 
 baby mind. 
 
 Nurse noticed that he was quieter than usual that 
 afternoon, for already Ted was a good deal of a 
 chatterbox. But his eyes looked bright, and plainly 
 he had some pleasant thought in his head. The 
 next day was fine, and he went off with nurse for 
 his walk. He looked a little anxious as they got 
 to the turn of the road, or rather to the joining of 
 two roads, one of which led to the sea, the other 
 into country lanes. 
 
 "Thoo is doing to the sea?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes, dear," nurse replied, and Ted's face cleared. 
 When they got to the share he trotted on quietly, 
 but his eyes were very busy, busier even than 
 usual. They looked about them in all directions, 
 
8 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 till at last they spied what they wanted, and for 
 half a minute or so nurse did not notice that her 
 little charge had left her side and was lagging 
 behind. 
 
 "What are you about, Master Ted?" she said 
 hastil}-, as glancing round she saw him stooping 
 down not that he had very far to stoop, poor 
 little man and struggling to lift some object at 
 his feet. 
 
 "A 'tone," he cried, "a beauty big 'tone for Ted's 
 muzzer," lifting in his arms a big round stone 
 one of the kind that as children we used to say 
 had dropped from the moon which by its nice 
 round shape and speckledness had caught his eye. 
 "Ted will eally it hisself." 
 
 And with a very red face, he lugged it manfully 
 along. 
 
 "Let me help you with it, dear," said nurse. 
 
 But "No, zank thoo," he replied firmly each time 
 that the offer was repeated. " Ted must cally it his 
 own self." 
 
 And " cally " it he did, all the way. Nurse could 
 only succeed in getting him to put it down now 
 and then to rest a bit, as she said, for the stone was 
 really so big a one that she was afraid of it seriously 
 tiring his arms. More than once she pointed out 
 prettier and smaller stones, and tried to suggest 
 that his mother might like them quite as well, or 
 better; but no. The bigness, the heaviness even, 
 
BABY TED. 9 
 
 was its charm; to do something that cost him an 
 effort for mother he felt vaguely was his wish; 
 the "lamp of sacrifice," of se {/"-sacrifice, had been 
 lighted in his baby heart, never again to be extin- 
 guished. 
 
 And, oh, the happiness in that little heart when 
 at last he reached his mother's room, still lugging 
 the heavy stone, and laid it at her feet ! 
 
 "Ted broughtened it for thoo," he exclaimed 
 triumphantly. And mother was so pleased! The 
 stone took up its place at once on the mantelpiece 
 as an ornament, and the wearied little man climbed 
 up on to his mother's knee, with a look of such 
 delight and satisfaction as is sweet to be seen on 
 a childish face. 
 
 So Ted's education began. He was growing 
 beyond the birds and the flowers already, though 
 only a tiny man of three; and every day he found 
 new things to wonder at, and admire, and ask ques- 
 tions about, and, unlike some small people of his 
 age, he always listened to the answers. 
 
 After a while he found prettier presents to bring 
 home to his mother than big stones. With the 
 spring days the flowers came back, and Ted, who 
 last year had been too little to notice them much, 
 grew to like the other turning of the road almost 
 better than that which led to the sea. For down 
 the lanes, hiding in among the hedges, or more 
 boldly smiling up at him in the fields, he learnt to 
 
10 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 know the old friends that all happy children love 
 so dearly. 
 
 One day he found some flowers that seemed to 
 him prettier than any he had ever seen, and full 
 of delight he trudged home with a baby bouquet of 
 them in his little hot hands. It was getting past 
 spring into summer now, and Ted felt a little tired 
 by the time he and his nurse had reached the house, 
 and he ran in as usual to find his mother and relate 
 his adventures. 
 
 "Ted has broughtened some most beauty flowers," 
 he eagerly cried, and his mother stooped down to 
 kiss and thank him, even though she was busy 
 talking to some ladies who had come to see her, 
 and whom Ted in his hurry had hardly noticed. 
 He glanced round at them now with curiosity and 
 interest. He rather liked ladies to come to see his 
 mother, only he would have liked it still better if 
 they would have just let him stay quietly beside 
 her, looking at them and listening to what they 
 said, without noticing him. But that way of behav- 
 ing would not have seemed kind, and as Ted grew 
 older he understood this, and learnt that it was 
 right to feel pleased at being spoken to and even 
 kissed. 
 
 "How well Ted is looking," said one of the 
 ladies to his mother. " He is growing quite a big, 
 strong boy. And what pretty flowers he has 
 brought you. Are you very fond of flowers, my 
 little man?" 
 
BABY TED. 11 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, looking up in the lady's face. 
 
 "The wild flowers about here are very pretty," 
 said another of the ladies. 
 
 "Very pretty," said his mother; "but it is curi- 
 ous, is it not, that there are no cowslips in this 
 country? They are such favourites of mine. I 
 have such pleasant remembrances of them as a 
 child." 
 
 She turned, for Ted was tugging gently at her 
 sleeve. " What is towslips ? " he asked. . 
 
 " Pretty little yellow flowers, something like prim- 
 roses," said his mother. 
 
 "Oh!" said Ted. Then nurse knocked at the 
 door, and told him his tea was ready, and so he 
 trotted off. 
 
 "Mother loves towslips," he said to himself two 
 or three times over, till his nurse asked him what 
 he was talking about. 
 
 "But there's no cowslips here," said nurse, when 
 he had repeated it. 
 
 "No," said Ted; "but p'raps Ted could find 
 some. Ted will go and look to-morrow with 
 nursey." 
 
 "To-morrow's Sunday, Master Ted," said nurse; 
 "I'll be going to church." 
 
 "What's church?" he asked. 
 
 " Church is everybody praying to God, all together 
 in a big house. Don't you remember, Master 
 Ted?" 
 
12 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Oh ses, Ted 'members," he replied. "What's 
 praying to Dod, nurse?" 
 
 "Why, I am sure you know that, Master Ted. 
 You must have forgotten. Ask your mamma 
 again." 
 
 Ted took her advice. Later in the evening he 
 went downstairs to say good-night. His mother 
 was outside, walking about the garden, for it was 
 a beautiful summer evening. Ted ran to her; but 
 on his way something caught his eye, which sent 
 a pang to his little heart. It was the bunch of 
 flowers he had gathered for her, lying withered 
 already, poor little things, on a bench just by the 
 door, where she had laid them when saying good- 
 bye to her visitors. Ted stopped short; his face 
 grew very red, and big tears rose slowly to his 
 eyes. He was carefully collecting them together 
 in his little hand when his mother called to him. 
 
 "Come, Ted, dear," she said; "what are you 
 about?" 
 
 More slowly than his wont Ted trotted towards 
 her. "Muzzer doesn't care for zem," he said, hold- 
 ing out his neglected offering. "Poor f'owers dies 
 when they's leaved out of water." 
 
 "My darling," said his mother with real sorrow 
 in her voice, "I am so sorry, so very sorry, dear 
 little Ted," and she stooped to kiss him. "Give 
 them to me now, and I will always keep them." 
 
 Ted was quickly consoled. 
 
BABY TED. 13 
 
 "Zem's not towslips," he said regretfully. "Ted 
 would like towslips for muzzer." And then with a 
 quick change of thought he went on, " What is 
 praying to Dod?" he said, looking up eagerly with 
 his bright blue eyes. 
 
 "Praying to God means asking Him anything 
 we want, and then He answers us. Just as you 
 ask me something, and I answer you. And if what 
 we ask is good for us, He gives it us. That is one 
 way of answering our prayers, but there are many 
 ways. You will understand better when you are 
 bigger, dear little Ted." 
 
 Ted asked no more, but a bright pleased look 
 came into his face. He was fond of asking ques- 
 tions, but he did not ask silly ones, nor tease and 
 tease as some children do, and, as I said, when he 
 got an answer he thought it well over in his little 
 head till he got to understand, or thought he under- 
 stood. Till now his mother had thought him too 
 little to teach him to say his prayers, but now in 
 her own mind she began to feel he was getting 
 old enough to say some simple prayer night and 
 morning, and she resolved to teach him some day 
 soon. 
 
 So now she kissed him and bade him good-night. 
 
 "God bless my little boy," she said, as she patted 
 his head with its soft fair hair which hung in pretty 
 careless curls, and was cut across the forehead in 
 front like one of Sir Joshua Reynolds' cherubs. 
 
14 A CHRISTMAS CHIKQ. 
 
 "God bless my little boy," she said, and Ted trotted 
 off again, still with the bright look on his face. 
 . He let nurse put him to bed very "goodly," 
 though bed-time never came very welcomely to the 
 active little man. 
 
 "Now go to sleep, Master Ted, dear," said nurse 
 as she covered him up and then left the room, as 
 she was busy about some work that evening. 
 
 Ted's room was next to his mother's. Indeed, 
 if the doors were left open, it was quite easy to 
 talk one to the other. This evening his mother 
 happened to go upstairs not long after he had been 
 tucked into bed. She was arranging some things 
 in her own room, moving about quietly not to waken 
 him, if, as she hoped, he had fallen asleep, for fall- 
 ing asleep did not come so easily to Ted as to 
 some children. He was too busy in his mind, he 
 had too many things to think about and wonder 
 about for his brain to settle itself quietly all in a 
 minute. And if he had a strong wish, I think it 
 was that going-to-bed time should never come at all ! 
 
 For a minute or two no sound reached Ted's 
 mother. 
 
 "I do hope he is asleep," she said to herself, 
 but just then she stopped short to listen. Ted 
 was speaking to himself softly, but clearly and 
 distinctly. What could he be saying? His mother 
 listened with a smile on her face, but the smile 
 grew into a sort of sweet gravity as she distin- 
 
BABY TED. 15 
 
 guished the words. Little Ted was praying. He 
 had not waited for her to teach him his baby- 
 spirit had found out the simple way for itself he 
 was just asking God for what he wanted. 
 
 "Please, dear Dod," he said, "tell me why thoo 
 won't make towslips grow in this countly. Muzzer 
 loves zem so." 
 
 Then came a perfect silence. Ted seemed to 
 be holding his breath in expectation, and somehow 
 his mother .too stood as still as could be. And 
 after a minute or two the little voice began 
 again. 
 
 "Please, dear Dod, please do tell me," and then 
 the silence returned as before. It did not last so 
 long, however, this time not more than a minute 
 at most had passed when a sound of faint crying 
 broke upon Ted's mother's hearing the little fel- 
 low had burst into tears. 
 
 Then his mother could stay away no longer. 
 
 "What is the matter, my boy?" she said; anx- 
 ious, baby though he was, not to make him feel 
 ashamed of his innocent prayers by finding that 
 she had overheard what he had said when he 
 thought himself alone. 
 
 " What is my Ted crying about?" 
 
 The tears, which had stopped for an instant, came 
 back again. 
 
 "Muzzer," he said, "Dod won't 'peak to Ted. 
 Ted p'ayed and p'ayed, and Ted was kite kite 
 
16 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 kiet, but Dod didn't 'amswer.' Is 'Dod a'leep, 
 muzzer?" 
 
 "No, my boy, but what was it that Ted wanted 
 so much?" 
 
 " Ted wanted towslips for muzzer, but Dod won't 
 amswer," he repeated piteously. 
 
 A shower of kisses was mother's answer, and 
 gently and patiently she tried to make him under- 
 stand the seeming silence which had caused his 
 innocent tears. And, as was Ted's "way," he 
 listened and believed. But "some day," he said 
 to his mother, "some day," would she not take him 
 to "a countly where towslips did grow?" 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 " Heigh ho ! daisies and buttercups, 
 Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow." 
 
 SONGS OP SEVEN. 
 
 DOWN below the garden of Ted's pretty home 
 flowed, or danced rather, with a constant merry 
 babble, a tiny stream. A busy, fussy stream it 
 was, on its way to the beautiful little river that, 
 in its turn, came rushing down through a mountain- 
 gorge to the sea. I must tell you about this moun- 
 tain-gorge some time, or, if you like, we shall visit 
 it with Ted and his faithful companion, whom you 
 have not yet heard about his father's great big 
 Scotch collie dog, Cheviott. 
 
 You don't know what a dear dog he was, so 
 brave, but so gentle and considerate. He came 
 of a brave and patient race, for you know " collies " 
 are the famous Scotch sheep-dogs, who to their 
 shepherd masters are more useful than any two- 
 legged servant could be. And though I am not 
 sure that " Chevie " himself had ever had to do 
 with "the keeping of sheep," like gentle Abel of 
 old, yet, no doubt, as a baby doggie in his northern 
 home, he must have heard a good deal about it 
 
 17 
 
18 A CHKISTMAS CHILD. t 
 
 no doubt, if his tongue had had the power of speak- 
 ing, he could have told his little master some 
 strange stories of adventures and narrow escapes 
 which had happened to members of his family. For 
 up in the Border mountains where he was born, 
 the storms sometimes come on so suddenly that 
 shepherd and flock are all but lost, and but for their 
 faithful collies, might never find their way home 
 again. Often, too, in the early spring time, the 
 poor little lambs go astray, or meet with some acci- 
 dent, such as being caught in the bushes and 
 being unable to escape. What, then, would become 
 of them but for their four-footed guardian, who 
 summons aid before it is too late, and guides the 
 gentle, silly lambkins and their mothers along the 
 right paths? I think Ted's father and mother did 
 well when they chose for their boy a collie like 
 Cheviott for his companion. 
 
 Across the stream, just at the foot of the garden 
 path which sloped down from the house, a couple 
 of planks were placed as a bridge. A narrow 
 bridge, and not a very firm one, it must be con- 
 fessed, and perhaps for that very reason because 
 there was something a little risky and dangerous 
 about it Ted, true boy that he was, was par- 
 ticularly fond of crossing it. He liked to stand 
 on it for a minute or two on the way, "jigging" 
 up and down to feel the shaking and trembling 
 of the planks, but that, of course, was only a kind 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 19 
 
 of playing with danger. T don't think he would 
 have much liked a sudden tumble into the mis- 
 chievous little brook's cold waters, very cold it 
 would have felt, though it looked so browny bright 
 and tempting. And many a bath in the brook 
 Ted would have had, had Chevie been as much 
 carried away by his spirits as his little master. 
 For no sooner did the two set off running from 
 the top of the sloping garden path, than Ted would 
 call out, "A race, Chevie, a race! Who'll be at 
 the bridge first?" And on he would run as fast as 
 his sturdy wee legs could carry him, Cheviott bound- 
 ing beside him with a great show of also doing 
 his best. But and wasn't this clever of Chevie? 
 just a little way on this side of the bridge he 
 would not stop short, for that might have dis- 
 appointed Ted and made him feel as if they weren't 
 having a real race, but go gradually more slowly, 
 as if he felt he had no chance of gaining, so that 
 little Ted always reached the bridge first, and stood 
 shouting with glee and triumph. The first time 
 or two that Ted's mother saw this little performance 
 she had been frightened, for if the dog had gone 
 on at full speed, or even only at luggage-train 
 speed, beside the boy, he could not have avoided 
 tumbling him into the brook. But for anything of 
 this kind Cheviott was far too much of a gentleman, 
 and after watching them once or twice, Ted's mother 
 felt perfectly satisfied that the little man could not 
 
20 A CHRISTMAS CHILD., 
 
 be better taken care of than by his four-footed 
 friend. 
 
 There was another friend, too, who could very 
 well be trusted to take care of Ted, for though he 
 had, of course, a very kind, good nurse in the house, 
 nurses are not able to be the whole day long in 
 the garden, nor are they always very fond of being 
 much there. So, even though Ted was still quite 
 a little boy, it was very nice for him to have two 
 such -good out-door friends as Cheviott and David 
 the gardener, the other one I am going to tell 
 you of. 
 
 It was a beautiful spring day. Ted woke up 
 early, and thought to himself how nice and bright 
 and sunny it was going to be in the garden. He 
 was rather in a hurry to be dressed, for there were 
 several things he was in a hurry to do, and the 
 days, in summer time especially, never seemed long 
 enough for all he had before him. Just now these 
 summer days seemed really brimming over with 
 nice things, for his big cousin Percy at least he 
 was what Ted counted a " big " cousin, and he was a 
 good many years older than Ted was with him 
 for the holidays, and though Percy had some les- 
 sons to do, still they had a good deal of time 
 together. 
 
 "Ted wonders if Percy is 'decked' yet," said 
 Ted to his nurse. "Decked" was the word he 
 always used for "dressed," and he was often made 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 21 
 
 fun of for using it. His mind was very full of 
 Percy this morning, for he had only arrived the 
 evening before, and besides the pleasure of having 
 him with him, which was always a pleasure, there 
 was the nice newness of it, the things he had 
 to show Percy, the tricks Chevie had learnt, big 
 dog though he was, the letters and little words 
 Ted had himself mastered since Percy was last there. 
 
 "I don't know that Master Percy will be ready 
 quite so early this morning," said nurse. "He 
 may be a little tired with travelling yesterday." 
 
 "Ted doesn't zinJc Percy will be tired," said Ted. 
 " Percy wants to see the garden. Percy is so big, 
 isn't he, nurse? Percy can throw sticks up in the 
 sky so high. Percy throwed one up in the sky 
 up to heaven, so high that it never corned down 
 again." 
 
 "Indeed," said nurse; "are you quite sure of 
 that, Master Ted? Perhaps it did come down 
 again, but you didn't see it." 
 
 Nurse was a sensible person, you see. She did 
 not all at once begin saying to Ted that he was 
 talking nonsense, or worse still that he was telling 
 stories. For very little children often "romance" 
 in a sweet innocent way which has nothing what- 
 ever to do with story-telling I mean untruth- 
 telling, for it is better not to call untruths "stories," 
 is it not? The world and the people in it, and 
 the things they see and hear, are all new and 
 
22 A CHRISTMAS CHILD.* 
 
 strange to the little creatures so lately started on 
 their puzzling journey. What wonder that real 
 and fancy are mixed up together sometimes that 
 it is difficult to understand that the pretty blue- 
 bells do not sometimes tinkle in the moonlight, or 
 that there are no longer bears in the woods or 
 fairies hidden among the grass ? Perhaps it would 
 be better for us if we were more ready to believe 
 even such passed-by fancies, than to be so quick 
 as we sometimes are to accuse others of wishing to 
 deceive. 
 
 Ted looked at nurse thoughtfully. 
 
 "P'raps it did," he said. "P'raps it might have 
 corned down again after Ted was a'leep." 
 
 "I dare say it caught in a tree or something of 
 that kind," said nurse, as she finished brushing 
 Ted's soft curls and lifted him oft' the chair on 
 which he had been standing, just as Percy put 
 his head in at the door to ask if Ted might have 
 a run in the garden with him before breakfast. 
 
 "They're not down yet," said Percy, nodding his 
 bright curly head in the direction of Ted's father's 
 and mother's room; "they're not ready. Nurse, do 
 let Ted come out with me for a bit before break- 
 fast," and Ted trotted off, his hand in Percy's, in 
 utmost content. 
 
 Was there ever so clever and kind and wonderful 
 a big boy as Percy before? Was there ever one 
 who knew so much about everything cricket and 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 23 
 
 croquet and football ; skating and fishing and climb- 
 ing trees things on earth and things in water 
 what was there he didn't know? These were the 
 thoughts that were busy in Ted's little brain as 
 he followed kind Percy about the garden, that 
 bright summer morning, chattering incessantly, and 
 yet ready enough to be silent when Percy took it 
 into his head to relate to his tiny adorer some of 
 his school experiences. 
 
 "Ted will go to school some day, Percy," he said 
 half questioningly. 
 
 "Of course you will. I hope you'll come to my 
 school if I've not left by then. I could look after 
 you, you know, and see that they didn't bully 
 you." 
 
 "What's 'bully'?" asked Ted. 
 
 "Oh, teasing, you know. Setting you down 
 because you're a little chap, and all that. Knock- 
 ing you about if you don't look sharp. All those 
 kinds of things that big fellows do to small ones." 
 
 Ted opened his eyes. It was not very clear to 
 him what Percy meant it was a new idea, and 
 would have distressed him greatly had he quite 
 taken it in that big boys could be anything but 
 good to little ones. 
 
 " Thoo doesn't knock Ted about, and thoo is big, 
 Percy," he said, remonstratingly. 
 
 "No, of course I don't, but that's different. 
 You're like my brother, you know." 
 
24 A CHRISTMAS CHILD, 
 
 "And bruvvers couldn't knock theirselves about," 
 said Ted with an air of satisfaction. 
 
 "N-no, I suppose not," said Percy. Boy as he 
 was, he felt somehow that he could not bear to 
 destroy little Ted's beautiful faith. "But never 
 mind about that just now," he added; "let's run 
 down the bank and see how the cabbages and 
 cauliflowers are getting on. They were just put 
 in Avhen I was here last;" and for some time both 
 boys were intensely interested in examining the 
 state of the vegetable beds. 
 
 "Ted likes f'owers best," said the child, after a 
 few moments' silence. "When Ted " 
 
 "Why don't you say 'I' and C I like,' Teddy?" 
 said Percy. "You're getting such a big boy 
 four years old." 
 
 "Ted means I," persisted the small man. "I 
 sail have all f'owers in Ted's garden, when me 
 is big." 
 
 Percy was obliged to leave off what he was 
 about hunting for the slugs and caterpillars among 
 the cabbages in order that he might stand still 
 and laugh. 
 
 "I'm afraid you wouldn't get the prize for gram- 
 mar at 'our school, Ted," he said. But Ted only 
 laughed too. 
 
 "I haven't learnt grammar," he said slowly and 
 distinctly. "But please, Percy, Ted doesn't like 
 cabbages. Come and see the f'owers. There was 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 25 
 
 lots of c'ocodiles at that side. Ted likes zem best 
 of all, but zem's done now." 
 
 "Crocodiles," said Percy. "What can crocodiles 
 be?" 
 
 "Little f'owers with pointy leaves," said Ted. 
 "P'raps it isn't c'ocodiles but somesing like coc 
 coco " 
 
 "Crocuses perhaps," said Percy, as they made 
 their way up to the house. "Yes, they're very 
 pretty, but they're soon done." 
 
 "When I'm big I'll have a garden where they'll 
 never be done," said Ted. "I'll have c'ocodiles 
 and towslips for muzzer and and 
 
 "Come in to breakfast, my man," called out his 
 father from the dining-room. "What have you 
 been about this morning?" 
 
 "We'se been in the garden," said Ted, "and 
 Percy's been 'samining the cabbages. He's caught 
 slugs upon slugs, worms upon worms, earwigs upon 
 earwigs." 
 
 "My dear little boy," said Ted's father, though 
 he couldn't help laughing, "you mustn't learn to 
 exaggerate." 
 
 "What's 'saggerate?" began Ted, but looking 
 round another idea caught him. " Where's muz- 
 zer?" he said suddenly. 
 
 "Mother is rather tired this morning," said his 
 father. "Eat your breakfast, dear," and then he 
 turned to talk to Percy and ask him questions as 
 to how he was getting on at school. 
 
26 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 For a minute or two neither of them noticed Ted. 
 He sat quietly at his place, his bowl of bread and 
 milk before him, but he made no attempt to eat it. 
 Then Percy happened to see him. 
 
 "Aren't you hungry, Ted?" he said. 
 
 Ted looked up with his two blue eyes full of 
 tears. 
 
 "Ses," he said, "Ted's hungry. But if muzzer 
 doesn't come down Ted can't eat. Ted won't eat 
 nothing all day, and he'll die." 
 
 "Not quite so bad as that," said his father 
 quietly, for he did not want Ted to see that it 
 was difficult not to smile at his funny way of speak- 
 ing, "for see here is mother coming." 
 
 Ted danced off his seat with pleasure. 
 
 "It's dedful when thoo's not here," he said feel- 
 ingly, and now the bread and milk was quickly 
 despatched. "When I'm big," he continued, in 
 the intervals of the spoonfuls, "I'll have a house 
 as big as big as a mountain," his eyes glancing 
 out of the window, "and all the little boys in the 
 world shall live there with all their favers and 
 muzzers, and Percies, and everybodies, and nobody 
 shall never go away, not to school or bidness, or 
 nothing, so that they'll all be togever always." 
 
 Ted looked round for approval, and then took 
 another spoonful. 
 
 "What a nice place you'll make of the world, 
 my boy, when you're big," said his father. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 27 
 
 "Ses," said Ted with satisfaction. 
 
 "But as that time hasn't come yet, I'm afraid 
 I must go to my 'bidness,'" his father went on. 
 For he had to go several times a week a good way 
 into the country, to see that his men were all doing 
 their work properly. "And Percy must go with 
 me to-day," he went on, "for he needs some new 
 
 clothes, and I shall be driving through A ," 
 
 which was the nearest town to which they lived. 
 
 Percy's face looked very pleased, but Ted's grew 
 rather sad. 
 
 "Never mind, Teddy," whispered Percy. "We'll 
 have lots of days. You must have a good game 
 with Chevie to keep up your spirits." 
 
 "And David is going to cut the grass to-day," 
 said his father, "so you will have plenty of 
 fun." 
 
 "But Ted must be careful," said his mother; 
 "don't touch David's sharp tools, Ted. I was 
 quite frightened the other day," she added; "Ted 
 was trying to open and shut those great big shears 
 for clipping the borders." 
 
 "Zem was sticked fast," said Ted. "Zem opens 
 kite easy sometimes." 
 
 "Well, don't you touch them anyway," said his 
 mother, laughing. But though Ted said "No," I 
 don't feel sure that he really heard what his mother 
 was saying. His wits were already off, I don't 
 know where to running after Cheviott perhaps, 
 
28 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 or farther away still, up among the little clouds 
 that were scudding across the blue sky that he 
 caught sight of out of the window. 
 
 And then his father and Percy set off, and his 
 mother went away about her housekeeping, sending 
 Ted up to the nursery, and telling him that he 
 might ask nurse to put his big blouse on, so that 
 he might play about the garden without risk of 
 soiling his clothes. 
 
 Ted felt, for him, a very little sad as he trotted 
 out into the garden. He had hoped for such a nice 
 merry day with Percy. But low spirits never 
 troubled him long. Off he set with Cheviott for 
 the race down to the little bridge, always the first 
 bit of Ted's programme, and careful Chevie as usual 
 pulled up in plenty of time to avoid any risk of 
 toppling his master into the brook. Arrived on 
 the bridge, Ted stood still and "jigged" a little 
 as usual. Then he peered down at the shiny water 
 with the bright brown pebbles sparkling up through 
 it, and wondered what it would feel like to be a 
 little fish. 
 
 "Little fisses," he said to himself, "always has 
 each other to play with. They don't go to school, 
 and they hasn't no bidness, nor no cooks that they 
 must be such a long time ordering the dinners 
 with, nor nor beds to make and stockings to 
 mend. I wish nurse would 'turn out this morning. 
 Ted doesn't like being all alone. Ted would like 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 29 
 
 somebody littler to play with, 'cos then they 
 wouldn't go to school or out d'ives with papa." 
 
 But just as he was thinking this, he caught 
 sight of some one coming across the garden, and 
 his ideas took another turn at once. 
 
 "David, old David," he cried, "is thoo going to 
 cut the grass? Do let me come and help thoo, 
 David." 
 
 And he ran back across the bridge again and 
 made his way to David as fast as he could. 
 
 "Good-morning, Master Ted," said the gardener. 
 " It is beautiful day, Master Ted, to be sure. Yes 
 indeed." 
 
 "Ses," agreed Ted. "Good-morning, old David. 
 I'm going to stay out in the garden a long time, 
 a tevible long time, 'cos it's such a sprendid lovely 
 day. What is thoo going to do, David? Can't 
 Ted help thoo?" 
 
 "I am going to cut the grass, Master Ted, but 
 I not be very long no ; for it is only the middle 
 that's be cut. All the rest stand for hay, to be 
 sure. Ay, indeed." 
 
 "And when will the hay be cuttened?" inquired 
 Ted. 
 
 "That's be as Master order, and not as Master 
 can choose neither no," said David. "He not 
 able to make for the sun to shine; no, indeed; nor 
 the rain neither, no." 
 
 " Dod sends rain and sun," said Ted, rever- 
 
30 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 ently, but yet looking at David with a sort of 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Well, indeed you are right, Master Ted. Yes, 
 yes. But I must get on with my work. God 
 gives us work to do, too; ay, indeed; and them 
 as not work never expect to eat, no, never; they 
 not care for their victual anyhow if they not work 
 for it. No." 
 
 Ted looked rather puzzled. "Ted eats," he said, 
 "not victuals Ted doesn't know that meat 
 but bread and butter, and tea, and potatoes, and 
 rice pudding, and meat, and sometimes 'tawberry 
 jam and apple pie and and lots of things. And 
 Ted likes zem very much, but him doesn't work." 
 
 "I not know for that, Master Ted," said David, 
 "is it all kinds of work; ay, indeed; and I see 
 you very near always busy dear me, yes ; working 
 very good, Master Ted ay." 
 
 "I like to be busy. I wish thoo'd let me help 
 thoo to cut the grass," said Ted, eyeing David 
 wistfully, as he started his big scythe, for the old 
 gardener knew nothing of mowing machines, and 
 would most likely have looked upon them with 
 great contempt. But he stopped short a moment 
 to look down at wee Ted, staring up at him and 
 wishing to be in his place. 
 
 "No, indeed, Master Ted bach!''' he said; "you 
 soon have your cliver little legs and arms cut to 
 pieces, if you use with my scythe, Master Ted 
 
1 I WISH THOO'D LET ME HELP THOO TO CUT THE GRASS." p. 30. 
 
IN THE GAKDEN. 31 
 
 ay, indeed, d'rectly. It look easy, to be sure, but 
 it not so easy even for a cliver man like you, 
 Master Ted no, indeed. But I tell you what 
 you shall do. You shall help to make the grass 
 to a heaps, and then I put it in a barrow and wheel 
 it off. Ay, indeed; that be the best." 
 
 This proposal was very much to Ted's taste. 
 Chevie and he, at a safe distance from David's 
 scythe, thought it great fun to toss about the soft 
 fine grass and imagine they were helping David 
 tremendously. And after a while, when Chevie 
 began to think he had had enough of it, and with 
 a sort of condescending growl by way of explana- 
 tion, stretched himself out in the sunshine for a 
 little forenoon sleep, David left off cutting, and, 
 with Ted's help of course, filled the barrow and 
 wheeled it off to the corner where the grass was 
 to lie to be out of the way. It was beginning 
 to be rather hot, though still quite early, and Ted's 
 face grew somewhat red with his exertions as he 
 ran beside David. 
 
 "You better ride now; jump in, Master Ted," 
 said the gardener, when his barrow was empty. 
 So he lifted him in and wheeled him back to the 
 lawn, which was quite after Ted's own heart. 
 
 " Isn't thoo going to cut with thoo's big scissors ? " 
 said Ted after a while. 
 
 "It is want oiling," said David, "and I forget 
 to do them. I shall leave the borders till after 
 
32 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 dinner, ay, sure," and he was going on with his 
 scything when suddenly a voice was heard from the 
 house calling him. 
 
 "David, David, you're wanted," said the voice, 
 and then the cook made her appearance at the side 
 of the house. "There's a note to take to ." 
 
 They could not hear to where, but David had 
 to go. He glanced round him, and, afraid of Ted's 
 experiments, shouldered his scythe and walked off 
 with it for fear of accidents. 
 
