^/>. ^lOSANCElfj> ' A child entered, holding in the skirt of her little clean frock four young rabbits." SWEET FLOWERS MRS. MACKARNESS, AUTHOR OF "A TRAP TO CATCH A SUNBEAM," "THE YOl'NG LADY'S BOOK," ETC. LONDON : GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. NEW YORK, 416, BROOME STREET. 1877. Stack Annex 5 I Of las LONDON I BRADBURY, AGNBW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. CONTENTS. PAGE SWEET VIOLETS 5 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE" 51 A WHITE DAISY 97 RAGGED ROBIN 143 THE IRIS 173 COLUMBINE 203 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE 233 OLD SPEEDWELL. . 261 MAY 291 FORGET ME NOT 321 SWEET VIOLETS. SWEET VIOLETS. CHAPTER I. " How do you sell your violets, girl ? " asked a man, as he passed a girl, almost a child, stand- ing leaning against a railing in one of the London thoroughfares. " Twopence a bunch, sir." " Twopence. Oh, me ! I've only got a penny in coppers can't change a shilling." "You shall have it, sir for luck," said the girl, eagerly. "I haven't sold a bunch to- day." " Haven't you ? Who do you sell for your- self?" 8 SWEET VIOLETS. "Yes, sir, and sister she's a cripple, sir; I supports her this way ; and nayther she nor me 'av 'ad any victuals to-day." "Now ain't you telling me a nice lot of 'crams'?" and the man looked at her with a merry twinkle in his eyes, and a smile breaking out over his good-looking healthy face, in such strange contrast to the wan, pallid one of the girl he was addressing. " No, sir, that I'm not, I'm a-telling on you the rale truth, sir ; we ain't got no father nor mother, sir : father he was killed, sir, falling off a 'ouse, he was, and mother died of the fever, sir and it fell in Janie's legs, and she ain't never been able to move, sir, since." "And you keep Janie and yourself on two- penny bunches of violets ! "What a little keeping you must want ! " answered the man. " I sup- pose you don't have salmon more than twice a week?" The girl stared at him, and answered, SWEET VIOLETS. 9 " Please, sir, we don't have nothing but Mrs. Jacohs's teapot and some bread." " Mrs. Jacobs's teapot ? what indigestible food ! No wonder you don't get fat, my dear. Well, look here, give me two more bunches, and take that and go and get something for supper more nourishing than a teapot; " and taking the flowers she eagerly offered him, he placed in her hand a shilling, and with a cheery " good-bye, and good luck to you," the man went on before she had time to thank him or offer him the change. "Did he mean me to have it all?" she thought. " I don't believe he did. I'll run after him." But with her basket to carry, and the old leather boots, miles too big for her, on her stock - ingless feet, she could not catch the young strong fellow who, striding on so quickly, was soon lost to sight; and so putting it in the little box amongst the flowers, in which she carried her money, she gave up the pursuit, contenting her- JO SWEET VIOLETS. self by saying, " If ever she see him she'd pay him ; " and then as the weather was cold and gusty and she knew that Janey wanted food she determined to hawk about no more that day, but go to the shop, and get some bread and an ounce of tea for a treat for Janey, instead of the tea leaves from her own breakfast their good- hearted landlady allowed them, and which she had described as " Mrs. Jacobs' s teapot." Happily as she walked to the shop, which was on her road home, she sold a few more bunches of her fragrant flowers, and so was able to add a piece of butter and an egg for Jane to her purchases. And the young man went on to Hungerford Pier, and, getting on board a boat, went up the river to Battersea ; and landing there, went on to a house in a little clean street, looking brighter and prettier than all the rest, from the parlour window of which looked out a face as bright and clean as the house, as his quick, firm step came up the little garden. The face was quickly at SWEET VIOLETS. 11 the door. It belonged to a young girl some nineteen or twenty years old, who exclaimed, joyfully, "Ohl you dear, good hoy, to get home so soon. And violets delicious ! thank you." " I like that who said they were for you ? " he said, stooping forward to kiss her forehead, and putting the flowers behind him. " Why, John, who should they be for but me ? " " But suppose I was to tell you they were mine, given to me by a fair lady ; what should you say then ? " " I should say I didn't believe you, John that's what I should say. Here he is, mother," she said, pushing open the door of the little parlour, into which he followed her. " Now, sir, give me the flowers, and let me pay you for them ; let's see, three bunches, two kisses apiece. Oh ! sit down, I can't stand on tiptoe so long." Down he sat as he was bidden, and with apparent satisfaction received the six kisses 12 SWEET VIOLETS. bestowed on him, while a little old woman, a curious likeness of what the young man might be at her age, sat laughing merrily, and seeming to enjoy the performance. " It's all very fine," he said, when he was allowed to speak, " but I tell you I gave a shil- ling for those flowers, ma'am, so you just owe me six more." " Oh ! John, you did NOT, did you ? Oh ! that was naughty I'll never forgive you ; I am angry." Whereupon she fell to kissing him again, just as though she was very angry. "A shilling for a few violets, John!" said the old lady in the corner ; " why, is flowers so dear this spring ? " " "Well no, mother ; I was taken silly, I think. I knew the little woman liked a flower, so I was going to buy one bunch of a girl who'd got a basket full ; and then she said it was twopence. Well, I didn't think Amy was worth having all that spent on her," he said, looking saucily up in his wife's face, " so I offered her a penny. SWEET VIOLETS. 13 She said so eagerly I might have it, she had sold none all day and I looked at her poor, thin, white cheeks, and her tattered clothing, and somehow this little face seemed to come between me and her," he said, laying his hand on the face which was looking up into his, " and like a soft as I am I took this little lot, and gave her double their value." " Ah ! my boy," said the old lady, " one half the world don't know how the other half lives." " I say, Amy," he said, in a lower voice, with a glance at their mother, "she said she sup- ported a lame sister with selling her flowers." " Did she, John ? Poor girl ! I AM glad you bought them it may get her a better supper." " I hope so. I shouldn't fancy a teapot my- self ; but there's no accounting for taste." " A teapot what do you mean ? " "Well, I did not know what she meant ; but when I asked her if she had salmon more than twice a week, she said she only had Mrs. Jacobs's teapot and some bread." 14 SWEET VIOLETS. " Why, sir, didn't you know, poor thing, she meant the leaves were wetted again for her; when Mrs. What's-her-name " " No, not Whats-a-name, Jacobs." "Well, Jacobs has finished her tea or breakfast, she fills the pot up again for her. I can see what she means." "Ah ! there, we are not all so clever as you." " No, that we are not. Now, look here, go and make yourself smart, for we are going to have company to tea, ain't we, mother ? " " Oh ! yes, that we are, John. Amy's little ladies are coming." " Bless me ! I suppose I must put on my diamond studs, and my dress coat and white tie, and pumps and silk stockings." " Of course," said his wife, laughing. " You make yourself respectable, sir. Clean boots and clean hands, and brush up your hair, and look your best; now run away, whilst I get tea." " Run, must I ? Well, there isn't much room SWEET VIOLETS. 15 to run in this large mansion. If I was to go very fast, I should find myself out of the back yard, through my neighbour's wall ; but I'll do my best to make haste. Is there any soap ? " " Soap, yes." " All right ! Is there any towel ? " he said, putting his head in at the door again. " Oh yes, you tiresome thing ! everything." " Hurrah ! Then I'll be back in the twinkling of a bed -post." " What a merry heart he has! " said the old mother. " Yes, hasn't he ? He's like sunshine in the house : it's thanks to you, you know, mother, it's your bright nature shining in his. When I think of you and all the trouble you've borne so bravely, I think you the eighth wonder of the world," said Amy, as she busied herself about the room, stirring up the fire to make the kettle boil, getting out from a drawer her best table- cloth and teapot real silver a wedding present. 16 SWEET VIOLETS. " Well, you see, Amy, it's just our natures, and we'd ought to be very grateful when we have such. There's some as can't help grizzling if they scratch their fingers or lose a penny, while another will break their legs and lose a fortune, and still smile over it." " Just like you, mother." " I don't think I smiled much, though, Amy dear, when my poor legs got bad." " You found out how to comfort yourself and John, mother, and never let him lose heart and spirits." " No, no, poor boy : why that would have been ungrateful, when he was working for me, he needed all his good spirits to help him along to bear the burden I had become to him." " Ah, bless him ! there's not many like him," said the happy little wife. "I suppose not, or you would not have proposed to him in the barefaced way you did," said John, who had entered the room in time to hear the last speech. SWEET VIOLETS. 17 " "Why, John, I have a great mind to box your ears. Shall I, mother ? " " I think he deserves it, my dear." " I would if I'd only time, hut I must make the toast the conceit and impudence of the fellow ! Now cut the bread, while I get out a pot of jam." " "Well, hut you know you did, Amy, under the chestnuts in Bushy Park." " Now, John, do hold your tongue ahout the chestnut trees, or I shall put the jam in the tea, or else some silly thing or other," said the little wife, laughing and hlushing. " Don't she look guilty, mother ; now I ask you?" " "Well, John, hut I would not tell tales out of school." " Never mind, old girl, I was quite ready to say ' yes,' wasn't I ? " " I shall do something desperate to you, John, in a minute. Oh, look ! here come my little darlings, I declare. "Well, the table is laid. 18 SWEET VIOLETS. put the water in the pot, John dear it does boil, while I open the door;" and she ran out to admit into her little bright house two little girls, about five and eight years old, with their nurses. Then there was such a hugging and kissing, such a buzz of many voices in the little room, together with the singing of the kettle, which did its best towards the general hilarity, and happier faces, lighter hearts, and merrier tongues never sat at any banquet than amongst the little party at tea at John Milman's. CHAPTER II. N a narrow dirty court, in a house the windows of which were so dirty that the in- habitants could not have seen any prospect from them had it been even more inviting than the row of tumble-down wretched dwellings that faced them, old pieces of filthy rags doing duty for the panes of glass which had been broken by stones thrown by the shoeless, wretched children who played in the gutter all day, in such a house, in the back attic, on a mattress laid on two broken chairs, was a small spare form, which might have been a woman's or a child's, so old-looking and worn and wan were the pinched features of the poor pale face. There was scarcely any furniture in the room. The walls, c 2 20 SWEET VIOLETS. covered with filthy paper, were broken away in places, showing the laths. A bedstead, on which lay a ragged counterpane and a piece of torn blanket, stood in one corner ; a wooden box, on which was a bottle with a piece of rushlight stuck in it, a chair, and a table, one leg of which was broken, comprised "the household gods." And in the desolation lay the wan suffering form on the mattress. Presently the door opened, and a light seemed to come in with it which shone on the sufferer's face ; for a smile, strange visitor to those sad features, spread over them as a girl entered carrying a basket half filled with violets and primroses. " Here I come, Janey : haven't sold them all, you see ; so there they are for you to look at till to-morrow," she said, placing the basket with its fragrant burden near the sick child. " I'm glad and I'm sorry, Nelly : you've got no money, I suppose ? " " Oh yes ! a little. I've sold the half, you SWEET VIOLETS. 21 know, but I couldn't see him. I stood just in the same place, so here goes the sixpence back in the money-box ; " and, opening the cupboard which, like Mother Hubbard's, was quite bare, save a few broken bits of crockery ware, she took a small box from the top shelf and put in it a sixpence. " Ain't you never going to spend that, Nelly ?" " Not unless you want food, Janey. I'll keep it as long as I can, in hopes of giving it him back. He wasn't, you see, a rich gentleman ; he was a working sort of man, and sixpence is six- pence to him, I'll lay." " It's a great chance if you ever do see him again out there in all that bustle and crowd. So many feet seem treading up and down for ever. I lay here wondering what they are all like, and where they are all going to." " I often stand amongst them wondering too, Janey ; but see, all among these flowers lies our supper I'm sure you want some : has Mrs. Jacobs given you anything ? " 22 SWEET VIOLETS. " Yes, she brought me some broth to-day, the district-lady sent ; but it wasn't nice ; I couldn't eat it. Nothing does seem nice, I can't eat any- thing ; but never mind, Nelly," she said, putting her thin arms round her sister's neck as she stooped to get the things from the basket, " it will be the sooner over, and these heavy, weary limbs will pain me no more : ' there's nae pain nor care in the land o' the leal.' " She sang the words in a childish, weak, but exquisitely sweet voice, and Nelly said " Don't, Janey : I can't see what I'm doing when you sing. ' ' The big tears had filled her eyes and made a mist before them. " All right, I won't, Nelly. I often wish I could go out singing as I used, and help you. Usen't I to bring a lot o' money home ? " " Yes, Janey, but I never liked you a-being in the streets: you was always such a wan wee thing ! " " Yes, but that helped me ; for people would say pitying things as they passed me. One SWEET VIOLETS. 