 "Are you going in, Master Ted?" he asked. 
 
 "Nurse is going to call me when she's ready," 
 said Ted composedly, and knowing that the little 
 fellow often played about by himself for a while, 
 good David left him without any more anxiety. 
 He had got his scythe safe, he never thought of 
 the big pair of shears he had left lying in the grass ! 
 
 Now these gigantic "scissors" as he called them 
 had always had a wonderful attraction for Ted. He 
 used to think how funny they would look beside 
 the very tiny fine pair his mother worked with the 
 pretty scissors that lay in her little case lined with 
 velvet and satin. Ted had not, in those days, heard 
 of Gulliver and his strange adventures, but if he 
 had, one might have imagined that to his fancy 
 the two pairs of scissors were like a Brobdignag 
 and a Lilliputian. And no sooner had David dis- 
 appeared than unfortunately the great scissors caught 
 his eyes. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 33 
 
 "Zem's still sticked fast," he said to himself. 
 "David says zem needs oil. Wiss I had some oil. 
 P'raps the fissy oil to make Ted grow big would 
 do. But the scissors is big enough. Ted wonders 
 if the fissy oil would make zem bigger. Zem 
 couldn't be much bigger." 
 
 Ted laughed a little to himself at the funny 
 fancy. Then he sat and stared at the scissors. 
 What did they remind him of? Ah yes, they were 
 like the shears of "the great, long, red-legged 
 scissor man," in the wonderful story of "Conrad 
 Suck-a-thumb," in his German picture-book. Al- 
 most, as he gazed at them, it seemed to Ted that 
 the figure of the scissors man would suddenly dart 
 out from among the bushes and seize his property. 
 
 "But him wouldn't cut Ted's fumbs," thought 
 the little man to himself, " 'cos Ted never sucks 
 zem. What a pity the scissors is sticked fast! 
 Poor David can't cut with zem. P'raps Ted could 
 oilen zern for poor David! Ted will go and get 
 some fissy oil." 
 
 No sooner thought than done. Up jumped Ted, 
 and was starting off to the house when a groAvl 
 from Cheviott made him stop. The dog had just 
 awakened, and seeing his little master setting off 
 somewhere thought it his business to inquire where 
 to and, why. He lifted his head and gave it a sort 
 of sleepy shake, then growled again, but gently of 
 course. 
 
34 A CHRISTMAS CHILD, 
 
 "What did thoo say, Chevie?" said Ted. "Did 
 thoo want to know where I was going ? Stay here, 
 Chevie. Ted will be back in a minute him's 
 on'y going to get some fissy oil to oilen poor 
 David's scissors." 
 
 And off he set, though a third growl from 
 Cheviott followed him as he ran. 
 
 " What does Chevie mean ? " thought Ted. " P'raps 
 him's thinking muzzer said Ted mustn't touch zem 
 big scissors. But muzzer on'y meant Ted wasn't 
 to cutten with zem. Muzzer would like Ted to 
 help poor David," and, his conscience quite at rest, 
 he trotted on contentedly. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 WISHES AND FEARS. 
 
 Children. " Here are the nails, and may we help ? 
 
 Jessie. You shall if I should want help. 
 Children. Will you want it then ? 
 
 Please want it we like helping." 
 
 THERE was no one in the nursery, fortunately 
 for Ted's plans. ZTkfortunately rather, we should 
 perhaps say, for if nurse had been there, she would 
 have asked for what he wanted the little bottle 
 which had held the cod-liver oil, that he had lately 
 left off taking, but of which a few drops still 
 remained. 
 
 Ted climbed on to a chair and reached the shelf 
 where it stood, and in two minutes he was off again, 
 bottle in hand, in triumph. He found Cheviott 
 lying still, where he had left him; he looked up 
 and yawned as Ted appeared, and then growled 
 with an air of satisfaction. It was sometimes a 
 little difficult for Che vie to decide exactly how 
 much care he was to take of Ted. After all, a 
 little two-legged boy that could talk was not quite 
 the same as a lamb, or even a sheep. He could not 
 run round him barking, to prevent his trotting where 
 he wished there were plainly some things Ted 
 
 35 
 
3b A CHRISTMAS CHILD.- 
 
 had to do with and understood which Che vie 's dog- 
 experience did not reach to. 
 
 So Cheviott lay there and blinked his honest 
 eyes in the sunshine, and stared at Ted and won- 
 dered what he was after now! For Ted was in a 
 very tip-top state of delight! He sat down cross- 
 legged on the grass, drew the delicious big shears 
 to him they were heavy for him even to pull 
 and uncorking the bottle of "fissy" oil, began 
 operations. 
 
 "Zem is sticked fast, to be soore," he said to 
 himself, adopting David's favourite expression, as 
 he tugged and tugged in vain. "If thoo could 
 hold one side and Ted the other, they would soon 
 come loosened," he observed to Cheviott. But 
 Cheviott only growled faintly and blinked at his 
 master sleepily, and after a good deal more tugging 
 Ted did manage to open the shears, which indeed 
 at last flew apart so sharply that the boy toppled 
 over with the shock, and rolled for a moment or 
 two on the grass, though happily not on the shears, 
 before he recovered his balance. 
 
 Laughing merrily, he pulled himself up again. 
 Luckily the bottle had not been overturned. Ted 
 poured a drop or two carefully on to his fingers, 
 quite regardless of the fishy smell, and proceeded 
 to anoint the scissors. This he repeated several 
 times,, polishing them all over till they shone, but 
 not understanding that the place where the oil was 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 37 
 
 needed was the hinge, he directed the best of his 
 attention to the general shininess. 
 
 Then he sat and looked at them admiringly. 
 
 "Won't David be p'eased?" he said. "Zem's 
 oilened all over now. Ted must see if they don't 
 sticken fast now." 
 
 With nearly as much difficulty as he had had to 
 open them, Ted now managed to shut them. 
 
 "Zem's better," thought the busy little man, 
 "but Ted must see how they cut." 
 
 He laid them flat on the grass, at a place where 
 the blades had not been completely sheared by the 
 scythe. Tug number one the oil had really done 
 some good, they opened more easily tug number 
 two, behold them gaping tug number three, they 
 bite the grass, and Ted is just going to shout in 
 triumph when a quick shock of pain stabs through 
 him. He had been kneeling almost on the shears, 
 and their cruel jaws had snipped, with the grass, 
 the tender fleshy part of his poor little leg ! 
 
 It was not the pain that frightened him so much 
 as the feeling held fast by the now dreadful scissors. 
 
 "David, David," he cried, "oh, please come. 
 Nurse, please come. Ted has cuttened hisself." 
 
 His little voice sounded clear and shrill in the 
 summer quiet of the peaceful garden, and nurse, 
 who had been hastening to come out to him, heard 
 it from the open window. David too was on his 
 way back, and poor Ted was soon released. But it 
 
38 A CHEISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 was a bad cut he had to be carried into the house 
 to have it bathed and sponged and tenderly bound 
 up by mother's fingers. He left off crying when 
 he saw how sorry mother looked. 
 
 "Ted is so sorry to t'ouble thoo," he said. 
 
 "And mother is sorry for Ted," she replied. 
 "But, my dear little boy," she went on, when the 
 poor leg was comfortable and its owner forget- 
 ting its pain on mother's knee, "don't you remem- 
 ber that mother told you not to touch David's 
 tools?" 
 
 "Oh ses," he replied. "Ted wouldn't touch zem 
 for hisself, but it was to help David," and the inno- 
 cent confidence with which he looked up in her face 
 went to his mother's heart. 
 
 " But still, dear Ted, you must try to understand 
 that what mother says, you must do exactly. Mother 
 likes you to be kind and helping to people, but still 
 mother knows better than you, and that is why, 
 when she tells you things, you must remember to 
 do what she says." 
 
 Ted looked grave and a little puzzled, and seeing 
 this his mother thought it best to say no more 
 just then. The lesson of obedience was one that 
 Ted found rather puzzling, you see, but what his 
 mother had said had made a mark in his mind. He 
 thought about it often, and as he grew bigger other 
 things happened, as you will hear, to make him 
 think of it still more. 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 39 
 
 It was rather a trial to Ted not to be able to run 
 about as usual that afternoon, for had he done so, 
 the cut might have begun to bleed again, so he 
 had to sit still in the nursery, looking out at the 
 window and hoping and hoping that Percy would 
 soon come back. Once David and his barrow passed 
 underneath, and the gardener called up to know if 
 Master Ted's leg was better. Ted shook his head 
 rather dolefully. 
 
 "Him's better," he said, "but Ted can't run 
 about. Ted's so sad, David. Muzzer's got letters 
 to write and Percy's out." 
 
 A kind thought struck David. He went round 
 to the drawing-room window and tapped at it gently. 
 Ted's mother was writing there. Might he wheel 
 Master Ted in his barrow to the part of the garden 
 where he was working? he would take good care 
 of him "the little gentleman never cut himself 
 if I with him no, indeed; I make him safe 
 enough." 
 
 And Ted's mother consented gladly. So in a 
 few minutes he was comfortably installed on a nice 
 heap of dry grass, with Cheviott close beside him 
 and David near at hand. 
 
 " You never touch my tools again, Master Ted, 
 for a bit, no, to be sure, do you now?" said 
 David. 
 
 "No," said Ted. "Muzzer says I mustn't. But 
 wasn't the big scissors nicely oilened, David?" 
 
40 A CHRISTMAS CHILI?. 
 
 "Oh, fust rate ay," said David. "Though I 
 not say it is a diver smell no. I not like the 
 smell, Master Ted." 
 
 "Never mind," replied Ted reassuringly. "Ted 
 will ask muzzer for some cock-alone for thoo. Thoo 
 can put some on the scissors." 
 
 "What's that, Master Ted?" inquired David, 
 who was not at all above getting information out 
 of his little master. 
 
 "Cock-alone," repeated Ted. "Oh, it's somesing 
 that smells very nice. I don't know what it is. 
 I thing it must be skeesed out of f'owers. I'll 
 run and get thoo some now, David, this minute," 
 and he was on the point of clambering to his feet 
 when the stiff feeling of his bandaged leg stopped 
 him. "Oh, I forgot," he exclaimed regretfully. 
 
 " Yes indeed, Master Ted. You not walk a great 
 deal to-day, to be sure no, indeed for a bit; ay." 
 
 Ted lay still for a minute or two. He was gaz- 
 ing up at the sky, which that afternoon was very 
 pure and beautiful. 
 
 "Who paints the sky, David?" he said suddenly. 
 
 "Well indeed, Master Ted, I not think you ask 
 me such a foolis' question, Master Ted bach!" said 
 David. "Who's make a sky and a sea and every- 
 thing so?" 
 
 "Dod," said Ted. "Oh, I know that. But I 
 thoughtened p'raps Dod put somebody up there to 
 paint it. It was so pitty last night, David all 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 41 
 
 tolours Ted tan't say zem all. Why isn't there 
 many tolours now, David?" 
 
 "I not know for sure," said David, stopping a 
 moment in his work and looking up at the sky. 
 
 "Ted thought," continued the little fellow slowly, 
 "Ted thought p'raps Dod's paints was getting done. 
 Could that be why?" 
 
 David was rather matter-of-fact, and I don't know 
 that that made him any the worse a companion for 
 Ted, whose brain was already quite full enough of 
 fancies. So he did not smile at Ted's idea, but 
 answered quite gravely, 
 
 "No indeed, Master Ted, I not think that untall." 
 
 "If on'y Ted could fly," the child continued in 
 a minute or two, as just then a flock of birds made 
 their graceful way between his gazing eyes and 
 the clear blue vault above. "How pittily birds 
 flies, don't they, David? If Ted could fly he'd 
 soon find out all about the sky and everysing. 
 And it wouldn't matter then that him had hurt 
 his leg. Couldn't Ted learn to fly, David?" 
 
 Ted was soaring too far above poor David's head 
 already for him to know what to answer. What 
 could he say but "No indeed, Master Ted," again? 
 He had never heard tell of any one that could fly 
 except the angels. For David was fond of going 
 to church, or chapel rather, and though he could 
 not read Ted's Bible, he could read his own very 
 well. 
 
42 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Angels," said Ted. The word started his busy 
 fancy off in a fresh direction. He lay looking up 
 still, watching now the lovely little feathery clouds 
 that began to rise as the sun declined, and fancy- 
 ing they were angels with wings softly floating 
 hither and thither in the balmy air. He watched 
 one little group, which seemed to him like three 
 angels with their arms twined together, so long, 
 that at last his eyes grew rather tired of watching 
 and their little white blinds closed over them 
 softly. Little Ted had fallen asleep. 
 
 "So, so; dear me, he tired," said old David, as, 
 surprised at the unusual silence, he turned to see 
 what Ted was about. "Bless him, he tired very 
 bad with his cliver talk and the pain; ay but, 
 indeed, he not one to make fuss no. He a brave 
 little gentleman, Master Ted ay, indeed," and the 
 kind old man lifted the boy's head so that he 
 should lie more comfortably, and turned his wheel- 
 barrow up on one side to shade him from the sun. 
 
 Ted smiled in his sleep as David looked at him. 
 Shall I tell you what made him smile? In his 
 sleep he had got his wish. He dreamt that he 
 was flying. This was the dream that came to him. 
 
 He fancied he was running down the garden 
 path with Chevie, when all at once Chevie seemed 
 to disappear, and where he had been there stood 
 a pretty snow-white lamb. With an eager cry 
 Ted darted forward to catch it, and laid his hand 
 
WISHES AND FEAKS. 43 
 
 on its soft woolly coat, when it was no lamb but 
 a little cloud lie was trying to grasp. And won- 
 derful to say, the little cloud seemed to float towards 
 him and settle itself on his shoulders, and then all 
 of himself Ted seemed to find out that it had turned 
 into wings ! 
 
 " Ted can fly, Ted can fly! " he cried with delight, 
 or thought he cried. In reality it was just then 
 that David lifted his head, and feeling himself 
 moving, Ted fancied it was the wings lifting him 
 upward, and gave the pleased smile which David 
 noticed. Fly! I should think so. He mounted 
 and mounted, higher and higher, the white wings 
 waving him upwards in the most wonderful way, 
 till at last he found himself right up in the blue 
 sky where he had so wished to be. And ever so 
 many lots and lots of other little white things 
 were floating or flying about, and, looking closely 
 at them, Ted saw that they were not little clouds 
 as they seemed at first, but wings all pairs of 
 beautiful white wings, and dear little faces were 
 peeping out from between them. They were all 
 little children like himself. 
 
 " Come and play, Ted, come and play. Ted, Ted, 
 TED!" they cried so loud, that Ted opened his 
 eyes his real waking eyes, not his dream ones 
 sharply, and there he was, lying on the soft grass 
 heap, not up in the sky among the cloud-children 
 at all ! 
 
44 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 At first he was rather disappointed. But as he 
 was thinking to himself whether it was worth while 
 to try to go to sleep again and go on with his 
 dream, he heard himself called as before, "Ted, 
 Ted, TED." 
 
 And looking up he forgot all about everything 
 else when he saw, running down the sloping banks 
 as fast as his legs would carry him, Percy, his 
 dear Percy! 
 
 Ted jumped up even his wounded leg couldn't 
 keep him still now. 
 
 "Was it thoo calling me, Percy?" he said. "I 
 was d'eaming, do thoo know such a funny d'eam? 
 But I'm so glad thoo's come back, Percy. Oh, 
 Ted is so glad." 
 
 Then all the day's adventures had to be related 
 the accident with the scissors and the drive in 
 the wheelbarrow, and the funny dream. And in 
 his turn Percy had to tell of all he had seen and 
 done and heard the shops he had been at in the 
 little town, and what he had had for luncheon 
 and and the numberless trifles that make up 
 the interest of a child's day. 
 
 "Does thoo think there's any shop where we 
 could get wings, Percy?" asked Ted. He had the 
 vaguest ideas as to what "shops" were, but Percy 
 had been telling him of the beautiful little boats 
 he had seen at a toy-shop in the market-place, 
 "boats with white sails and all rigged just like 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 45 
 
 real ones ; " and if boats with white sails were to 
 be got, why not white wings ? 
 
 "Wings!" exclaimed Percy. "What sort of 
 wings do you mean, Teddy?" 
 
 "Wings for little boys," Ted explained. "Like 
 what I was d'eaming about. It would be so nice 
 to fly, Percy." 
 
 "Beautiful, wouldn't it?" agreed Percy. "But 
 nobody can fly, Ted. Nobody could make wings that 
 would be any use for people. People can't fly." 
 
 "But little boys, Percy," persisted Ted. "Little 
 boys isn't so very much bigger than birds. Oh, 
 you don't know how lovely it feels to fly. Percy, 
 do let us try to make some wings." 
 
 But Percy's greater experience was less hopeful. 
 
 "I'm afraid it would be no use," he said. "Peo- 
 ple have often tried. I've heard stories of it. 
 They only tumbled down." 
 
 " Did they hurt themselves ? " asked Ted. 
 
 "I expect so," Percy replied. 
 
 Just then David, who was passing by, stopped 
 to tell the boys that some one was calling them in 
 from the house. 
 
 "Is it your papa, Master Ted; yes, I think," 
 he said. 
 
 Ted's leg was feeling less stiff and painful now. 
 He could walk almost as well as usual. When 
 they got to the house-door his father was waiting 
 for him. He had heard of Ted's misfortune, and 
 
46 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 there was rather a comical smile on his face as he 
 stooped to kiss his little boy. 
 
 "I want you to come in to see Mr. Brand," he 
 said. "He says he hasn't seen you for a long 
 time, little Ted." 
 
 Ted raised his blue eyes to his father's face with 
 a rather puzzled expression. 
 
 "Whom's Mr. Brand?" he asked. 
 
 "Why, don't you remember him, Teddy?" said 
 Percy. " That great big gentleman so awfully 
 tall." 
 
 Ted did not reply, but he seemed much impressed. 
 
 "Is him a diant?" he asked, gravely. 
 
 "Very nearly, I should say," said Percy, laugh- 
 ing, and then, as he had already seen Mr. Brand, 
 who had met Ted's father on his way back from 
 
 A , Percy ran off in another direction, and Ted 
 
 followed his father into the drawing-room. 
 
 Mr. Brand was sitting talking to Ted's mother, 
 but just as the door opened, he rose from his seat 
 and came forward. 
 
 "I was just going to ask you if ah! here's 
 your little boy," he said to Ted's father. Then, 
 sitting down again, he drew Ted between his knees 
 and looked kindly at the small innocent face. He 
 was very fond of children, but he did not know 
 much about them, and Ted, looking and feeling 
 rather overawed, stood more silently than usual, 
 staring seriously at the visitor. 
 
WISHES AND FEAKS. 47 
 
 He was very tall and very big. Whether he 
 quite came up to Ted's idea of a "diant" I cannot 
 tell. But queer fancies began to chase each other 
 round the boy's brain. There had been a good 
 deal to excite and upset the little fellow at no 
 time a strong child that day, and his dream when 
 lying asleep on the grass had added to it all. 
 And now, as he stood looking up at big Mr. Brand, 
 a strange confusion of ideas filled his mind of 
 giants tall enough to reach the sky, to catch and 
 bring down some of the cloud-wings Ted wished 
 so for, interspersed with wondering if it was " fissy 
 oil " that had made this big man so very big. If 
 he, Ted, were to take a great, great lot of fissy 
 oil, would he grow as big and strong? Would he 
 be able to cut the grass like David perhaps, to run 
 faster than Percy to to I don't know what- 
 for at this moment Mr. Brand's voice brought him 
 back from his fancies. 
 
 "What an absent-minded little fellow he is," 
 Mr. Brand was saying, for he had been speaking 
 to Ted two or three times without the child's 
 paying any attention. 
 
 "Not generally," said Ted's mother. "He is 
 usually very wide-awake to all that is going on. 
 What are you thinking of, Ted, dear?" 
 
 " Yes, " said Mr. Brand. " Tell us what you've got 
 in your head. Are you thinking that I'm a very tiny 
 little man the tiniest little man you ever saw?" 
 
48 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "No," said Ted solemnly, without the least smile, 
 at which his mother was rather surprised. For, 
 young though he was, Ted was usually very quick 
 at seeing a joke. But he just said "No," and 
 stared again at Mr. Brand, without another word. 
 
 "Then what were you thinking that I'm the 
 very biggest man you ever did see ? " 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, gravely still, but with a certain 
 light in his eyes which encouraged Mr. Brand to 
 continue his questions. 
 
 " And what more ? Were you wishing you were 
 as big as I am?" 
 
 Ted hesitated. 
 
 "I'd rather fly," he said. "But Percy says 
 nobody can fly. I'd like to be big if I could get 
 up very high." 
 
 "How high?" said Mr. Brand. "Up to the top 
 of the mountain out there ? " 
 
 "Is the mountain as high as the clouds?" asked 
 Ted. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Brand; "when you're up at the 
 very top, you can look down on the clouds." 
 
 Ted looked rather puzzled. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," the gentleman went on, 
 amused by the expression of the child's face, "I'll 
 tell you what as I'm so big, supposing I take 
 you to the top of the mountain we'll go this 
 very afternoon. I'll take a jug of cold water and 
 a loaf of bread, and leave it with you there so 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 49 
 
 that you'll have something to eat, and then you 
 can stay there quite comfortable by yourself and 
 find out all you want to know. You'd like that, 
 wouldn't you? to be all by yourself on the top 
 of the mountain ? " 
 
 He looked at Ted in a rather queer way as he 
 said it. The truth was that Mr. Brand, who though 
 so big was not very old, was carried away by the 
 fun (to him) of watching the puzzled look on the 
 child's face, and forgot that what to him was a 
 mere passing joke might be very different to the 
 tender little four-years-old boy. 
 
 Ted's face grew rather white, he edged away a 
 little from this strange gentleman, whom he could 
 not make out, but who was so big that Ted felt 
 it impossible to doubt his being able to do anything 
 he wished. 
 
 "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he repeated, 
 quite gravely, and glancing at Ted with slightly 
 knitted brows which made the boy suddenly think 
 of some of the "ogre " stories he had heard. 
 
 "No," said Ted bluntly. But he was afraid to 
 say more. Ogres didn't like to be contradicted, 
 and perhaps perhaps this strange man really 
 thought he would like it, and really meant to 
 please him. Anyway, it would never do to answer 
 rudely, though Ted's face grew still paler, when 
 his glance fell on the mountain peak clearly to be 
 seen out of the window from where he stood, and 
 
50 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 a little shiver ran through him when he thought 
 that perhaps he would have to go, whether he liked 
 it or not. He edged away still farther, but it was 
 no use. Mr. Brand had put his arm round him, 
 and there was no getting away, when suddenly a 
 noise outside the window caught the gentleman's 
 attention and he started up. It was his dog bark- 
 ing loudly, and Mr. Brand, fearing he might have 
 got into some mischief, stepped out through the 
 glass door to see. Ted was on the alert, and before 
 any one in the room had noticed him he was off. 
 
 Where should he go to? He dared not hide in 
 the garden, for there he might be seen, especially 
 as Mr. Brand was running about after his dog; 
 he would not go up to the nursery, for nurse would 
 ask him why he had not stayed downstairs; he 
 did not even wish to find Percy, for though he 
 could not have explained why, he felt that it would 
 be impossible for him to tell any one of the strange 
 terror that Mr. Brand's joke had awakened. He 
 felt ashamed of it, afraid too that if, as he vaguely 
 thought might be the case, the offer had been 
 made in real earnest and with a wish to please 
 him, his dislike to it would be ungrateful and 
 unkind. Indeed poor Ted was more troubled than 
 he ever remembered to have been in his whole 
 little life he could think of nothing for it but 
 to hide till all danger was past. 
 
 A brilliant idea struck him he would go and 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 51 
 
 pay a visit to cook! It was not very often he 
 went into the kitchen, and no one would look for 
 him there. And cook was kind, very kind when 
 not very busy. So with a slight shudder as, run- 
 ning past the open front- door, he caught sight of 
 the well-known mountain peak, frowning at him, 
 as it seemed now, for the first time in his life, 
 Ted made his way to cook's quarters. 
 
 She was not in the kitchen, but hearing some 
 one coming, she called out from the back kitchen 
 where she was. That was better still, every step 
 the farther from the drawing-room, or from Mr. 
 Brand rather, was a gain. So Ted trotted into the 
 back kitchen, and to prevent cook's thinking there 
 was anything the matter asked her if he might 
 play with the cat. He found a piece of string, 
 to which cook tied a cork, and as pussy was really 
 more of a kitten than a cat, he amused himself 
 for some time by making her run after it, whistling 
 now and then to keep up his heart, though had 
 cook looked at him closely she could have seen 
 how white he was, and how every now and then 
 he threw frightened glances over his shoulder. 
 
 "Your leg's better, Master Ted?" said cook. 
 
 "Oh ses, zank thoo," said Ted. "Him's much 
 better." 
 
 "You'll have to take care never to touch sharp 
 tools again, won't you?" she went on, as she bustled 
 about with her work. 
 
52 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Ses," he said again. But he did not speak 
 with his usual heartiness, and cook, who, like all 
 the servants, loved the bright, gentle little fellow, 
 looked at him rather anxiously. Suddenly a sound 
 was heard wheels on the gravel drive. 
 
 "What's that, cook?" said Ted, starting. 
 
 "Only the gentleman's dog-cart the gentleman 
 that's been to see your papa. He's going away," 
 said cook composedly. 
 
 Ted hurried into the kitchen. From the win- 
 dow the dri.ve could be seen by big people, though 
 not by him. 
 
 "Lift me up on the table, please, cook," he said, 
 and when cook good-naturedly did so, and he saw 
 the giant really, actually driving away, Ted could 
 almost have cried with pleasure. But his fears 
 and his relief he kept in his own little heart. 
 
 "Zank thoo, cook," he said gravely, but with the 
 pretty courtesy he never forgot. " Zank thoo, and 
 please lift me down again." 
 
 "He's a funny little fellow," said cook to herself, 
 as she watched Ted trot off. "I wonder what he'd 
 got in his mind, bless him." 
 
 Ted reappeared in the drawing-room. 
 
 "Where have you been, dear?" said his mother. 
 "We were looking about for you to say good-bye 
 to Mr. Brand. Where did you go to?" 
 
 "Ted were in the kitchen, 'peaking to cook," he 
 replied. 
 
WISHES AND FEARS. 53 
 
 "But why did you go away, dear, while Mr. 
 Brand was here?" asked his mother. "Were you 
 frightened of his dog ? " 
 
 "No, "said Ted, "Ted's never frightened of dogs." 
 
 "No, dear, I know you're not," said his mother. 
 But she did not feel satisfied. Her little boy did 
 not look the same as usual somehow. Still she 
 felt it was better to ask no more after a while 
 Ted would perhaps tell her of himself. And she 
 did well, for it would have been almost impossible 
 for him to tell his mingled feelings. 
 
 "Muzzer likes that big man," he was thinking to 
 himself. " Muzzer thinks he's kind. It's naughty 
 and unkind of Ted to be frightened," and so the 
 loyal little man kept silence. 
 
 And it was not for a long time not till Ted 
 himself had learnt to "understand" a little better, 
 that even his mother understood the whole. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 
 
 " Of course he was the giant, 
 With beard as white as snow." 
 
 BUT whenever Mr. Brand, poor man, came to call, 
 Ted was sure in some mysterious way to disappear. 
 After a while his mother began to notice it, though, 
 as Mr. Brand did not come very often, she did not 
 do so all at once. She noticed, however, another 
 thing which she was sorry for. Ted took a dislike 
 to the big mountain. It was a great pity, for 
 before that he had been so fond of it so fond 
 of watching the different expressions, " looks " Ted 
 called them, that it wore according to the time of 
 day, or the time of year, or the weather. And his 
 father and mother had been pleased to see him so 
 "noticing," for such a little boy; they thought it 
 showed, as indeed it did, that he was likely to grow 
 into a happy-minded and happy-hearted man. 
 
 But now it was quite different. When he sat 
 on his mother's knee in the drawing-room he would 
 turn his little face to the side away from the 
 window so that he should not see the towering 
 mountain-head. He would never laugh at his old 
 
 54 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 55 
 
 friend's putting on his nightcap of mist, as he used 
 to do, and all his pretty fancies about being able to 
 reach the dear little stars if he were up on the top 
 peak of all, were spoilt. 
 
 "Something has frightened Ted," said his mother 
 to his father one day. "I wonder -what it can be. I 
 know you wouldn't frighten him, dear," she added, 
 turning to Percy who was in the room, though of 
 course Ted was not there, otherwise his mother 
 would not have said it, "but still, has there been 
 anything in your play that could have done so? 
 Have you been talking about mountains, or telling 
 stories about them?" 
 
 "No," said Percy, thoughtfully; "I'm sure there 
 has been nothing. Shall I ask Ted about it? Per- 
 haps he wouldn't mind telling me, not even as much 
 as " Percy stopped and grew a little red. He 
 was a boy of nice feelings, not rough and knock- 
 about in his ways like many schoolboys. 
 
 " Not even as much as telling me, you were -going 
 to say," said Ted's mother, smiling. "Never mind, 
 dear. I dare say it would be easier for -him to tell 
 you, and I am very glad my little boy . has such a 
 kind Percy to talk to. But I think perhaps it is 
 better to say nothing to him. We may find it out 
 by degrees, and if it is only a sort of fancy he 
 may have seen the mountain looking gloomy some 
 evening it may fade away of itself more quickly if 
 we don't notice it." 
 
56 A CHRISTMAS CHILI). 
 
 That day was a very bright and lovely one. Ted's 
 mother thought to herself she would like to do some- 
 thing to make Ted, and Percy too, " extra " happy, 
 for the weeks had been running on fast it would 
 soon be time for Percy, not being a little fish, 
 to go back to school. And Percy's big sister was 
 with them too just then. She was even bigger than 
 Percy, so of course Ted thought her quite grown up, 
 though in reality she was a good many years off 
 being so. She was very nice anyway, with a gentle 
 pretty face and kind eyes, and though she was not 
 very old she was very clever at telling stories, which 
 is a most delightful thing in a big sister or cousin 
 is it not? And she was also able to sing very 
 prettily, another delightful thing, or at least so Ted 
 thought, for he was so fond of singing. This big 
 girl's name was Mabel. 
 
 And after thinking a while and talking about it 
 to Mabel, Ted's mother thought the nicest thing 
 would be to have tea in a lonely little nesty place in 
 the gorge between the mountains that I have told 
 you of. We were to go there with Ted and Cheviott 
 some day, by the bye, were we not? Well, never 
 mind, Cheviott shall be that is to say he was of 
 the gipsy tea-party, so that will come to the same 
 thing, will it not ? 
 
 They all set off Ted's father and mother, another 
 gentleman and lady who were staying for the summer 
 in a cottage not far off, that they might be near their 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 57 
 
 friends, their daughter who was really grown up, and 
 Mabel and Percy and Ted. You can fancy the bread 
 and butter there was to cut, the home-made cake, the 
 tea and sugar and cream that must not be forgotten. 
 And when all the baskets were ready and everybody 
 was helping and planning how to carry them, who 
 do you think got hold of the biggest of all and was 
 trying to lug it along ? Who but our four-years-old 
 Ted? 
 
 "My boy, my boy," cried his mother, laughing, 
 for he did look comical the basket being really 
 very nearly as big as himself and his little face 
 already quite red with the exertion, "you cannot 
 possibly take that basket. Why, I could scarcely 
 carry it." 
 
 "But boys is stronger than muzzers," said Ted 
 gravely, and it was really with difficulty that they 
 could persuade him to give it up, and only then by 
 letting him carry another which looked nearly as 
 important but was in reality much lighter, as it only 
 held the tablecloth and the teapot and teaspoons. 
 
 I have not told you about the gorge not told 
 you, I mean, how lovely it was. Nor if I talked 
 about it for hours could I half describe its beauty. 
 In spring time perhaps it was the prettiest of all, 
 for then it was rich in the early blossoms and flowers 
 that are so quickly over, and that seem to us doubly 
 precious after the flower famine of the winter. But 
 not even in the early spring time, with all the 
 
58 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 beauty of primroses and violets, could the gorge look 
 lovelier than it did, this summer afternoon. For the 
 ferns and bracken never seemed dusty and withered 
 in this favoured place the grass and moss too, kept 
 their freshness through all the hot days as if tended 
 by fairy fingers. It was thanks to the river you see 
 the merry beautiful little river that came dancing 
 down the centre of this mountain-pass, at one part 
 turning itself into a waterfall, then, as if tired, for 
 a little flowing along more quietly through a short 
 space of less precipitous road. But always beauti- 
 ful, always kindly and generous to the happy dwellers 
 on its banks, keeping them cool in the hottest days, 
 tossing here and there its spray of pearly drops as 
 if in pretty fun. 
 
 On each side of the water ran a little footpath, 
 and here and there roughly-made rustic bridges 
 across it tempted you to see if the other side was 
 as pretty as this, though when you had stood still 
 to consider about it you found it impossible to say! 
 The paths were here and there almost completely 
 hidden, for they were so little trodden that the moss 
 had it all its own way with them, and sometimes too 
 it took a scramble and a climb to fight one's way 
 through the tangled knots and fallen fragments of 
 rock which encumbered them. But now and then 
 there came a bit of level ground where the gorge 
 widened slightly, and then the path stopped for a 
 while in a sort of glade from which again it emerged 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 59 
 
 on the other side. It was in one of these glades that 
 Ted's mother arranged the gipsy tea. Can you 
 imagine a prettier place for a summer day's treat? 
 Overhead the bluest of blue skies and sunshine, 
 tempered by the leafy screen-work of the thickly 
 growing trees; at one side the soft rush of the 
 silvery river, whose song was here low and gentle, 
 though one could hear in the distance the boom of 
 the noisy waterfall ; at the other side the mountain 
 slope, whose short brown slippery turf seemed to 
 tempt one to a climb. And close at hand the wealth 
 of ferns and bracken and flowers that I have told you 
 of a little higher up strange gleaming balls of 
 many kinds of fungus, yellow and orange, and even 
 scarlet, flamed out as if to rival the softer tints of 
 the trailing honeysuckle and delicate convolvulus 
 and pink foxglove below. It was a lovely dream of 
 fairyland, and the knowing that not far away the 
 waves of the broad blue sea were gently lapping the 
 sandy shore seemed somehow to make it feel all 
 the lovelier. 
 
 The tea of course was a great success when was 
 a gipsy tea, unless people are very cross-tempered 
 and fidgety and difficult to please, anything else? 
 The kettle did its duty well, for the water boiled in 
 it beautifully on the fire of dry sticks and leaves 
 which Percy and Mabel, and busy Ted of course, had 
 collected. The tea tasted very good "not 'moky 
 at all," said Ted; the slices of bread and butter and 
 
60 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 cake disappeared in a wonderful way, till at last 
 everybody said "No, thank you, not any more," when 
 the boys handed round the few disconsolate-looking 
 pieces that remained. 
 
 And after this there was the fun of washing up 
 and packing away, in which Ted greatly distin- 
 guished himself. He would not leave the least 
 shred of paper or even crumbs about, for the fairies 
 would be angry, he said, if their pretty house wasn't 
 left " kite tidy. " And Percy and Mabel were amused 
 at his fancy, and naturally enough it set them talk- 
 ing about fairies and such like. For the children 
 were by themselves now the ladies had gone on a 
 little farther to a place where Ted's mother wanted 
 to sketch, and the gentlemen had set off to climb to 
 the nearest peak, from whence there was a beautiful 
 view of the sea. It would have been too much for 
 Ted, and indeed when his father had asked him if he 
 would like to go part of the way with them, both his 
 mother and Percy noticed that a troubled look came 
 over his happy face, as he said he would rather stay 
 where he was, which was strange for him, for though 
 such a little boy, he was always eager for a climb 
 and anxious to do whatever he saw any one else 
 doing. So kind Percy, mindful of Ted's mother's 
 words, said he would not go either, and stayed with 
 the others, helping them to tidy up the fairies' 
 house. 
 
 "Now," said Ted at last, sitting down on the 
 
THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 61 
 
 * 
 
 grass at Mabel's feet, "now I sink the fairies will 
 be p'eased. It's all kite tidy. Fairies is always 
 angry if peoples is untidy." 
 
 "I thought fairies were always in a good humour," 
 said Percy. "I didn't know they were ever angry." 
 
 "Oh, I think Ted's right," said Mabel. "They 
 are angry with people who are dirty or untidy. 
 Don't you remember a story about them coming to 
 work in a house where the kitchen was always left 
 tidy at night? And they never would come to the 
 next house because it was always in a mess." 
 
 "P'ease tell me that story, Mabel," said Ted. 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't remember it very well," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Do you remember," said Percy, who was lying 
 on the ground staring up at the sky and the bit of 
 brown mountain peak that could be seen from where 
 he was, " do you remember, Mab, the story of a little 
 boy that fell asleep on the top of a mountain, and 
 the fairies spirited him away, and took him down to 
 their country, down inside the mountain? And he 
 thought he had only been away when he came 
 home again, I mean, for they had to let him out 
 again after a while he thought he had only been 
 away a day or two, and, fancy, it had been twenty 
 years! All the children had grown big, and the 
 young people middle-aged, and the middle-aged peo- 
 ple quite old, and none of them knew him again. 
 He had lost all his childhood. Wasn't it sad?" 
 
62 A CHKISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "Yes, very," said Mabel; "I remember the story." 
 
 "I think it's dedful," said Ted. "I don't like 
 mountains, and I don't like diants. I'll never go 
 up a mountain, never." 
 
 "But it wasn't the mountain's fault, Ted," said 
 Percy. "And it wasn't giants, it was fairies." 
 
 "I sink p'raps it was diants," persisted Ted. "I 
 don't like zem. Mr. Brand is a diant," he added 
 mysteriously, in a low voice. 
 
 Percy had been thinking of what Ted's mother 
 had said. Now he felt sure that it was something 
 to do with Mr. Brand that had frightened the little 
 fellow. But Mabel did not know about it. 
 
 "I like mountains," she said. "Indeed I love 
 them. I am always so glad to live where I can 
 see their high peaks reaching up into the sky." 
 
 " But it wouldn't be nice to be alone, kite alone, 
 on the top of one of zem, would it?" said Ted. 
 
 " No, it wouldn't be nice to be alone in any far-off 
 place like that," said Percy, "but of course nobody 
 would ever stay up on the top of a mountain alone." 
 
 "But if zem was made to," said Ted doubtfully. 
 "I wouldn't mind so much if I had Chevie," he 
 added, putting his arm round the dear doggie's neck 
 and leaning his little fair head on him, for of course 
 Chevie was of the party. 
 
 " Poor Ted, " said Percy, laughing. " No one would 
 ever make you live up all alone on the top of a 
 mountain. Mabel, I wish you'd tell us a story," he 
 
THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 63 
 
 said to his sister. " It's so nice here. I shall go to 
 sleep if somebody doesn't do something to keep me 
 awake." 
 
 He was lying at full length on the soft mossy 
 grass in the same place still, and gazing up at the 
 blue sky and brown mountain peak. "Tell us a 
 story, Mab," he repeated lazily. 
 
 "I haven't got any very nice ones just now," said 
 Mabel. " I have been so busy with my lessons, you 
 know, Percy, that I haven't had time for any stories." 
 
 "Can't you make them up yourself?" said Percy. 
 
 "Sometimes I do, a little," she replied. "But I 
 can't make them all quite myself. Sometimes in 
 our German reading-books there are funny little bits 
 of stories, and I add on to them. There was one 
 oh yes, I'll tell you one about a giant who lived on 
 the top of a mountain." 
 
 Ted drew nearer to Mabel, and nestled in to her 
 side. 
 
 "A diant on the top of a mountain," he repeated. 
 "Is it very Tightening, Mabel?" 
 
 "Oh no. Listen and I'll tell you. Once, a long 
 time ago, there was, a long way off, a strange coun- 
 try. There were lots and lots of forests in it, and 
 at the side of the biggest forest of all there rose a 
 chain of high mountains. The people who lived in 
 this .forest were poor, simple sort of people they 
 hadn't much time for anything but work, for it was 
 difficult to gain enough to live on. Most of them 
 
64 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 were charcoal-burners, and there were not very many 
 of them altogether. Of course in a forest there 
 wouldn't be much room for cottages and houses, 
 would there ? And their cottages were none of them 
 near together. Each family had its own hut, quite 
 separated from the others, and unless you belonged 
 to the forest you could hardly find your way from 
 one part of it to the other. The poor people, too, 
 were so busy that they had not much time for going 
 to see each other, or for amusing themselves in any 
 way. They all had a pale sad look, something like 
 the look that I have heard papa say the poor people 
 in some parts of England have the people in those 
 parts where they work so awfully hard in dark smoky 
 towns and never see the sun, or the green fields, or 
 anything fresh and pretty. Of course the forest 
 people were not as badly off as that for their work 
 anyway was in the open air, and the forest was 
 clean not like dirty factories, even though it was 
 so dark. It was the want of sunshine that was their 
 worst trouble, and that gave them that white, dull, 
 half-frightened look. The forest was too thick and 
 dense for the sun to get really into it, even in win- 
 ter, and then, of course, the rays are so thin and pale 
 that they aren't much good if they do come. And 
 the mountains at the side came so close down to the 
 edge of the forest that there was no getting any 
 sunshine there either, for it was the north side there, 
 the side that the sunshine couldn't get to. So for 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 65 
 
 these reasons the place had come to be called 'the 
 sunless country. ' ' 
 
 "What was there at the other side of the forest?" 
 said Percy; "couldn't they have got into the sun- 
 shine at that side ? " 
 
 " No, " said Mabel. " I think there was a river or 
 something. Or else it was that the forest was so 
 very, very big that it would have been quite a jour- 
 ney to get out at any other side. I think that was 
 it. Anyway they couldn't. And they just had to 
 live on without sunshine as well as they could. 
 Their fathers had done so before them, and there was 
 no help for it, they thought. They were too poor 
 and too hard-worked to move away to another coun- 
 try, or to do anything but just go through each day 
 as it came in a dull sad way, seldom speaking even 
 to each other. 
 
 " But do you know, it had not always been so in 
 the sunless forest, though the better times were so 
 long ago that hardly any of the poor people knew it 
 had ever been different. There had, once upon a 
 time, been a way into the sunshine on the other side 
 of the mountain, and this way lay right through the 
 great hill itself. But the mountain belonged to a 
 great and very powerful giant " at this Ted edged 
 still closer to Mabel "who lived in it quite alone. 
 Sometimes he used to come out at a hole in the top, 
 which was his door, and stay up there for a while 
 looking about him, staring at the black forest down 
 
66 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 at his feet, and smiling grimly to himself at the 
 thought of how dark and dull it must be for the 
 people who lived in it. For he was not a kind 
 giant at all. It was he that had shut up the 
 passage through which the poor forest people used 
 to pass to their bright cottages on the other side, for 
 in those days they didn't live in the forest, they only 
 went there for their work, and on Sundays and holi- 
 days they were all happy and merry together, and the 
 little children grew up rosy and bright, quite differ- 
 ent from the poor little wan-faced creatures that now 
 hung sadly about at the hut doors in the forest, 
 looking as if they didn't know how to laugh or play." 
 
 "Why did the naughty diant shut up the way?" 
 asked Ted. 
 
 " Because he had a quarrel with the forest people. 
 He wanted them to let their little boys and girls, or 
 some of them, come to him to be his servants, but 
 they wouldn't, and so he was so angry that he shut 
 up the door. But that was so long ago now that the 
 people had almost forgotten about it the children 
 that the giant had wanted to be his servants were 
 old grandfathers and grandmothers now, and some of 
 them were dead, I dare say, so that the real history 
 of their troubles was forgotten by them but not by 
 the giant, for whenever he came out at the top of the 
 mountain to take some air, he used to look down at 
 the forest and think how dull and miserable they 
 must be there." 
 
THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 67 
 
 "Nasty diant," said Ted. 
 
 "Yes, he was very unkind, but still I think you 
 would have been rather sorry for him too. He was 
 old and all alone, and of course nobody loved him. 
 The people in the forest hardly ever spoke of him. 
 They knew he was there, or that he used to be there, 
 and now and then some of the children who had 
 heard about him used to feel afraid of him and 
 whisper to each other that he would eat them up if 
 he could catch them, but that was about all the 
 notice they took of him. They seemed to have 
 forgotten that he was the cause of their sad, gloomy 
 lives, and indeed I am not sure that any except some 
 very old people really knew. Among these very old 
 people there were a man and his wife who were 
 almost the poorest of all in the forest. They were 
 so poor because they were almost past work, and 
 they had no children to work for them. All that 
 they had was a little granddaughter, who lived with 
 them because her father and mother were dead. 
 And it was a queer thing that she was quite differ- 
 ent from the other poor children in the forest. They 
 were all pale and sad and crushed-looking like their 
 parents. This little girl was bright-haired and 
 bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. She was the one 
 merry happy creature in the forest, and all the poor 
 people used to stand and look at her as she flitted 
 about, and wish that their children were the same. 
 I don't know what her real name was; the story 
 
68 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 didn't tell, but the name she got to have among the 
 forest people was Sunshine at least it was Sun- 
 shine in German, but I think 'Sunny' is a nicer 
 name, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Percy; and 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, "'Sunny' is nicest." 
 
 "Well, we'll call her 'Sunny.' The reason that 
 she was so different was partly that she hadn't been 
 born in the forest. Her father, who was the son of 
 these old people, had gone away, as some few of the 
 forest people did, to another country, and there he 
 had married a bright-haired, pretty girl. But she 
 had died, and he himself got very ill, and he had 
 only strength to bring his baby girl back to the forest 
 to his parents when he too died. So Sunny's his- 
 tory had been rather sad, you see, but still it hadn't 
 made her sad it seemed as if the sunshine was 
 in her somehow, and that nothing could send it 
 away." 
 
 Mabel stopped. Voices and steps were heard 
 coming near. 
 
 "They're coming back," she said. "I'll have to 
 finish the story another time. I didn't think it 
 would take so long to tell." 
 
 " Oh do go on now, dear, dear Mabel, oh do ! " cried 
 Ted beseechingly. 
 
 But Mabel's fair face grew red. 
 
 "I couldn't, Ted, dear," she said, "not before big 
 people," and Percy sympathised with her. 
 
THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 69 
 
 "We'll hear the rest in the garden at home," he 
 said. 
 
 " Thoo won't tell it without me, not without Ted, 
 p'ease," asked the little fellow. 
 
 "No, no, of course not, darling," said Mabel as 
 she kissed his eager face. 
 
 Just then a ray of bright evening sunshine fell on 
 Ted's brown hair, lighting it up and deepening it to 
 gold, and as the little fellow caught it in his eyes, 
 he looked up laughing. 
 
 "There's Sunny kissing Ted too," he said merrily. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE STORY OF SUNNY (Concluded). 
 
 " A child of light, a radiant lass, 
 And cheerful as the morning air." 
 
 THEY were all three laughing at Ted's wit 
 when his mother and the other ladies came upon 
 them. 
 
 "You seem very happy, children," said she. 
 
 "Oh ses," said Ted. "Mabel has been telling us 
 such a lovely story. It's not finnied yet. She's 
 going to tell the rest in the garden at home. Oh, I 
 am so happy. It's been such a sprendid day." 
 
 He began half humming to himself in the excess 
 of his delight. 
 
 "Ted wishes somebody would sing a song," he 
 said. 
 
 His mother glanced at Mabel. Poor Mabel's face 
 grew very red again. It would be worse than telling 
 a story. 
 
 "If we all sang together," she said timidly, "I 
 wouldn't mind trying to begin." 
 
 So in a minute or two her clear young voice sang 
 out like a lark's it seemed to mount higher and 
 still higher, gathering strength and courage as it 
 
 70 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 71 
 
 grew, and then softly dropping again as if to fetch 
 the others, who joined her in the old familiar chorus 
 of the simple song she had chosen " Home, sweet 
 home." 
 
 Ted listened entranced, and his little voice here 
 and there could be distinguished. But suddenly, 
 as Mabel stopped and a momentary silence fell on 
 them all, he turned to his mother, and throwing 
 himself into her arms, burst into tears. 
 
 "Muzzer," he said, "I can't bear it. It's too 
 pitty," and though his mother and Mabel soothed 
 the excited little fellow with gentle words and 
 caresses, there were tears in more eyes than Ted's 
 as they all thanked Mabel for her singing. 
 
 It was the next day that they had the rest of the 
 story. The children were all in the garden together, 
 not far from Ted's favourite "bridge." They could 
 hear the babble of the little brook as it chattered 
 past in the sunshine, and now and then the distant 
 cry of a sea-bird would sound through the clear air, 
 making Cheviott prick up his ears and look very 
 wide-awake all of a sudden, though in reality, being 
 no longer in the first bloom of youth, he was apt to 
 get rather drowsy on a hot afternoon. 
 
 " We'se all ready, Mabel," said Ted, settling him- 
 self down comfortably in his favourite rest at her 
 side. "Now go on p'ease. I can see the top of the 
 mountain kite nice from here, and zen I can sink I'll 
 see the old diant poking his head out," evidently the 
 
72 A CHRISTMAS CHIM). 
 
 child's fear of the mountain was fast becoming a 
 thing of the past, and Percy felt quite pleased. 
 
 "Well," began Mabel, "I was telling you that 
 Sunny had lived with her old grandfather and grand- 
 mother since she was quite little. They were very 
 kind to her, but they were very poor, almost the 
 poorest of all in the forest. And yet their cottage 
 never seemed quite so dull and sad as the others. 
 How could it, when there was always Sunny 's bright 
 head flitting about, and her merry voice sounding 
 like a bird's ? 
 
 " The old people looked at her half with pleasure 
 and half sadly. 
 
 " 4 It can't last,' the old man said one day, when 
 the little girl was running and jumping about in her 
 usual happy way. 
 
 " The old woman knew what he meant without his 
 explaining, and she nodded her head sadly, and just 
 then Sunny came flying into the cottage to show 
 them some flowers she had actually found in the 
 forest, which, you see, was the greatest wonder pos- 
 sible, for there were almost never any flowers to be 
 seen. And Sunny told them how she had found 
 them in a little corner where the trees did not grow 
 quite so thick, so that more light could get in. 
 And when she saw how surprised the old people 
 were, she looked at them rather strangely, and some 
 new thoughts seemed to be awaking in. her mind, 
 and she said, 'Grandfather, why aren't there more 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 73 
 
 flowers in the forest, and why am I the only little 
 girl that laughs and sings? Why does everybody 
 look sad here ? I can remember a little, just a little, 
 about the other country I lived in before I came 
 here. People used to laugh and smile there, and 
 my mother had bright hair like mine, and father too 
 was not sad till after mother had gone away and we 
 came to this dark land. Why is it so dark, and 
 why do you all look so sad ? ' 
 
 " The old man told her it was all for want of the 
 sun, 'the blessed sun, ' he called it, and Sunny thought 
 about his words a great deal. And bit by bit she 
 got the whole story from him, for he was one of the 
 few remaining old people who knew the reason of 
 their misfortunes. And Sunny thought and thought 
 it over so much that she began to leave off dancing 
 and laughing and singing as she used, so that her 
 poor grandfather and grandmother began to be afraid 
 that the sadness of the forest was at last spoiling her 
 happy nature, and for a while they were very sorry 
 about her. But one day she told them what she had 
 in her mind. This was what she said to them 
 
 " 'Dear grandfather and grandmother, I cannot bear 
 to see the sadness of the poor people here, and I have 
 been thinking if nothing can be done. And a few 
 nights ago I had a strange dream. I dreamt that a 
 beautiful lady stood beside me and said, " Go, Sunny, 
 and have no fear. The giant will not harm you." 
 And since then it has come into my mind that I 
 
74 A CHRISTMAS CHILI). 
 
 might win back the sunshine for our poor neigh- 
 bours, and for you too, dear grandfather and grand- 
 mother, for ypu are not so very old yet, if you will 
 let me go to see if I can melt the giant's hard heart. ' 
 
 "Sunny was standing in front of the old couple, 
 and as she spoke, to their amazement, a sudden ray 
 of sunshine crept in through the little rough window 
 of the cottage and fell softly on her bright head. 
 Her grandfather looked at her grandmother, and her 
 grandmother looked at her grandfather. They didn't 
 know how to speak they were so surprised. Never, 
 since they were quite, quite little children had they 
 seen such a thing. And they whispered to each 
 other that it must be a magic sign, they must let the 
 child go. I think it was very good and kind of them 
 to let her go, the only thing they had to cheer them. 
 The tears rolled down their poor old faces as they 
 said good-bye to her, not knowing if they would live 
 to see her return. But they said to each other, 4 We 
 have not very many years to live. It would be very 
 wrong of us to lose the chance of life and happiness 
 for all the poor forest people just to keep our bit of 
 sunshine to ourselves.' And so they let her go, for 
 they were good old people." 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, "zem was very kind. But how 
 dedful for Sunny to have to go to the diant. Did 
 her go all alone, Mabel?" 
 
 " Yes, all alone. But she wasn't frightened. And 
 somehow her grandfather and grandmother weren't 
 
THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 75 
 
 frightened for her either. They had a feeling that 
 she had to go, and so she did. She set off the very 
 next morning. Her grandfather explained the way 
 to her, for old as he was he had never forgotten the 
 days when the passage through the giant's mountain 
 was left free and open, so that there was no need 
 for the forest people to spend all their lives in the 
 gloom and shade. 
 
 "Sunny walked quietly along the dark paths 
 among the trees. She didn't dance and skip as 
 usual, for she felt as if all of a sudden she had 
 grown almost into a woman, with the thought of 
 what she had to do for her poor neighbours. And 
 as she looked about her, she felt as if she had never 
 before quite noticed how dark and chill and gloomy 
 it was. She had a good way to walk, for since the 
 closing of the passage the people had moved farther 
 and farther into the forest. They had grown afraid 
 of the giant, and were glad to get as far from him 
 as they could, for there was no good to be got by 
 staying near him. So Sunny walked on, past the 
 cottages she knew, where she nodded to the people 
 she saw, but without speaking to them, which was 
 so unlike her usual merry way that they all looked 
 after her in surprise and wondered what had come 
 over the little girl. And one or two of them shook 
 their heads and said sadly that she was getting to 
 be like the rest of them. But Sunny walked on, 
 farther and farther, now and then smiling quietly to 
 
T6 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 herself, and her bright little head shining in the 
 darkness almost as if the sun was lighting it up. 
 She went a good way, but there was nothing new or 
 different. It was always the dark forest and the 
 gloomy trees. But at last she saw, close to her, 
 behind the trees, the dark sides of the great moun- 
 tain, and she knew that she must be near the 
 closed-up door." 
 
 "Oh! " said Ted, "wasn't her afraid of bears?" 
 
 "No," said Mabel, "she wasn't afraid of anything. 
 She went quietly up to the door and stood before it. 
 It was barred and barred with iron, and it was so 
 long since it had been opened that the ivy and those 
 sorts of plants had grown all over it, creeping round 
 the iron bars. It looked as if it hadn't been opened 
 for a hundred years, and I dare say it hadn't been. 
 But Sunny knew what to do. She hunted about 
 among the leaves and branches till she found a little 
 silver knob her grandfather had told her about it ; 
 and the queer thing was that though the iron bars 
 were quite rusted over so that you wouldn't have 
 known what they were, the little silver knob *was 
 still bright and shining as if it had been cleaned 
 every day always." 
 
 "Wif plate-powder," said Ted, who was very- 
 learned about such matters, as he was very fond of 
 watching the servants at their work. 
 
 "Yes," said Mabel, "just as if it had been cleaned 
 with plate-powder. Well, Sunny pressed this little 
 
SHE HUNTED ABOUT AMONG THE LEAVES AND BRANCHES TILT- 
 SHE TOUND A LITTLE SILVEU KNOB." p. 76. 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 77 
 
 knob, and a minute or two after she heard a clear 
 tinkling bell. That was just what her grandfather 
 had told her she would hear, so she stood quite still 
 and waited. In a little while she seemed to hear a 
 sound as of something coming along the passage, and 
 suddenly the top part of the door at least it was 
 more like a window cut in the door opened, and a 
 voice, though she could not see anybody, called out, 
 ' Have you come to stay ? ' This too was what her 
 grandfather had told her she would hear, so she knew 
 what to say, and she answered 'Yes.' Then the 
 voice said again, 'At what price?' and Sunny an- 
 swered, 'Sunshine for the forest.' But her heart 
 began to beat faster when the door slowly opened 
 and she saw that she must enter the dark passage. 
 There was no one to be seen, even though the voice 
 had sounded quite near, so Sunny just walked on, 
 looking about her, for gradually as she went farther, 
 either her eyes grew used to the darkness, or a slight 
 light began to come, and in a few minutes she saw 
 before her a very, very high staircase. It went 
 straight up, without turnings or landings, and the 
 steps were quite white, so she saw them plainly 
 though the light was dim, and as there was nowhere 
 else to go, she just went straight on. I can't tell 
 you what a long time she seemed to keep going 
 upstairs, but at last the steps stopped, and before her 
 she saw another door. It wasn't a door like the one 
 down below, it was more like a gate, for it was a 
 
78 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 sort of a grating that you could see through. Sunny 
 pressed her face against it and peeped in. She saw 
 a large dark room, with a rounded roof something 
 like a church, and in one corner a very old, grim- 
 looking man was sitting. He had a very long beard, 
 but he didn't look so awfully big as Sunny had 
 expected, for she knew he must be the giant. He 
 was sitting quite still, and it seemed to Sunny that 
 he was shivering. Anyway he looked very old and 
 very lonely and sad, and instead of feeling fright- 
 ened of him the little girl felt very sorry for him. 
 She stood there quite still, but though she didn't 
 make the least noise he found out she was there. 
 He waved his hand, and the barred door opened and 
 Sunny walked in. She walked right up to the giant 
 and made him a curtsey. Rather to her surprise he 
 made her a bow, then he waved his hands about and 
 moved his lips as if he were speaking, but no sound 
 came, and Sunny stared at him in surprise. She 
 began to wonder if he was deaf and dumb, and if so 
 how could she explain to him what she had come for ? 
 
 " 4 I can't understand what you are saying, sir,' 
 she said very politely, and then, to her still greater 
 surprise, the waving of his hands and the moving of 
 his lips seemed to succeed, for in a very queer deep 
 voice he answered her. 
 
 "'What do you want? ' he said. 4 I sent my voice 
 downstairs to speak to you, and he has been loitering 
 on the way, lazy fellow, all this time. There are no 
 
THE STOKY OF SUNNY. 79 
 
 good servants to be had now-a-days, none. I've not 
 had one worth his salt since I sent my old ones back 
 to Ogreland when they got past work. What do 
 you want ? ' 
 
 "' Sunshine for the forest people.' 
 
 " That was all Sunny said, and she looked at the 
 grim old giant straight in the face. He looked at 
 her, and went on shivering and rubbing his hands. 
 Then he said, with a frown, 
 
 "'Why should they have sunshine? I can't get 
 it myself, since I'm too old to get up to the top 
 there. Sunshine indeed! ' and then he suddenly 
 stretched out his hand to her and made a grab at 
 her hair, screaming out, 'Why, you've got sunshine! 
 Come here, and let me warm my hands. Ugh ! that's 
 the first time I've felt a little less chilly these hun- 
 dred years,' and Sunny stood patiently beside him 
 and let him stroke her golden hair up and down, and 
 in a minute or two she said quietly, 
 
 "'Will you unfasten the door, good Mr. Giant, 
 and let the poor people through to the other side ? ' 
 
 " The giant still kept hold of her hair. ' It would 
 be no good cutting it off the sunshine would go 
 out of it, ' Sunny heard him saying to himself. So 
 she just said again quietly, 'Will you unfasten the 
 door, good Mr. Giant ? ' 
 
 "And at last he said, 'I'll consider about it. 
 Your hair's getting cold. Go upstairs,' and he 
 nodded his head towards a door in the corner of the 
 
80 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 room, 'go upstairs and fetch some sunshine for me, 
 and come down again. ' 
 
 " But Sunny wouldn't stir till she had got some- 
 thing out of him. And she said for the third time, 
 
 " ' Will you unfasten the door, good Mr. Giant, if 
 I go upstairs to please you ? ' 
 
 " And the giant gave her a push, and said to her, 
 'Get off with you, you tiresome child. Yes, I'll open 
 the door if you'll go and bathe your hair well, and 
 then come down to warm my hands.' 
 