23 woman gave me a shilling once, with tears dropping down her cheeks, and said I remem- ber it so well, Nelly, and often think of it ' I should sing in heaven soon.' Ah ! " she said, sighing and lifting her eyes to the blackened ceiling above her, beyond which she seemed to see the bright-eyed choir and all the heavenly host singing their songs of praise ; for a long, longing look came into her sad eyes. " "Welt, you ain't there yet, in spite of her," said Nelly somewhat roughly. She dared not indulge in sentiment ; it did not match with the hard, stern reality of her daily life. To work hard for a bare subsistence, to sleep cold, to hunger daily, to know no change nor brightness in her life since first she could remember gazing with craving eyes at the portion of food given her by her mother, had almost taken out of her all womanly tenderness all belief in love, in rest, in hope. Life to her represented only a piteous struggle to live ; death simply a release from struggling. But the poor, gentle, suffering, helpless sister was 24 SWEET VIOLETS. the one tie which made it seem worth her while to fight on, to keep honest, patient, earnest, the poor babe she scarcely more herself had taken from the dead mother's breast, and loved ever since with a yearning love which did not show itself in tender loving words, but in the hard daily toil the self-denial, that made her give the scanty food she earned to the sick girl and go without her- self. Alas ! too many such lives are passed in crowded cities ; and it is well for the little happy children whose bright merry days pass on as childhood's should without toil or sorrow guarded from the knowledge of evil and sin by loving care, to remember the sadder lives of these little sisters who know not, nor ever will know, a life so bright as theirs. CHAPTER III. SOME few weeks after the purchase of his violets John Milman was again making for the Pier on his way home, when a loud cry of " Hie ! " arrested him ; and, turning quickly, the man who had stopped him called out, " There's a gal keeps a-running after you; " and to his surprise he saw and he remembered her at once the poor violet- seller making the best of her way to him through the crowded thoroughfare, and with the old difficulty of the wretched boots impeding her progress. He walked back towards her, and smilingly asked if she wanted him for a customer again. " No, sir," she said, panting for breath, and wiping her hot face ; " it's this here as is 26 SWEET VIOLETS. yourn. I've been a-watching for you every day since." " Mine what ? " " This here sixpence, sir," she said, handing it to him " it aint a had un, sir ; really it's your very own as I've kep in a box ever since," she continued eagerly, finding he said nothing, but stood and handled the coin. " Why, girl, I don't know what you mean : did I drop sixpence ? " " No, sir, you give me a shilling for sixpen'orth of flowers, and never stopped for no change. I runned arter yer then, I did ; but my boots is so old they won't let me run much." "Why, you very extraordinary party," said John, regarding her with the merry twinkle in his eyes which brightened all his face, "I declare you ought to be shown as a very miracle of honesty. I meant the shilling for you, to help you and the lame sister to some better victuals than an indigestible teapot. Take the sixpence back, and give me another sixpenny- SWEET VIOLETS. 27 worth of flowers, lilies of the valley, eh ! they are beauties. Now tell me where you live." He wrote down in his pocket-book what she told him, and, wishing her good-by, he went on his way, and she, poor thing, with a lighter heart than she had had since the sixpence burdened it, put that and the one he paid her together in the box under the flowers, and went back to the street-corner where she usually took her stand, and where a few who dealt regularly with her expected to find her. It was near a fashionable draper's, and it amused the poor girl to see the ladies in their carriages flocking into the shops. She would stand looking at their rich dresses, wondering how much they cost, how many they had if they were better dressed than that on Sunday what they had for dinner, such people as they something better than a saveloy or piece of dry bread, she fancied ; wondering if they were ever hungry, ever thirsty or cold. Some- 28 SWEET VIOLETS. times she sold a few flowers to them, or to the men-servants whilst they waited for the carriages. She had only just taken her stand after parting with John, when an elegant open carriage drew up, and a girl about her own age, accompanied by her mother, alighted and entered the shop. The girl looked at her as she passed, and a gleam of pity came into her beautiful face, as she whispered some- thing eagerly to her mother ; to which she replied, " Oh ! no, my dear love, certainly not never buy in the street : those flowers carry all sorts of infection and horrible things." They were not long in the shop, and when they came out again the young lady got back into the carriage, and the mother walked on to a shop a few doors beyond: she watched her mother out of sight, and then eagerly beckoned to Nelly. "You look ill, and hot, and tired,'* she said kindly to her. "No, I don't want your SWEET VIOLETS. 29 flowers ; but tell me, have you earned anything to-day ? " " Not much, my lady, yet ; but I dare say I shall sell more later. "Won't you buy some lilies, my lady ? they're so very sweet." " No ; mamma does not like me to have your flowers. Do you live on what you earn like this?" " I tries to, my lady," was the sad reply. " Have you a mother and father ? " " No, lady only a sick sister to keep as well as myself." The tears rose to the bright blue eyes, and hastily taking a purse from her pocket, she placed five shillings in the astonished girl's hand, and motioned her away just as her mother returned to the carriage. " You've not been buying flowers now, Eveline, when I told you not ? " " No, ma, of course not ; you said no." " You were talking to her ? " " Yes. Did you look at her ? who did she remind you of ? " 30 SWEET VIOLETS. " My dear, I don't know ; I did not look at her." " Mother, a face that I have never forgotten, and never shall forget the widow who came to beg papa to do something for her, as her husband was killed in his service, and you know " " Papa would not and quite right too. He was not called upon in the least ; it was nothing to do with him : it was the builder's place to help his workmen." " Oh ! but her story was so sad, her face so piteous, the weary look in her poor eyes haunted me for months ; and I see it often now, and I saw it again in that girl's face." " I know, my dear, you made yourself very absurd about it at the time ; and your father and I both laughed at you young girls are so romantic and impulsive. I dare say it was a very good thing for the woman : she doubt- less made a fine harvest of her husband's accident." SWEET VIOLETS. 31 The girl turned with a gesture of annoyance away from her mother, and said no more ; and they drove home to the splendid house, the building of which had cost, beyond its costly sum of money, one human life ; and the orphan girl hurried to her dreary lodgings, to show with pride and joy to her suffering sister the wealth she had got that day. Many times more did the young lady visit the shop near which, with her basket of flowers, stood poor Nelly, whose sad face lighted with a smile when she saw her, and to whom she always dropped a curtsey. She could never forget the beautiful face which had looked with such pity on her. Her mother would not, or could not, see the likeness to the pale widow who came to plead her sad cause, but promised Eveline that as she appeared to take some interest in her she might inquire where she lived, and see how they could help her, the next time they saw her ; but it was in the height of the season, and Eveline had many engagements, 32 SWEET VIOLETS. so that some time elapsed before she again thought of the poor flower girl. Then twice she drove to the street, hut she was not there; and so the subject faded from her memory. CHAPTER IV. IT was springtime again. Beneath the shelter of their leaves lay the fragrant violets ; prim- roses dotted all the banks, mingling with blue- bells and daffodils ; and groups of children were busy filling baskets with the fair blossoms; in wood and lane; and at one pretty ivy-covered cottage, beside the gate of a noble park, two children stand with hands and pinafores full of violets. " Only violets, Jack, father said, only violets." " I've ony dot violets," said the tiny boy. "Come in, then;" and pushing open the door, the little girl entered the cottage, fol- lowed by her brother, and running up to a girl, 31 SWEET VIOLETS. seated near the window at work, they showered the sweet flowers into her lap. She looked up with a smile, as she gathered some of them in her hand. "Thank you, dears thank you," she said, stooping to kiss them. "That's right, little ones," said a bright voice from another room, the door of which stood open ; " get a jug, Jim, and put them in water for her we loves violets, don't us ? They first brought us to know our kind and useful Xelly, and now we don't know what we should do without her." "Why, whoever is father bringing along?" said the woman, coming into the room. "I do believe they are coming here, and my hands are all floury." Nelly was tying up the flowers in bouquets, silently, something glistening on them which was not dew. " There's no need to sell them now, dear," said the woman, kindly and cheerfully. SWEET VIOLETS. 35 Nelly only nodded her head : as the door opened, and her old friend John Milman en- tered, followed by a young lady, Nelly sprang from her seat, a flush of pleasure and surprise covering her face. " You remember me ? " said the lady. " Then you are the flower-girl I once spoke to ? " " She teas, ma'am ; she's our head nurse now," said John, with the old merry smile. " Yes, my lady," said Nelly, earnestly ; " they took me, they did, from the streets, from cold and hunger, and fed and clothed me." " Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these," said the lady, turning to John and looking at him with her beautiful eyes full of tears, " oh ! how much you are to be envied. I tried to find you," she said, speaking to Nelly, " for long ; and when I sent to you, having dis- covered your address through a mere chance from our man-servant who met and remembered you, you were gone." " Yes, ma'am, I had the good fortune," said D 2 3 SWEET VIOLETS. John, " to get made carpenter on this estate ; and as my good little wife here was beginning to want a little help with the young 'uns, I be- thought me this poor girl would like to take the situation of head nurse in my family. And by ways unnecessary to plague you with, I got her poor sister into a hospital, and brought her along with us. We've been here a year and a half, and I don't think any of us regret it. I told you how her honesty first interested me." " You did, Milman ; and to me she was inte- resting from a fancied likeness which I will tell you about some day. At any rate I am satisfied about her now : she cannot be in better hands. My brother speaks in the warmest terms of you and your wife ; and it is a strange coincidence tbat here on his estate I should find the girl who awoke in me such interest and pity. Let me buy those violets of you for old acquaint- ance sake," she said, with a sweet smile, taking tfoe bunches Nelly at once handed to her ; she SWEET VIOLETS. 37 left in their place a golden coin, which made poor Nelly's eyes sparkle. The sort of strange instinct which had first drawn Eveline to the poor flower-girl was right; she was indeed the child of the widow who had pleaded in vain to her father, and it was stranger than fiction, as fact so often is, that on her brother's estate, in the home of one of his servants, the orphan should find a happy refuge. John Milman's poor old mother had gone to her rest, and with this good situation he had obtained, he could quite well afford to carry out the benevolent wish to assist the poor orphans. Nelly he brought home to help his wife in the charge of the little ones, who were so near of an age that they were a heavy charge to his bright little wife, who gladly hailed the arrival of Nelly. And she, in gratitude for the sweet, clean, cheer- ful home, tried her hardest to be useful and attentive, and to learn to be handy with her needle and all such neat and housewifely ways that Amy could so well instruct her in. 38 SWEET VIOLETS. What a change it was from, that miserable attic ! She who had never seen the sun rise or set, never known the glory of a heaven all aglow with rose-colour and gold, scarcely known save by its scorching rays, as she stood in the hard streets, that the sun did shine ; in speech- less wonder now, holding the children's hands, who had been gathering their laps full of flowers, was allowed to gaze at the grand glory of the great light sinking into rest amongst the rosy, gold-tipped clouds, or knee- deep in sweetly scented grass, helping to gather the white starry flowers with the golden eyes, and the shining yellow ones the children called buttercups and daisies, with a sort of strange delight which made her throat ache and large tears fill her eyes. The flowers, which to sell had gained for her and her sister their poor hard fare, she wondered now to see in purple masses, scenting the air with their fragrance, on every bank by the roadside, gathered at will by happy children at their play, and flung aside as SWEET VIOLETS. 39 worthless when their play was ended. And so as she gathered them, with eyes so full of wonder and admiration, her little companions would laugh out gladly, and say, " Why, Nelly, zem's only vi'lets;" but learning her love for them, and listening to her tale of how in the streets in the long weary days she wandered with naked feet and sold them for the poor meal of dry bread, they gathered them for her in handfuls, never coming in from any ramble without what they now always called " Nelly's fowers." In one of the best and largest hospitals John Milman had placed poor Janey. And there under the kind care, and with management and good food, she was mending slowly, but they said surely. " You shall go and see Janey to-morrow, Nelly," said Mrs. Milman, as they sat together in the evening, the little ones all in bed, John smoking his pipe, and they two at work. Nelly's face brightened. In all her gratitude for her 4.0 SWEET VIOLETS. happy home she often felt that she would go., back to her old life of toil and suffering to have her sister again heside her. They were very, very kind to her, but they could have done as well without her. There was no one now; to watch for her coming, to listen with eager love- to the sound of her footstep ; no one now to- whom she was all in all ; so that the days when visitors werg allowed at the hospital were looked forward to with an intense longing, and kind Mrs. Milman spared her whenever she could. But of course the journey had to be considered : it was too far to walk, and so it could only be managed when some cart was going to town from the village, and coming back again in the evening. Then the kindly people packed a basket foy her of things for the sick girl, and some dinner for Nelly herself, and a large bunch of flowers - r and the children filled her pockets with sweets, and 'offered their favourite toys to take to her sick sister, and matched her away as long as they SWEET VIOLETS. 