 " So Sunny went upstairs. This stair wasn't like 
 the other. It was a turny, screwy stair that went 
 round and round itself, for you see it was near the 
 top of the mountain and there wasn't so much room 
 as down below. Sunny felt rather giddy when she 
 got to the top, but she got all right again in a 
 minute when she pushed open the little door she 
 found there and came out into the sunlight. It was 
 so lovely, and remember, she hadn't seen sunshine, 
 even though some of the brightness had stayed with 
 her, since she was a very little girl. You have no 
 idea how pretty it was up there, not gloomy at all, 
 and with the beautiful warm sunshine pouring down 
 all round. Sunny was very pleased to warm herself 
 in it, and then when she looked down over the side 
 of the mountain and saw the dark tops of the forest 
 trees, she was still more pleased to think that soon 
 her poor friends would have a chance of enjoying it 
 too. And when she thought that her hair had 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 81 
 
 caught enough sunshine to please the giant she 
 called down through the screwy staircase, 'Have you 
 opened the door, Mr. Giant ? ' And when the giant 
 said, 'Come down and I'll tell you,' she answered, 
 'No, Mr. Giant, I can't come till you've opened the 
 door. ' And then she heard him grumbling to him- 
 self, and in a minute she heard a rattling noise, and 
 she knew the door was opened, and then she came 
 down. She had settled with her grandfather that if 
 she didn't come straight back, he would send some 
 of the people to watch for the door being opened, so 
 she knew it would be all right, for once the giant 
 had agreed to open it, he couldn't shut it again 
 that was settled somehow, some magic way I sup- 
 pose, the story didn't say how. So then Sunny came 
 downstairs again, and the giant stroked her hair up 
 and down till his poor old hands were quite warm, 
 and he grew quite pleased and good-natured. But 
 he wouldn't let Sunny go away, and she had to stay, 
 you see, because the top-door, the one like a gate, 
 was still shut up. And anyway she didn't want to 
 be unkind to the giant. She promised him that she 
 would come back to see him every day if he liked if 
 only he would let her go, but he wouldn't, so she 
 had to stay. I don't know how long she stayed. It 
 was a long time, for the story said she grew thin 
 and white with being shut up in the giant's cave 
 and having no running about. It was worse than 
 the forest. The only thing that kept her alive was 
 
82 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 the sunshine she got every morning, for there was 
 always sunshine at the top of the mountain, and 
 then, too, the comfort of knowing that the poor 
 people were enjoying it too, for when she was up on 
 the top she could hear their voices down below, as 
 they came to the door. Day by day she heard their 
 voices grow merrier and brighter, and after a while 
 she could even hear the little children laughing and 
 shouting with glee. And Sunny felt that she didn't 
 mind for herself, she was so glad to think that she 
 had done some good to her poor friends. But she 
 got paler and thinner and weaker it was so very 
 tiring to stand such a long time every day while the 
 giant stroked the sunshine out of her golden hair to 
 warm his withered old hands, and it was so terribly 
 dark and dull and cold in the gloomy cavern. She 
 would hardly have known how the days went or 
 when Avas day and when was night, but for the giant 
 sending her upstairs every morning. But one morn- 
 ing came when she could not go ; she got up a few 
 steps, and then her strength went away and she 
 seemed to get half asleep, and she said to herself 
 that she was going to die, and she did not know 
 anything more. She seemed to be dreaming. She 
 fancied the giant came to look for her, and that his 
 old face grew sad and sorry when he saw her. And 
 then she thought she heard him say, 'Poor little girl, 
 I did not mean to hurt her. I have done harm 
 enough. Sunny, forgive me. The giant will do 
 
THE STORY OF SUNNY. 83 
 
 you and your people no more harm. His day is over. ' 
 Then she really did sleep, for a long time I fancy, 
 for when she woke up she could not think where she 
 was. She thought at first she was on the top of the 
 mountain, it seemed so beautifully bright and warm. 
 She sat up a little and looked about her, and she 
 couldn't think where she was, for on one side close 
 to her, she saw the dark trees of the forest that she 
 knew so well, and on the other, smiling green fields 
 and orchards and cottages with gardens filled with 
 flowers, just the sort of country her grandfather had 
 told her he remembered when he was a child on the 
 other side of the great hill. It was just as if the 
 mountain had melted away. And, just fancy, that 
 tvas what had happened! For in a little while 
 Sunny heard voices coming near her, all talking 
 eagerly. It was the people of the forest who had 
 found out what had come to pass, and they were all 
 hurrying to look for Sunny, for they were terribly 
 afraid that the giant had taken her away to Ogreland 
 with the mountain. But he hadn't, you see! And 
 Sunny and all the forest people lived all their lives 
 as happy as could be they were happier even than 
 in the old days the grandfather and grandmother 
 remembered, for not only were they free to leave the 
 dark forest and enjoy the sunlight as often as they 
 liked, but the sunshine now found its way by all 
 the chinks and crannies among the branches into 
 the very forest itself." 
 
84 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. . 
 
 "And did they never hear anything more of the 
 giant?" asked Percy. 
 
 "No," said Mabel, "only in hot summer days 
 sometimes, when the sun was beating down too 
 much on the fields and gardens, the people of that 
 country used to notice a large soft gray cloud that 
 often came between them and the sunshine, and 
 would stay there till the great heat grew less. This 
 cloud seemed always the same shape, and somehow, 
 Sunny, remembering her vision of the giant, thought 
 to herself that the cloud was perhaps he, and that he 
 wanted to make up for his long cruelty. And the 
 children of the forest having heard her story used to 
 laugh when they saw the cloud, and say to each 
 other, 'See, there is the giant warming his hands.' 
 But Sunny would say softly in a whisper, 'Thank 
 you, Mr. Giant.' 
 
 " And though it is a very, very long time since all 
 that happened, it has never been quite forgotten, 
 and the people of that country are noted for their 
 healthy happy faces, and the little children for their 
 rosy cheeks and golden hair." 
 
 Mabel stopped. 
 
 "It is a very pretty story," said Percy. "Are 
 there more like it in the book where you read it?" 
 
 Mabel was just going to answer, when her atten- 
 tion was caught by Ted. 
 
 "I do believe he's asleep," she said softly, for Ted 
 had curled himself up like a dormouse in his little 
 
THE STOEY OF SUNNY. 85 
 
 nest at her side. But just then the two-legged 
 dormouse gave a funny chuckle, which showed that 
 whether he had been asleep or not, he certainly was 
 so no longer. 
 
 "What are you laughing at, Teddy?" said Percy.' 
 "I were just sinking," said Ted, "what a silly 
 boy Ted were to be afraid of mountains Ted would 
 like to go up to the very, very top," he went on 
 valorously. " Ted wouldn't mind a bit not, " with 
 a prudent reservation, "not if thoo and Mabel was 
 wif me." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LITTLE NARCISSA. 
 
 " But, I think, of all new-comers, 
 Little children are the best." 
 
 FROM this time, I think, Ted lost his fear of 
 mountains and giants. It was not till a long time 
 afterwards that he explained to his mother exactly 
 how it had been, and by that time he was of course 
 quite big enough to understand that Mr. Brand had 
 only been joking. But still he did* not much care 
 about seeing that gentleman again. He generally 
 managed to be out of the way when he saw the 
 dog -cart with the gray horse driving in at the gate, 
 and just once, when he would not have had time to 
 run off without actual rudeness, which little Ted 
 never was guilty of, he only waited to shake hands 
 and say "Quite well, thank thoo," before he dis- 
 appeared in so unaccountable a manner that he could 
 not be found as long as Mr. Brand's visit lasted. 
 
 It was a good deal thanks to Mabel's story that 
 he grew to like his old friend the mountain again. 
 But partly too, I dare say, he forgot his fears on 
 account of several very interesting things that hap- 
 pened about this time. It was a great sorrow to 
 him when Percy had to go back to school that was 
 
LITTLE NAKCISSA. 87 
 
 one of little Ted's lasting or rather returning sor- 
 rows, all through his childhood. Only, like many 
 things in our lives, if we learn to look at them in 
 the right way, it was certainly a trouble with a 
 bright side to it, a cloud with a silver lining a 
 silver lining which shone indeed all the brighter 
 for the gray outside for was there not the delight, 
 the delicious delight, of the coming back again, the 
 showing all the changes in the garden since Percy 
 was last there, the new toys and other little presents 
 that Ted had received, and listening to Percy's 
 thrilling accounts of school-life, the relating his own 
 adventures ? 
 
 Still there were times, especially now that Ted 
 was really growing very sensible, that he wished for 
 some other companion in his simple daily life, some 
 one who, like the little fishes, did not have to go to 
 school. And now and then, when, in his rare expe- 
 ditions to the sea-side town not far off, he saw little 
 groups of brothers and sisters trotting along together, 
 or when in the stories his mother read to him he 
 heard of happy nursery parties, Ted used to wish he 
 had a little " bruvver or sister, even a baby one would 
 be very nice." For deep down in his loving heart 
 there was already the true manly spirit, the longing 
 to have something to take care of and protect; some- 
 thing tinier and more tender even than wee Ted 
 himself. 
 
 And to make his child-life complete this pretty 
 
88 
 
 thing came to him. With the autumn days, just 
 when Ted was beginning to feel a little sad at the 
 summer brightness going away, and his garden work 
 had come to be chiefly helping old David to sweep 
 up the fast-falling leaves, there came to Ted a dear 
 little baby sister. She was the dearest little thing 
 bright-eyed and merry, and looking as if she was 
 ready for all sorts of fun. She was stronger than 
 Ted had been, and to tell the truth I think I must 
 say prettier. For sweet and fair and dear as was 
 Ted's face both in baby- and boy-hood, he was not 
 what one would call pretty. Not the sort of child 
 whose proud nurse comes home with wonderful stories 
 of ladies stopping her in the street to ask whose 
 beautiful baby he was not a splendidly vigorous, 
 stalwart little man like a small eight-years-old of 
 my acquaintance whose mother was lately afraid to 
 walk about the streets of Berlin with him lest the 
 old Emperor, as he sometimes does, should want to 
 have him to make an officer of! No; Ted, though 
 lithe and active as a squirrel, merry as a cricket, 
 was not a "showy" child. He was just our own 
 dear little Ted, our happy-hearted Christmas child. 
 But I suppose there never was in this world any 
 one so happy but that it was possible for him to be 
 happier. And this "more happiness" came to Ted 
 in the shape of his baby sister, Narcissa. Boys who 
 despise sisters, "girls" in any shape, big or little, 
 don't know what a great deal they lose. Ted was 
 
BABY SHOWED, OK TED thought SHE DID, A QUITE EXTRAORDI- 
 NARY LOVE FOR THE BOUQUETS HER LITTLE BROTHER ARRANGED 
 FOR HER. p. 89. 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 89 
 
 still a good way off the u big boy " stage, and indeed 
 I don't think anything could have made it possible 
 for him to look at things as too many big boys do. 
 By the time he reached schoolboy-hood, Narcissa was 
 a dainty maiden of five or six, and quite able to 
 stand up for herself in a little queenly way, even 
 had her brother been less tender and devoted. And 
 of the years between, though I would like to tell you 
 something, I cannot tell you half nor a quarter. 
 They were happy sunny years, though not quite with- 
 out clouds of course. And the first summer of little 
 Cissy's life was a sort of bright opening to them. 
 
 It was again a very beautiful summer. The chil- 
 dren almost lived out-of-doors. Poor nurse found it 
 difficult to get the work in the house that fell to her 
 share finished in the morning before Ted was tug- 
 ging at her to " turn out into the garden, baby does 
 so want to turn;" and baby soon learnt to clap her 
 hands and chuckle with glee when her little hat was 
 tied on and she was carried downstairs to her per- 
 ambulator waiting at the door. And there was new 
 interest for Ted in hunting for the loveliest wild 
 flowers he could find, as baby showed, or Ted thought 
 she did, a quite extraordinary love for the bouquets 
 her little brother arranged for her. 
 
 " Her knows kite well which is the prettiest ones, 
 doesn't her, nurse?" he said one day when they 
 were all three all four rather, for of course Chevie 
 was one of the group established in their favourite 
 
90 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 place under the shade of a great tree, whose waving 
 branches little Cissy loved so much that she would 
 cry when nurse wheeled her away from it. " I think 
 baby knows lots, though she can't speak; " and baby, 
 pleased at his evidently talking of her, burst into a 
 funny crowing laugh, which seemed exactly as if 
 she knew and approved of what he was saying. 
 
 "Baby's a darling," said nurse. 
 
 "How soon will her learn to speak?" Ted in- 
 quired gravely. 
 
 " Not just yet. She hasn't got any teeth. Nobody 
 can speak without teeth," said nurse. 
 
 "I hope," said Ted, more gravely still, "I hope 
 Dod hasn't forgotten them." 
 
 Nurse turned away to hide a smile. 
 
 "No fear, Master Ted," she said in a minute. 
 "She'll have nice little teeth bye-and-bye, you'll see. 
 They'll be wee tiny white specks at first, and then 
 they'll grow quite big and strong enough to bite 
 with. That's how your teeth came. Not all of a 
 sudden, you see." 
 
 "Ses," said Ted. "Nothing comes all in one 
 sudden. The f 'owers is weeny, weeny buds at first, 
 and then they gets big. Nurse, I'm going to take 
 my cart to get a lot of daisies down by the brook for 
 baby. She likes to roll zem in her hands," and off 
 he set with his little blue cart and white horse, his 
 best beloved possession, and which had done good 
 service in its time, to fill it with flowers for Cissy. 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 91 
 
 A few minutes later, as he was manfully dragging 
 the cart up the path again, gee-upping and gee- 
 whoing at the horse, which was supposed to find the 
 daisy heads a heavy load uphill, his mother came out 
 to the garden. 
 
 "Ted, dear," she said, "your father is going to 
 
 drive me to A . It is a long time since you were 
 
 there, and I should like to have my little boy to go 
 about with me while your papa is busy. I have a 
 good deal of shopping to do. Would you like to go 
 with me ? " 
 
 Ted gave a shout of pleasure. Then suddenly 
 his glance fell on the little sister still in her peram- 
 bulator under the big tree, and his eyes filled with 
 tears. 
 
 "I would like dedfully to go," he said, "but poor 
 Cissy. I is so afraid Cissy will cry if I go." 
 
 He lifted his wistful little face to his mother's 
 with an expression that went to her heart. 
 
 "Dear Ted," she said; "you are a good, kind, 
 little boy. But don't make yourself unhappy about 
 Cissy. She is too little to cry for your going away, 
 though she will laugh to see you come back." 
 
 Ted's face cleared, but suddenly a rosy colour 
 spread over it. 
 
 "Muzzer," he said, in a low voice, tugging gently 
 at her dress to make her stoop down, " muzzer, I sink 
 I were going to cry not all for poor baby being sorry, 
 but part 'cos I did so want to go." 
 
92 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Mother understood his simple confession. 
 
 "Yes, dear," she said, "I dare say you did, and it 
 is right of you to tell me. My good little Ted," she 
 could not resist adding again, and again little Ted's 
 face grew red, but this time with pleasure at mother's 
 praise. 
 
 Baby bore the announcement, which he considered 
 it his duty to make to her with great formality, very 
 philosophically. Less philosophically did she take 
 nurse's wheeling her away from under her beloved 
 tree with its fluttering branches, towards the house, 
 where nurse had to go to prepare Ted for his 
 expedition. In fact, I am sorry to say that so little 
 did the young lady realise what was expected of her, 
 that she burst into a loud roar, which was quite too 
 much for Ted's feelings. 
 
 "Dear baby, sweet baby," he cried, "thoo mustn't 
 be tooked away from thoo's tree. I'll ask muzzer to 
 deck me, nurse," he went on eagerly, for his mother 
 had returned to the house, " or I can nearly kite well 
 deck myself. I'll call thoo if I can't find my things. 
 I'll run and ask muzzer," and off he went, so eager 
 to give no trouble, so ready and helpful that nurse 
 thought it best to let him have his way, and to 
 devote her attention to the discomposed Miss Baby. 
 
 Ted did not find his mother quite so quickly as he 
 expected, though he peeped into the drawing-room 
 and called her by name as he passed her own room 
 upstairs, on his way to the nursery. The fact was 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 93 
 
 that mother was in the kitchen consulting with cook 
 as to the groceries required to be ordered, and it 
 never came into Ted's head to look for her there at 
 this time of day. So he went straight on to the 
 nursery, and managing with a good deal of tugging 
 and pulling and coaxing to open his drawer in the 
 chest, he got out his best little coat and hat and 
 prepared to don them. But first he looked at his 
 hands, which were none the whiter for their recent 
 ravages among the daisies. 
 
 " Zem's very dirty, " he said to himself ; " zem must 
 be washed." 
 
 There was water in the jug, but Ted's ambition 
 was aroused, and great things were to be expected of 
 a little boy who was big enough to "deck himself," 
 as he would have described the process. 
 
 "Ses, zem's very dirty," he repeated, contemplat- 
 ing the two sunburnt little paws in question. " Zem 
 should have hot water. Hot water makes zem ze 
 most clean." 
 
 He glanced round, the hot water was not far to 
 seek, for, though it was June, the weather was not 
 very warm, and nurse generally kept a small fire 
 burning in the day-nursery. And beside the fire, 
 temptingly beside the fire, stood the kettle, into 
 which Ted peeping, satisfied himself that there was 
 water enough for his purpose. He would hardly 
 have had patience to fetch it had it not been there, 
 so eager was he for the delights of putting it on to 
 
94 A CHRISTMAS CHILp. 
 
 boil. And, wonderful to say, he managed it ; he got 
 the kettle, heavy for him to lift, as you can imagine, 
 safely on to the fire, and then, with immense satis- 
 faction, sat down in front of it to watch the result. 
 There was very little water in the kettle, but, though 
 Ted did not think about that, it was all the less 
 trying for his patience. And I hardly think either, 
 that the water could have been quite cold in the first 
 place, or else the fairies came down the chimney and 
 blew up the fire with their invisible bellows to help 
 little Ted, for certainly the kettle began to boil 
 amazingly soon first it simmered gently and then 
 it began to sing more loudly, and at last what Ted 
 called " moke " began to come out of the spout, and 
 he knew that the kettle was boiling. 
 
 Ted was so used to hear nurse talking about the 
 kettle " boiling " for tea, that it never came into his 
 head that it was not necessary to have "boiling" 
 water to wash his poor little hands. I don't indeed 
 know what might not have happened to the whole of 
 his poor little body had not his mother at that 
 moment come into the room. A queer sight met her 
 eyes there was Ted, more than half undressed, 
 barefooted and red-faced, in the act of lifting off the 
 steaming kettle, round the handle of which, with 
 wonderful precaution, he had wrapped his pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Ted's mother kept her presence of mind. She did 
 not speak till the kettle was safely landed on the 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 95 
 
 floor, and Ted, with a sigh of relief, looked up and 
 saw her at the door. 
 
 "I is decking myself, muzzer," he said with a 
 pleased smile, and a charming air of importance. 
 "Poor baby cried, so I told nurse I would deck 
 myself, and nurse didn't mind." 
 
 "Didn't she?" said his mother, rather surprised. 
 
 " Oh, she thoughtened p'raps I'd find thoo, I amem- 
 ber," Ted continued, correcting himself. 
 
 "But did nurse know you were going to boil 
 water?" said his mother. 
 
 "Oh no," said Ted, "it were only that my hands 
 is so dirty. Zem needs hot water to make zem 
 clean." 
 
 "Hot water, but not boiling," said his mother; 
 "my dear little boy, do you know you might have 
 scalded yourself dreadfully?" 
 
 "I put my hankerwick not to burn my hands," 
 said Ted, rather disconsolately. 
 
 "Yes, dear. I know you meant it for the best, 
 but just think if you had dropped the kettle and 
 burnt yourself. And nurse has always told you not 
 to play with fire or hot water." 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, "but I weren't playing. I were 
 going to wash my hands to be nice to go out wif 
 thoo," and his blue eyes filled with tears. But they 
 were, soon wiped away, and when his mother had 
 with the help of some of the hot water made face and 
 hands as clean as could be, and smoothed the tangled 
 
96 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 curls and fastened the best little coat, Ted looked 
 very "nice " indeed, I can assure you, for his drive 
 to A . 
 
 It was a very happy drive. Perched safely be- 
 tween his father and mother, Ted was as proud as a 
 king. It was all so pretty, the driving through the 
 shady lanes, where the honeysuckle and wild-roses 
 were just beginning to show some tints of colour, 
 the peeps now and then of the sea below in its blue 
 beauty, the glancing up sometimes at the mountain 
 top, Ted's old friend, along whose sides they were 
 actually travelling it was all delightful. And 
 when they drew near the little town, and the houses 
 began to stand closer, till at last they came in rows 
 and streets, and the old mare's hoofs clattered over 
 the stones of the market-place so that the people in 
 the sleepy little place came out to see who was com- 
 ing, Ted's excitement knew no bounds. He had 
 
 almost forgotten A , it was so long since he had 
 
 been there the sights of the shops and what ap- 
 peared to him their wonderful contents, the sight 
 even of so many people and children walking about, 
 was almost too much for the little country child ; it 
 seemed to take his breath away. 
 
 He recovered his composure, however, when he 
 found himself trotting about the streets with his 
 mother. She had several shops to go to, each, to 
 Ted, more interesting than the other. There was 
 the ironmonger's to visit, for cook had begged for a 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. ' 97 
 
 new preserving pan and the nursery tea-pot handle 
 was broken : there were various milk jugs and plates 
 to replace at the china shop ; brown holland to get at 
 the draper's for Ted's summer blouses. At two or 
 three of the shops his mother, being a regular cus- 
 tomer and having an account with them, did not pay, 
 and among these was the grocer's, where she had 
 rather a long list of things needed for the store- 
 closet, and while she was explaining about them all 
 to the white-aproned young man behind the counter, 
 Ted marched about the shop on a voyage of discovery 
 on his own account. There were so many interest- 
 ing things barrels of sugar, white, brown, and 
 darker brown still, neat piles of raisins and currants, 
 closely fastened bottles of French plums, and rows 
 of paper-covered tin boxes which Ted knew contained 
 biscuits. 
 
 "What a kind man," he said to himself, "to give 
 muzzer all she wants." as one after another of his 
 mother's requests was attended to. " Why, he lets 
 muzzer take whatever her likes ! " he added, as hav- 
 ing brought his wanderings to a close for a minute, 
 he stood beside her and saw her lifting a little 
 square of honey soap out of a box which the grocer 
 presented to her for examination, and, greatly im- 
 pressed, Ted set off again on another ramble. Doubt- 
 less he too might take whatever he liked, and as the 
 thought occurred to him he pulled up before another 
 barrel filled with lumps, little and big, of half clear, 
 
98 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 whitey-looking stuff, something like very coarse lump 
 sugar, only not so white, and more transparent. Ted 
 knew what it was. It was soda, washing soda I 
 believe it is usually called. Ted was, as I have 
 said, very wide-awake about all household matters, 
 for he always used his eyes, and very often indeed 
 rather oftener than was sometimes pleasant for the 
 people about him if they wanted to be quiet his 
 tongue too, for he was great at asking questions. 
 
 "Soda's very useful," Ted reflected; "nurse says 
 it makes things come cleaner." 
 
 Just then his mother called him. 
 
 "Ted, dear," she said, "I'm going." 
 
 Ted started and ran after her, but just as he did 
 so, he stretched out his hand and took a lump of soda 
 out of the barrel. He did it quite openly, he didn't 
 mind in the very least if the shopman saw him 
 like the daisies in the field, so he thought, the soda 
 and the sugar and the French plums and everything 
 were there for him or for any one to help themselves 
 to as they liked. But Ted was not greedy he was 
 far better pleased to get something "useful" for 
 mother than anything for himself. He would have 
 asked her what he had better take, if he had had time 
 he would have stopped to say " Thank you " to the 
 grocer had he not been in such a hurry to run after 
 his mother. 
 
 They walked quickly down the street. Ted's 
 mother was a little absent-minded for the moment 
 
LITTLE NAKCISSA. 99 
 
 she was thinking of what she had ordered, and 
 hoping she had forgotten nothing. And holding her 
 little boy by the one hand she did not notice the 
 queer thing he was holding in the other. Suddenly 
 she stopped before a boot and shoe shop. 
 
 " I must get baby a pair of shoes," she said. " She 
 is such a little kicker, she has the toes of her cloth 
 ones out in no time. We must get her a pair of 
 leather ones I think, Ted." 
 
 "Ses, I sink so, "said Ted. 
 
 So his mother went into the shop and asked the 
 man to show her some little leather shoes. Ted 
 looked on with great interest, but when the shoes 
 were spread out on the counter and he saw that they 
 were all black, he seemed rather disappointed. 
 
 "Muzzer," he said in a low voice, tugging at his 
 mother's skirts, " I saw such bootly boo boots in the 
 man's winder." 
 
 His mother smiled. 
 
 "Yes, dear," she replied, "they're very pretty, but 
 they wouldn't last so long, and I suspect they cost 
 much more." 
 
 Ted looked puzzled. 
 
 "What does thoo mean?" he said, but before his 
 mother had time to explain, the active shopman had 
 reached down the "bootly" boots and held them 
 forward temptingly. 
 
 " They're certainly very pretty," said baby's mother, 
 who, to tell the truth, was nearly as much inclined 
 
100 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 for the blue boots as Ted himself. "What is the 
 price of them ? " 
 
 "Three and sixpence, ma'am," replied the man. 
 
 "And the black ones, the little black shoes, I 
 
 999 
 
 "Two and six," replied the man. 
 
 "A shilling difference, you see, Ted," said his 
 mother. But Ted only looked puzzled, and his 
 mother, occupied with the boots, did not particularly 
 notice him. 
 
 "I think," she said at last, "I think I will take 
 both. But as the blue boots will be best ones for a 
 good while, give me them half a size larger than the 
 little black shoes." 
 
 The shopman proceeded to wrap them up in paper 
 and handed them to Ted's mother, who took out her 
 purse and paid the money. The man thanked her, and, 
 followed by her little boy, Ted's mother left the shop. 
 
 Ted walked on silently, a very unusual state of 
 things. He was trying to find out how to express 
 what he wanted to ask, and the ideas in his head 
 were so new and strange that he could not fit them 
 with words all at once. His mother turned round to 
 him. 
 
 "Would you like to carry the parcel of baby's 
 shoes for her?" she said. 
 
 "Oh ses," said Ted, holding out his left hand. 
 But as his mother was giving him the parcel she 
 noticed that his right hand was already engaged. 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 101 
 
 "Why, what have you got there?" she asked, u a 
 stone ? Where did you get it ? No, it's not a stone 
 why, can it be a lump of soda?" 
 
 "Ses," returned Ted with the greatest composure, 
 " it are a lump of soda. I thought it would be very 
 suseful for thoo, so I took it out of that nice man's 
 shop." 
 
 "My dear little boy! " exclaimed his mother, look- 
 ing I don't know how. She was rather startled, but 
 she could not help being amused too, only she 
 thought it better not to show Ted that she was 
 amused. "My dear little boy," she said again, "do 
 you not understand ? The things in the shop belong 
 to the man they are his, not ours." 
 
 "Ses," said Ted. "I know. But he lets thoo 
 take them. Thoo took soap and somesing else, and 
 he said he'd send them home for thoo." 
 
 "Yes, dear, so he did," said his mother. "But I 
 pay him for them. You didn't see me paying him, 
 because I don't pay him every time. He puts down 
 all I get in a book, and then he counts up how much 
 it is every month, and then I send him the money. 
 In some shops I pay as soon as I get the things. 
 You saw me pay the shoemaker for little Cissy's 
 boots and shoes." 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, "I saw thoo take money out of 
 thoo's purse, but I didn't understand. I thought all 
 those kind men kept nice things for us to get when- 
 ever we wanted." 
 
102 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "But what did you think money was for, little 
 Ted? You have often seen money, shillings and 
 sixpences and pennies? What did you think was 
 the use of it?" 
 
 "I thought," said Ted innocently, "I thought 
 moneys was for giving to poor peoples." 
 
 His mother could hardly resist stooping down in 
 the street to kiss him. But she knew it was better 
 not. Ted must be made to understand that in his 
 innocence he had done a wrong thing, and the lesson 
 of to-day must be made a plain and lasting one. 
 
 " What would poor people do with money if they 
 could get all the things they wanted out of the shops 
 for nothing?" she said quietly. 
 
 Ted considered a moment. Then he looked up 
 brightly. 
 
 " In course ! " he said. " I never thought of that." 
 
 "And don't you see, dear Ted, that it would be 
 wrong to take things out of a shop without paying 
 for them ? They belong to the man of the shop it 
 would be just like some one coming to our house and 
 taking away your father's coat or my bonnet, or your 
 little blue cart that you like so much, or " 
 
 "Or Cissy's bootly boo boots," suggested Ted, 
 clutching hold more tightly of the parcel, as if he 
 thought the imaginary thief might be at hand. 
 
 "Yes," said his mother, "or Cissy's new boots, 
 which are mine now because I paid money for them 
 to the man." 
 
LITTLE NARCISSA. 103 
 
 "Ses," said Ted. Then a very thoughtful expres- 
 sion came into his face. "Muzzer," he said, "this 
 soda was that man's sail I take it back to him 
 and tell him I didn't understand?" 
 
 "Yes," said his mother. "I do think it is the 
 best thing to do. Shall we go at once ? It is only 
 just round the corner to his shop." 
 
 She said this thinking that little Ted would find 
 it easier to do it at once, for she was sorry for her 
 little boy having to explain to a stranger the queer 
 mistake he had made, though she felt it was right 
 that it should be done. "Shall we go at once?" 
 she repeated, looking rather anxiously at the small 
 figure beside her. 
 
 "Ses," said Ted, and rather to her surprise his 
 tone was quite bright and cheery. So they turned 
 back and walked down the street till they came to 
 the corner near which was the grocer's shop. 
 
 Ted's mother had taken the parcel of the little 
 boots from him and held him by the hand, to give 
 him courage as it were. But he marched on quite 
 steadily without the least flinching or dragging back, 
 and when they reached the shop it was he who went 
 in first. He walked straight up to the counter and 
 held out the lump of soda to the shopman. 
 
 "Please, man," he said, "I didn't know I should 
 pay money for this. I didn't understand till muzzer 
 told me, and so I've brought it back." 
 
 The grocer looked at him in surprise, but with a 
 
104 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 smile on his face, for he was a kind man, with little 
 boys and girls of his own. But before he said any- 
 thing, Ted's mother came forward to explain that it 
 was almost the first time her little boy had been in 
 a shop; he had not before understood what buying 
 and selling meant, but now that she had explained it 
 to him, she thought it right for him himself to bring 
 back the lump of soda. 
 
 "And indeed it was his own wish to do so," she 
 added. 
 
 The "grocer thanked her. It was not of the least 
 consequence to him of course he said, but still he 
 was a sensible man and he respected Ted's mother 
 for what she had done. And then, half afraid that 
 her little boy's self-control would not last much 
 longer, she took him by the hand, and bidding the 
 shopman good-day they left the shop. As they came 
 out into the street again she looked down at Ted. 
 To her surprise his little face was quite bright and 
 happy. 
 
 "He were a kind man," said Ted; "he wasn't 
 vexed with Ted. He knew I didn't understand." 
 
 "Yes, dear," said his mother, pleased to see the 
 simple straightforward way in which Ted had taken 
 the lesson; "but now, Ted, you do understand, and 
 you would never again touch anything in a shop, 
 would you ? " 
 
 "Oh no, muzzer, in course not, "said Ted, his face 
 flushing a little. "Ted would never take nothing 
 
LITTLE NAECISSA. 105 
 
 that wasn't his never ; thoo knows that, muzzer?" 
 he added anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, my dear little boy," and this time his 
 mother did stoop down and kiss him in the street. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GETTING BIG. 
 
 " The children think they'll climb a tree." 
 
 IT was a very happy little Ted that trotted up- 
 stairs to the nursery with the "bootly boo boots" 
 and the more modest little black shoes for tiny 
 Narcissa. 
 
 " See what Ted has brought thoo," he said, kissing 
 his baby sister with the pretty tenderness he always 
 showed her, " and see what muzzer has gave me" he 
 went on, turning to nurse with another parcel. In 
 his excitement he didn't know which to unfasten 
 first, and baby had got hold of one of the black 
 shoes, fortunately not the blue ones, and was suck- 
 ing it vigorously before Ted and nurse saw what she 
 was doing. 
 
 " Isn't she pleased? " said Ted, delightedly. Baby 
 must be very pleased with her new possessions, to try 
 to eat them, he thought. And then he had time to 
 examine and admire his own present. It was a 
 delightful one a book, a nice old-f ashioried fat book 
 of all the old nursery rhymes, and filled with pictures 
 too. And Ted's pride was great when here and there 
 he could make out a word or two. Thanks to the 
 
 106 
 
GETTING BIG. 107 
 
 pictures, to his own good memory, and the patience 
 of all the big people about him, it was not long be- 
 fore he could say nearly all of them. And so a new 
 pleasure was added to these happy summer days, and 
 to many a winter evening to come. 
 
 That night when Ted was going to bed he said his 
 prayers as usual at his mother's knee. 
 
 " Make me a good little boy," he said, and then 
 when he had ended he jumped up for his good-night 
 kiss, with a beaming face. 
 
 "I sink God has made me good, muzzer," he 
 said. 
 
 "Do you, dear? I hope he is making you so," she 
 answered. "But what makes you say so?" 
 
 " 'Cos I feel so happy and so good," said Ted, "and 
 thoo said I was good to-day when thoo kissed me. 
 And oh, may I take my sprendid hymn-book to bed 
 wif me ? " 
 
 And with the ancient legends of Jack and Jill 
 and Little Boy Blue, and Margery Daw, safely under 
 his pillow, happy Ted fell asleep. I wonder if he 
 dreamt of them ! What a pity that so much of the 
 pretty fancies and visions of little childhood are lost 
 to us ! What quaint pictures they would make. 
 What a heavy burden should lie on the consciences 
 of those who, by careless words or unconsidered tone, 
 destroy the lovely tenderness of little childrens' 
 dreams and conceits, rub off the bloom of baby 
 poetry ! 
 
108 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 I could tell you, dear little friends, many pretty 
 stories of Ted and his tiny sister during the first 
 sunny year of little Narcissa's life, but I dare say it 
 may be more interesting to you to hear more of these 
 children as they grow older. The day-by-day life of 
 simple happy little people is, I trust, familiar to you 
 all, and as I want you to know my boy Ted, to think 
 of him through your own childhood as a friend and 
 companion, I must not take up too much of the 
 little book, so quickly filled, with the first years only 
 of his life. And these had now come to an end a 
 change, to Ted a great and wonderful change, hap- 
 pened about this time. Before little Cissy had learnt 
 to run alone, before Ted had mastered the longest 
 words in his precious " hymn-book," these little peo- 
 ple had to leave their beautiful mountain home. 
 One day when the world was looking pensive and 
 sad in its autumn dress, the good-byes had to be 
 said good-bye to the garden and Ted's shaky 
 bridge ; good-bye to old David ; and alas ! good-bye to 
 Cheviott's grave, all that was left of the faithful old 
 collie to say good-bye to ; good-bye to the far-off 
 murmur of the sea and the silent mountain that 
 little Ted had once been so afraid of; good-bye 
 to all of the dear old home, where Ted's blue cart 
 was left forgotten under a tree, where the birds went 
 on singing and chirping as if there were no such 
 things as good-byes in the world and Ted and 
 Cissy, were driven away to a new home, and the oft- 
 
GETTING BIG. 109 
 
 told stories of their first one were all that was left of 
 it to their childish minds. 
 
 A good many hours' journey from the mountains 
 and the sea near which these children had spent their 
 first happy years, in quite another corner of England, 
 there is to be found a beautiful, quiet old town. It 
 is beautiful from its position, for it stands on rising 
 ground ; a fine old river flows round the feet of its 
 castle rock, and on the other side are to be seen high 
 cliffs with pleasant winding paths, sometimes descend- 
 ing close to the water's edge, and it is beautiful in 
 itself. For the castle is such a castle as is not to be 
 met with many times in one's life. It has taken 
 centuries of repose after the stormy scenes it lived 
 through in the long-ago days to make it what it now 
 is a venerable old giant among its fellows, grim 
 and solemn yet with a dreamy peacefulness about it, 
 that has a wonderful charm. As you cross the un- 
 used drawbridge and your footsteps sink in the mossy 
 grass of the great courtyard, it would not be difficult 
 to fancy you were about to enter the castle of the 
 sleeping-beauty of the dear old fairy-tale so still 
 and dream-like it seems, so strange it is to picture to 
 one's fancy the now grass-grown keep with the din 
 and clang of horsemen and men-at-arms that it must 
 once have known. And near by is a grand old 
 church, solemn and silent too, but differently so from 
 its twin-brother the castle. The one is like a warrior 
 resting after his battles, thinking sadly of the wild 
 
110 A CHKISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 scenes he has seen and taken part in ; the other like 
 a holy man of old, silent and solemn too, but with 
 the weight of human sorrows and anxieties that 
 have been confided to him, yet ever ready to sym- 
 pathise and to point upwards with a hope that never 
 fails. 
 
 These at least were the feelings that the sight of 
 the old church and the old castle gave me, children 
 dear. I don't suppose Ted thought of them in this 
 way when he first made their acquaintance, and yet 
 I don't know. He might not have been able to say 
 much of what he felt, he was such a little fellow. 
 But he did feel, and in a way that was strange and 
 new, and nearly took his breath away the first time 
 he entered the beautiful old church, walking quietly 
 up the aisle behind his father, his little hat in his 
 hand, gazing up with his earnest eyes at the myste- 
 rious stretch of the lofty roof. " O mother," he said, 
 when he went home, " when I am big I will always 
 like the high church best." And when the clear 
 ringing chimes burst forth, as they did with ever- 
 fresh beauty four times a day, sounding to the baby 
 fancy as if they came straight down from heaven, it 
 was all Ted could do not to burst into tears, as he 
 had done that summer day when Mabel had sung 
 " Home, sweet home " in the mountain-gorge. 
 
 For it was in this old town, with its church and 
 castle and quaint streets, where some of the houses 
 are still painted black and white, and others lean for- 
 
GETTING BIG. Ill 
 
 ward in the top stories as if they wanted to kiss each 
 other ; where the front doors mostly open right on to 
 the street, and you come upon the dear old gardens 
 as a sort of delicious surprise at the back ; where each 
 turn as you walk about these same old streets gives 
 you a new peep, more delightful than the last, of 
 the river or the cliffs or the far distant hills with 
 their tender lights and shadows ; where, on market 
 days the country people come trooping in with their 
 poultry and butter and eggs, with here and there a 
 scarlet cloak among them, the coming and going 
 giving the old High Street the look almost of a for- 
 eign town ; here in this dear old place little Ted 
 took root again, and learned to love his new home so 
 much that he forgot to pine for the mountains and 
 the sea. And, here, some years after we said good- 
 bye to them as they drove away from the pretty 
 house in the garden, we find them again Ted, a 
 big boy of nine or ten, Cissy looking perhaps older 
 than she really was, so bright and hearty and capable 
 a little maiden had she become. 
 
 They are in the garden, the dear garden that was 
 as delightful a playing place as children could have, 
 though quite, quite different from the first one you 
 saw Ted in. There it was all ups and downs, lying 
 as it did on the side of a hill ; here the paths are on 
 flat ground, though some are zigzaggy of course, as 
 the little paths in an interesting garden always 
 should be ; while besides these, some fine broad ones 
 
112 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 run straight from one end to another, making splen- 
 did highroads for drives in wheelbarrows or toy-carts. 
 And in this garden too the trees are high and well 
 grown, and plenty of them. It was just the place for 
 hide-and-seek or " I spy." 
 
 Ted and Cissy have been working at their gardens. 
 
 " Oh dear," said the little girl, throwing down 
 her tiny rake and hoe, " Cissy Is so tired. And the 
 f owers won't grow if they isn't planted kick. Cissy 
 is so fond of f owers." 
 
 "So am I," said Ted, u but girls are so quickly 
 tired. It's no good their trying to garden." 
 
 Cissy looked rather disconsolate. 
 
 " Boys shouldn't have all the f'owers," she said. 
 " Zoo's not a summer child, Ted, zoo's a Kismas 
 child. Zoo should have snow, and Cissy should 
 have f'owers." 
 
 She looked at her brother rather mischievously as 
 she said this. 
 
 " As it happens, Miss Cissy," said Ted, " there 
 wasn't any snow the Christmas I was born. Mother 
 told me so. And anyway, if you liked snowballs 
 I'd let you have them, so I don't see why I shouldn't 
 have flowers." 
 
 Cissy threw her arms round Ted's neck and kissed 
 him. " Poor Ted," she said, " zoo shall have f'owers. 
 But Cissy won't have any in her garden if zey isn't 
 planted kick." 
 
 "Well, never mind. I'll help you," said Ted; 
 
GETTING BIG. 113 
 
 "as soon as I've done my lessons this evening, I'll 
 work in your garden." 
 
 " Zank zoo, dear Ted," said Cissy rapturously, and 
 a new hugging ensued, which Ted submitted to with 
 a good grace, though lately it had dawned on him 
 that he was getting rather too big for kissing. 
 
 The children's " gardens " were just under the wall 
 that skirted their father's real garden. On the other 
 side of this wall ran the highroad, and the lively 
 sights and sounds to be heard and seen from the top 
 of this same wall made the position of their own bit 
 of ground greatly to their liking. Only the getting 
 on to the wall ! There was the difficulty. For Ted 
 it was not so tremendous. He could clamber up 
 by the help of niches which he managed to make 
 for his feet here and there between the stones, and 
 the consequent destruction to trousers and stockings 
 had never as yet occurred to his boyish mind. But 
 Cissy poor Cissy ! it was quite impossible to get 
 her up on to the wall, and for some time an ambitious 
 project had been taking shape in Ted's brain. 
 
 " Cissy," he said, when he was released, " it's no 
 good beginning working at your garden now. We 
 have to go in in ten minutes. I'm going up on the 
 wall for a few minutes. You stay there, and I'll call 
 down to you all I see." 
 
 " O Ted," said Cissy, " I wiss I could climb up 
 the wall too." 
 
 " I know you do," said Ted. " I've been thinking 
 
114 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 about that. Wait till I get up, and I'll tell you 
 about it." 
 
 Full of faith in Ted's wisdom, little Cissy sat down 
 by the roots of a great elm-tree which stood in her 
 brother's domain. " My tree " Ted had always called 
 it, and it was one of the charms of his property. 
 It was not difficult to climb, even Cissy could be 
 hoisted some way up to the level of top of the 
 wall indeed, without difficulty, but unfortunately 
 between the tree and the wall there was a space, 
 too wide to cross. And even when the right level 
 was reached, it was too far back to see on to the road. 
 
 "If only the tree grew close to the wall," Ted 
 had often said to himself; and now as Cissy sat 
 down below wondering what Ted was going to do, 
 his quick eyes were examining all about to see if a 
 plan that had struck him would be possible. 
 
 " Cissy," he cried suddenly, and Cissy started to 
 her feet. " Oh what, Ted ? " she cried. 
 
 " I see how it could be done. If I had a plank of 
 wood I could fasten it to the tree on one side, and 
 and I could find some way if I tried, of fastening 
 it to the wall on the other, and then I could pull the 
 branches down a little they're nearly down far 
 enough, to make a sort of back to the seat, and oh, 
 Cissy, it would be such a lovely place ! We could 
 both sit on it, and see all that passed. I'll tell you 
 what I'm seeing now. There's a man with a wheel- 
 barrow just passing, and such a queer little dog run- 
 
GETTING BIG. 115 
 
 ning beside, and farther off there's a boy with a 
 basket, and two girls, and one of them's carrying a 
 baby, and yes, there's a cart and horse coming 
 awfully fast. I do believe the horse is running away. 
 No, he's pulled it up, and " 
 
 " O Ted," said Cissy, clasping her hands, " how 
 lovely it must be ! O Ted, do come down and be 
 kick about making the place for me, for Cissy." 
 
 Just then the dinner-bell rang. Ted began his 
 descent, Cissy eagerly awaiting him. She took his 
 hand and trotted along beside him. 
 
 " Do zoo think zoo can do it, Ted ? " she said. 
 
 " I must see about the wood first," said Ted, not 
 without a little importance in his tone ; " I think 
 there's some pieces in the coach-house that would do." 
 
 At luncheon the big people, of whom there were 
 several, for some uncles and aunts had been staying 
 with the children's father and mother lately, noticed 
 that Ted and Cissy looked very eager about something. 
 
 " What have you been doing with yourselves, you 
 little people, this morning?" said one of the aunties 
 kindly. 
 
 Cissy was about to answer, but a glance from Ted 
 made her shut tight her little mouth again. There 
 must be some reason for it perhaps this delightful 
 plan was to be a secret, for her faith in Ted was un- 
 bounded. 
 
 " We've been in the garden, in our gardens," Ted 
 replied. 
 
116 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Digging up the plants to see if they were grow- 
 ing eh ? " said an uncle who liked to tease a little 
 sometimes. 
 
 Ted didn't mind teasing. He only laughed. Cissy 
 looked a little, a very little offended. She did not 
 like teasing, and she specially disliked any one teas- 
 ing her dear Ted. Her face grew a little red. 
 
 " Ted knows about fowers bootilly," she said; 
 " Ted knows lots of things." 
 
 "Cissy!" said Ted, whose turn it was now to 
 grow a little red, but Cissy maintained her ground. 
 
 " Ses," she said. " Ted does." 
 
 " Ted's to grow up a very clever man, isn't he, 
 Cissy?" said her father encouragingly " as clever 
 as Uncle Ted here." 
 
 " Oh no," the little fellow replied, blushing still 
 more, for Ted never put himself forward so as to be 
 noticed ; " I never could be that. Uncle Ted writes 
 books with lots of counting and stick-sticks in them 
 and" 
 
 " Lots of what? " asked his uncle. 
 
 " Stick-sticks," said Ted simply. " I don't know 
 what it means, but mother told me it was a sort of 
 counting like how many days in the year were fine 
 and how many rainy." 
 
 " Or how many old women with baskets, and how 
 many without, passed down the road this morn- 
 ing eh, Ted ? " said his other uncle, laughing 
 heartily. 
 
GETTING BIG. 117 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said Ted. " Are stick-sticks 
 any good ? " he inquired, consideringly. 
 
 " It's to be hoped so," said Uncle Ted. 
 
 A bright idea struck the little fellow. He must 
 talk it over with Cissy. If only that delightful seat 
 between the tree and the wall was arranged they 
 might make " stick-sticks " ! What fun, and how 
 pleased Uncle Ted would be ! Already Ted's active 
 brain began to plan it all. They should have a nice 
 big ruled sheet of paper and divide it into rows, as 
 for columns of sums : one row should be for horses 
 alone, and one for horses with carts, and one for 
 people, and one for children, and another for dogs, 
 and another for wheelbarrows perhaps. And then 
 sometimes donkeys passed, and now and then pigs 
 even, on their way to market yes, a lot of rows 
 would be needed. And at the top of the paper he 
 would write in nice big letters " stick " no, 
 mother would tell him how to write it nicely, he 
 knew that wasn't quite the real word, mother would 
 spell it for him : " St something of what 
 passed the tree." It would be almost like writing a 
 book. 
 
 He was so eager about it that he could hardly 
 finish his dinner. For a great deal was involved in 
 his plan, as you shall hear. 
 
 In the first place, it became evident to him after 
 an examination of the bits of wood in the unused 
 coach-house, that there was nothing there that would 
 
118 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 do. He could get a nice little plank, a plank that 
 would not scratch poor Cissy's legs or tear her 
 frocks, from the carpenter, but then it would cost 
 money, for Ted had gained some worldly wisdom 
 since the days when he thought the kind shopkeepers 
 spread out their wares for everybody to help them- 
 selves as they liked. And Ted was rather short of 
 money, and Ted was of rather an independent spirit. 
 He would much prefer not asking mother for any. 
 The seat in the tree would be twice as nice if he 
 could manage it all his own self, as Cissy would say. 
 
 Ted thought it all over a great deal, and talked 
 about it to Cissy. It was a good thing, they agreed, 
 that it was holiday-time just now, even though Ted 
 had every day some lessons to do. And though 
 Cissy was very little, it was, after all, she who 
 thought of a plan for gaining some money, as you 
 shall hear. 
 
 Some few times in their lives Ted and Cissy had 
 seen Punch and Judy, and most delightful they 
 thought it. Perhaps I am wrong in saying Cissy 
 had seen it more than once, but Ted had, and he 
 used to amuse Cissy by acting it over to please 
 her. And I think it was from this that her idea 
 came. 
 
 " Appose, Ted," she said the next day when they 
 were out in the garden having a great consultation 
 "appose we make a show, and all the big people 
 would give us pennies." 
 
GETTING BIG. 119 
 
 Ted considered for a minute. They were standing, 
 Cissy and he, by the railing which at one side of 
 their father's pretty garden divided it from some 
 lovely fields, where sheep, with their dear little lambs 
 skipping about beside them, were feeding. Far in the 
 distance rose the soft blue outlines of a lofty hill, " our 
 precious hill " Ted's mother used to call it, and indeed 
 it was almost worthy of the name of mountain, and 
 for this she valued it still more, as it seemed to her 
 like a reminder of the mountain home she had loved 
 so dearly. Ted's glance fell on it, and it carried back 
 his thoughts to the mountain of his babyhood and the 
 ogre stories mixed up with it in his mind. And then 
 his thoughts went wandering away to his old " hymn 
 book," still in a place of honour in his bookshelves, 
 and to the fairy stories at the end of it Cinderella and 
 the others. He turned to Cissy with a beaming face. 
 
 " I'll tell you what we'll do, Cis," he said ; " we'll 
 have a show of Beauty and the Beast. What a good 
 idea it was of yours, Cis, to have a show." 
 
 Cissy was greatly flattered. Only she didn't quite 
 like the idea of her dear Ted being the Beast. But 
 when Ted reminded her that the Beast was really so 
 good and kind, she grew satisfied. 
 
 " And how awfully pleased Percy will be when he 
 comes to see the seat, won't he ? " said Ted. And this 
 thought reconciled him to what hitherto had been 
 rather a grief to him that Percy's holidays were 
 shorter and fell later in the season than his. 
 
120 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 You can imagine, children, better than I could tell 
 what a bustle and fuss Ted and Cissy were in all that 
 day. They looked so important, Ted's eyes were so 
 bright, and Cissy's little mouth shut close in such a 
 dignified way, that the big people must have been 
 very stupid big people not to suspect something out 
 of the common. But as they were very kind big 
 people, and as they understood children and chil- 
 dren's ways, they took care not to seem as if they did 
 notice, and Mabel and her sister, who were also of 
 the home party, even helped Cissy to stitch up an 
 old muslin window curtain in a wonderful way for 
 Beauty's dress, without making any indiscreet re- 
 marks. At which little Cissy greatly rejoiced. 
 "Wasn't I clever not to let zoo find out?" she said 
 afterwards, with immense satisfaction. 
 
 Late that evening late for the children that is to 
 say about seven o'clock, for Cissy had got leave to 
 sit up an hour longer, there came a ring at the hall 
 bell, and a very funny-looking letter was handed in, 
 which a boy in a muffled voice told the servant was 
 for the ladies and gentlemen, and that she was to tell 
 them the " act " would begin in five minutes " in the 
 theatre hall of the day nursery." The parlour maid, 
 who (of course !) had not the least idea in the world 
 that the messenger was Master Ted, gravely handed 
 the letter to Miss Mabel, who was the first person she 
 saw, and Mabel hastened to explain to the others that 
 its contents, quarters of old calling-cards with num- 
 
OH DEAR, OH DEAR!" CRIES BEAUTY, JUMPING UP IN A 
 FRIGHT, "HE'S COMING TO EAT ME." p. 121. 
 
GETTING BIG. 121 
 
 bers marked on them, were evidently meant to be 
 tickets for the performance. The big people were all 
 much amused, but all of course were quite ready to 
 " assist " at the " act." They thought it better to wait 
 a little more than five minutes before going upstairs 
 to the theatre hall, to give Ted time to get ready 
 before the spectators arrived, not understanding, you 
 see, that all he had to do was to pin his father's rough 
 brown railway rug on, to imitate the Beast. So when 
 they at last all marched upstairs the actors were both 
 ready awaiting them. 
 
 There was a row of chairs arranged at one side of 
 the nursery for the visitors, and the hearth-rug, pulled 
 out of its place, with a couple of footstools at each 
 side, served for the stage. Scene first was Miss 
 Beauty sitting in a corner crying, after her father 
 had left her in the Beast's garden. 
 
 " He'll eat me up ! oh, he'll eat me up ! " she sobs 
 out ; and then a low growl is heard, and from a corner 
 behind a table where no one had noticed him, a very 
 remarkable-looking shapeless sort of dark brown lump 
 rolls or waddles along the floor. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear ! " cries Beauty, jumping up in 
 a fright, "he's coming to eat me." 
 
 " No, I'm not going to eat you, dear Beauty," the 
 growly voice replies; "I'm not going to hurt you, 
 dear Beauty. I've brought you something nice to eat 
 for your tea. I'm sure you must be hungry;" and 
 from somewhere or other the Beast produces a plate 
 
122 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 with some biscuits, which he humbly lays at her feet 
 and then waddles off again. Beauty nibbles at the 
 biscuits, then murmuring to herself, " He's a very 
 kind Beast," she moves away, her window-curtain 
 train sweeping gracefully after her, behind the screen, 
 which is supposed to represent the inside of the 
 Beast's Castle, and where he himself has already dis- 
 appeared. And this is the end of the first scene, the 
 " act " being divided into two scenes. 
 
 The audience all clap their hands in applause. 
 
 " Capital ! " and " Bravo ! " they call out, so that 
 Ted and Cissy feel their cheeks quite red, even be- 
 hind the screen. 
 
 " Let's get it done quick, Cissy," said Ted ; " it 
 makes me feel so silly when they call out like that." 
 
 And the last scene is hurried on. It is not a very 
 long one. Beauty has been away. She has gone, as 
 everybody knows, on a visit to her old home, and on 
 her return poor Beast is nowhere to be found. At 
 last she discovers him lying quite still in a corner of 
 the garden. 
 
 " Oh, poor Beast ! " she exclaims, " Cis Booty, I 
 mean, is so sorry. Oh, poor Beast ! I is afraid you is 
 kite deaded, and I do love zoo, poor Beast," at which 
 up jumps poor Beast, Beast no longer, for his rough 
 skin rolls off as if by magic, and lo and behold there 
 is Ted, got up ever so fine, with a scarlet scarf round 
 his waist and an elegant old velvet smoking-cap with 
 a long tassel on his head, and goodness knows what 
 more. 
 
GETTING BIG. 123 
 
 u Oh, you bootiful P'ince," cries Beauty, and then 
 they take hands and bow most politely to the audi- 
 ence, and then in a sudden fit of shamefacedness 
 and shyness, they both scurry off behind the screen, 
 Ted toppling over Cissy's long train on the way, at 
 .which there is renewed applause, and great laughter 
 from the actors themselves. But the manager is quite 
 up to his business. " That's all," calls out a little 
 voice from behind the screen ; " zoo may all go now, 
 and pay at the door" And sure enough as the big 
 people make their way out, there is Ted in his usual 
 attire standing at the door, with a little basket in his 
 hand, gracefully held out for contributions. 
 
 " Why, how did you get here already ? " asks his 
 father. 
 
 " I slipped round by the other side of the screen 
 while you were all laughing and clapping," says Ted, 
 looking up with a beaming face. And the pennies 
 and sixpennies that find their way into the basket 
 are several. When the actors count up their gains 
 before they go to bed, they are the happy possessors 
 of two shillings and sevenpence. Far more than 
 enough to pay for the wood for the seat in the tree ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " STATISTICS." 
 
 " Are they not busy ? the creatures ! 
 
 Wanting to go to their beds ? not they ! " 
 
 How delightful it was to wake the next morning 
 and to see sparkling in the early sunshine the neat 
 little silver coins, and the big copper ones, laid out 
 in a row on his table ! Ted jumped out of bed, not 
 quite so early as he had intended, for he had been 
 up rather later than usual the night before, and by 
 the time he had had his nice cold bath and was 
 dressed, he heard the prayer bell ring, and was only 
 ready to take his seat as usual on a little chair in a 
 corner of the room not far from where his dear old 
 nurse and the other servants were placed. He liked 
 better to sit there, for it gave him somehow a little 
 uncomfortable feeling to see the servants quite by 
 themselves, as it were, so separated from the family, 
 and he had got into the way of sitting between the 
 two sets of seats, and though little Narcissa from her 
 perch on her mother's knee would sometimes smile 
 and nod and beckon to him to come nearer, Ted al- 
 ways kept to his own place. This morning many 
 thoughts were dancing about his brain, and it was a 
 
 124 
 
" STATISTICS." 125 
 
 little difficult for him to listen with his usual atten- 
 tion, even though it was one of the chapters he was 
 very fond of, especially when his father read it in 
 his nice clear voice. It was that one about the boy 
 Jesus, staying behind His father and mother to talk 
 with the learned doctors in the temple, and though 
 some part of it puzzled Ted rather, yet he liked to 
 listen and think about it. How frightened that 
 father and mother must have been ! How was it 
 that Jesus knew that it was right for Him to stay 
 behind even though it was without His father's 
 and mother's leave ? For other little boys it would 
 have been wrong, but then, oh yes, of course, 
 Jesus was not like other little boys. If only they, if 
 only he, Ted, could learn to be more like Him, the 
 one perfect Christmas child ! And even the puz- 
 zling part of it grew clearer as this unconscious 
 prayer rose out of the innocent heart. For Ted's 
 own father and mother, even if they were fright- 
 ened for a little, would not be vexed if he did some- 
 thing without their leave that was good and right. 
 Only it was difficult to tell, very difficult on the 
 whole Ted felt that he understood what his mother 
 told him about being obedient, better than he used. 
 That was what God had given little boys fathers and 
 mothers for, for they, when they were good and wise, 
 could not but know best. When they were not good 
 and wise, like the fathers and mothers of some of the 
 poor London street boys he had heard of oh, how 
 
126 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 fearful that must be ! And then as his own father's 
 voice went on, it all came before Ted like a picture 
 he had once seen a picture of it, he thought the 
 first setting-out of old Joseph and the sweet-faced 
 mother, the distress and fear, the delight of finding 
 the Child again, and then the long walk home all 
 together to the carpenter's shop in the narrow East- 
 ern street. And, child-like, Ted's fancy turned again 
 with the association to what was before him this morn- 
 ing. He was to go to the carpenter's to choose the 
 wood for the seat in the tree, and oh, how delightful 
 it would be to see it arranged, and how surprised 
 Percy would be, and what beautiful rows of stick- 
 sticks Cissy and he would be able to make to help 
 Uncle Ted. All kinds of pleasant hopes and fancies 
 were racing round Ted's brain again as he knelt down 
 with the others to listen to the prayer that followed 
 the reading. It was not till the murmured chorus of 
 " Our Father," repeated all together at the end, caught 
 his ear, that with a sudden start Ted realised that he 
 had not been listening. 
 
 He did feel sorry and ashamed, but he was so happy 
 that morning, the world outside was so bright and 
 sunny, and the people inside so kind and cheerful, as 
 they all sat round the breakfast table, that Ted's self- 
 reproach did not last. And as soon as he had fin- 
 ished the short morning lessons he had to do in the 
 holidays, he got leave from mother to go off to order 
 the plank for the seat. 
 
"STATISTICS." 127 
 
 It turned out a little dearer than he had ex- 
 pected. Two and sevenpence were the funds in 
 hand. 
 
 44 1 could give you a piece of wood for much less 
 of course, sir," said the good-natured carpenter, who 
 was a great ally of Ted's, "but as you explain it to 
 me it needs something more than a bit of wood, else 
 it wouldn't be safe for you and the young lady to sit 
 on ; " and then he showed the boy how it should be 
 done, Avith a small iron bolt driven into the wall and 
 another of a different kind fixed to the tree. " Then," 
 said he, t4 it will be as safe as safe, and I'll plane you 
 a neat little seat with no splinters or sharp edges to 
 tear Missy's frocks." 
 
 Ted was delighted. His quick eye caught at once 
 the carpenter's plan, and he saw how much more sat- 
 isfactory and complete it would be than the rough 
 idea he had had at first. But the price ? Ted felt 
 much afraid that here was to be the difficulty. 
 
 44 How much will it cost, Mr. Newton ? " he in- 
 quired anxiously. 
 
 The carpenter reflected a moment. 
 
 44 Wood, so much ; bolts, so much ; nails ; time ; " 
 Ted heard him half whispering to himself. Then he 
 looked up. 
 
 44 A matter of three shillings or so, sir," he replied. 
 44 I'll try that it shan't be more. But you see the 
 bolts I have to buy, they're not things as we use 
 every day. And for the time, sir, I'm not thinking 
 
128 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 much of that. The evenings are light now. I'll try 
 and see to it myself after work's over." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mr. Newton," said Ted. 
 " I think it'll be all right. But I'd like first to tell 
 my mother how much it will cost, and then I'll run 
 back and settle about it." 
 
 " All right, sir," the carpenter replied ; arid after 
 pausing a moment at the door to pat the great big 
 gentle dog, that was lying there blinking in the sun- 
 shine, and thinking to himself that its eyes somehow 
 reminded him of long ago Cheviott whom Ted still 
 remembered, though Newton's dog wasn't at all the 
 same kind, the boy ran off again, whistling as he 
 went, with light dancing steps down the in-and-out 
 zigzag streets of the old town, stopping a moment, 
 eager as he was, to admire the peeps of lovely view 
 he came upon now and then as he turned a corner, or 
 crossed the open market-place. 
 
 He was in great spirits. Fivepence short he felt 
 sure could easily be made up. 
 
 " Either mother will give it me," he thought, " or 
 she'll find some way of my earning it. I'm sure she'd 
 like it properly done, and there'll be no fear of Cissy 
 or me hurting ourselves." 
 
 On he danced again, for now he was in more open 
 ground, running along the country highroad where 
 was his home. A few cottages stood not far from 
 where he was passing cottages of respectable 
 people, with several of whom sociable Ted was on 
 
129 
 
 friendly terms, and just as he was nearing the first of 
 these, a boy about his own age came out, a basket on 
 his arm and in his hands something tied up in a cloth 
 which he was carrying carefully. But boys will be 
 boys ! 
 
 " Good-morning, Jamie," said Ted as they met, 
 for he recognised the boy as the son of a man living 
 farther down the road, who had sometimes worked 
 for his father ; " where have you been, and what's 
 that you've got ? " and in pure fun Ted tapped with 
 a switch he was carrying on the mysterious bundle. 
 
 Jamie looked up laughingly. 
 
 " O Master Ted," he was just beginning, but some- 
 how how I cannot tell, and I feel pretty sure that 
 neither Ted nor Jamie could have told either Ted's 
 friendly tap had either distracted his attention so 
 that he trod on a stone and lost his balance, or else 
 it had destroyed the equilibrium of the bundle itself, 
 so that almost before he had time even to say "O 
 Master Ted," the mischief was done. Down plumped 
 the bundle, with a crash of broken crockery, and a 
 brown liquid at once oozed out through the cloth, 
 making a melancholy puddle on the road. Jamie's 
 half-spoken words changed into a cry of despair. It 
 was the Sunday's dinner which had come to grief, 
 the pie which his poor mother had prepared so care- 
 fully, and which he was taking home from his grand- 
 mother's, in whose oven it had been baking. 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear, what ever shall I do ? " cried 
 
130 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 the poor little boy. " What will mother say ? Oh 
 dear, oh dear ! O Master Ted, what shall I do ? " 
 
 Jamie's tears and sobs were pitiful. Ted, with a 
 pale concerned face, stood beside him, speechless. 
 