41 could sec her down the long dusty road, waving their handkerchiefs and hats, and then looking forward to hear the story in the morning of the great big house where Janey was and of the many beds, and of the ladies with the strange black dresses and white caps who waited on the poor people so tenderly. Nelly hud always some- thing fresh to tell them of the poor little chil- dren, no older than themselves, lying in cots, with toys on little tables fastened to them, brought by kind friends, but which sometimes they were too ill to play with or care to look at. But poor Nelly did not always return the happier for these visits. Janey had learned to do without her her suffering had made her, as it often does, selfish. She found here comfort and assistance, she was cared for, and seemed of some consequence ; and in contrast with the old days, these were so much brighter. Unlike Nelly, she never sighed for the old times back again. Her whole talk, as Nelly sat beside her, was of herself, of the dinners she had, of what the doctors said 42 SWEET VIOLETS. of her ; but she seldom asked what Kelly was doing whether the life that up till this time had been devoted to her, was brighter if she were better fed, better cared for if her home was happy, and the people kind still ; and though Nelly was glad and thankful that the sick girl had no regrets nor longings to be home again with her, still there was a sensation of pain in the utter forgetfulness, and the feeling that even this tie to life was gone now ; she was of no use, no importance any more, even to Janey. But at the first sight of the little rose-covered cottage, of the children's faces at the gate watching for her the cheery " Come along, Nelly glad to see you back," from Mrs. Milman, and John's hearty " Well, lass, ready for supper ? it's ready for you," gratitude for the mercy which had sent her such friends, such a home, soothed her and restored her to a somewhat happier frame of mind. The children were always full of eager questions, but were sent to bed with a SWEET VIOLETS. 43 promise to tell them all about it in the morning. This night, after supper, John said " Nelly girl, what do you think of your sister ; will she soon be able to come out ? " " Yes, sir, I think she will. I don't expect, by what the nurse said, as she'll be allowed to stay much longer : she can walk brave now for a little while, and she looks well, and so pretty, and I've been thinking " and she looked up at John and stopped. " Thinking what's to be done with her when she does come out exactly. You talk to Amy about it after supper : we've been thinking too ; " and so after supper Amy said " Nelly, I heard that Miss Truman, in the village, wants an apprentice to the dressmaking. She does a very good business there the Hall people always employ her ; and, you know, John and me were thinking, if you did not mind, we would put Janey there. "We have had a little money given us for the purpose by a friend 44 SWEET VIOLETS. only a small sum is required and when Jancy is a grand West-end dressmaker she can pay it back, if she likes,'* she said, laughing, " Yes," said Nelly. She had no words to express herself even when she felt the most : edu- cation she had had none ; and the old supplicating words she had learned to ply her trade of flower- selling, the oft-repeated " We ain't had no food to-day, lady, do buy 'em they 're 'werry cheap" 'Were about the longest sentence she ever got out ; and although the pains that Amy had takeii with her had much improved her, still, when any- thing affected or interested her, she could find no Words to say what she felt, and so now at this generous offer she murmured only "Yes." "You would like it, Nelly, wouldn't you? : ' asked Amy. " Yes, ma'am, thank you,'* said Nelly, " if she will." " We will hope she will : we can tell her how nice it will be. You will be close together you know." SWEET VIOLETS. 45 " Yes, ma'am," said Nelly again. Close toge- ther, yes ; but not in one home never more now, she thought. But still it was better than that far-off hospital ; and she looked forward with a great yearning wish to the day when she should be told to fetch Janey away. It came afc length, the summons, and Nelly went again in the little cart to fetch her. The children were so charmed to see Nelly's sister she who had been so long in the wonderful "big house" with the ladies they called Sisters. They should really see her ! She was a heroine in their eyes. Miss Truman was a busy, bustling little woman, but very kind hearted, and had made every comfortable preparation for the re- ception of her new apprentice. She was to take her supper that evening with Nelly, and John had promised to see her to her new home afterwards. J"aney seemed shy and strange at first, but looked very well and very pretty. John said he was sorry she was so pretty ; and with it all he liked Nelly's homely face better. 46 SWEET VIOLETS. Jane seemed to like the idea of being a dress- maker very well, raised no objection, and left the cottage for her new home very contentedly. One day Nelly, who had been sitting working by the fireside, talking to and playing with the baby on the ground beside her, said suddenly to Amy as she entered the room "Please do you mind telling me who paid the money for Janey to go to Miss Truman ?" " Do you want to know, Nelly ; does it matter?" she said, smiling. " Yes, I like to ; because of saying, ' God bless ' you know, like you taught me." " Poor child! " said Amy with a kindly smile. " "Well, the truth is John got the money together: he gave a little as he could afford, and the lady, Miss Eveline Howard, and her brother, made it up." " Thank you I see. Janey seems happy." " Yes, I was there yesterday ; " but there was something in Mrs. Milman's manner that made Nelly look suddenly in her face to see if she SWEET VIOLETS. 17 could read there aught of wrong or sorrow to Janey ; but Mrs. Milman turned away, and said no more. And so the summer days went by, and cold gusty winds blew over moor and meadow, and Nelly's short span of content and freedom from anxiety was over. Janey was again her greatest trouble. Whether her long suffering had made her temper bad, or the interest and care shown her by the gentle Sisters in the hospital had spoiled her, any way she was most troublesome, giving rude and impertinent answers to her kind little mistress, and refusing to listen to Nelly's remonstrances ; and one day she came down to the cottage and said she had left ; she said she could not and would not stay with that odious little woman ; she hated sewing, hated every- thing she had to do, and she was going to service. "But when? and where?" asked poor bewildered Nelly. " When ? directly," she said " Where ? to the ' Blue Lion,' barmaid, she should like that at any rate she meant to try it;" and so the 48 SWEET VIOLETS. foolish girl went, having got the place herself, without consulting her sister, and soon found how foolish she had been. The noise, the late hours, the rough work, soon broke down the delicate con- stitution, and she had once more to become an inmate of the hospital. Again Nelly took her journey in the little cart ; and one cold winter's evening, when the wheels went noiselessly through the snow, Nelly came back with eyes swollen with tears : she had seen her last on earth of the sister who had been such a charge to her. The wilful spirit was at rest, and Nelly was alone in the world ; but her good friends more than ever heaped kindnesses on her, and in time she grew to love them as her kith and kin. John used to laugh and tell her he should not rest till she was married he could have no peace until he had washed his hands of her ; and he found his rest at last, for Nelly won the heart of a good brave young fellow who worked under John, and in a little cottage of her own, comfortably furnished for her by Miss Howard, Nelly SWEET VIOLETS. 49 passed her now-peaceful, happy days, but still in the spring time looking with full heart and tearful eyes on the fragrant blossoms which covered the banks, in tender memory of the days in which she sold in the London streets SWEET VIOLETS. "ONLY A LITTLE PEIMEOSE." "ONLY A LITTLE PKIHROSE." A HOT summer day was drawing to its close, and in the large sleeping nursery at Afton Lodge, lay in their little beds, four very happy children wide awake, the rogues: it was too hot to sleep, and so light that little Mary declared it must be morning, not night, and that it was silly to go bed nurse must be dreaming. Two or three times had nurse been in, and thrown over the children the sheets which they said they really could not keep on, because it was so hot. " You are hot because vou toss about and 54 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." play so, you foolish little things," said nurse ; " but there, bless your little hearts, you cannot sleep in this heat. I'll ask mamma now, if you're very good and quiet, to let you stop up an hour later, during all the summer weather. Really, poor dears," she continued, turning to the under nurse, who was just coming into the room to tell her supper was ready, "they're quite as well up, as kicking about here ; now whilst I'm gone down try and keep them quiet, Jane." " Nurse ! nurse," called Mary, " now that was not me, it's Emmeline, she will keep putting her knees up to make a mountain, and dropping them down suddenly to make me laugh." " "Well, you shouldn't laugh, Miss Mary, then she wouldn't do it. If you are the one that "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. 55 plays, Emmy, you will have to go to bed to- morrow when the others sit up. No, Baby, no," she said, going to the cot in which a beautiful curly-headed darling, scarce two years old, was put down to sleep, but like the rest greatly preferring to play; "no more 'bo-peep' to-night; shut eyes like a good boy." Very tightly he screwed up the big blue sunny eyes at his nurse's order ; but a little smothered laugh from the next little bed, opened them wide again, and the tumbled golden head peeped up over the edge of the cot, and the little plump baby fingers clutched the sides to aid in the attempt to stand up and peep over into the bed, where, hid now under the clothes, was the little sister a year older, whose laugh had attracted him, and been too severe a test for his obedience. " Now really," said nurse, " I shall presently 56 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." have to be cross now, Minnie, put your head up on the pillow directly you two turn back to back ; and you have poor little doggie, Baby, to cuddle to sleep he's so tired, poor doggie ; " and she brought him a large soft white dog, and laid it on the pillow by his flushed, dimpled face, pulled down the blinds to darken the room ; and having thus, as she thought, quieted them all, she went down to her supper, leaving Jane in charge. But she had scarcely got to the bottom of the stairs when they were all alive again : Emmy and Mary having turned face to face, were playing at being in a tent, and had raised the sheet over the bed posts to represent the canvas ; Minnie was trying to stand on her head, and Baby was pulling everything out of his cot, and throwing it down on the floor with a triumphant " dere " after each expulsion. "OXLY A LITTLE PfllMROSE." 57 Jane, perhaps wisely, thought it was best to leave them alone, they would play till they were tired, and then go to sleep, so taking her seat beside the open window of the day nursery, into which the other room opened, she sat quietly looking out into the pretty garden, busied with her own thoughts, and left the little rebels to do as they would. Jane's plan was successful, for it appeared that now they were no longer continually told to be quiet, they were more willing to be so, and growing tired of fun, to which there was no audience and no opposition, they laid themselves down to rest, Baby with his head at the foot of the cot, on the bare mattress, having thrown out the bed clothes, which, in such weather, he evidently considered superfluous. The next day nurse spoke to her mistress 58 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." when she came, as usual, up to the nursery to take Mary and Emmeline down to breakfast, who heing six and seven years were promoted to that honour, and asked if the children might be allowed to sit up an hour later, as she found it so very difficult to get them to sleep in the heat. " "Well, I have no objection, nurse," said Mrs. Enfield, " if they will be good and not make papa scold, you know he comes home tired and likes to be quiet in the evening." They all vociferously professed the greatest possible amount of goodness, except of course master Baby, who did not understand the drift of the conversation, and was sufficiently occupied in feeding himself, or rather his pinafore, with bread and milk. " ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." 59 " Oh ! nurse, look, Baby is making himself in such a hopeless mess," said his mother. " Yes, he is, ma'am," said nurse, complacently, " hut you see he must have a learning, pretty dear we keep a few old pinafores on pur- pose." " "Well, I hope he will soon learn ; we could not have such a dirty little hoy at our table. Could we, Mary?" " Me don't pill," said Minie. " No, you are older and will very soon be able to come down to breakfast with papa and mamma : let them go under the trees, nurse, as soon as they have finished, it is too warm to walk." Mrs. Enfield went hand in hand with her little girls down the long gallery which led from the rooms occupied by the children to the other 60 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. part of the house, and down the broad staircase, lighted by the bright morning sun, which streamed in through the large casement window on the landing, which was wide enough for a little room, and in which was a stand of flowers, that sent their fragrance all about the house ; and reaching the dining-room the little girls sprang towards a gentleman, who was leaning against the window playing with a large deer- hound, who stood before him watching with his large luminous eyes his master, who was making him " trust " with pieces of biscuits on his cold black nose. " Ah ! little maids, how d'ye do," he said. "Now see how well Beppo has learnt this trick : there's a lesson in obedience for you." The children were greatly amused and re- mained watching the dog till the breakfast was "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMKOSE." 61 served, and mamma called them to take their places. "Where is Miss Denbigh," said Mrs. Enfield, " and Margaret." "They are here, mamma," said a .bright young voice, and a girl about fourteen sprang into the room, followed by a tall handsome woman, with a face that was, as Mrs. Enfield said, a story, a fine poetical face with large earnest eyes, in which was at times a sad ex- pression that seemed occasioned by some old memory ; her mouth was full and red, display- ing, when the rare smile lighted her face, superb white teeth, and her hair, which was abundant, was a rich brown, soft and glossy, and always beautifully dressed. She had been for some years governess to Mrs. Enfield's children, and they were all very fond of her, even the babies 62 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." loved her, for she was as charming in the nursery as in the schoolroom. She had a perfect sympathy with children, entered warmly into their sorrows and joys : was as distressed over the broken doll as over the difficulties of the lessons, and in short was a most invaluable aid to Mrs. Enfield in every way. "Papa," said Emmeline when breakfast ended, she had climbed to his knee, as it was her custom, " we are going to stop up to-night until until ever so late." "I have no idea what time that is, my child." " You funny papa it isn't any time.** "Not any time! then you mean to say you're not going to bed at all to night." " No, papa, let me explain," said Mary, who on the strength of her thirteeen months' seniority " ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." 63 felt herself better able to make papa under- stand. "Nurse asked mamma if we might sit up an hour longer during this very hot weather ; and that's what Emmy means." " Oh ! I see now and an hour longer than seven is ten, isn't it ? " " Papa ! no ! certainly not " " Nine," said Emmy, triumphantly, that was her favourite hour, and to sit up till then her highest ambition. " No, no, eight, Emmy, seven and one are eight ! arn't they, papa ? " said Mary. " Yes, Mary, I think so ; at least they were when I was a little girl." " Little girl ! now, papa, you know you never were a little girl." " How do you know ? " 64- "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." " Because people don't be little girls and then grow big mens," said Emmy decidedly. " Don't tbey really now ? well if I stay long with you I shall really become too clever, so I'll go at once," and lifting the little thing off his knee, "papa" went through the open windows on to the lawn, and Miss Denbigh took the little girls away, and promising to come with them under the trees for an hour before lessons, they ran off to get their hats, and under the large lime trees, by the little lake which ran through the grounds, they found the two younger children, and played together, until Miss Denbigh gave the word to return to the house for lessons, and the little ones to their morning sleep. The schoolroom was a very charming one: Mrs. Enfield was of the opinion that children "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. 65 were more healthy, happy, and good if their surroundings were agreeable, so she had selected for nursery and school-room the very pleasantest rooms she could. Bright with a pretty paper, a trellis-work of hops on a green ground the furniture polished maple, a green carpet on which white blossoms were strewn a pretty piano, book-cases, a little couch for Miss Den- bigh, and some admirable prints on the walls flowers in a stand in the window which looked out into Mrs. Enfield's rose-garden, all combined to make the school-room most inviting, and a pleasant sitting-room for Miss Denbigh who passed most of her time there. She cared little to go down to the drawing-room, generally beg ging Mrs. Enfield to excuse her if they were not alone, assuring her that her own charming room was to her the pleasantest place in the house- 66 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. Mrs. Enfield often brought her work there and chatted to her, and with real amusement listened to the tales she would tell to the children, with such brightness and fun, till Mrs. Enfield would wonder if sadness had ever rested on her, and if the expression in her eyes which she had first thought was the memory of an old grief, was not, after all, their nature. " Miss Denbigh," she said, meeting them as they came in from the garden. "We have friends to dinner to-day, will you mind seeing that the children are quiet, they are to sit up an hour or so later, and they may feel riotously disposed, so please keep a Tratch on them. It makes my husband so angry to hear them when he is at dinner." Miss Denbigh promised to see after them, and "ONLY A LITTLE PKIMROSE." 67 Margaret said to her friend, " Tell us one of your lovely stories, Miss Denbigh." " Perhaps we shall see if all the chicks are good, we will have some arrangements for this extra hour which will, I daresay, be very satis- factory." And so seven o'clock, which had been a rather dreaded hour, was looked forward to with great anxiety on this night, and after tea Nurse bathed their little hot faces and hands, and brought Mary and Emmy down to the school* room where Margaret and Miss Denbigh awaited them. "Come along," said Margaret, "Miss Den- bigh is going to tell us a story to-night, and to- morrow play games with us, and the next night a story again, and so on, won't that be charming?" " Yes, that it will," said the children, joyfully, F 2 68 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." " and we are to sit one on each side of her." " Oh ! no, Mary, I am always to be one side of her, am I not, Miss Denbigh? the children must take turns, must they not ? " " I think if you sit in a little circle, that will settle it very nicely," said Miss Denbigh, " Emmy, as the least, in the middle." " Oh ! yes, that's charming," said Margaret. " Now you'll go away to be dressed for the drawing-room, Margaret, just as we are in the middle of the lovely part of the story," said Mary. " As there is company to-night, neither Mar- garet nor I are going down. They will not be in the drawing-room until Margaret's bed- time." " Oh ! jolly ; do begin now, Miss Denbigh." "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE.' 69 And settling themselves comfortably as their governess had arranged, the little girls pre- pared to listen. " I promised," began Miss Denbigh, " to tell Margaret a sad episode in my life, and I think you little ones are old enough to hear it too, and take the lesson from it I would wish you to learn." " You asked me, dear child," she said, laying her fair white hand on Margaret's head, " what made me have for ever on my face a shadow of sadness because Margaret, love, that shadow is born of self-reproach. Sorrow comes to us all in turn, sent us in love always, and in time we learn that, but when the sorrow is brought on us by our own self-will or wrong- doing, then, my child, it remains with us a bitter memory for ever. The sorrow God's chastening passes, as 70 " ONLY A LITTLE PRTMKOSE," waves of shadow pass over the golden wheat, not injuring the rich ripe ears, only shading them for a season. Borne with resignation, His smile, like the returning sunshine, lights our hearts again, and we know how tender was the Hand that wounded us. But when our own folly, our own perversity, brings on us a heavy woe, no comfort comes to help us to hear it, and like the canker which destroys the heart of the rose, so remorse eats into our hearts," the tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke, and Margaret taking her hand whispered gently, " Don't tell us, if it makes you sad." "No, my love, I would rather tell you, because it may save you from a sorrow like mine." "When I was very young," she continued, " ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE," 71 " I lost my mother, and I was sent down into the country to be brought up by an aunt. She had married a gentleman who owned a great deal of land, and managed one of the largest farms himself it was a beautiful old place, and to me was enchanting, coming from a dark street in the City where we had always lived. My father was a merchant, and we lived at his house of business he was glad to send me away as I had no brother or sister to play with and I was, too, glad to go away from the gloomy house, and be with my little cousins in the bright home I had often heard them talk of. "There were two boys and two girls, the eldest boy worked on the farm with his father, and the other was in a merchant's office in London. The girls were both older than me, 72 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. but nice, bright, kind girls, and we were great friends. I had, with a child's quick forgetful- ness, forgotten my mother. I had seen but little of her, and the nurse was more associated in my mind with tiny baby happy days, than she was, poor dear! a kind handsome face smiling on me in the morning, and bidding 'God bless me ! ' at night, was almost all I knew of her and so, with my good-hearted affectionate motherly aunt and uncle and the young cousins, my life was brighter and happier than it had ever been before. All the fresh country amuse- ments were so pleasant to me. I ran out in the morning early with Lucy and Dora, to see the cows milked, to search for eggs in the hedges when the hens laid astray, to see the first litter of little pigs, the young puppies, the new stableman's cat without a tail, which our " ONLY A LITTLE PKIMEOSE." 73 yard-man had procured, the little calves, all the young things which increased the stock in the farm-yard made an excitement in our lives and were chronicled as little events. And now, I daresay, you will like to know what Dora and Lucy were like ? " " Oh ! yes," said Mary, " I always like in books when they say what age the little girls and boys are; what coloured hair they have, and all those sort of things." " Well then, Lucy the eldest girl was, when I first went to them, sixteen, with auburn hair and blue merry eyes, and a fair skin and a pretty light fairy figure, and a voice bright and clear as a skylark's. Dora was fourteen, dark as Lucy was fair, so that they were often called after two of Walter Scott's heroines, Minna and Brenda. Dora was my favourite, she was 74 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." so gentle and affectionate; in her soft dark brown eyes there was such a depth of tender- ness and love, and she was so unselfish and sweet-tempered. Lucy, on the contrary, was, I will not say ill-tempered, because that does not express it ; but she had an unhappy knack of making others ill-tempered without in the least appearing cross herself an irritating, aggravating laugh which was most trying when you were worried and put out by any small cir- cumstance, but those not intimately acquainted with Lucy thought her far the most charming of the two girls " "And the little boys," said Emmy, "were they nice little boys ? " Miss Denbigh sighed, and the old shadow passed over her face as she answered, " They were not little boys, dear, they were "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. 75 nearly young men at least Donald was twenty and Graham nearly nineteen. Mr. Maclntyre was a widower when my aunt married him with these two sons, and the two girls came to be their playfellows after this second marriage and it was so pretty to see the warm affection the hoys felt for their pretty little half-sisters. They seemed almost jealous of me when I first came, lest I should wean from their parents the love they wished lavished on the two girls, but they soon grew equally fond of me " "And you were, how old, dear?" said Margaret, gently. " I was twelve about a month or two after I reached ' White Posts ' as the farm was called, and I can remember how we spent that birthday." 76 " ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. ' "The 20th of August, is it not?" said Margaret. "Yes, love, it was a fine glorious summer's day, and auntie said the little Londoner must have some thoroughly country amusements, and so they said we should take our dinner down in the green meadow where a group of trees would give us heautiful shade from the sun, and that Daisy, our favourite cow, should be tethered there for us to make syllabub which I had then never tasted." "Ah! and isn't it nice," said Emmy, "we had it once." "Don't interrupt," said Mary, impatiently. " Well, we went off. The moment we had had our breakfast we began to make preparations for our start, and oh ! how we laughed collect- ing wine-glasses without stems and old plates " ONLY A LITTLE PRLMKOSE. 77 and all things -which we should not fear to lose or break at our rural feast ah ! we were so happy I have tasted syllahub since been to many a pic-nic," said Miss Denbigh, half to herself, "but never has there been since so much joy, such pure happiness as then. " Donald was the one who worked in London. He had never a taste for country life Donald ; he wished always to be great in some way ; it had been his dream always but his father said, ' Go and work, you can be great in any position, if you will ; the best sort of greatness, the strict fulfilment of the duties of the state of life in which you are placed, that is great, and requires often greater courage than to mount a breach, or storm a wall ; it is in the Battle of Life the grandest honours are won, and to those warriors will the brightest crown be given.' 78 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." " I have heard him say that often to him, and Donald's large earnest eyes would fill with a strange light as he answered, 'Whatever position I am placed in, I would like to be at the top of the tree,' He was so much in earnest Donald always. " He came home every Christmas, and stayed a week with us, and oh ! how merry the house was then; he was so good, and yet so full of fun. He brought us all presents whenever he came, and never forgot ' the little town mouse,' as he called me ; they were bright Christmases, those never so bright since never/' she said, sadly. " We have merry Christmases, don't we, dear," said Margaret, "you are happy then?" " Oh ! yes, Margery, love, very ; happier than I ever thought to be ; but I must go on with my "ONLY A LITTLE PKIMROSE." 79 story, or I shall have Jane coming to carry away part of my audience. " My education was carefully watched over even in that country home, and being naturally quick I made good progress under the care of a widow lady, whom my aunt engaged to instruct me, and who stayed with us until I was fifteen, and then aunt thought that I could read and keep up my German and my French with my cousins, and did not longer require a governess. Lucy was very clever, but our readings together were productive, I am sorry to say, of many disputes, she delighted in puzzling me until I lost my temper, and then she would laugh a little aggravating laugh that made me still more angry, and say, ' My dear little girl, if you get cross we must put the books away.' I ought to have laughed too, had I been wise, and not given 80 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." way to the foolish irritability which made her delight in aggravating me ; and anyone looking on would have certainly condemned me, not her, she looked so bright and pretty, and seemed only full of fun, whilst I looked gloomy and cross, and could not laugh at what seemed to me only ill-natured. "After I had been five years at 'White Posts,' Donald came home, having left his situation in the office where he had been so long to take a much higher position in a mercantile house abroad. It was a treat they all said to have him home, he was to be a month with us. How his bright, sunny laugh rang through the house ; oftentimes I think I can hear it now. It was early spring, and we used to go we four* gathering primroses, violets, and anemones. I love them still, but they make me sad with the "ONLY A LITTLE PHIMROSE." 