 " It was all my fault, Jamie," he said at last. " It's 
 me your mother must scold, not you. I must go 
 home with you, and tell her it wasn't your fault." 
 
 "Oh but it were," sobbed the child. "Mother 
 always tells me to look neither to right nor to left 
 when I'm carrying anything like this here. Oh 
 deary me, what ever shall I do ? " 
 
 He stooped down and untied the knots of the 
 large checked handkerchief in which the unfortunate 
 pie had been enveloped. The dish was all in pieces, 
 the gravy fast disappearing. Jamie gathered to- 
 gether, using the largest bit of the broken stone- 
 ware as a plate, some of the pieces of meat which 
 might still be eaten, and Ted, stooping down too, 
 helped him to the best of his ability. But it was 
 very little that could be saved from the shipwreck. 
 And then the two boys turned in the direction of 
 Jamie's home, Jamie sobbing all the way, and Ted 
 himself too appalled to know what to say to comfort 
 him. 
 
 Jamie's mother was a busy, hard-working woman. 
 She was kind to her children, but that is not to say 
 that they never had a sharp word from her. And 
 there were so many of them more than enough to 
 try the patience of a mother less worried by other 
 
131 
 
 cares. So poor Jamie had some reason to cry, and 
 he did not attempt to prevent Ted's going home with 
 him alone he would hardly have dared to face the 
 expected scolding. 
 
 She was at the door, or just inside it, as the boys 
 made their appearance, with a big tub before her in 
 which she was washing up some odds and ends, 
 without which her numerous family could not have 
 made their usual tidy appearance at church and 
 Sunday school the next day. For it was Saturday, 
 often a rather trying day to heads of households in 
 every class. But Jim's mother was in pretty good 
 spirits. She had got on with her work, Sunday's 
 pie had been made early and sent on to granny's, 
 and Jamie, who was a very careful messenger, would 
 be back with it immediately, all ready to be eaten 
 cold with hot potatoes the next day. So Sunday's 
 dinner was off the good woman's mind, when sud- 
 denly a startling vision met her gaze. There was 
 Jamie, red-eyed and tearful, coming down the road, 
 and beside him the little master from the Lawn 
 House. What could be the matter? Jamie had not 
 hurt himself, thus much was evident, but what was 
 the small and shapeless bundle he was carrying in 
 the handkerchief she had given him to cover the pie, 
 and what had come over the nice clean handkerchief 
 itself? The poor woman's heart gave a great throb 
 of vexation. 
 
 " What ever have ye done with the pie, Jamie ? " 
 
132 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 she exclaimed first in her anxiety, though she then 
 turned in haste to bid the little master " good- 
 morning." 
 
 " O mother," Jamie began, his sobs bursting out 
 afresh, but Ted put him gently aside. 
 
 " Let me tell," he said. " I came on purpose. 
 If if you please," he went on eagerly, though his 
 fair face flushed a little, "it was all my fault. I 
 gave Jim a little poke with my stick, quite in fun, 
 and somehow it made him drop the pie. But it isn't 
 his fault. You won't scold him, please, will you?" 
 
 Vexed as she was, Jamie's mother could not but 
 feel softened. Ted's friendly ways were well known 
 to his poorer neighbours, who with one voice pro- 
 nounced him " a perfect little gentleman wherever he 
 goes." 
 
 "It's not much use scolding," she said gently 
 enough, but still with real distress in her tone which 
 went to Ted's heart. "No use crying over spilt 
 milk, as my master says. But still I do think 
 Jamie might have been more careful. However, it 
 can't be helped, but they'll have to do without a pie 
 for dinner to-morrow. And thank you, Master Ted, 
 for coming along of Jim for to tell me." 
 
 " But it wasn't Jim's fault. It was all mine," 
 repeated Ted sadly. And then he bade the poor 
 woman good-bye, and nodding to Jim, who was still 
 wiping his eyes, though looking a good deal less 
 frightened, the boy set off towards home again. 
 
" STATISTICS." 133 
 
 But how different everything looked the sun 
 was as bright, the air as pleasant as ten minutes 
 before, but Ted's heart was heavy, and when at the 
 garden gate he met his mother, who greeted him 
 with her kind smile and asked him if he had settled 
 with Newton about the seat, it was all poor Ted 
 could do not to burst into tears. He was running 
 past his mother into the house, with a hasty " Yes, 
 thank you, mother, I'll tell you about it afterwards," 
 for he had not yet made up his mind what he should 
 say or do ; it was his own fault, and he must suffer 
 for it, that was his first idea, but his mother stopped 
 him. The momentary glance at his face had been 
 sufficient to show her that something was the 
 matter. 
 
 "What is it, Ted, dear?" she said kindly and 
 anxiously. 
 
 Ted's answer was a question, and a very queer 
 question. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " how much do pies cost ? " 
 
 "Pies," repeated his mother, "what kind of pies 
 do you mean? Big ones, little ones, meat ones, or 
 what?" 
 
 "Big ones, mother, at least a big one, and all 
 made of meat, with crust at the top. And oh ! " he 
 exclaimed, " there was the dish ! I dare say that cost 
 a good deal," and his face grew sadder and sadder. 
 
 But his mother told him he really must explain, 
 and so he did. " I didn't mean to tell you about it, 
 
134 A CHKISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 mother," he said, " for it was my own fault, and 
 telling you seems almost like asking for the money," 
 and here poor Ted's face grew red again. " I 
 thought the only thing to do was to take the act 
 money, the two shillings and sevenpence, you know, 
 mother, and give it to Jamie's mother, arid just give 
 up having the seat," and here Ted's repressed feel- 
 ings were too much for him. He turned away his 
 face and fairly burst into tears. Give up the seat ! 
 Think of all that meant to him, poor boy. The 
 pleasure for Cissy as well as his own, the delightful 
 surprise to Percy, the rows of stick-sticks for his 
 uncle. I don't think it was wonderful that Ted 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " My poor boy," said his mother, and then she 
 thought it over to herself for a little. She did not 
 begin talking to Ted about how careless he had been, 
 and that it must be a lesson to him, and so on, as 
 many even very kind mothers are sometimes tempted 
 to do, when, as does happen now and then in this 
 rather contrary world, very small wrongdoings have 
 very big results, she could not feel that Ted had 
 been much to blame, and she was quite sure it would 
 be " a lesson to him," without her saying any more 
 about it. So she just thought it over quietly, and 
 then said, 
 
 " No, Ted. I don't quite think that would be 
 right. Your giving up the seat would be punishing 
 others as well as yourself Cissy particularly and 
 
"STATISTICS." 135 
 
 that would not be right. I will see that Jamie and 
 his brothers and sisters have something for their 
 dinner to-morrow that will please them as much as 
 the pie, and you must tell Newton to go on with the 
 seat, and " 
 
 " But, mother," interrupted Ted, " I won't be 
 happy unless I pay it myself, the dinner I mean. 
 It wouldn't be/aiV, if I didn't would it, mother? " 
 and he looked up with his honest, anxious blue eyes 
 in his mother's face, so that she felt the same wish 
 to stoop down and kiss him that had made her do 
 so long ago in the street of the little country town 
 near their old home. 
 
 " I was going on to speak about that," said his 
 mother. " It will take all your money and a little 
 more to pay Newton, you see, and you haven't any 
 more." 
 
 " No, mother, but if I was to give up my library 
 pennies ? " for Ted subscribed a penny a week to 
 a children's library in the town, as he had long ago 
 exhausted the home stores. 
 
 " That would take a very long time, and it would 
 be a pity for you to lose your reading," said his 
 mother. " But I'll tell you what I will count the 
 dinner as owing from you to me, and you will pay 
 it as best you can, little by little. For every summer 
 you get presents from your uncles or cousins when 
 they are with us. I will count it two shillings and 
 sixpence the sixpence for the dish, and I know 
 you will not forget to pay me." 
 
136 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " No indeed, mother, and thank you so much," 
 said Ted, with a now really lightened heart. " Shall 
 I tell Jamie about the dinner? I could go that way 
 when I go back to Newton's. He will be so pleased. 
 His mother didn't scold him, but yet I couldn't help 
 being very sorry for him. His face did look so un- 
 happy." 
 
 And when, after dinner, Ted ran off again, I think 
 the pleasure of the good news in store for poor 
 Jamie was quite as much in his mind as his own 
 errand to Newton's. 
 
 The seat was a great success. Newton came that 
 very evening to measure it exactly, and Ted had the 
 satisfaction of making some suggestions which the 
 carpenter thought very good ones, as to the best way 
 of fastening it firmly. And on Monday evening the 
 work was accomplished. Never, surely, were two 
 birds in a nest more happy than Ted and Cissy, 
 when, for the first time, they mounted up on to their 
 airy throne. Their mother, busy among her flowers, 
 was surprised by a sound of soft singing over her 
 head, coming from at first she could not tell where. 
 She stood still to listen she had, for the moment, 
 forgotten about the perch in the tree. But the 
 words and the tune soon told her who it was. It 
 was Ted at his old favourite, " Home, sweet home." 
 Sweetly and softly his boyish voice rang out. The 
 tears came into his mother's eyes, but she moved 
 away silently. She did not want the children to 
 
" STATISTICS." 137 
 
 know she was there. It seemed to take away the 
 simplicity of his pretty singing for him to know that 
 any one, even his mother, had been listening. 
 
 " He is very fond of music," she said to herself, 
 " no doubt he has great taste for it," and the thought 
 gave her pleasure. She pictured to herself happy 
 future days when Ted and Cissy would be able to 
 play and sing together when as " big people," the 
 brother and sister would continue the tender friend- 
 ship that she liked so much to see. 
 
 Monday evening was too late to begin the impor- 
 tant paper for Uncle Ted. But on Tuesday the 
 children were up with the lark, armed with a long 
 ruled sheet, divided by lines across the other way, 
 into what Ted called several " compartments," a 
 pencil or two, for though Cissy could not make 
 figures, she could make little strokes, each of which 
 stood for a one something. The words at the head 
 of the " compartments " comprised everything which, 
 with the slightest probability, could be expected to 
 journey along the highroad. Men, women, boys, girls, 
 babies in perambulators, babies in nurses' arms ; old 
 women with baskets were considered a separate 
 genus, and had a row to themselves ; carts with one 
 horse, waggons with two, donkeys, dogs, pigs, cats, 
 wheelbarrows. And at one side Ted carefully 
 marked the hour at which began and ended the 
 " observations." For, alas ! the children could not 
 be all day at their post, though they did gravely 
 
138 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 purpose that they should take it in turn to go in to 
 dinner, so that no passers-by should be unrecorded. 
 But that mother could not agree to. Dinner must 
 be eaten, and with as much deliberation and pro- 
 priety as usual, or else what was an interest and a 
 pleasure would have to be discouraged. And after 
 all it was rather nice to have the paper exhibited and 
 commented upon as they all sat round the luncheon- 
 table, though Cissy looked as if she were not quite 
 sure that she should not take offence for Ted, when 
 one of the big people inquired why there wasn't a 
 row for elephants and another for dancing-bears. 
 
 The long summer afternoon was spent in the same 
 way. Never surely had such a delightful occupa- 
 tion for two small people brimming over with life 
 and energy, been discovered. Two birds busied with 
 arranging their nest could not have been more com- 
 pletely content. 
 
 "If this goes on," said the children's mother, 
 laughing, when they did condescend to come in to 
 tea, " I think we had better send a mattress and a 
 pillow up to your seat, and let you stay there all 
 night." 
 
 Ted and Cissy smiled, and in their hearts I rather 
 think they were of opinion that what their mother 
 proposed would be very nice. But, eager as they 
 were, they were both very hungry, and it was evi- 
 dent that living in a tree did not destroy their appe- 
 tite, for the quantity of slices of bread and butter 
 
" STATISTICS." 139 
 
 which disappeared would have alarmed any one un- 
 accustomed to the feats of little people in that way. 
 
 And tea over, off they set again. It was almost 
 as if they were away on a visit somewhere, the 
 house seemed so quiet, and the garden, so often at 
 that time of day the scene of tremendous romps in 
 which even nurse herself was coaxed to join, quite 
 deserted. Unless that is to say you had passed 
 under a certain tree and stood still to listen to the 
 clatter going on overhead, though, thanks to the 
 leafy branches, there was nothing to be seen. 
 
 " Can there be magpies up in that tree ? " would, 
 I think, have been your first idea. And then, listen- 
 ing a little more attentively, you would have come 
 to think that whether human or feathered, they were 
 very funny magpies indeed. 
 
 " Fifteen, sixteen, that makes. Hurrah, sixteen 
 dogs since ten o'clock this morning. And, let's see, 
 seven old women with baskets, and " 
 
 " Them wasn't all old" corrects the small voice of 
 magpie number two ; " Jessie wif the eggs isn't old." 
 
 " Never mind ; if they've got baskets they should 
 be old," replies Ted. " An old woman with a basket 
 sounds right. Then there's five p'rambulators, oh, it 
 is a long word to spell it goes right out of its 
 place into the other rows. I wish I'd just put 4 babies 
 in p'l-ams.' And then there's three pigs and horses, 
 oh dear I can't count how many. It's getting too 
 dark to see the strokes on the paper. I say, Cissy, 
 
140 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 just you get down and run in and ask for two or 
 three dips. We can stick them up on the wall and 
 have a beautiful lighting up, and then we can see 
 everybody that passes." 
 
 Down clambered obedient Cissy she was grow- 
 ing very alert by this time at making her way up and 
 down off she set to the house with her message. 
 
 "Dips, dips," she repeated to herself. u Ted says 
 I'm to ask for two or three dips. I wonder what 
 dips is." 
 
 She had not the slightest idea, but it never oc- 
 curred to her to do otherwise than exactly what her 
 brother had said. It was a funny little figure that 
 presented itself to the children's mother, in the 
 twilight, just as she was putting away her work and 
 thinking it was really time for Ted and Cissy to 
 come in, a shawl wrapped round and tied behind over 
 her white pinafore, of which the part that could be 
 seen was by no means as clean as it might have been, 
 any more than the eager flushed little face, with its 
 bright dark eyes and wavy hair tumbling over the 
 forehead. 
 
 " My dear Cissy, what a very dirty little girl you 
 are," said her mother, laughing. " You really look 
 more like a gipsy than anything else." 
 
 " Does dipsies live up trees ? " inquired Cissy 
 gravely. "Trees is rather dirty. But oh, mother, 
 Ted wants me to ask you for two or three dips. 
 Please give me zem." 
 
141 
 
 " Dips" repeated her mother, " what in the world 
 does he want dips for ? " 
 
 "Cissy doesn't know," replied the little girl. 
 " Cissy doesn't know what dips is. Cissy finks Ted said 
 he would 'tick zem up on ze wall, to make it look pitty." 
 
 Her mother was very much amused. 
 
 " Dips are candles," she said. " I suppose Ted 
 wants to light up the tree." 
 
 Her words made a light break over Cissy's face in 
 the first place. 
 
 " Oh ses," said the little maiden, " it is getting so 
 dark. Oh do give Ted some dips, dear mother 
 do, do." 
 
 But not any number of " do's " would have made 
 mother agree to so dangerous a proceeding. 
 
 " My dear little girl, you would certainly set 
 yourselves on fire, and the tree too," she replied. 
 " But never mind," she went on, seeing the corners 
 of Cissy's mouth going down with the thought of 
 Ted's disappointment, " I will go out with you and 
 explain to Ted." 
 
 Mother put a shawl over her shoulders and went 
 out with her little girl. Some way off, Ted heard 
 them coming. 
 
 "O Cis, have you got the dips?" he cried. "I 
 forgot to tell you to bring some matches too. I've 
 had such hard work to see, and a lot of people passed. 
 I think there was a woman and two bo} r s. I'll have 
 to mark them down, when " 
 
142 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " I've come with Cissy, Ted," replied his mother's 
 voice, to his surprise, " to tell you that it would really 
 be too much of a good thing to go on with your obser- 
 vations all night. And, in the first place, you would 
 certainly set yourself and Cissy and the tree on fire, 
 if I let you have candles up there. Come down 
 now, that's a good boy, and show me your paper, 
 and we'll pack it up to send to your uncle by 
 post." 
 
 "Very well, mother," said Ted, with his usual 
 cheery good-nature. " I'm coming. Here goes," 
 and in another minute he was beside her. " You 
 don't know what a beautiful long paperful I've got. 
 I don't want you to pack it up yet, mother. Cissy 
 and I are going to keep it on ever so much longer, 
 aren't we, Cis ? " 
 
 And chattering merrily the children went in with 
 their mother. But, as she said to their father, it 
 really is to be doubted if they would not have stayed 
 in the tree all night, if Ted had got his wish and 
 arranged a " dip " illumination on the top of the 
 wall. 
 
 After all, that day in the tree was the last of their 
 " stick-sticks." The weather changed, and there was 
 nearly a week of rain, and by the time it was over, 
 children-like, Ted and Cissy had grown tired of the 
 rows of strokes representing old women and donkeys 
 and horses, and all the rest of them ; the " observa- 
 tions " had lost their attraction for them. Still the 
 
143 
 
 pleasure was not quite over, for there was the pack- 
 ing of the big paper to send to Uncle Ted by post, 
 and his letter of thanks in return. And Percy came 
 home for the holidays, and greatly approved of the 
 nest in the tree. And what the children did not do 
 up there what games they played, how they were 
 by turns Robinson Crusoe hiding from the savages, 
 King Charles in the oak at Boscobel, or, quainter 
 still, how they all sometimes suddenly turned into 
 squirrels and manufactured for themselves the most 
 wonderful tails of old brush handles, and goodness 
 only knows what, which stuck straight up behind and 
 made the climbing to the nest by no means an easy 
 matter yes indeed, what they did not do up in the 
 tree would be difficult to tell. 
 
 But it comes into my mind just now that I have 
 never told you anything of Ted's indoor life. Hith- 
 erto it has seemed all summer days and gardens, has 
 it not ? And no doubt the boy's greatest happiness 
 was in outdoor interests and employments. But of 
 course it was not always summer and sunshine for 
 Ted, any more than for any one else and, Christ- 
 mas child though he was, there were wintry days 
 when even he had to stay in the house and find work 
 and pleasures indoors. For winter does not mean 
 nothing but bright frosty skies overhead, and crisp 
 clean snow underfoot. There are dreary days of rain 
 and mist and mud, when children are much better at 
 home, and when mothers and nurses are more thank- 
 
144 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 ful than any one not a mother or nurse can imagine, 
 to have to do with cheerful contented little people, 
 who are " good at amusing themselves," and unself- 
 ish enough not to worry every one about them 
 because it is a rainy day. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 
 
 " We tried to quarrel yesterday. 
 Ah ! ... kiss the memory away." 
 
 IN Ted's pleasant home there was a queer little 
 room used for nothing in particular. It was a very 
 little room, hardly worthy indeed of the name, but it 
 had, like some small men who have very big minds, 
 a large window with a most charming view. I 
 think it was partly this which made Ted take such 
 a fanc} r to this queer little room in the first place 
 he used to stand at the window when they first came 
 to the house and gaze out at the stretch of sloping 
 fields, with peeps here and there of the blue river 
 fringed with splendid trees, and farther off still the 
 distant hills fading away into the mysterious cloudi- 
 ness, the sight of which always gave him a strange 
 feeling as if he would like to cry Ted used to gaze 
 out of this window for ever so long at a time, till 
 somehow the little room came to be associated with 
 him, and the rest of the family got into the way of 
 speaking of it as his. And gradually an idea took 
 shape in his mind which he consulted his mother 
 about, and which she was quite pleased to agree to. 
 
 145 
 
146 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Might he have this little room for his museum? 
 That was Ted's idea, and oh how eagerly his blue 
 eyes looked up into his mother's face for her reply, 
 and how the light danced in them with pleasure 
 when she said "yes." 
 
 There were shelves in the little room shelves 
 not too high up, some of them at least, for Ted to 
 arrange his curiosities on, without having to climb 
 on to a chair, and even Cissy, when she was trusted 
 as a great treat to dust some of the treasures, could 
 manage nicely with just a footstool. It would be 
 impossible to tell you half the pleasure Ted got out 
 of his museum. It was to him a sort of visible his- 
 tory of his simple happy life, for nowhere did he go 
 without bringing back with him some curious stone 
 or shell, or bird's feather, or uncommon leaf even, to 
 be placed in his collection, both as a remembrance 
 of his visit and as a thing of interest in itself. 
 
 There were specimens of cotton in its different 
 stages, of wool too, from a soft bit of fluff which Ted 
 had picked off a Welsh bramble, to a square inch of 
 an exquisitely knitted Shetland shawl, fine as a cob- 
 web, which Ted had begged from Mabel when she 
 was giving the remains of the shawl to Cissy for her 
 doll. There were bits of different kinds of coal; 
 there was "Blue John" from a Derbyshire cavern, 
 and a tiny china doll which, much charred and dis- 
 figured, had yet survived the great fire of Chicago, 
 where one of the children's uncles had passed by 
 
147 
 
 not long after; there was a bit of black bread from 
 the siege of Paris ; there were all manner of things, 
 all ticketed and numbered, and their description 
 neatly entered in a catalogue which lay on a little 
 table by the door, on which was also to be seen 
 another book, in which Ted requested all visitors to 
 the museum to write their names, and all the big 
 people of the family so well understood the boy's 
 pride and pleasure in his museum, that no one ever 
 thought of making his way into his little room 
 without his invitation. 
 
 Ted had begun his museum some months before 
 the great excitement of the nest in the tree, but 
 the delights of the long summer days out of doors 
 had a little put it out of his head. But the latter 
 part, as well as the beginning of these holidays, 
 happened to be very rainy, and the last fortnight was 
 spent mostly by Percy and Ted in the tiny museum 
 room, where Percy helped Ted to finish the ticketing 
 and numbering that he had not long before begun. 
 And Cissy, of course, was as busy as anybody, flop- 
 ping about with an old pocket-handkerchief which 
 she called her duster, and reproving the boys with 
 great dignity for unsettling any of the trays she had 
 made so "bootily clean." 
 
 "You must try to get some more feathers, Ted," 
 said Percy. "They make such a pretty collection. 
 There's a fellow at our school that has an awful lot. 
 He fastens them on to cards he's got a bird-of- 
 
148 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Paradise plume, an awful beauty. Indeed he's got 
 two, for he offered to sell me one for half-a-crown. 
 Wouldn't you like it?" 
 
 "I should think I would," said Ted, "but I can't 
 buy anything this half. You know my money's 
 owing to mother for that that I told you about." 
 
 He gave a little sigh; the bird of Paradise was a 
 tempting idea. 
 
 "Poor Ted," said Cissy, clambering down from 
 her stool to give him a hug. 
 
 Ted accepted the hug, but not the pity. 
 
 "No, Cissy. I'm not poor Ted for that," he said 
 merrily. "It was ever so kind of mother to put 
 it all right, and ever so much kinder of her to do 
 it that way. I shouldn't have liked not to pay it 
 myself." 
 
 "I'll see if I can't get that fellow to swop his bird 
 of Paradise for some of my stamps, when I go back 
 to school," said Percy. 
 
 "Oh, thank' you, Percy," said Ted, his eyes shin- 
 ing. 
 
 "Anyway you might have some peacocks'," Percy 
 went on. "They're not so hard to get, and they 
 look so pretty." 
 
 " Mother's got some screens made of them on the 
 drawing-room mantelpiece," said Ted, "and one of 
 them's got a lot of loose feathers sticking out at the 
 back that are no use. Perhaps she'd give me one 
 or two. Then I could make a nice cardful, with the 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 149 
 
 peacocks' at the corners and the little ones in a sort 
 of a wreath in the middle." 
 
 He looked at the sheet of white paper on to which, 
 at present, his feathers were fastened. "Yes, it 
 would be very pretty," he repeated. Bat just then 
 the tea-bell rang, and the children left the museum 
 for that day. 
 
 The boys were in it the next morning, when Ted's 
 mother appeared with a rather graver face than usual. 
 She did not come in, she knew that Ted was putting 
 all in perfect order, and that he did not want her to 
 see it till complete, so she only slightly opened the 
 door and called him out. 
 
 " Ted, " she said quietly, but Ted saw that she was 
 sorry, "Ted, do you know anything of this?" 
 
 She held up as she spoke a pretty and valuable 
 little china ornament which always stood on the 
 drawing-room mantelpiece. It was broken quite 
 spoilt it could never be the same again. 
 
 "Oh dear," exclaimed Ted, "what a pity! Your 
 dear little flower-basket. I am so sorry. How could 
 it have got broken ? " 
 
 "I don't know," said his mother. "I found it 
 lying on the floor. It seemed as if some one had 
 knocked it over without knowing. You are sure 
 you were not trying to reach anything off the 
 mantelpiece yesterday evening?" 
 
 "Sure," said Ted, looking sorry and puzzled. 
 
 "It stood just in front of my screen of peacock 
 
150 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 feathers," his mother went on. She did not in the 
 very very least doubt his assurance, but his manner 
 gave her the feeling that if she helped his memory a 
 little, he might be able to throw some light on the 
 mystery. 
 
 "In front of the peacock-feather fan," he repeated 
 absently. 
 
 "Yes," said his mother, "but do not say anything 
 about it, Ted. We may find out how it happened, 
 but I do not like questioning every one about it. It 
 gives the servants a feeling that I don't trust them, 
 for they always tell me if they break anything. So 
 don't say anything more about it to any one." 
 
 "No," said Ted. His tone and manner were still 
 a little puzzled, as if something was in his mind 
 which he could not make clear to himself, and his 
 mother, knowing that he sometimes was inclined to 
 take things of the kind too much to heart, made up 
 her mind to think no more about her poor little vase, 
 and to treat its breakage as one of the accidents we 
 have all to learn to bear philosophically in daily life. 
 But though no more was said, Ted did not forget 
 about it: it worried and puzzled him behind other 
 thoughts, as it were, all day, and little did he 
 or his mother think who was really the innocent 
 culprit. 
 
 Late that night, just before going to bed herself, 
 Ted's mother glanced into his room, as she often 
 did, to see that the boy was sleeping peacefully. 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 151 
 
 The light that she carried she shaded carefully, but 
 a very wide-awake voice greeted her at once. 
 
 "Mother," it said, "I'm not asleep. Mother, I do 
 so want to speak to you. I've not been able to go to 
 sleep for thinking about the little broken vase." 
 
 "O Ted, .dear," said his mother, "don't mind 
 about it. It is no use vexing oneself so much about 
 things when they are done and can't be put right." 
 
 "But, mother," he persisted, "it isn't quite that. 
 Of course I'm very sorry for it to be broken, however 
 it happened. But what makes me so uncomfortable 
 is that I've begun to wonder so if perhaps I did do 
 it. I know we were all talking about your peacock- 
 feather screens yesterday. I said to Percy and Cissy 
 there were some loose ones in one of them, and per- 
 haps you'd give me some for my card of feathers, 
 and I've got a sort of wondering feeling whether 
 perhaps I did touch the screen and knocked down 
 the china flower-basket without knowing, and it's 
 making me so unhappy, but I didn't mean to hide it 
 from you if I did do it." 
 
 He looked up so wistfully that his mother's heart 
 felt quite sore. She considered a minute before she 
 replied, for she was afraid of seeming to make light 
 of his trouble or of checking his perfect honesty, and 
 yet, on the other hand, she was wise, and knew that 
 even conscientiousness may be exaggerated and grow 
 into a weakness, trying to others as well as hurtful 
 to oneself. 
 
152 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 "I am sure you did not mean to hide anything 
 from me, dear Ted," she replied, "and I don't think 
 it is the least likely that you did break the vase. 
 But even if you did, it is better to think no more 
 about it. You answered me sincerely at the time, 
 and that was all you could do. We are only human 
 beings, you now, dear Ted, always likely to make 
 mistakes, even to say what is not true at the very 
 moment we are most anxious to be truthful. We 
 can only do our best, and ask God to help us. So 
 don't trouble any more, even if we never find out 
 how it happened." 
 
 Then she stooped and gave Ted an extra good- 
 night kiss, and in five minutes his loving anxious 
 little spirit was asleep. 
 
 But the very next day the mystery was explained. 
 
 "Ted's newseum is bootly neat," Cissy announced 
 at breakfast-time, "but he wants some more f ewers. 
 I tried to get down muzzer's screen off the mantel- 
 piece to see if there was some loose ones, but I 
 couldn't reach it. Muzzer, won't you give Ted some 
 loose ones?" 
 
 Mother looked at Ted, and Ted looked at mother. 
 
 "So you were the mouse that knocked over my 
 little vase, Miss Cissy!" said mother. "Do you 
 know, dear, that- it was broken ? You should not try 
 to reach things down yourself. You will be having 
 an accident, like 'Darling ' in the picture-book, some 
 day, if you don't take care." 
 
"THEY WEKE NEATLY TACKED ON TO THE FEATHER CARD, 
 WHICH HAD A VERY FlNE EFFECT ON THE WALL OF THE 
 
 MUSEUM." p. 153. 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 153 
 
 The corners of Cissy's mouth went down, and her 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "I didn't know," she said in a very melancholy 
 voice. "I only wanted to find some loose fevvers 
 for Ted." 
 
 "I know that, dear," said her mother. "Only if 
 you had asked me you would have got the feathers 
 without breaking my vase. Come with me now, and 
 you'll show me what you want." 
 
 There proved to be two or three loose feathers as 
 Ted had said beautiful rainbow eyes, which would 
 not be missed from the screen with the careful way 
 in which Ted's mother cut them out, and the chil- 
 dren carried them off in delight. They were neatly 
 tacked on to the feather card, which had a very fine 
 effect on the wall of the museum. And for both 
 Ted and Cissy there was a little lesson, though the 
 two were of different kinds, fastened up with the 
 feathers on the card. 
 
 Before long the holidays were over. Percy went 
 back to school, and poor Ted hid himself for a few 
 hours, as he always did on these sad occasions, that 
 his red eyes might not be seen. Then he came out 
 again, looking paler than usual, but quite cheerful 
 and bright. Still he missed Percy so much that he 
 was not at all sorry that his own holidays were over. 
 For Ted now went early every morning to a regular 
 big school a school at which there were so many 
 boys that some little fellows of his age might have 
 
154 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 felt frightened and depressed. But not so Ted. He 
 went on his own cheery way without misgiving. 
 The world to his thinking was a nice and happy 
 place not all sunshine of course, but very good of 
 its kind. And school-life, though it too had its 
 shadows, was full of interest and satisfaction. Ted 
 loved his fellows, and never doubted, in his simple 
 taking-for-granted of things being as they should be, 
 but that he was loved by them ; and how this way of 
 looking out on the world helped him through its 
 difficulties, how it saved him from unreasonable fears 
 and exaggerated anxieties such as take the bloom oif 
 many a child-life, it would be difficult for me to 
 describe. I can only try to put you in the way of 
 imagining this bright young life for yourselves. 
 