81 memory of that time, how we used to coma home laden with the blossoms, Donald would dress my hair with them, and twine them with the shining leaves of the Bryony round my hat. "Many a time among the green lanes there as we rambled, Lucy and I had our little angry discussions, which Donald tried to stop, or mediate between us. He saw that Lucy was aggravating, and tried to reason with her ; but she was, after all, his favourite sister T knew. " Three days before he left, Lucy had been most aggravating, and I had felt so cross and irritable, and he had been so gentle he loved her so and tried to make me think it was only her love of fun, that she did not wish to anger me. 82 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." " It was the night before he left, we were all sitting in the large parlour, we would not light the candles, a small wood fire burnt in the grate, for the evenings in that early spring time were still chilly. The young crescent moon had risen in the sky, in which the daylight still lingered, and one small bright star seemed like a handmaid waiting on her. I see it all as plainly as I saw it then. Lucy had been for some time throwing little balls of paper at me, and several times I had asked her not to do so, that it worried me I wished to be quiet, I was in no mood for fun that night ; but, unheeding- all my remonstrance, she continued tormenting me : the pellets really struck sharply enough to hurt, and at length one hit me more fiercely than any, for I had ceased to remonstrate with her, and she seemed determined I should feel ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." 83 this time. Donald was sitting with his arm round her, he did love Lucy so, and it was the last evening. I told myself how natural it was that he should thus give all the last precious moments to the favourite sister, but somehow I fear it helped to anger me ; as the last pellet struck and hurt me, and I cried out, she laughed that nasty jeering laugh I hated, and I seized a small marble weight upon the table near me, and threw it at her : it struck him, not her, for he flung himself before her ; he picked it up quietly and put it back on the table, uttered no cry, though a lump was on his forehead where it struck him, but he said gently though severely, " 'I could not have thought spite and pas- sion would take up their abode in so fair a mansion : good-night, good-by, Helena,' and G 2 84 " OXLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. putting his arm round Lucy's neck, he whispered something to her, and they left the room together. " He was to leave by an early train the next morning, and I lay awake through the hours of the night, wondering if he meant hy that * good-hy ' that we were to meet no more. Angry with Lucy, whom I felt was the cause of this, and angry with myself for my shameful display of temper, my mental suffering I could not describe : the night seemed endless, and as soon as it was light I rose and dressed, deter- mined to see Donald and wish him * good-by ' and tell him I was sorry. I went down into the large parlour, it was so early even the servants were not down. I opened the shutters myself and looked out into the old-fashioned garden, with its turf paths and velvet lawn, and "ONLY A LITTLE PKIMROSE." 85 the apple trees laden with their pink blossoms, among which the birds chirped and twittered, and flew busily in and out ; at length a footstep down the old oak staircase, was it Donald? No, only the servant, who stared to see me about so early, but asked me if I was going to see Mr. Donald off, she was just going to call the young ladies. I don't know how long I waited, but they all came down at last, and he said, " ' I did not expect to see you, Helena, so early, thank you : you are come to see the last of the traveller, and wish him ' God speed.' " " What possessed me what evil spirit made me say, " * Oh, dear me ! pray do not flatter yourself, I mistook the time. I am going back to taka 86 "ONLY A LITTLE PHIMEOSE." another hour's sleep.' And so I went flying up the broad staircase, into my room, and I shut and locked the door, haunted like mad- ness hy that laugh of Lucy's, which I heard as I flew upstairs. I have never seen him since, Margaret," she said, addressing herself to the eldest girl. " I left very soon after he was gone. Somehow the house seemed wretched, and Lucy I could not bear to look at ; and so I said I would like to earn my own living, and then I became a gover- ness." " And now to bed, darlings," she said, jumping up ; " and take with you this lesson, Charity suffereth long, and is kind, beareth all things, endureth. all things, and without it we are nothing worth." "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." 87 Wonderingly the little girls looked at her as she kissed them with passionate fervour and sent them away. And then turning to Margaret, she said, " You are never like to suffer as I have, dear, you are so gentle and forbearing. You often remind me of Dora." " And have you never heard of them at all ? " said Margaret. " Oh, yes ! I frequently have letters, and they often press me to go and see them; but I cannot, Margaret. Donald," she said in a tremulous voice, "Dora says, was coming home to see them, but he did not come, and they have not heard since, so he, per- haps, is dead. Get your book, darling, and read ; I shall be with you again pre- sently." 88 " ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." And she -went away a little while, when she came back her face was still and calm as ever. A few days passed after this, and games were played and more stories told, brighter and gayer, suiting better the little ones, but Margaret liked the " real one/* as she called it, the best, and thought much about it, wondering if " Donald, who now became a sort of hero to her, was really dead, and if dear Miss Denbigh would ever see him again." Many a romance she wove about it in her girlish fancy, and tried to lay the lesson to her heart and speak no hasty words of anger to those she loved. And the hot summer passed and changed to autumn, and then the family at Afton Lodge went for their usual trip to the sea, and Miss " ONLY A LITTLE PBIMROfiE. 89 Denbigh left to pay some visits amongst her father's friends. What a packing up it was ; how busy baby was putting into nurse's box, with that triumph- ant " dcre," everything he could find about the room, so that poor nurse had to disembarrass her trunk of the hearth broom, the large wooden horse without a head, several bricks, an empty pomade-pot, and Minnie's poor blind baby doll, out of which he himself had poked the eyes and brought to the distressed mother to exhibit his handy work, crowing with glee, and assuring her he was "Kcvcr boy." Now, of course, he was priding himself on the great help he was to nurse, for sweet baby nature has an innocent belief that the will to help is as good as the deed. They w r ere to start immediately after an early 90 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." dinner, and even though nurse and Mrs. Enfield had tried to think of everything, what an infinite number of "forgets" there were at the last, how nurse poked them, all as far as possible into her pockets, till the turning out of it, when they reached the lodgings, was a source of the greatest amusement, it was such a curious jumble. A shoeing-horn, a corkscrew, and a button-hook, being mingled with doll's frocks and odd socks, and several small treasures of baby's, which he had tyrannically insisted on her "bringing. And on the sands, amongst the loungers, and the bathers, and the sellers of shells and pebble brooches, crochet collars and night- caps, the children dug and built castles with martello towers of sand, made by squeezing into the little pails and turning it out like jelly from a mould, and deep trenches, into which the "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." 91 water ran, and made a moat round the castle walls, bigger boys coming to inspect the work, and offering suggestions, going paddling into the water to fetch bright pieces of seaweed to make a garden for the little girls, with that childish innocent friendliness, needing no introduction before they speak, and becoming at last such friends, that one wonders who Jessie and Tommy, and Johny, Lucy, and Walter are, whom our children are calling to, or talking of so familiarly. Ah ! happy little architects, your castles are like those we build in later years, washed over by the waves of Time as ruthlessly as by the tide that destroyed yours, only to you the destruction was no sorrow, it was only the fun of building them up again. And there, by the " sad sea Tvaves," the children played and gained health 92 "ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." and brown skins, and went home to learn that they were to lose " dear Miss Denbigh." A letter awaited mamma to say that she could only stay one quarter more, she woiild tell her why when she came back. Margaret, indeed they all, were so sorry, and were eager to know why she must go. It was soon told she was going to be married. The evening after she returned, sitting in the school-room between "the dark and the day- light," she said, with a soft sweet smile, " Margaret, Donald has forgiven me." " Donald is not dead ?" exclaimed Margaret, joyfully. "No, he has come home. I got a letter soon after I left you from Dora, see, here it is," and she handed it to Margaret. "Helena, come to us at once, please do, " ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. 93 there is some one here who wants to see you. I am not to say who, but he sends you this." So the letter ran. V "It was only a little primrose, Margaret," she said ; " but I knew who sent it, and I went directly. Donald was there; he came out to meet me with the old kindly light in his eyes, browned, but little altered. And he said fancy all these years how my foolish words must have pained him, that he so remembered them he said, ' You have had that hour's sleep out now, Helena ?' Yes, and woke to a keen sense of my folly. Margaret, he is to be my husband when I leave you." " Oh ! dear Miss Denbigh, I am so glad, so glad," said tender-hearted Margaret, half-in- clined to cry for joy and sympathy. 91 "ONLY A LITTLE PFJMEOSE." " Yes, dear, I knew you wo aid be ; and you will not ever forget me, nor the lesson I have taught you, the grave importance of 'words.* All through Holy "Writ, the warnings are plentiful to keep our tongues with a hridle, to use 'pleasant words,' soft words, by them we are to be condemned or justified, and judged for 'idle ones.' Amongst those, I am sure, are such as, without thought, are spoken to wound or hurt, those uttered in petu- lance, which a moment's reflection would have stopped." " Poor Donald ! many and many a time in his long exile, he says, the little primrose which I tossed in sport to him on that happy day we both so well remembered, spoke to him, it seemed, pleadingly for me. It never left him until he sent it to me. "We do not know what " OXLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE. 95 little things may influence us. A great event may spring from some mere trifle, and my happiness," she said, with a glad smile, " has been secured by ONLY A LITTLE PRIMROSE." A WHITE DAISY. A WHITE DAISY. CHAPTEIl I. " THIS way, ma'am, it's up a very steep and queer sort of a staircase. Stop a bit ! let me get the door open. That's it ; here she is, poor lassie. My dear, here's a lady come to see you." The speaker was an old, bent man, with ragged clothing and long white hair hanging down on to his shoulders, with dark grey eyes, in which a light seemed to shine of genius and intellect, which gave a dignity to his tattered H 2 100 A WHITE DAISY. clothing and his bent and shrivelled form. The person he was addressing, who had followed him up the crazy, dark stairs, was a woman of middle age, dressed in a dark grey serge gown, black shawl, and black bonnet, with a large black veil falling over it ; her face was homely and kind, and she had a trustful and faithful look in her eyes, like a dog, which made all who looked at her trust and believe in her. Lying in a corner of the room in which she entered, on a bed placed on the floor, was a human form, which the old man had addressed as " poor lassie." But the sad face, so fearfully disfigured, that lay there, might have belonged to any age or sex. An expression of painful sympathy passed over the woman's face, but neither terror nor disgust; A WHITE DAISY. 101 she was too familiar with such piteous sights to be shocked by this. " This is one of tho good mission women, my dear," spoke the old man, in a low gentle voice to the sufferer. " She is going to try and help you." Through the swollen lips a weak childish voice uttered some words, which were difficult to understand so imperfectly spoken ; but the woman understood her, and kneeling down beside her said, " Yes, dear, I think I can ; you are not past God's help, and I may be His humble instru- ment I pray so. Where do you suffer? Everywhere, do you say? poor dear. I dare say. I am going to stay with you all night. You will thank your kind neighbour when you are able ; he fetched me to you." 102 A WHITE DAISY. "He desires no thanks," said the old man, turning to leave the room ; " they would be a strange sound to him," and quietly closing the door, he crept down the stairs to his own room on the next floor. It would have roused curiosity in anyone who entered it, so strangely contrasted was the abject poverty with the things which lay about. There was very little furniture, and no carpet; an iron bedstead, two oak carved chairs with worn velvet seats, so worn that the original colour had departed, and the pile worn away until there remained only the threads on which the once costly fabric had been woven. A small piece of tapestry lay before the little fireplace, in which a little coke was smoulder- ing ; no other covering was on the floor. The table was a common deal one, and facing the A WHITE DAISY. 103 fireplace was an elaborately carved oak chest; and on the wall, with its stained and miserable paper, hung a picture without a frame a picture of a girl's face which seemed to light the whole room with its glorious beauty : the radiant eyes, the laughing mouth, with the glowing lips slightly parted ; the nut-brown hair hanging in heavy masses on the fair white neck, nestling a white dove in its warm shelter ; and it was a chance when any rare visitant did enter that room if he found not the old man sitting gazing at that picture. He was a very gentle-mannered man with a strange courtesy, contrasting as oddly with his shabby clothes as the picture he worshipped with the room he inhabited. He had been now for more than a year in this miserable lodging. When he hired it he asked gently, might he 104. A WHITE DAISY. send in a little furniture, and the coarse, rough woman who owned the house, grinding each of her poor lodgers to pay her rent, wondered tc see such things as came for her new tenant in a little cart ; and with supreme contempt heard him cry, " Oh ! gently with that picture ! " about that " rubbishing thing without ne'er a frame." He had been some months in the house, taking no notice of anyone save by the court- eous movement of his hat if he met any of the- wretched inhabitants of the house on the stairs,, until one night, when a noise overhead at- tracted his attention the wailing cry of a child, and hurried footsteps, and women's voices talking loud. He opened his door and listened, a woman came down the stairs, and he asked if anything was the matter. " Only that woman Brooks come home so A WHITE DAISY. 105 drunk again, and poor little Betsy so ill ; and it frightens her," was the answer. " Can I help or be of use ? " he asked. " No, I think not ; when the gal 's dead, it will be a happy thing ; and the precious mother too, for the matter of that." And the woman went on, and the noise above continued for a little while, and there was a heavy sound as of a fall, and then silence. And the old man went back into his room. He was very shy, and never intruded him- self anywhere ; but somehow, the thought of poor little suffering Betsy and the drunken mother haunted him ; and he wished he knew what he could do to aid her. He had often seen the wretched woman staggering up stairs, but the child he had never seen. A child a girl to him was a tender memory embodied 106 A WHITE DAISY. in the picture on his faded wall ; and for its sake he would fain have helped all. And so, day after day, he listened to the sounds in the room ahove with a sad interest ; and at length, one evening, there was a noise and great com- motion at the street door, and then a heavy stumbling up stairs men's ard women's voices mingling; and the old man opened his door, and saw a lifeless form carried up into the room above heard, the shriek of terror, and the sad wailing cry of the suffering child, as they bore into the room the ghastly burden, and told the poor child she was now alone in the world. Better alone, though, he thought, than with that fearful unsexed being she had called mother, whom he, with such a chivalrous love for woman, could scarcely think of as one. And when, with rough kind- A WHITE DAISY. 107 ness, the woman in the next room carried the poor child away from the sight of the dead mother, and laid her in her own bed, the old man crept up and asked how he could help? what he could do ? And the woman said " Get the poor child into some home or hos- pital ; that's the best thing to be done. I can't keep her. She's got ne'er a father nor friend. There's a mission-house hard by, where they see to the poor, I believe. I never troubled them ; I ain't good enough," she said, with a coarse laugh ; " but this poor suffering little wretch is innocent enough for 'em, and she won't trouble anyone long. She's a awful sight ; look at her ! " Oh ! how the pictured face came between him and that, as he gazed on it for one moment, and turned shuddering away. I OS A WHITE DAISY. "The limbs are awful bad too," continued the woman. " She can't stand a bit more nor a babby." "I'll go at once. Maybe, care might save her," murmured the old man. " Oh ! my sweet Margaret, my pure white daisy," he said to- himself, as he hurried down the miserable stairs ; " better have laid you in your quiet bed in your fresh young bloom, though it seemed to break my heart then, than see you like this ! And it might have been, it might have been I It's bad food, impure air, that does it, they say. And so, my little flower, I am glad now to know that you are with the angels.'* And as he spoke, he raised his old worn hat from his head, and looked up at the sky above him ; for he had started at once on his errand of mercy, and he meant not to rest A WHITE DAISY. until he had procured aid for that suffering- child. In a few moments he had reached the house indicated, where it stood like some pure spirit in a mass of wickedness, seeming to plead for forgiveness for the sin and misery around it. There were there gently-nurtured ladies giving their services to suffering humanity, and homely women who could deal with the class from which they themselves had sprung, knowing so well all their struggles and their trials, that the lady who was placed at the head of the Home always sent them among the poorest to minister to them in sadness or suffering ; so that the tale quickly told hy the old man, who stood in the porch bareheaded, and spoke with the eloquence of truth, was heard, and with ready sympathy attended to. And thus it came to pass, 110 A WHITE DAISY. that up the dark, queer, steep staircase in the wretched lodging, the mission woman, with her kindly face and gentle tread, followed Bernard Sterndale. Leaving her in charge of the child he returned to his room; and sitting down before the picture, the smile which always gleamed over his face, when he looked at it, illumined it now, and he said " My pretty daisy ! I have taken care of the poor little one ! Can you smile on me for that ? Ah ! " he sighed, and the smile faded ; washed away, as it were, hy the tears that filled his eyes. What a hard life his had heen ! and what a sorry ending it seemed going to have ! Bernard Sterndale had been born a genius ; and un- happily for him, of homely, hard-working parents, who could not understand the grave A WHITE DAISY. Ill silent boy, with 'his eyes glowing with a strange light, and his thoughts seeming always far off in some dreamland they knew not of ; he seemed never to care to join the village boys in their rough play; but on half -holidays wandered away on to the hills alone to see the sunset, or hurry at early morn to see it rise, getting back in time for school, where, always at the top of his class, quiet and diligent, he was a favoured scholar. He would be a great man some day, his old master predicted. There was something very uncommon about him ; and triumphantly he shewed, to prove how right he was, one day, a painting done with common colours, which had such an unmistakeable stamp of genius on it, that the clergyman to whom the master proudly displayed it, said the boy must be educated for an artist must go to London to 112 A WHITE DAISY. some art-school. But his father laughed the idea to scorn. "No, no," he said; "his boy must follow the plough, as his father had done before him ; or take to some honest trade ; not humbug his time away daubing pictures." And so to a bookbinder in the neighbouring town the boy elected to go. And there he read the books he had to bind, with avidity seizing on those that told of painters of men who had risen from the ranks and become great. Oh ! how he yearned and prayed to become like them some day. At length he grew so heart-sick with the weary longing, with the drudgery of his trade, that he determined to throw it, up, go to London, and offer himself as a colour- mixer to some artist, whom he might watch in this grand art he worshipped. His father was furiously angry; but his mother pleaded for A WHITE DAISY. 113 him; and lie went. There he toiled and worked and watched, revering the master, who with magic touch seemed to make the canvas live. And at length the yearning love and admiration in the boy's eyes, and the patient willing work he gave his master, awoke his interest ; and he said " Take the brush, boy, and paint yourself; paint me some memory that you have most loved ! " "With trembling hand and beating heart, the boy took the brush and on the canvas rose again the sun above the hills at home. It was a mere sketch a bare hill side ; but it was all aglow with morning's rosy light ; and before it the master stood in mute astonishment. From that moment Ber- nard Sterndale became an artist. Alas the day ! poor and friendless ; no patron to make the public believe in him ; he sold his pictures 114 A WHITE DAISY. for the smallest sums for his daily bread. And then there came a time when for another's sake he wished with bitter remorse that he had stayed as he was. He might have earned more than this wretched bare subsistence, which it would be such selfishness to ask her to share. And then he thought he would throw it all up ; sell easel and palette and brushes, and do anything rather than she should not be his wife. But half his charm would have been gone without the art which had made her glorious in his eyes. And so she came gladly to share the scant pittance he earned, and help and cheer him with bright prophecies of the time when he would be famous. And she would sit on the ground in his studio, watching him paint, singing sweet snatches of song to him while he worked ; the A WHITE DAISY. 115 sun coining down aslant on her sunny hair, like a blessing on her for the sweet gladness she shed upon his life. And happy in his love and in his art, he forgot in those bright mo- ments that poverty stood at his door, hand in hand with sorrow and suffering. And then one more came to share his love, and he was com- pelled then to take to illustrating, leaving on his canvas his grand work all unfinished, for the readier pay to be got by this lower form of his art. She grew up beside him, his fair daughter, for fifteen years; then the mother who had borne up so bravely faded gradually from his sight, and, ere he could realise that she was ill, that the bright, brave spirit had given in, she was gone, and he and Margaret were alone. i 2 116 A WHITE DAISY. One day as she sat before him, he felt in- spired to paint her picture. It wanted a few months to the opening of the Academy, could he get it in ? Oh ! how he worked, inspired by the radiant face before him, and he finished it, that picture hanging ever before him, while these old thoughts and memories filled his heart. And he sent it to the Academy; it was hung in an obscure corner, and was not sold. And so they struggled on again, and then she too began to fail like her mother. Things grew worse and worse ; with tears he sought for work for her sake, but without avail, and she too passed out of his life, and left him alone, with only the picture. He lost hope and energy then, and sank lower and lower, and sold all his things save those two chairs and the chest, and the pic- A WHITE DAISY. 117 ture, and took a very humble situation, a small mean lodging, and lived on the memory of the past. To help all young girls, to be inspired by Her picture to all that was gentle, kind, and chival- rous, even in his bare poor life, was all that remained to him ; and so it was that the suffer- ing child filled him with a deep interest which made him anxious to do anything which could ease her pain or bring her one ray of comfort. CHAPTER II. IN a large, long, lofty room, clean and bright, the white- washed walls hung with pretty coloured prints and illuminated texts, rows of small cot-beds placed on either side, and beauti- ful white deal tables down the centre in this room in one cot lay a child, whose name (written on a label over her little bed) was Elizabeth Brookes. She was a new-comer, and very, very ill the worst case, the doctors said, they had ever had, and they had little hope of her recovery. She had been brought from A WHITE DAISY. 119 London in a steamboat, and carried ashore to this hospital filled with sad cases sent there from crowded cities, or miserable, ill- ventilated dwellings in poor villages but none, they said, so bad as this poor little sufferer. The sun was shining into the large window of the children's ward as one of the doctors passed through it, stopping at each little cot with a kindly word of greeting to the little occupants. Some were sitting up playing with their toys ; others lying with wide open eyes, staring at the golden sun so rare and bright a sight to those who, in the dark cellar in some narrow street they called home, knew it only by its glimmer on the highest windows of the opposite houses. On the ground, building brick houses, two or three were seated, some having lost a leg 120 A WHITE DAISY. or an arm, but laughing merrily at their play, too. The doctor came to them, and asked them to build him a house. How their eyes brightened as he spoke to them he knew them all by name, and seemed to love them, and be full of interest and sym- pathy for each one. "And, now, my poor mite, how are you?" he said, approaching the cot in which lay Eliza- beth Brookes. She tried to smile, for even yet she could not speak much, but her eye lighted up in grateful recognition of him who had so sedulously tried to do her good. He called the nurse, and asked her questions of the little patient, and his benevolent face brightened up as he said " She will do, I verily believe ; and it will be A WHITE DAISY. 121 quite a resurrection. Go on exactly as you have make no change we can't be doing better, and to-morrow I shall have her carried out on to the grass if there are no worse symp- toms and the weather is suitable. She shall see the sea and the blue sky, and hear the birds sing and the waves splash on the shore that she shall, bless her ! " And he laid his hand on the child's head, and again the light of love and gratitude came into the child's face. " She certainly is extraordinary better, sir," said the nurse ; " but as to taking on her out, sir that, I don't see how it's to be done." " Well, I do, luckily, Mrs. Slater ; so we will not discuss that. Only keep up the feeding and the cheerfulness, and plenty of cold water to the poor little face, and we will have her out. Good-bye, little girl, for the present. I shall 122 A WHITE DAISY. not come in again before the evening, nurse; she is doing so well." And rubbing his hands together, with a pleasant look of satisfaction in his kindly face, he left the ward. And the little things played, and slept, and chattered talked together of home, and of all their mutual experiences and the nurses talked and worked, and the sun went down in the bosom of the great deep, shedding a crimson glow on the waters, and the stars came out one by one, " each on its golden throne ; " and the gentle waves came creeping on to the shore with a soft rippling sound, which the little ones heard in their dreams, and wondered what soft sound it was those who had never left their little cots since kindly hands had laid them there. A WHITE DAISY. 