 The boy whom, of course only next to his dear 
 Percy, Ted loved best in the world was, to use his 
 own words, "a fellow" of about his own age, whose 
 name was Rex. That is to say, his short name; for 
 his real one was Reginald, just as Ted's was Ed- 
 mond. They had been together at the big school 
 from the first of Ted's going, being about equal in 
 their standing as to classes, though Rex was rather 
 the elder, and had been longer at school. At Ted's 
 school, as at all others, there were quarrels and fights 
 sometimes; and many a day he came home with 
 traces of war, in the shapes of bumps -and bruises and 
 scratches. Not that the battles were all quarrels, 
 there were plenty of good-tempered scrimmages, as 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 155 
 
 well as, occasionally, more serious affrays, for boys 
 will be boys all the world over. And, worse than 
 that, in all schools there are to be found boys of 
 mean and tyrannical spirit, who love to bully and 
 tease, and who need to be put down now and then. 
 And in all schools, too, there are boys of good and 
 kindly feelings, but of hasty and uncontrolled temper, 
 and they too have to be taught to give and take, to 
 bear and forbear. And then, too, as the best of boys 
 are but boys after all, we are still a long way off 
 having any reason to expect that the best of schools 
 even can be like dovecots. 
 
 I don't know that Ted's school was worse than 
 others in these respects, and Ted himself was not of 
 a quarrelsome nature, but still in some ways he was 
 not very patient. And then, slight and rather deli- 
 cate though he was, he assuredly had a spirit of his 
 own. He couldn't stand bullying, either of himself 
 or others, and without any calculation as to the odds 
 for or against him, he would plunge himself into the 
 thick of the fray; and but for Rex, who was always 
 ready to back up Ted, I dare say he would often 
 have come off worse than he did. As it was, many 
 were the wounds that fell to his share, and yet he 
 managed, by his quickness and nimbleness, to escape 
 more serious damage. 
 
 "What have you been doing with yourself, my 
 boy?" his mother said one day not long after the 
 grand doing-up of the museum, when Ted appeared 
 
156 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 in her room on his return from school, to beg for 
 some sticking-plaister and arnica lotion. He really 
 looked rather an object, and he could not help laugh- 
 ing as he caught sight of his face in the glass ; for 
 one eye was very much swollen, and a long scratch 
 down his nose did not add to his beauty. 
 
 "I am a fright," he said. "But there's not much 
 the matter, mother. It was only a scrimmage we 
 were all quite good friends." 
 
 "But really, Ted," said his mother, "I think you 
 must curb your warlike tastes a little. Some day 
 you may really get hurt badly." 
 
 "No fear, mother," he said. "Besides, after all, a 
 boy wouldn't be worth much who couldn't fight 
 sometimes, would he ? " 
 
 "Sometimes," said his mother. "Where was Rex 
 to-day wasn't he beside you?" 
 
 Ted's face clouded a little. 
 
 "Rex was in a bad humour to-day. He wouldn't 
 play," Ted replied. 
 
 "Rex in a bad humour!" repeated his mother. 
 "Surely that's very uncommon." 
 
 Ted did not reply, and his mother did not ask him 
 any more, but she noticed that the cloud had not 
 entirely disappeared, and the next morning it was 
 not quite with his usual springing steps that the boy 
 set off to school. Rex's house was on the same 
 road; most days the boys met each other at the gate 
 and went on together, but this time no Rex was to 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 157 
 
 be seen. Either he had taken it into his head to go 
 very early, or he was not } r et ready. Ted cast a 
 glance towards the path, down which he was used to 
 see his friend running, satchel over his shoulders, to 
 join him then he walked on slowly. 
 
 "I'm not going to wait for him if he doesn't care 
 to come," he said to himself; and when he got to 
 school he was glad he had not done so, for there was 
 Rex already in the schoolroom, and at his desk busy 
 writing, though it wanted some minutes to school- 
 time. 
 
 "Good-morning, Rex," said Ted. 
 
 "Good-morning," replied Rex; but that was all. 
 Whether or not he had been in a bad humour the 
 day before, he was certainly not in a pleasant frame 
 of mind towards Ted to-day. The morning passed 
 much less cheerfully than usual, for when all was 
 happy between the boys, though they could not speak 
 to each other in school hours, there were many pleas- 
 ant little ways in which they could make each other 
 feel that his friend was next door. Ted's lessons 
 suffered from his preoccupation, and, altogether, 
 things seemed to go the wrong way. But Ted did 
 not seem able to care. " What was the matter with 
 Rex?" That was the one question always in his 
 mind. 
 
 School over, the boys could not help meeting. 
 Their roads lay together, and both had too much 
 self-respect to wish to make an exhibition of the 
 
158 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 want of good-feeling between them to the other boys. 
 So they set off as if nothing were the matter, and 
 walked some little way in silence. At last Ted 
 could stand it no longer. 
 
 " What's the matter with you, old fellow ? " he 
 said. " Why wouldn't you play with me yesterday ? " 
 
 Rex looked up. 
 
 "I couldn't," he said. "I had got my French 
 exercise all blotted, and I wanted to copy it over 
 without telling any one; that was why I wouldn't 
 come out. So now you see if it was true what you 
 said of me to Hatchard." 
 
 " What did I say of you to Hatchard? " cried Ted. 
 
 " What f Why, what he told me you said that I 
 was a mean sneak, and that I wouldn't play because 
 I wasn't as good at it as you." 
 
 "I never said so, and you know I never did," 
 retorted Ted, his cheeks flaming. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I'm telling a lie?" 
 cried Rex in his turn. 
 
 " Yes I do, if you said I said that," exclaimed Ted. 
 And then how it happened I don't think either of 
 the boys could have told their anger grew from 
 words into deeds. Rex hit Ted, and Ted hit at him 
 again ! But one blow one on each side and they 
 came to their senses. Ted first, when he saw the 
 ugly mark his clenched fist had left on his friend's 
 face, when he felt the hot glow on his own. 
 
 " O Rex," he cried, " O Rex! How can we be like 
 
A PEACOCK'S FEATHER AND A KISS. 159 
 
 that to each other? It's like Cain and Abel. O 
 Rex, I'm so sorry! " 
 
 And Rex was quick to follow. 
 
 "O Ted, I didn't mean it. Let's forget we ever 
 did it. I do believe you never said that. Hatchard's 
 a mean sneak himself. I only didn't want to tell 
 you that it was you who blotted my exercise by mis- 
 take when you passed my desk. I thought you'd be 
 so sorry. But it would have been better to tell you 
 than to go on like this." 
 
 Rex's explanation was too much for Ted. Ten 
 years old though he was, the tears rushed to his 
 eyes, and he felt as if he could never forgive himself. 
 
 He told his mother all about it that evening. He 
 could not feel happy till he did so, and even before 
 he had said anything she knew that the little tug to 
 her sleeve and the whispered "Mother, I want to 
 speak to you," was coming. And even when he had 
 told her all about the quarrel and reconciliation, he 
 hung on, looking as if there were something more 
 to tell. 
 
 "What is it, my boy?" said his mother; "have 
 you anything more to say?" 
 
 Ted's face flushed. 
 
 "Yes, mother," he said. "I wanted to ask you 
 this. When Rex and I had settled it all right 
 again, we still felt rather unhappy. It did seem so 
 horrid to have hit each other like that, it seemed to 
 leave a mark. So, mother, we wanted to take it 
 
160 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 quite away, and we kissed each other. And we felt 
 quite happy, only was it a very babyish thing to 
 do? Was it unmanly, mother?" 
 
 His mother drew him towards her and looked lov- 
 ingly into his anxious face. 
 
 "Unmanly, my boy? No indeed," she said, "it 
 was kind and good, and kindness and goodness can 
 never be unmanly." 
 
 And Ted, quite at rest now, went off to bed. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 SOME KAINY ADVENTURES. 
 
 " Wildly the winds of heaven began to blow, 
 
 ****** 
 Whilst from the jealous, unrelenting skies 
 The inevitable July down-pour came." 
 
 ANOTHER winter came and went. Ted had 
 another birthday, which made him eleven years old. 
 Another happy Christmas time this year of the 
 old-fashioned snowy kind, for even in November 
 there was skating, and Ted skated like a Dutchman ; 
 and the child-life in the pleasant home went on its 
 peaceful way, with much of sunshine and but few 
 clouds. Narcissa, too. was growing a big girl. She 
 could say all her words clearly now, without lisping 
 or funny mistakes, though, as she was the youngest 
 bird in the nest, I am not sure but that some of the 
 big people thought this rather a pity ! And then 
 Avhen the frost and the snow were done with, the ever 
 new spring time came round again, gradually grow- 
 ing into the brilliant summer; and this year the 
 children's hearts rejoiced even more than usual, for 
 a great pleasure was before them. This year they 
 were to spend the holidays with their parents in 
 a quite, quite country place, and many were the 
 
 161 
 
162 A CHRISTMAS CHILD, 
 
 delightful fancies and dreams that they made about 
 it, even while it was some distance off. 
 
 " I do love summer," said Cissy one day. They 
 were standing at the window one May morning, 
 waiting for their father and mother to come to 
 breakfast. It was a Sunday morning, so there was 
 no hurrying off to school. " Don't you love summer, 
 Ted?" 
 
 "Yes, summer's awfully jolly," he replied. "But 
 so's winter. Just think of the snowballing and the 
 skating. I do hope next winter will be a regular 
 good one, for I shall be ever so much bigger I 
 expect, and I'll try my best to beat them all at 
 skating." 
 
 His face and eyes beamed with pleasure. Just 
 then his mother came in; she had heard his last 
 words. 
 
 " Next winter ! " she said. " That's a long time 
 off. Who knows what may happen before then ? " 
 
 She gave a little sigh ; Ted and Cissy looked at 
 each other. They knew what mother was thinking 
 of. Since last winter a great grief had come to her. 
 She had lost one who had been to her what Ted was 
 to Cissy, and the sorrow was still fresh. Ted and 
 Cissy drew near to their mother. Ted stroked her 
 hand, and Cissy held up her rosy mouth for a kiss. 
 
 " Dear mother," they said both together, and then 
 a little silence fell over them all. Cissy's thoughts 
 were sad as she looked at Ted and pictured to her- 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 163 
 
 self how terrible it would be to lose a brother as 
 dear as he, and Ted was gazing up at the blue sky 
 and wondering wondering about the great mystery 
 which had lately, for the first time in his life, seemed 
 to come near him. What was dying ? Why, if it meant, 
 as his father and mother told him, a better, and 
 fuller, and nobler life than this, which he found so 
 good and happy a thing, why, if it meant living 
 nearer to God, understanding Him better, why should 
 people dread it so, why speak of it as so sad ? 
 
 " I don't think," thought little Ted to himself, " 1 
 don't think I should be afraid of dying. God is so 
 kind, I couldn't fancy being afraid of Him; and 
 heaven must be so beautiful," for the sunny bright- 
 ness of the May morning seemed to surround every- 
 thing. But his glance fell on his mother and sister, 
 and other thoughts rose in his mind ; the leaving 
 them ah yes, that was what made death so sad a 
 thing ; and he had to turn his head away to hide the 
 tears which rose to his eyes. 
 
 There was, as his mother had said, a long time to 
 next winter there seemed even, to the children, a 
 long time to next summer, which they were hoping 
 for so eagerly. And an interruption came to Ted's 
 school-work, for quite unexpectedly he and Cissy 
 went away to London for a few weeks with their 
 parents, and when they came back there was only a 
 short time to wait for the holidays. If I had space I 
 would like to tell you about this visit to London, and 
 
164 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 some of the interesting things that happened there 
 how the children had rather a distressing adven- 
 ture the first evening of their arrival, for their father 
 and mother had to go off with their aunt in a hurry 
 to see a sick friend, and, quite by mistake, their nurse, 
 not knowing the children would be alone, went out 
 with a message about a missing parcel, and poor 
 Cissy, tired with the journey and frightened by the 
 dark, rather gloomy house and the strange servants, 
 had a terrible fit of crying, and clung to Ted as her 
 only protector in a manner piteous to see. And Ted 
 soothed and comforted her as no one else could have 
 done. It was a pretty sight (though it grieved their 
 mother too, to find that poor Cissy had been fright- 
 ened) to see the little girl in Ted's arms, where she 
 had fallen asleep, the tears still undried on her 
 cheeks; and the next morning, when she woke up 
 fresh and bright as usual, she told her mother that 
 Ted had been, oh so kind, she never could be fright- 
 ened again if Ted was there. 
 
 There were many things to surprise and interest 
 the children, Ted especially, in the great world of 
 London, of which now he had this little peep. But 
 as I have promised to tell you about the summer I 
 must not linger. 
 
 When they went back from town there were still 
 eight or nine weeks to pass before the holidays, and 
 Ted worked hard, really very hard, at school to gain 
 the prize he had been almost sure of before the in- 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTtJKES. 165 
 
 terruption of going away. He did not say much 
 about it, but his heart did beat a good deal faster 
 than usual when at last the examinations were over 
 and the prize-giving day came round; and when all 
 the successful names were read out and his was not 
 among them, I could not take upon myself to say that 
 there was not a tear to wink away, even though 
 there was the consolation of hearing that he stood 
 second-best in his class. And Ted's good feeling and 
 common sense made him look quite bright and cheer- 
 ful when his mother met him with rather an anxious 
 face. 
 
 " You're not disappointed I hope, Ted, dear, are 
 you ? " she said. " You have not taken quite as good 
 a place as usual, and I did think you might have had 
 a prize. But you know I am quite pleased, and so is 
 your father, for we are satisfied you have done your 
 best, so you must not be disappointed." 
 
 " I'm not, mother," said Ted cheerily, " I'm not 
 really, for you know I am second, and that's not bad, 
 is it ? Considering I was away and all that." 
 
 And his mother felt pleased at the boy's good sense 
 and fair judgment of himself for there had some- 
 times seemed a danger of Ted's entire want of vanity 
 making him too timid about himself. 
 
 What a happy day it was for Ted and Cissy when 
 the real packing began for the summer expedition ! 
 It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and I 
 suppose it is by this old saying explained how it is 
 
166 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 that packing, the horror of mothers and aunts and big 
 sisters, not to speak of nurses and maids, should be 
 to all small people the source of such delight. 
 
 " See, Ted," said Cissy, " do let's carry down some 
 of these boxes. There's the one with the sheets and 
 towels in, quite ready," and the children's mother 
 coming along the passage and finding them both tug- 
 ging with all their might at really a very heavy 
 trunk, was reminded of the day long ago now - 
 in the mountain home, when, setting off for the 
 picnic, wee Ted wanted so much to load himself 
 with the heaviest basket of all ! 
 
 And at last, thanks no doubt to these energetic 
 efforts in great part, the packing was all done ; the 
 last evening, then the last night came, and the 
 excited children went to sleep to wake ever so much 
 earlier than usual to the delights of thinking the 
 day had come ! 
 
 It was a long and rather tiring railway journey, 
 and when it came to an end there was a very long 
 drive in an open carriage, and by degrees all houses 
 and what Ted's father called " traces of civilisation," 
 - which puzzled Cissy a good deal were left 
 behind. 
 
 " We must be getting close to the moors," said 
 he, at which the children were delighted, for it was 
 on the edge of these great moors that stood the 
 lonely farm-house that was to be their home for 
 some months. But just as their father said this, 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 167 
 
 the carriage stopped, and they were told they must 
 all get down they were at the entrance to a wood 
 through which there was no cart or carriage road, 
 only a footpath, and the farm-house stood in a glen 
 some little way on the other side of this wood. It 
 was nearly dark outside the wood, inside it was of 
 course still more so, so dark indeed that it took some 
 care and management to find one's way at all. The 
 children walked on quietly, Ted really enjoying the 
 queerness and the mystery of this adventure, but 
 little Narcissa, though she said nothing, pressed 
 closer to her mother, feeling rather " eerie," and 
 some weeks after she said one day, "I don't want 
 ever to go home again because of passing through 
 that dark wood." 
 
 But once arrived, the pleasant look of everything 
 at the farm-house, and the hearty welcome they 
 received from their host and hostess, the farmer and 
 his wife, made every one feel it had all been worth 
 the journey and the trouble. And the next morning, 
 when the children woke to a sunny summer day in 
 the quaint old house, and looked out on all sides on 
 the lovely meadows and leafy trees, with here and 
 there a peep of the gleaming river a little farther 
 down the glen, and when, near at hand, they heard 
 the clucking of the hens and the mooing of the 
 calves and the barking of the dogs, and all the de- 
 lightful sounds of real farm-life, I think, children, 
 you will not need me to try to tell you how happy 
 
168 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 our children felt. The next few days were a sort 
 of bewilderment of interests and pleasures and sur- 
 prises everything was so nice and new even the 
 funny old-fashioned stoneware plates and dishes 
 seemed to Ted and Cissy to make the dinners and 
 teas taste better than anything they had ever eaten 
 before. And very soon they were as much at home 
 in and about the farm-house as if they had lived 
 there all their lives, feeding the calves and pigs, 
 hunting for eggs, carrying in wood for Mrs. Crosby 
 to help her little niece Polly, a small person not 
 much older than Cissy, but already very useful in 
 house and farm work. One day, when they were 
 busy at this wood-carrying, a brilliant idea struck 
 them. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be fun," said Ted, "to go to the 
 wood just the beginning of it, you know and 
 gather a lot of these nice little dry branches ; they 
 are so beautiful for lighting fires with ? " 
 
 Cissy agreed that it would be great fun, and 
 Polly, who was with them at the time, thought, too, 
 that it would be very nice indeed ; and then a still 
 better idea struck Ted. "Suppose," he said, "that 
 we were to go to-morrow morning, and take our 
 luncheon with us. Wouldn't that be nice ? We 
 could pack it in a basket and take it on the little 
 truck that we get the wood in, and then we could 
 bring back the little truck full of the dry branches." 
 
 The proposal was thought charming, and mother 
 
SOME KAIKY ADVENTURES. 169 
 
 was consulted; and the next morning Mrs. Crosby 
 was busy betimes, hunting up what she could give 
 to her " honeys " for their picnic, and soon the three 
 set off, pulling the truck behind them, and on the 
 truck a basket carefully packed with a large bottle 
 of fresh milk, a good provision of bread and butter, 
 a fine cut of home-made cake, and three splendid 
 apple turnovers. Could anything be nicer? The 
 sun was shining, as it was right he should shine on 
 so happy a little party, as they made their way up 
 the sloping field, through a little white gate opening 
 on to a narrow path skirting the foot of the hilL 
 where the bracken grew in wild luxuriance, and 
 the tall trees overhead made a pleasant shade down 
 to the little beck, whose chatter could be faintly 
 heard. And so peaceful and sheltered was the 
 place, that, as the children passed along, bright-eyed 
 rabbits stopped to peep at them ere they scudded 
 away, and the birds' hopped fearlessly across the path, 
 nay, the squirrels even, sitting comfortably among 
 the branches, glanced down at the three little figures 
 without disturbing themselves, and an old owl blinked 
 at them patronisingly from his hole in an ancient 
 tree-trunk. And bye-and-bye as the path grew more 
 rugged, Polly was deputed to carry the basket, for 
 fear of accidents, for Cissy pulling in front and Ted 
 pushing and guiding behind, found it as much as 
 they could do to get the truck along. How they 
 meant to bring it back when loaded with branches I 
 
170 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 don't know, and as things turned out, the question 
 did not arise. The truck and the basket and the 
 children reached their destination safely ; they chose 
 a nice little grassy corner under a tree very near the 
 entrance to the big wood, and after a very short 
 interval of rest from the fatigues of their journey, it 
 was suggested by one and agreed to by all that even 
 if it were rather too early for real luncheon or dinner 
 time, there was no reason why, if they felt hungry, 
 they should not unpack the basket and eat ! No 
 sooner said than done. 
 
 " We shall work at gathering wood all the better 
 after we've had some refreshment," observed Ted 
 sagely, and the little girls were quite of his opinion. 
 And the rabbits and the owls and the squirrels must, 
 I think, have been much amused at the quaint little 
 party, the spice-cake and apple-turnover collation 
 that took place under the old tree, and at the merry 
 words and ringing laughter that echoed through the 
 forest. 
 
 An hour or so later, the children's mother, with an 
 after-thought of possible risk to them from the damp 
 ground, made her way along the path and soon dis- 
 covered the little group. She had brought with her 
 a large waterproof cloak big enough for them all to 
 sit on together, but it was too late, for the refection 
 was over; the basket, containing only the three 
 plates and the three tin mugs, propped up between 
 Ted and Cissy, toppled over with the start the chil- 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 171 
 
 dren gave at the sound of their mother's voice, and a 
 regular " Jack and Jill " clatter down the slope was 
 the result. The children screamed with delight and 
 excitement as they raced after the truant mugs and 
 plates, and their mother, thinking that her staying 
 longer might cause a little constraint in the merri- 
 ment, turned to go, just saying cheerfully, " Chil- 
 dren, I have brought my big waterproof cloak for 
 you to sit on, but as your feast is over I suppose 
 you won't need it. What are you going to do 
 next?" 
 
 " O mother, we're just going to set to work," Ted's 
 voice replied ; " we're having such fun." 
 
 "Well, good-bye then. I am going a walk with 
 your father, but in case of a change of weather, 
 though it certainly doesn't look like it, I'll leave 
 the cloak." 
 
 She turned and left them. An hour or two later, 
 when she came home to the farm-house and stood 
 for a moment looking up at the sky, it seemed to 
 her as if her remark about the weather had been a 
 shadow of coming events. For the bright blue sky 
 had clouded over, a slight chilly breeze ruffled the 
 leaves as if in friendly warning to the birds and the 
 butterflies to get under shelter, and before many 
 moments had passed large heavy drops began to fall, 
 which soon grew into a regular downpour. What a 
 changed world ! 
 
 "What will the children do?" was the mother's 
 
172 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 first thought as she watched it. " It is too heavy to 
 last, and fortunately there is no sign of thunder 
 about. I don't see that there is anything to be done 
 but to wait a little ; they are certain to be under 
 shelter in the wood, and any one going for them 
 would be drenched in two minutes." 
 
 So she did her best to wait patiently and not to 
 feel uneasy, though several times in the course of the 
 next half-hour she went to the window to see if there 
 were no sign of the rain abating. Alas, no ! As 
 heavily as ever, and even more steadily, it fell. 
 Something must be done she decided, and she was 
 just thinking of going to the kitchen to consult Mrs. 
 Crosby, when as she turned from the window a curi- 
 ous object rolling or slowly hobbling down the hill- 
 side caught her view. That was the way the chil- 
 dren would come what could that queer thing be ? 
 It was not too high, but far too broad to be a child, 
 and its way of moving was a sort of jerky waddle 
 through the bracken, very remarkable to see. What- 
 ever it was, dwarf or goblin, it found its way diffi- 
 cult to steer, poor thing, for there, with a sudden 
 fly, over it went altogether and lay for a moment 
 or two struggling and twisting, till at last it man- 
 aged to get up again and painfully strove to pursue 
 its way. 
 
 The children's mother called their nurse. 
 
 "Esther," she said, "I cannot imagine what that 
 creature is coming down the road. But it is in 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 173 
 
 trouble evidently. Run off and see if you can help." 
 Off ran kind-hearted Esther, and soon she was re- 
 warded for her trouble. For as she got near to the 
 queer-shaped bundle, she saw two pairs of eyes peer- 
 ing out at her, from the two arm-holes of the water- 
 proof cloak, and in a moment the mystery was 
 explained. Ted, in his anxiety for the two girls, 
 had wrapped them up together in the cloak which his 
 mother had left, and literally "bundled" them off, 
 with the advice to get home as quickly as possible, 
 while he followed with his loaded truck, the wood 
 covered as well as he could manage with leafy 
 branches which he tore down. 
 
 But " possible " was riot quickly at all in the case 
 of poor Cissy and her companion. Polly was of a 
 calm and placid nature, with something of the resig- 
 nation to evils that one sees in the peasant class all 
 over the world ; but Narcissa, impulsive and sensitive, 
 with her dainty dislike to mud, and her unaccustomed- 
 ness to such adventures, could not long restrain her 
 tears, and under the waterproof cloak she cried sadly, 
 feeling frightened too at the angry gusts of rain and 
 wind which sounded to her like the voices of ogres 
 waiting to seize them and carry them off to some 
 dreadful cavern. 
 
 The summit of their misfortunes seemed reached 
 when they toppled over and lay for a moment or 
 two helplessly struggling on the wet ground. But 
 oh, what delight to hear Esther's kind voice, and 
 
174 A CHKISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 how Cissy clung to her and sobbed out her woes ! 
 She was more than half comforted again by the time 
 they reached the farm-house, and just as mother 
 was considering whether it would not be better to 
 undress them in the kitchen before the fire and 
 bring down their dry clothes, Master Ted, " very 
 wet, yes very wet, oh very wet indeed," made his 
 appearance, with rosy cheeks and a general look of 
 self-satisfaction. 
 
 "Did they get home all right? " he said, cheerily. 
 " It was a good thing you brought the cloak, mother. 
 And the wood isn't so wet after all." 
 
 And an hour or two later, dried and consoled and 
 sitting round the kitchen table for an extra good 
 tea to which Mrs. Crosby had invited them, all the 
 children agreed that after all the expedition had not 
 turned out badly. 
 
 But the weather had changed there was no doubt ; 
 for the time at least the sunny days were over. The 
 party in the farm-house had grown smaller too, for 
 the uncles had had to leave, and even the children's 
 father had been summoned away unexpectedly to 
 London. And a day or two after the children's 
 picnic their mother stood at the window rather 
 anxiously looking out at the ever-falling rain. 
 
 " It really looks like as if it would never leave off," 
 she said, and there was some reason for her feel- 
 ing distressed. She had hoped for a letter from 
 the children's father that day, and very probably it 
 
" MASTEB TED, VERY WET INDEED, MADE HIS APPEARANCE 
 WITH ROSY CHEEKS AND A GENERAL LOOK or SELF-SATISFAC- 
 TION." p. 174. 
 
SOME KAINY ADVENTURES. 175 
 
 was lying at the two-miles-and-a-half-off post-office, 
 waiting for some one to fetch it. For it was not 
 one of the postman's days for coming round by the 
 farm-house ; that only happened twice a week, but 
 hitherto this had been of little consequence to the 
 farm-house visitors. Their letters perhaps had not 
 been of such importance as to be watched for with 
 much anxiety, and in the fine weather it was quite a 
 pleasant little walk to the post-office by the fields 
 and the stepping-stones across the river. But all this 
 rain had so swollen the river that now the stepping- 
 stones were useless ; there was nothing for it but to 
 take the long round by the road ; and this added to 
 the difficulty in another way, for it was not by any 
 means every day that Mr. Crosby or his son were 
 going in that direction, or that they could, at this 
 busy season, spare a man so long off work. So the 
 children's mother could not see how she was to get 
 her letter if this rain continued at least not for 
 several days, for the old postman had called yester- 
 day he would not take the round of the Skensdale 
 farm for other three or four days at least, and even 
 then, the post-office people were now so accustomed 
 to some of the "gentry" calling for their letters 
 themselves, that it was doubtful, not certain at least, 
 if they would think of giving them to the regular 
 carrier. And with some anxiety, for her husband 
 had gone to London on business of importance, Ted's 
 mother went to bed. 
 
176 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 Early next morning she was awakened by a tap 
 at .the door, a gentle little tap. She almost fancied 
 she had heard it before in her sleep without being 
 really aroused. 
 
 " Come in," she said, and a very business-like 
 figure, which at the first glance she hardly recog- 
 nised, made its appearance. It was Ted ; dressed in 
 waterproof from head to foot, cloak, leggings, and 
 all, he really looked ready to defy the weather a 
 sort of miniature diver, for he had an oilskin cap on 
 his head too, out of which gleamed his bright blue 
 eyes, full of eagerness and excitement. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " I hope I haven't wakened you 
 too soon. I got up early on purpose to see about 
 your letters. It's still raining as hard as ever, and 
 even if it left off, there'd be no crossing the stepping- 
 stones for two or three days, Farmer Crosby says. 
 And he can't spare any one to-day to go to the post. 
 I'm the only one that can, so I've got ready, and 
 don't you think I'd better go at once?" 
 
 Ted's mother looked out of the window. Oh, how 
 it was pouring ! She thought of the long walk 
 the two miles and a half through the dripping grass 
 of the meadows, along the muddy, dreary road, and 
 all the way back again ; and then the possibility of 
 the swollen river having escaped its bounds where 
 the road lay low, came into her mind and frightened 
 her. For Ted was a little fellow still only eleven 
 and a half, and slight and delicate for his age. And 
 
SOME RAINY ADVENTURES. 177 
 
 then she looked at him and saw the eager readiness in 
 his eyes, and remembered that he was quick-witted 
 and careful, and she reflected also that he must 
 learn, sooner or later, to face risks and difficulties for 
 himself. 
 
 " Ted, my boy," she said, " it's very nice of you to 
 have thought of it, and I know it would be a great 
 disappointment if I didn't let you go. But you'll 
 promise me to be very careful to do nothing rash 
 or unwise ; if the river is over the road, for instance, 
 or there is the least danger, you'll turn back? " 
 
 "Yes, mother, I'll be very careful, really," said 
 Ted. " I'll do nothing silly. Good-bye, mother ; 
 thank you so much for letting me go. I've got my 
 stick, but there's no use taking an umbrella." 
 
 And off he set ; his mother watching him from the 
 window as far as she could see him, trudging bravely 
 along a quaint little figure through the pouring 
 rain. For more than a mile she could see him mak- 
 ing his way along the meadow path, gradually lessen- 
 ing as the distance increased, till a little black speck 
 was all she could distinguish, and then it too disap- 
 peared round the corner. 
 
 And an hour or so later, there were warm, dry 
 boots and stockings before the fire, which even in 
 August the continued rain made necessary, and a 
 "beautiful" breakfast of hot coffee, and a regular 
 north-country rasher of bacon, and Mrs. Crosby's 
 home-made bread and butter, all waiting on the table. 
 
178 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 And Ted's mother took up her post again to watch 
 for the reappearance of the tiny black speck, which 
 was gradually to grow into her boy. It did not tarry. 
 As soon as was possible it came in sight. 
 
 " How quick he has been my dear, clever, good 
 little Ted ! " his mother said to herself. And you 
 may be sure that she, and Cissy too, were both at the 
 door to meet the little human water-rat, dripping, 
 dripping all over, like " Johnny Head-in-air " in old 
 " Struwelpeter," but with eyes as bright as any 
 water-rat's, and cheeks rosy with cold and exercise 
 and pleasure all mixed together, who, before he said 
 a word, held out the precious letter. 
 
 " Here it is, mother from father, just as you ex- 
 pected. I do hope it's got good news." 
 
 How could it bring other ? Mother felt before she 
 opened it that it could not contain any but good 
 news, nor did it. Then she just gave her brave 
 little boy one good kiss and one hearty " Thank you, 
 Ted." For she did not want to spoil him by over- 
 praise, or to take the bloom off what he evidently 
 thought nothing out of the common, by exaggerating 
 it. 
 
 And Ted enjoyed his breakfast uncommonly, I can 
 assure you. He was only eleven and a half. I think 
 our Ted showed that he had a sweet and brave spirit 
 of his own ; don't you, children ? 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 "IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 
 
 " How well my own heart knew 
 That voice so clear and true." 
 
 THE summer in the wolds, so long looked forward 
 to, was over. It had been very happy, in spite of 
 the rain having given the visitors at the Skensdale 
 farm-house rather more of his company than they 
 had bargained for, and it left many happy memories 
 behind it. 
 