123 The morning dawned bright and clear, and when the doctors came their rounds, Bessy watched anxiously for her friend. She believed in his promise that she should see all the wondrous sights and hear the sounds that were only names to her, that he had spoken of, and she had closed her little weary eyes with this hope, that when that glorious sun rose again she should know and realise all he told her. "Now, then, nurse," he said cheerily, ap- proaching the bed; "what about my little patient? Why, what a bright face are you expecting to go out, eh ? " " Yes, please," said the child. " Bravely spoken why, you are better ! Did she take nourishment in the night, nurse ? " " Oh ! yes, sir ; when she woke she took A WHITE DAISY. quite a sight of jelly, but she slept oncommon well, she did, sir." " Bravo ! then out we go. I shall carry her myself, nurse. Wrap her up in some soft flannel wraps of some kind, and have a bed laid on the grass in the shade, and I will carry her. I will come in ten minutes ; I am going to look at Jemmy Payne's knee and Bessy Green's ankle, and by that time she will be ready." And he was back in the time he said, and gently he bore the child along the corridors out on to the grass plot on the cliff that overlooked the sea. It was brilliantly fine, a soft west wind was blowing, carrying over the deep blue sky soft fleecy clouds, and gently helping the little vessels riding on the waters, with their white sails looking like large birds, to skim along to the havens where they would A WHITE DAISY. 125 be. And lie laid her tenderly, gently on the bed, and covered her with shawls, and sat down beside her, watching anxiously to see how this great change would affect her. Quite still with closed eyes she lay awhile, then she opened them, but still made no sound. At length she said, in her low weak voice and slow utterance, pointing with her small wan hand " What is that white thing ? " " Where, my child ? " he said quietly, and ideas of visions of angels came to him as he looked eagerly in the little face that had grown dear to him from his anxious watching and his earnest desire to see once more the hue of health on its lips. "Where, my child?" he said. " There," and still she pointed eagerly, not at the white fleecy clouds, not at the white sails 126 A WHITE DAISY. on the water, not at any vision, but on the ground beside him " a small white thing," she said, "there." " This ? " he said, wonderingly, and picking a little daisy he handed it to her. "Yes; what is it?" " My poor child! " he said, and tears tears of compassion filled his eyes, it seemed so piteous that to any child a daisy should be a strange sight ; " have you never seen a daisy ? " " No pretty may I keep it ? " " Yes ; I will gather you handsful." And so he did, and carried her back with the little wan hands filled with daisies, and strewed more on her cot ; and daily himself, with unflagging interest, carried her out on to the grass till she herself was strong enough to gather the little flowers in a basket he bought her on A WHITE DAISY. 127 purpose, and string them into chains, with the smile of childhood he had longed to see light- ing all her face.* * A real incident which occurred in the Royal Sea BatLing Infirmary, Margate. CHAPTER III. ^ * IN a carver and gilder's shop poor old Ber- nard Sterndale had found a somewhat better situation after the departure of the child in whom he was so interested, and for whose touching and piteous state he had enlisted such sympathy, that a subscription had been made for her to get her into the hospital. He took his leave of her somewhat sadly ; for he felt he should probably never see her again. Not only did he fear that the little life was doomed ; but that even if she lived, he could never afford to take that journey to visit her. So tenderly and A WHITE DAISY. 129 reverently lie raised the poor little burning hand to his lips, of one whom he thought so near the angels as, in the arms of the kindly woman who had tended her, she was borne from the dark dreary lodging. He missed her missed the daily visit to her room and all the anxiety of her sad state. The good nurse promised to let him know how she got on ; and eagerly he watched for the post, and got at length a few lines to say she was safe in the hospital, but there was little hope of her life. And so, as the time passed and the summer waned, and he heard no more, he would think of her with the angels, in the bright and happy land with his own darlings, where it was his hope and prayer to join them. One evening, as he was just leaving his 130 A WHITE DAISY. work, he went into the shop to fetch some frames that he had to take to a customer in the morning, and found a gentleman there with a picture he wanted framed. He was talking to the master on the subject, and as Bernard passed him he started at the sight of the little picture the gentleman held in his hand, and could scarcely suppress a cry as he saw the old hills at home with the red golden sun hehind them the little picture he had painted in the old studio so many years ago ! He could not mistake it ; he could never forget it ; too deeply impressed on him was the memory of that moment when his astonished master told him he was an artist. He looked hard in the man's face to see if he could trace any likeness to him, whose encouragement and praise had first inspired him. A WHITE DAISY. 131 But, no ; lie was a total stranger. He could see no old memory written in those lineaments. But, still an intense desire to know how this first little sketch had come into the stranger's hand inspired him with courage, and going up to him, as he was leaving the shop, he said, " Sir, I beg your pardon humbly ; but that little sketch. Where did you get it ? how did you come by it ? " The gentleman looked at the poor bent figure before him, and into the large eyes, with the light in them kindled afresh, as it seemed, by this recollection of what he had been or aimed to be in those days of long ago, and said, with a kindly smile " My good friend, I came by it quite honestly. It was my uncle's ; and at his death it became my father's, with all K 2 132 A WHITE DAISY. the rest of, his property, and would have been thrown away as rubbish but for me. I like the little thing. What is your interest in it?" " Only that I painted it, sir," said Bernard humbly. "' You ! you painted it ! Follow me home, will you ? It is not far." It was not far ; and Bernard followed his friend into the hall of the large house he led him to, and into the library, much scrutinised by the gentleman who answered the door, and who wondered " what strange old cove master had been and picked up." "Be seated, my friend. Tell me all about this picture ? " And he did; with all the eloquence and graphic power which feeling and earnestness lent A WHITE DAISY. 133 him, Bernard told his tale. He went back to his boyhood's days, to the school where on the leaf of a copy-book he had made his first sketch with a penny box of paints ; his days with his master, when, mixing his colours, he had stood wrapt in ecstasy watching him paint; the day when, turning with a smile to the lad, he had handed him the brush and bid him try his skill ; and spoke, with his heart beating almost as fast as then, of how his master said genius was in every line, and he was an artist born. His new friend listened to every word in silence to the sorrow of his later years in silence still ; and then he said, as he ended his tale, " You have come home with me. I shall go home with you and see this picture you still possess of your child. And your name is " 134 A WHITE DAISY. " Bernard Sterndale." " Bight. In an entry in my uncle's journal he mentions that a hoy named Bernard Stern- dale made a slight sketch in his studio so cleverly that he felt he would one day he a great man. The tide was not taken at the turn, old man," he said, kindly extending his hand to him ; " hut if you cannot he great as the world calls great, you shall not want again. Come, let us go." CHAPTER IV. SHE is not pretty, by any means, but bettei than pretty, that little bright cheerful maiden, who, in a cottage in the suburbs of London, one sweet summer evening sits singing at her work. The room she sits in is small, but so pretty. She is but a tiny thing herself, she does not need a large room. She is seated in a high- backed oak chair. In one similar to it sits an old man, asleep or thinking. On a hand- some carved oak chest against the wall a large 136 A WHITE DAISY. white Persian cat lies asleep, certainly not thinking. Over the chest on the wall, papered with a white watered paper, hangs, in a hand- some oval frame, a picture of a girl of radiant beauty nestling amongst her hrown hair a white dove ; a dark green carpet covers the floor, and an oaken bookshelf filled with well-bound books, a tahle with a dark velvet coverlet, on which stands a white Parian figure holding a hasket of fresh cut flowers, and a few light occasional chairs standing ahout, make up the contents of the little bright room. It has more inhabitants though than the old man and the girl, and yet, perhaps, the third occupant can- not strictly be called one, for only his head and shoulders are in the room ; he, for it is a young man, is standing outside in the garden looking in at the girl and asking her to sing. She has A WHITE DAISY. 137 a sweet bright voice, and sings naturally, like a bird. " Now, go," she said, ceasing her warbling ; " grandfather will wake and call you idle." " No, he won't ; I'm studying this interior and shall transfer it to my canvas to-morrow," said the young man, laughing. " Oh, Fred, what a fib ! I wish you could ; how pleased he'd be, bless him." Aye, she had need to bless him. You know who she is, this little maiden she is Bessy Brookes, well and happy now; the pure air, the loving, untiring care in that kind shelter for the sick and suffering, where the waves wash up against the cliff on which it stands, and the sea breezes bring on their wings health to the sufferers, had taken from her all the pain and misery which had made her young life 138 A WHITE DAISY. such, a burden to her, and in the home to which she returned, she had been carefully educated and trained to all useful domestic offices, so that when one day he, who still stood her firm friend, Bernard Sterndale, came to see her, and said that he had, through the kindness of a friend, now a little home of his own, and he wanted some one to keep it for him would she come? "With a glad smile she consented, and the kind sisters let her go, happy to know she would have a safe, sure refuge with the good old man, who had been so true a friend to her, and so she went to the pretty little cottage the well directed aid had provided for him, and where the owner of his first sketch came constantly to see him. Out of the abundance with which God had A WHITE DAISY. 139 blessed Tn'm he had had the means to aid one so deserving ; and it was his reward to see the old man in his comfortable home, and his decent clothing; and his bright little house- keeper, whom he had bidden call him " Grand- father," flitting about, keeping the house so neat so great and blessed a contrast for both of them to the dreary, wretched lodgings. Often they talked of it by the open window, with the clematis clustering round it in the sunny summer time, and over the little cheery fire in the long winter evenings ; and Bessy would love to hear of Margaret, whom he called his Daisy. And he, the old man, would wonder to hear of her tale of how she first saw a real Daisy, and how she had loved them ever since, so that the little borders in their small garden were edged with the little 140 A WHITE DAISY. flower both cherishing it with such a tender memory. And, as the time wore on, they grew ac- quainted with a young man, the son of the framer where Bernard had been employed. He came first on some little business to Bernard, and talked a little to Bessy, and then came again and often again till old Bernard began to laugh to himself and wonder what would be the end of these visits. He was to have bis father's business, and he loved pictures; that was next best to painting them, Bernard thought knew a good one when he saw it and raved of the beauteous Daisy hanging up in the little room. One day he went so far as to say Bessy was something like it. Bernard did laugh at that, but he was glad too if he thought her like A WHITE DAISY. 141 that! "Well, well, thank God, when he went home to his darlings, there would, he knew, now, be some one to care for her whom he loved next in the world to his own sweet "WHITE DAISY." " ' Who's child are 3 - ou? where do you live? ' " RAGGED HOBIN. BAGGED EOBIN. BAGGED BOBIN. "On! don't throw stones at the poor little ducks, boy, that is cruel, and you'll have the farmer after you too, in a moment." The small personage addressed raised a large saucy pair of brown eyes to the speaker's face, and said laughing, " I bean't a-shying at the ducks. I only hauls the stones in the water to fright 'em." " "Well, but why should you frighten them, poor things ? And you might accidentally hit one, you know, and break its leg." " Ah ! sir, I am glad you're talking to that child," said a little old woman coming up at tho 146 BAGGED EOBIN. moment; "he's the most daring most most, well really, sir, I haven't a word to express what he is what a dreadful character." The gentleman smiled, and looked down at the very small specimen of humanity, who was condemned so severely, and who certainly, in spite of his remonstrance, was still shying stones in the water. " Who is he ? who's child are you ? where do you live ? " he said, putting his hand on the hoy's arm. " I'm nobody's child, and I live nowheres," said the boy, with a mischievous grin. " "Well, sir, I believe it's right what he says," said the old lady ; " he's a poor little miserable vagrant, who ought to be in the workhouse he'll be in prison some day, if he don't mind. He sleeps in the Ship stables, sir, and goes errands sometimes, and holds horses just for a mouthful of food, and he's a very naughty, idle, bad boy," she continued, shaking her green RAGGED ROBIN. 147 parasol in the child's dirty face, who, the while she scolded, stood with the broadest, merriest grin on his face, as if listening to some excellent bit of fun, with which he had nothing to do personally. " I'm speaking to the new doctor, am I not sir ? " said the old lady. " You are, madam," answered the gentleman, with a kindly smile, revealing the most perfect set of teeth a smile which made the good- looking face positively handsome. " I thought so, sir. I hope I shall have the honour of seeing you not professionally, oh ! dear, no," she said with a little giggle, "but as a friend. And Mrs. Mrs. "Mrs. Mapleton my mother does not go out much she is a great invalid, but I am sure she will be pleased to make the acquaintance of any of her neighbours who will favour her with a call." "I certainly will do myself that pleasure. My name is Miss Allen, and I live at that little L 2 148 RAGGED ROBIN. humble cottage opposite, and if you would look in, I shall he very pleased. A few serious-minded friends often come to my little homely tenement, to talk over our Christian experiences, and to deplore and endeavour to remedy the evils surrounding us. "We are a small community, but we strive earnestly to drive from the village such objects as tliat" she said, pointing at the boy with her green parasol, "to purify from dross, as it were, our little parish ; and we have been successful in many instances. Why, sir, the fatal influence of such a plague-spot as that" again pointing the green parasol at the little brown, laughing, dirty boy, " is fearful." The doctor laughed as he answered, " It's a very small spot, easily wiped out, I should say. Here, you little rascal, follow me home ; I'll see if I can find a job for you, and some shoes and stockings," he said, looking down at the dirty little feet, with no vestige of covering on them : " come along. Good day, Miss Allen." RAGGED EOBIN. 