 And the coming home again was happy too. The 
 days were beginning to " draw in " as people say, and 
 " home," with its coal-fires which, though not so 
 picturesque, are ever so much warmer than wood 
 ones, I assure you its well-closing doors and 
 shutters, its nice carpets and curtains, was after all 
 a better place for chilly days and evenings than even 
 the most interesting of farm-houses. And Ted had 
 his school-work to think of too ; he was anxious to 
 take a very good place at the next examinations, for 
 he was getting on for twelve, and "some day" he 
 knew that he would have to go out into the world 
 as it were, on his own account to go away, that is 
 to say, to a big boarding-school, as Percy had done 
 before him. 
 
 179 
 
180 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 He did work well, and he was rewarded, and this 
 Christmas was a very happy one. There was plenty 
 of skating, and Ted got on famously. Indeed, he 
 learnt to be so clever at it, that Cissy used to feel 
 quite proud, when people admired him for it, to 
 think that he was her brother, though Ted himself 
 took it quite simply. Skating was to him the greatest 
 pleasure he knew. To feel oneself skimming along 
 by one's own will, and yet with a power beyond 
 oneself, was delightful past words. 
 
 " I do think," thought Ted to himself, one clear 
 bright frosty day, when the sky was as blue, almost, 
 as in summer, " I do think it's as nice as flying." 
 
 And then looking up, as he skimmed along, at 
 the beautiful sky which winter or summer he loved 
 so much, there came over him that same strange 
 sweet wonder the questioning he could not have 
 put into words, as to whether the Heaven he often 
 thought of in his dreamy childish way, was really 
 up there, and what it was like, and what they did 
 there. It must be happy and bright happier and 
 brighter even than down here, because there, in some 
 way that Ted knew that neither he nor the wisest 
 of mankind could explain, one would be nearer God. 
 But yet it was difficult to understand how it could 
 be much brighter and happier than this happy life 
 down below. There was no good trying to under- 
 stand, Ted decided. Grod understood, and that was 
 enough. And as He had made us so happy here, 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 181 
 
 He might be trusted to know what was best for us 
 there. Only yes, that was the greatest puzzle of 
 all, far more puzzling than anything else everybody 
 was not happy here alas ! no, Ted knew enough to 
 know that many, many were not happy ; many, 
 many were not good, and had never even had a 
 chance of becoming so. Ah, that was a puzzle ! 
 
 " When I'm a man," thought Ted and it was a 
 thought that came to him often "I'll try to do 
 something for those poor boys in London." 
 
 For nothing had made more impression on Ted, 
 during his stay in London, than the sight of the 
 so-called " City Arabs," and all he had heard about 
 them. He had even written a story on the subject, 
 taking for his hero a certain " Tom," whose adven- 
 tures and misadventures were most thrilling ; end- 
 ing, for Ted liked stories that ended well, with his 
 happy adoption into a kind-hearted family, such as 
 it is to be wished there were more of to be found in 
 real life ! I should have liked to tell you this story, 
 and some day perhaps I shall do so, but not, I fear, 
 in this little book, for there are even a great many 
 things about Ted himself which I shall not have 
 room for. 
 
 There were other pleasures besides skating this 
 Christmas time. Among these there was a very 
 delightful entertainment given by some of Ted's 
 father's and mother's friends to a very large party, 
 both old and young. It was a regular Christmas 
 
182 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 gathering so large that the great big old-fashioned 
 ball-room at the " Red Lion " was engaged for the 
 purpose. 
 
 Dear me, what a great many scenes this old ball- 
 room had witnessed ! Election contests without end, 
 during three-quarters of a century and more ; balls 
 of the old-world type, when the gentlemen had 
 powdered wigs and ribbon-tied " queues," which, no 
 doubt, you irreverent little people of the nineteenth 
 century would call " pig-tails " ; and my Lady Grizzle 
 from the hall once actually stuck in the doorway, so 
 ponderous was her head-gear, though by dint of good 
 management her hoop and furbelows had been got 
 through. And farther back still, in the Roundhead 
 days, when so ran the legend a party of rollick- 
 ing cavaliers, and a company commanded by one 
 Captain Holdfast Armstrong, passed two succeed- 
 ing nights in the Red Lion's ball-room, neither so 
 cleverly did the cautious landlord manage having 
 the least idea of the other's near neighbourhood. 
 
 But never had the old ball-room seen happier faces 
 or heard merrier laughter than at this Christmas 
 party ; and among the happy faces none was brighter 
 than our Ted's. He really did enjoy himself, though 
 one of the youngest of the guests, for Cissy had been 
 pronounced too young, but had reconciled herself to 
 going to bed at her usual hour, by Ted's promise to 
 tell her all about it the next day. And besides his 
 boy friends Percy, of course, who was home for 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 183 
 
 the holidays, and Rex, and several others Ted had 
 another companion this evening whom he was very 
 fond of. This was a little girl about his own age, 
 named Gertrude, the daughter of a friend of his 
 father's. I have not told you about her before, 
 because, I suppose, I have had so many things to 
 tell, that I have felt rather puzzled how to put them 
 all in nicely, especially as they are all simple, every- 
 day things, with nothing the least wonderful or re- 
 markable about them. Gertrude was a very dear 
 little girl; she almost seemed to Ted like another 
 kind of sister. He had Mabel, and Christine her 
 sister, as big ones, and Cissy as his own particular 
 little one, and Gertrude seemed to come in as a sort 
 of companion sister, between the big ones and the 
 little one. Ted was very rich in friends, you see, 
 friends of all kinds. He used often to count them 
 up and say so to himself. 
 
 Well, this evening of the big Christmas party was, 
 as I said, one of the happiest he had ever known. 
 All his friends were there all looking as happy as 
 happy could be. 
 
 " When I'm a man," thought Ted to himself, " I'd 
 like to give parties like this every Christmas," and as 
 he looked round the room his eyes gleamed with 
 pleasure. Gertrude was standing beside him they 
 were going to be partners in a country-dance, which 
 was a favourite of Ted's. Just then his mother came 
 up to where they were standing. 
 
184 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Ted, my boy," she said, " I am going home now. 
 It is very late for you already half -past twelve. 
 The others, however, are staying later, but I think 
 it is quite time for you and me to be going, don't 
 you?" 
 
 Ted's face clouded a most unusual thing to 
 happen. 
 
 "Gertrude isn't going yet," he said, u and Rex and 
 his brothers ; they're staying later. O mother, must 
 I come now ? " 
 
 His mother hesitated. She was always reluctant 
 to disappoint the children if it could be helped, yet, 
 on the other hand, she was even more anxious not to 
 spoil them. But the sight of Ted's eager face carried 
 the day. 
 
 " Ah well," she said, smiling, " I suppose I must 
 be indulgent for once and go home without you. So 
 good-night, Ted you will come with the others 
 I hope it won't be very late." 
 
 As she turned away, it struck her that Ted's face 
 did not look altogether delighted. 
 
 "Poor Ted," she said to herself, "he doesn't like to 
 see me go away alone." But hoping he would enjoy 
 himself, and that he would not be too tired "to- 
 morrow morning," she went home without any mis- 
 giving, and she was not sorry to go. She found the 
 Christmas holidays and all they entailed more fa- 
 tiguing than did the children, for whom all these 
 pleasant things " grew " without preparation. 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 185 
 
 It was a rather dark night so thought Ted's 
 mother to herself as she glanced out of her window 
 for a moment before drawing the curtains close and 
 going to bed all the house was shut up, and all 
 those who had stayed at home fast asleep by this 
 time, and it had been arranged that the others should 
 let themselves in with a latch-key. Ted's mother 
 felt, therefore, rather surprised and a little startled 
 when she heard a bell ring ; at first she could hardly 
 believe that she was not mistaken, and to be quite 
 sure she opened the window and called out, " Is there 
 any one there ? " There was half a moment's silence, 
 then some one came out a little from under the porch, 
 where he had been standing since ringing the bell, 
 and a well-known voice replied how clearly and 
 brightly its young tones rose up through the frosty 
 air 
 
 " It is only I, mother. I thought I'd rather come 
 home after all." 
 
 " You, Ted," she replied ; " you, and alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother. I thought somehow you'd like 
 better to have me, so I just ran home." 
 
 "And weren't you frightened, Ted?" she said a 
 little anxiously, but with a glad feeling at her heart ; 
 " weren't you afraid to come through the lonely 
 streets, and the road, more lonely still, outside the 
 town ? For it is very dark, and everything shut up 
 weren't you afraid ? " 
 
 "Oh no, mother not a bit," he replied, "only 
 
186 A CHEISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 just when I had left all the houses I did walk a little 
 faster, I think. But I'm so glad I came, if you're 
 pleased, mother." 
 
 And when his mother had opened the door and 
 let him in and given him a good-night kiss even 
 more loving than usual, Ted went to bed and to 
 sleep with a light happy heart, and his mother, as 
 she too fell asleep, thanked God for her boy. 
 
 ******** 
 
 I must now, I think, children, ask you to pass over 
 with me nearly a whole year of Ted's life. These 
 holidays ended, came, by slow degrees that year, the 
 always welcome spring ; then sunny summer again, 
 a bright and happy summer this, though spent at my 
 little friends' own home instead of at the Skensdale 
 farm-house ; then autumn with its shortening days 
 and lengthening evenings, gradually shortening and 
 lengthening into winter again ; till at last Christmas 
 itself, like the familiar figure of an old friend, whom, 
 just turning the corner of the road where we live, we 
 descry coming to visit us, was to be seen not so far 
 off. 
 
 Many things had happened during this year, 
 which, though all such simple things, I should like 
 to tell you of but for the old restrictions of time and 
 space. And indeed I have to thank you for having 
 listened to me so long, for I blame myself a little for 
 not having told you more plainly at the beginning 
 that it was not a regular " story " I had to tell you 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 187 
 
 in the " carrots " coloured book this year, but just 
 some parts, simple and real, of a child-life that I love 
 to think of. And I would have liked to leave it 
 here for some reasons that is to say or I would 
 have liked to tell how Ted grew up into such a man 
 as his boyhood promised honest-hearted, loving, 
 and unselfish, and as happy as a true Christmas child 
 could not but be. But, dears, I cannot tell you this, 
 for it was not to be so. Yet I am so anxious that 
 the little book I have tried to write in such a way 
 that his happy life and nature should be loved by 
 other children I am so anxious that the ending of 
 this little book should not seem to you a sad one, at 
 Christmas time too of all times, that I find it a little 
 difficult to say what has to be said. For in the truest 
 sense the close of my book is not sad. I will just tell 
 it simply as it really was, trusting that you will 
 know I love you all too well to wish to throw any 
 cloud over your bright faces and thoughts. 
 
 Well, as I said, this year had brought many little 
 events, some troubles of course, and much good, to 
 our Ted. He had grown a good deal taller, and 
 thinner too, and he never, even as a tiny toddler, 
 could have been called fat ! But he was well and 
 strong, and had made good progress at school and 
 good progress too in other ways. He was getting 
 on famously at cricket and football, and was a first- 
 rate croquet-player, for croquet was then in fashion. 
 And the museum had not been neglected; it had 
 
188 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 really grown into a very respectable and interesting 
 museum, so that not only Ted's own people and near 
 friends were pleased to see it, but even his parents' 
 friends, and sometimes others, again, who happened 
 to be visiting them, would ask the little collector to 
 admit them. I really think it would be a good 
 thing if more boys took to having museums ; it 
 would be a good thing for them, for nothing can be 
 more amusing and interesting too, and a very good 
 thing for their friends, especially in bad weather or 
 in holiday-time, when now and then the hours hang 
 heavily on these young people's hands, and one is 
 inclined to wish that some fancy work for boys could 
 be invented. Ted's museum had grown very much, 
 and was always a great resource for him and for 
 Cissy too, for, to tell the truth, her tastes were rather 
 boyish. 
 
 His library had grown too. I cannot tell you 
 how many nice books he had, and still less could I 
 tell you how he treasured them. When, through 
 much service, some of them grew weak in the back, 
 he would, though reluctantly, consent to have them 
 re-bound ; and he had a pretty, and to my mind a 
 touching, way of showing his affection for these 'old 
 friends, which I never heard of in any other child. 
 Before^a book of his went to be bound he would 
 carefully tenderly I might almost say cut off the 
 old cover and lay it aside, and among the many 
 sweet traces left by our boy but I did not mean 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 189 
 
 to say that, only as it came naturally of itself I will 
 leave it few went more to his mother's heart than 
 to find in one of his drawers the packet carefully 
 tied up of his dear books' old coats. 
 
 Nothing gave Ted so much pleasure as a present 
 of a book. This Christinas he had set his heart on 
 one, and Christmas was really coming so near that 
 he had begun to think of presents, and to write out, 
 as was his habit, a list of all the people in the house, 
 putting opposite the name of each the present he had 
 reason to think would be most acceptable. The list 
 ended in a modest-looking " self," and opposite " self " 
 was written " a book." But all the other presents 
 would have to be thought over and consulted about 
 with mother all except hers of course, which in 
 its turn would have to be discussed with his father or 
 Mabel perhaps ever so many times, before it came 
 to the actual buying. 
 
 One Sunday it was about three weeks to Christ- 
 mas by this time the head master of Ted's school, 
 who was also a clergyman, mentioned after the usual 
 service that he wished to have a special thanksgiving 
 service this year for the good health that had been 
 enjoyed by the boys this u half." It had been 
 almost exceptionally good, he said ; and he himself, 
 for one, and he was sure every one connected with 
 the school would feel the same, was very thankful 
 for it. 
 
 Ted's mother and Mabel, who were both, as it 
 
190 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 happened, at the school chapel service that afternoon, 
 glanced at their boy when this announcement was 
 made. They knew well that, despite his merry 
 heart, Ted was sensitive to things that do not affect 
 all children, and they were not surprised to see his 
 cheeks grow a little paler. There was something in 
 the thought of this solemn thanksgiving, in which 
 he was to take part, that gave him a little of the 
 same feeling as he had had long ago in the grand old 
 church, when he looked up to the lofty roof, shrouded 
 in a mystery of dim light his childish eyes could not 
 pierce, and the sudden carillon broke out as if sung 
 by the angels in heaven. 
 
 And a little chill struck to his mother's heart; 
 she knew the service was a good and fitting ac- 
 knowledgment of God's care, and yet a strange 
 feeling went through her, for which she blamed her- 
 self, almost like that of the poor Irishwomen, who, 
 when any one remarks on the beauty and healthiness 
 of their children, hasten to cross themselves and to 
 murmur softly " In a good hour be it spoken." For 
 human nature, above all mother nature, is the same 
 all the world over ! 
 
 But on their way home she and Mabel talked it 
 over, and decided that it was better to say nothing 
 about it to Ted. 
 
 " It would only deepen the impression and make 
 him nervous," said Mabel wisely. 
 
 A day or two later a damp, rainy day it had 
 
"IT'S ONLY I, MOTHER." 191 
 
 been, there were a good many such about this time 
 Ted's mother, entering the drawing-room in the 
 evening, heard some one softly singing to himself, 
 gently touching the piano at the same time. It was 
 already dusk, and she went in very quietly. The 
 little musician did not hear her, and she sat down 
 in silence for a moment to listen, for it was Ted, and 
 the song in his sweet, clear tones tones with a 
 strange touch of sadness in them like the church 
 bells, was "Home, sweet home." 
 
 It brought the tears to her eyes. 
 
 " Ted," she said at last. 
 
 " O mother," he said, " I didn't know you were 
 there." 
 
 " But you don't mind me," she said. 
 
 Ted hesitated. 
 
 " I don't know how it is, mother," he said, frankly. 
 " It isn't as if I could sing, you know. But I can't 
 even try to do it when anybody's there. Is it silly, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " It's very natural," she said, kindly. " But if it 
 gives me pleasure to hear you ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, gently. 
 
 " And when you're a man I hope and think you 
 may have a nice voice." 
 
 " Yes," he said again, rather absently. 
 
 Something in his tone struck his mother ; it 
 sounded tired. 
 
 " You're quite well, Ted, aren't you ? " she said. 
 
192 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 " Oh yes, mother just a very little tired. It's 
 been such a rainy day; it isn't like Christmas 
 coming so soon, is it? There's no snow and no 
 skating." 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 " There was no snow the Christmas I was born, 
 was there, mother? " 
 
 " No, dear," said his mother again. 
 
 Ted gave a little sigh. 
 
 " You're going to Rex's to-night ; it is his party, 
 isn't it ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " but I don't seem to care much 
 to go." 
 
 "But you're quite well, I think," said his mother 
 cheerfully. " It would be unkind not to go when 
 they are all expecting you." 
 
 " Yes," said Ted. " It would be." 
 
 So he went off to get ready ; and his mother felt 
 pleased, thinking the dull weather had, for a wonder, 
 affected his spirits, and that the merry evening with 
 his friends would do him good. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE WHITE CROSS. 
 
 " It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make man better be, 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. 
 
 The lily of a day 
 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fade and die that night 
 It was the plant and flower of light ; 
 In small proportion we just beauties see, 
 And in short measures life may perfect be." 
 
 Early Eipe. BEN JONSON. 
 
 IT seemed as if she had been right. Ted came 
 home with bright eyes and glowing cheeks, and said 
 they had had an " awfully " merry evening. And 
 his mother went to bed with an easy mind. 
 
 But the next morning she felt less happy again, 
 for Ted was evidently not well. He was not very 
 ill, but just not very well, and he hung about in an 
 uninterested, unsettled way, quite unlike his usual 
 busy briskness. 
 
 " He excites himself too much when he goes out, 
 I think," said his father; "we really shall have to 
 leave off ever letting him go out in the evening 
 unless we are there ourselves ; " and he looked a 
 
 193 
 
194 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 little anxiously at Ted as he spoke, though the boy 
 had not heard what he said. 
 
 But again this slight anxiety passed by. Then 
 came a change in the weather, and a sudden frost 
 set in. Ted seemed to revive at once, and when 
 he heard that there was to be a whole holiday for 
 skating, no one was more eager about it than he. 
 And, a little against her own feelings, his mother let 
 him go. 
 
 "You must be careful, Ted," she said; "you are 
 not yet. looking as well as usual. And the ice can- 
 not be very firm. Indeed, I almost doubt its bear- 
 ing at all. A bath in icy water would not do you 
 any good just now." 
 
 But Ted promised to be careful, and his mother 
 knew she could trust him. Besides, several big boys 
 were to be there, who would, she knew, look after 
 him. So Ted went, and came home saying it had 
 been as usual " awfully jolly " ; but he did look 
 tired, and owned himself rather so, even though 
 well enough to go out again in the evening with the 
 others, and to be one of the merriest at what the 
 children called "a penny reading" together, at 
 which each in turn of the little party of friends 
 read or repeated or acted some story or piece of 
 poetry for the amusement of the others. And once 
 again, but this was the last time she could do so, 
 Ted's mother felt able to throw off the slight vague 
 anxiety which had kept coming and going for the 
 
THE WHITE CROSS. 195 
 
 last few days about her little boy, and to go to sleep 
 with an easy mind. 
 
 But the next morning, to his own and her disap- 
 pointment, he woke " tired " again. Only tired he 
 complained of nothing else, but he said he wished 
 he need not go to school. And that was so unlike 
 Ted. 
 
 " Need I go, mother ? " he asked gently. 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 "It seems such a pity, dear so near the ex- 
 aminations too. And sometimes, you know, when 
 you haven't felt quite well in the morning you have 
 come back quite right again." 
 
 " Very well," said Ted, and he went off cheerfully 
 enough. 
 
 But when he came back he was not all right as 
 his mother had hoped ; the " tiredness " was greater, 
 and he seemed to have caught cold, and the next 
 morning, after a restless night, there was no longer 
 any doubt that Ted was ill. Our dear little Ted 
 how quickly illness does its work above all with 
 children ! Almost before one has realised its pres- 
 ence the rosy cheeks are pale and the bright eyes 
 dimmed ; the sturdy legs grow weak and trembling, 
 and the merry chatter ceases. Ah dear ! what a sad, 
 strange hush comes over a house where " one of the 
 children " is ill. 
 
 The hush and the sadness came but gradually. 
 Still, for a day or two, they hoped it was nothing 
 
196 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 very serious. On tins first afternoon of Ted's really 
 owning himself ill, two girl friends of Mabel's came, 
 as had been arranged, to see the famous museum, 
 usually such a pleasure to its owner to exhibit. But 
 already how different all seemed ! 
 
 "Mother, dear," he said, as if half reproaching 
 himself for selfishness, "it sometimes almost seems 
 a bother to have to show my museum ; " but as it 
 was considered better not to let him yield to the 
 depression coming over him, he bravely roused him- 
 self and went through the little exhibition with his 
 usual gentle courtesy. But this was the last effort 
 of the kind possible for him. 
 
 Sunday and Monday found him weaker, and the 
 doctor's kind face grew graver. Still he was not 
 very ill ; only it began to seem as if he had not 
 strength to resist what had not, at first, threatened 
 seriously. And one day he made his mother's heart 
 seem, for an instant, to stop beating, when, looking 
 up wistfully, he said to her, 
 
 " Mother, I don't think I shall ever get better." 
 
 And the sad days and sadder nights went slowly 
 on. Now and then there seemed a little sparkle of 
 hope. Once Ted began to talk about meeting his 
 dear Percy at the station, when he came home for 
 the holidays, which made those about him hope he 
 was feeling stronger ; then, at another time, he said 
 what a pity it would be not to be well by Christmas 
 and by his birthday, and he smiled when his father 
 
THE WHITE CROSS. 197 
 
 told him, as was the case, that the doctor quite hoped 
 he would be well by then ; and one day when the 
 post brought him his great wish a beautiful book 
 of travels his face lighted up with pleasure, and, 
 though not able to read it, the welcome present lay 
 on his bed where he could see it and smile to himself 
 to think it was there. There were happy times 
 through his illness, weak and wearied though he 
 grew, and now and then he seemed so bright that 
 it was difficult, for a little, not to think him much 
 better. But the illness which Ted had is a very 
 deceitful one it invisibly saps away the strength 
 even when the worst sharp suffering is over and 
 slowly, slowly it came to be seen that his own feeling 
 had been true ; our Ted was not to get better. 
 
 One day a travelling merchant brought to the door 
 a case of pretty Parian ornaments. White and pure 
 they shone in the winter sunshine, and some one had 
 the thought that " one of these might please Ted." 
 So they were brought up for him to choose from. 
 Poor Cissy ! she would fain have carried them in ; 
 but alas ! for fear of infection, she could not be 
 allowed to see her brother, which made of these last 
 days a double sorrow to her, though she did not know 
 how ill he was. Ted touched the pretty things with 
 his little thin hand. 
 
 " They are very pretty," he said. " I like this one 
 best, please, mother." 
 
 " This one " was a snow-white cross, and his 
 
198 A CHRISTMAS CHILD. 
 
 mother's heart ached with a strange thrill as she 
 saw his choice ; but she smiled as she placed it be- 
 side him, where it stood, ever in his sight, till his 
 blue eyes could see it no more. 
 
 There came a morning on which the winter sun 
 rose with a wonderful glory ; gold and orange light 
 seemed to fill the sky, as if in prelude to some splen- 
 did pageant. It was Sunday morning. Ted lay 
 asleep, as if carved in marble, his little white face 
 rested on the pillow, and as his mother turned from 
 the marvellous beauty outside to the small figure 
 that seemed to her, just then, the one thing in earth 
 or sky, she whispered to herself what she felt to be 
 the truth. 
 
 " It is his last Sunday with us. Before another 
 my Ted will have entered that city where there is 
 no need of the sun, of which God Himself is the 
 light. My happy Ted! but oh, how shall we live 
 without him ? " 
 
 She was right. Ted did not live to see Christmas 
 or his birthday. Sweetly and peacefully, trusting 
 God in death as he had trusted Him in life, the little 
 fellow fearlessly entered the dark valley the valley 
 of the shadow of death only, for who can doubt that 
 to such as Ted what seems death is but the entrance 
 to fuller life ? 
 
 So, children, I will not say that this was the end of 
 the simple life I have told you of and in yet another 
 way Ted lives in the hearts of all that loved him 
 
THE WHITE CROSS. 199 
 
 his sweet memory can never die. And if I have been 
 able to make any among you feel that you too love 
 him, I cannot tell you how glad I shall be. 
 
 They laid him in a pretty corner of the little 
 cemetery from which can be seen the old church 
 Ted loved so well, and the beautiful chase, where he 
 so often walked. And even in those midwinter days 
 his little friend Gertrude found flowers for his grave. 
 It was all she could do to show her love for him, 
 she said, crying bitterly, for she might not see him 
 to bid him good-bye, and her heart was very sore. 
 
 So it was with Christmas roses that the grave of 
 our Christmas child was decked. 
 
 THE END. 
 
A NEW UNIFORM EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH'S 
 
 STORIES FOR CHILDREN 
 
 WITH 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER CRANE AND LESLIE BROOKE, 
 
 In Ten Volumes. i2mo. Cloth. One Dollar a Volume. 
 
 Tell Me a Story, and Herr Baby. 
 1 "Carrots," and A Christmas Child. 
 
 f Grandmother Dear, and Two Little Waifs. - 
 ^ The Cuckoo Clock, and The Tapestry Room. _ 
 j- Christmas-Tree Land, and A Christmas Posy. 
 The Children of the Castle, and Four Winds Farm. ^ 
 7 Little Miss Peggy, and Nurse Heatherdale's Story. . 
 /'Us," and The Rectory Children. 
 
 r Rosy, and The Girls and I. - 
 // Mary. 
 
 THE SET, TEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $10.00. 
 
 " It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw a lifelike man 
 or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the only two men of their age who could 
 do it with perfect delicacy and success; at least, if there was another who could, I 
 must crave pardon of his happy memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance of his 
 name. Our own age is more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger 
 and far nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the death of George 
 Eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, whose love is so 
 thoroughly according to knowledge, whose bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, 
 so truthful, or so delightful as Mrs. Moles worth's. Any chapter of The Cuckoo Clock 
 or the enchanting Adventures of Herr Baby is worth a shoal of the very best novels 
 dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults." MRS. A. C. SWINBURNE, 
 in The Nineteenth Century. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 I 
 
MRS. MOLESWORTH'S 
 STORIES FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 " There is hardly a better author to put into the hands of children than Mrs. 
 Molesworth. I cannot easily speak too highly of her work. It is a curious art she 
 has, not wholly English in its spirit, but a cross of the old English with the Italian. 
 Indeed, I should say Mrs. Molesworth had also been a close student of the German 
 and Russian, and had some way, catching and holding the spirit of all, created a 
 method and tone quite her own. . . . Her characters are admirable and real." 5/. 
 Louis Globe Democrat. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth has a rare gift for composing stories for children. With a 
 light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural and strong, charac- 
 ters." Congregationalist. 
 
 "Mrs. Molesworth always has in her books those charming touches of nature 
 that are sure to charm small people. Her stories are so likely to have been true that 
 men 'grown up' do not disdain them." Home. Journal. 
 
 " No English writer of childish stories has a better reputation than Mrs. Moles- 
 worth, and none with whose stories we are familiar deserves it better. She has a 
 motherly knowledge of the child nature, a clear sense of character, the power of 
 inventing simple incidents that interest, and the ease which comes of continuous 
 practice." Mail and Express. 
 
 " Christmas would hardly be Christmas without one of Mrs. Molesworth's stories. 
 No one has quite the same power of throwing a charm and an interest about the 
 most commonplace every-day doings as she has, and no one has ever blended fairy- 
 land and reality with the same skill." Educational Times. 
 
 "Mrs. Molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories for them 
 are always charmingly interesting and healthful in tone." Boston Home Journal. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well adapted to 
 refined life. It is safe to add that Mrs. Molesworth is the best English prose writer 
 for children. . . . Anew volume from Mrs. Molesworth is always a treat." The 
 Beacon. 
 
 " No holiday season would be complete for a host of young readers without a volume 
 from the hand of Mrs. Molesworth. ... It is one of the peculiarities of Mrs. 
 Molesworth's stories that older readers can no more escape their charm than younger 
 ones." Christian Union. 
 
 . " Mrs. Molesworth ranks with George Macdonald and Mrs. Ewing as a writer of 
 children's stories that possess real literary merit." Milwaukee Sentinel. 
 
 THE SET, TEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $10.00. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 2 
 
TELL ME A STORY, and HERR BABY. 
 
 " So delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope she may 
 soon tell us more stories." Atheneeum. 
 
 " CARROTS "; Just a Little Boy. 
 
 " One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good fortune to 
 meet with for some time. Carrots and his sister are delightful little beings, whom to 
 read about is at once to become very fond of." Examiner. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD ; A Sketch of a Boy's Life. 
 
 " A very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest through- 
 out." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " This is a capital story, well illustrated. Mrs. Molesworth is one of those sunny, 
 genial writers who has genius for writing acceptably for the young. She has the 
 happy faculty of blending enough real with romance to make her stories very practi- 
 cal for good without robbing them of any of their exciting interest." Chicago Inter- 
 Ocean. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's A Christmas Child is a story of a boy-life. The book is a 
 small one, but none the less attractive. It is one of the best of this year's juveniles." 
 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is one of the few writers of tales for children whose sentiment 
 though of the sweetest kind is never sickly ; whose religious feeling is never concealed 
 yet never obtruded ; whose books are always good but never ' goody.' Little Ted 
 with his soft heart, clever head, and brave spirit is no morbid presentment of the 
 angelic child ' too good to live,' and who is certainly a nuisance on earth, but a 
 charming creature, if not a portrait, whom it is a privilege to meet even in fiction." 
 
 The Academy. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 3 
 
THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 
 
 " A beautiful little story. ... It will be read with delight by every child into 
 whose hands it is placed." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER DEAR. 
 
 " The author's concern is with the development of character, and seldom does one 
 meet with the wisdom, tact, and good breeding which pervades this little book." 
 Nation, 
 
 TWO LITTLE WAIFS. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's delightful story of Two Little Waifs will charm all the small 
 people who find it in their stockings. It relates the adventures of two lovable Eng- 
 lish children lost in Paris, and is just wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youth- 
 ful heart." New York Tribune. 
 
 " It is, in its way, indeed, a little classic, of which the real beauty and pathos can 
 hardly be appreciated by young people. ... It is not too much to say of the story 
 that it is perfect of its kind." Critic and Good Literature. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are always 
 acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of the adventures of 
 the little waifs is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect." Boston 
 Courier. 
 
 " Two Little Waifs by Mrs. Molesworth is a pretty little fancy, relating the adven- 
 tures of a pair of lost children, in a style full of simple charm. It is among the very 
 daintiest of juvenile books that the season has yet called forth ; and its pathos and 
 humor are equally delightful. The refined tone and the tender sympathy with the 
 feelings and sentiments of childhood, lend it a special and an abiding charm." Bos- 
 ton Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 " This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. Molesworth, 
 detailing the various adventures of a couple of motherless children in searching for 
 their father, whom they had missed in Paris where they had gone to meet him." 
 Montreal Star. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is a popular name, not only with a host of English, but with a 
 considerable army of young American readers, who have been charmed by her deli- 
 cate fancy and won by the interest of her style. Two Little Waifs, illustrated by 
 Walter Crane, is a delightful story, which comes, as all children's stories ought to do, 
 to a delightful end." Christian Union. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 4 
 
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