149 " Good day, sir, but I implore you not to encourage that wicked little boy, but send him to a Reformatory ; that's the proper thing," and with a sweeping bow the little old lady moved away, and the poor, sad, little vagrant on whom she had expended so much indignation twisted his comic little face into a hideous grimace, ex- pressive of the utter contempt he entertained for her opinion, and an evident determination to go on in his evil courses in spite of her remonstrances. He followed the doctor, as he desired him, to the pretty rose-covered cottage where he lived with his mother. " Come in, little man," he said, opening the garden gate, which swung back against the large seringa bush, scattering the petals of its scented blossoms on the ground, " come in. I'll speak to my man about you." Slowly up the neat gravelled path, between rows of standard rose trees, the child followed his new friend into a stable yard exquisitely 150 RAGGED ROBIN. neat and clean, but quite small, matching so well the little cottage, which looked itself like an exquisite doll's house, and calling his man from the stable, he said, " Look here, Manly, take this little chap and find him a job, can you ? " " "Why, yes, sir, I dare say I can. It's little Ragged Robin, ain't it ? " The boy nodded. " Oh ! you know him, then, do you ? " said Mr. Mapleton. " Yes, sir, by seeing of him about the place. He does a odd job or two at the Ship ; but he's so small he ain't up to much, you see." " He might do a bit of weeding, or something. Give him a job of some kind, and then tell cook to give him a bit of bread and meat. Where does the child sleep and live ? " " Well, nowheres, in particular ; I think, sometimes one place and sometimes another. He was some poor tramp's child, who died here at the RAGGED ROBIN. 151 George, more nor a year ago ; and Mrs. Smith, she said she wouldn't send him to the 1 work' us' ' she would keep him, and make him useful ; she hadn't no children of her own. But she died a month or two ago, and he's been a loafing ahout at the Ship since. I don't know as he's one as you can do much with," said the man, looking with a knowing good-tempered glance on the small child, who during this history of himself had been twirling off the solitary button left on his tattered jacket. " "Well, I don't suppose he's had a very good chance ; let us give him one. Here, come in with me a moment, youngster. I'll send him back to you presently, Manly ; " and the doctor, taking the child's dirty little hand in his, led him towards the cottage, and up to the open French window of the drawing-room. " Mother," he called, " can you come to the window ? I have some one to show you." "Yes, my son, certainly," was the ready 152 RAGGED EOBIK answer; and a fair, fragile, graceful woman, looking more like the doctor's sister than his mother, came to the window. " Look, here's a strange little customer I've brought you. Can you do anything in the way of clothes for him ? " "Why, you poor mite," she said, looking down at the child, who stared up at her with big wondering eyes. " What am I to do, love ? yours won't fit him," she said, laughing. "Not exactly," answered the doctor, "so I brought him to you for advice. I don't know what's to be done with him." "A bath first, I think," she whispered, "would not be amiss. Stay, I have a thought take him round to the kitchen, and send Susan to me." " He's going to do a job of work for Manly, so I will send him to him, whilst you arrange for his outfit. I suppose cook may give him some food ? " RAGGED EOBIX. 153 " Decidedly ; take him to Manly, and come back and tell me all about him. I will ring for Susan." When the doctor returned to the drawing- room, his mother said she had sent Susan to a certain Mrs. Skinner, a woman with a large number of children, and one little boy about the size of this child. And she had suggested if she could at once set him up with a suit of her son John's clothes, she would give Johnny a new suit. " You see, we must have something without delay for this poor little mortal," she said, " and I think it better to give new clothes to a respect- able boy, like little Skinner, than to this poor little ragamuffin. Now tell me where did you find him ? who is he ? " " I found him in the road, throwing stones at Farmer Brooks's ducks." " And so you thought he deserved a suit of clothes," said Mrs. Mapleton, laughing. " Well, not on the score of merit ; but the 154 RAGGED ROBIN. very small naked feet somehow kicked at my heart, and I knew they would at yours. He's nobody's child, too a poor little waif and stray, and I want to save him if I can from goal ; for that's where I believe he must end, if he goes on in this way." " "Well, what can we do ? Can we keep him employed ? There is so little to do in these tiny premises." "Yes; but I thought on Saturday he might come to do odd jobs, and I would arrange with some tidy woman in the village to give him a decent bed and board, and send him to school, poor little chap." "That would be the best thing, certainly. Where is he sleeping now ? " " In the stable at the Ship." " Oh ! poor little child. How old is he ? " " I have not an idea six, I should fancy." " I will give him the schooling, Douglas, if you will find bed and board." RAGGED ROBIN. 155 " Thank you, dearest mother, you are always ready to help me. I don't believe there is, or ever will be, another woman in the world like you," he said, taking her small, thin, white hand in his. She bent towards him, smiling, and whispered something in his ear. His face flushed, and a look of great pain passed over it, and jumping from his seat he said, " Never breathe that name again." " My boy, what do you mean ' she asked, startled and distressed at his sudden changed manner. "I will tell you some day when I can. Oh! look, here comes Ragged Robin's suit thank you, Susan. Mrs. Skinner's a trump. I say, Susan, give him a wash, will you ? and dress him, and bring him in here to show himself. You shall have a new dress at Christmas for your trouble." " No trouble, sir. Poor little fellow ! I'll do anything I can, I'm sure ; " and the good-natured 156 RAGGED ROBIN. looking girl went off at once with the clothes to dress the child ; and the doctor flung himself into the chair which was considered especially his own, and covered his eyes with his hand in a manner he had when weary in mind and hody, which in his arduous profession he often was. "Tired, love?" said his mother, coming to him and laying her cool hand on his head. "No, not particularly only feeling a little silly, as one does when one gets a knock on a tender spot." " My dear Douglas ; and I am afraid I was the unlucky one who struck the blow. I never knew it had gone beyond a mere joke." " Say no more, mother dear ; it is no joke, and some day I will tell you all about it." The door opened as he spoke, and on the threshold stood little Robin, so wonderfully trans- formed by Susan's washing powers, and the tidy clothes, which, though poor and coarse, were clean and whole, that both the doctor and his RAGGED ROBIN. 157 mother uttered a cry of surprise. The same roguish smile was on his face as he stood there, but no inducement could get him to step into the room. Susan kept pushing him, and whispering to him, hut in vain ; he clung to the door-post, resisting all her efforts to get him a step further. " Well, never mind, Susan," said the doctor, rising and going to him, " let him go now, he does you great credit; take him to Manly, and I, mother, will go and see if I can find him a decent lodging somewhere. Now he a good hoy, and I'll see if I can get you a home, and send you to school, and make a decent boy of you." " Say 'thank you, sir/ " prompted Susan, who having been at so much trouble with him, felt a kind of personal interest in him altogether " say ' thank you.' >: But Robin saw no necessity, or, if he did, was far too shy to speak. And so he was taken away, very much rebuked by Susan for being such a " hungrateful, hill-mannered little boy." 158 BAGGED EOBIN. Mr. Mapleton went at once in pursuit of some place to put the boy, and discovered, at last, a poor old woman, who had a room she did not use now her " poor gal " was gone, as she informed him, with tears, and there Robin might he and welcome ; and she'd see he had his meals comfortable, that she would, poor lamb, she assured him, and "it were a real charity of the good gentleman, that it were." Then he went to the school, and paid for him a week in advance, and returned home to tell his mother what he had done, and inspect the little man at his work. Robin went to school the next morning, and for some days the doctor was too busy to see after him. On the following Saturday morning, he asked Manly if he had looked after the boy, and desired him to come to work again. " "Well, no, sir, I didn't exactly say he were to come, for he raly, sir, ain't of much use, EAGGED ROBIN". 159 he's quite a baby. Why, sir, he sat down on the side o' this ere door, sir, and kept a perpetually taking off his shoes and stockings, and a-looking at 'em setting his shoes afore him, and a-shy- ing pebbles at 'em ; he's that fond of throwing stones as is curious. I says to him, ' Come, Robin, go on with your work, now look sharp ; ' and he gets up, and begins a little. I set him, you see, to get the grass up atween these boulders, sir, and so he just scratches up a few, then down he is again at them shoes. I think they crippled his feet like, you see, sir, not being used to them." "Well, yes, probably, but we must try and teach him to be civilised and industrious ; you must help me, you know, Manly, it's a good work." " Yes, sir, no doubt ; but I think he's best at school a little while fust." " On Saturdays, you know, there is no school ; and I think, then, it is good to let him think himself useful to busy him in some way, more 160 RAGGED ROBIN. profitable than shying stones. I shall just go and look after him, and send him here. If he only watches you at work, Manly, he will be taking a lesson." " Yes, sir, true. Oh ! send him, sir, by all means. There," he said to himself, as his master turned away, and he stood looking after him, the bit he was cleaning, in his hand, "that man's too good ever to be rich in this world ; he'll spend all he earns on somebody else, and get continually took in. But, however, I suppose there's a extra good place set apart for them as is always considering others afore themselves. There had ought to be, it seems to me ; in t'other world, for there is but poor encouragement in this. "Well, never mind, Jacob Manly, it's no business of yours," he said, dabbing the leather into the brick dust, which stood on the ledge of the stable window, and rubbing hard at the bit ; " you work by your lights, and let the master work by his : if you're both in EAGGED ROBIN. 101 earnest, I dare say you'll come right at the end. But what's the use o' that there little 'un a-coming here, to shy stones at his shoes, I'm hanged if I can see," he added, as he hung the bit up in its place in the harness-room, and, going to the tool-house, took rake, and broom, and spade, to go and sweep and weed, and put the little garden in order for Sunday. Mrs. Mapleton stood by the roses as he came into the garden. "Well, Manly, are you come to make me smart for Sunday ? " " Yes, ma'am, I be. How do you find your- self to-day, ma'am ? " " I'm much as usual, thank you, Manly; not over brave, but nothing to complain of much. You see, I am surrounded by such comforts that I should be so ungrateful to murmur." " Yes, ma'am, but it is not everyone as argys like that. What do you think o' this 'ere rose, ma'am ? " 162 RAGGED ROBIN. "Beautiful, Manly, the finest we have had, I think ! How I love them ; they seem to do me good to look at them." "Yes, I believe you; they're a sort of encour- agement like, now ain't they, ma'am ? " "They are, indeed, Manly, an assurance of the Love that never fails. And how about that lazy under-gardener? where is he ? " " Robin ? ah ! master's gone after him. You see I didn't tell him to come; I'd nought particular to set him to ; and he's a little idle rascal won't never be no good, I doubt." " Poor little man, he is too young to condemn utterly : we must have patience, Manly. How's your poor old mother ? " " 'Bout as common, ma'am, thank'ee, a poor doddering old gal." " Tell her to come for some dinner to-morrow. It is long since she has been up." "I will, ma'am, and thank you kindly. Lord, what a couple they are!" he said, as Mrs. Maple- RAGGED ROBIN. 163 ton moved slowly towards the house. "Why, one might a'most fancy you see'd the wings a- grow- ing out o' her shoulders, with her sweet gentle speech, her patience with her own trouble, and her thought for all others. I never see her like afore, and of such is the kingdom of heaven ; " and thus summing up his opinion of his gentle mistress, he began busily to sweep the walks, so absorbed in his occupation that he did not hear the gate open, and started to find, on suddenly looking up, Robin beside him, " Oh ! you're come back to work, then, are you ? " he said. The boy nodded. " "Well, you can put this here rubbidge in the wheelbarrow." He worked with a good will for a few moments, then stopping, said "I can shy a stone right across de common, I can." " Oh I can you ? Well, you'd best not M 2 164 BAGGED ROBIN. practise it; it's a idle dangerous game, and you'll be getting yourself took up. Come, go on -work- ing": you'll have the master after you in a minute," said Manly. On he worked again ; then another pause. "I can ride Jem Shepherd's grey mare, I can, and she is just a kicker. She's pitched off a'most every one, hut she can't me; it is a lark sticking to her ! " " Oh ! " said Manly, taking a snail off a rose tree and crushing it with his heel. " What did you kill that ere for ? " asked the child. " Because it's a-doing harm. Go on with your work ; talk when you've done. Now, I am a-go- ing to fetch my hoe ; don't you touch the flowers ; and I shall expect you to have cleared all this 'ere up when I come hack." , But when he came hack, Robin was seated on the heap of rubbish, his shoes and stockings off, the stockings in his pocket, and the shoes in the RAGGED ROBIN. 165 wheelbarrow marks for his favourite amuse- ment of shying. Manly, assuring him if he caught him at it again he would give him a cuff of the head, made him put them on again, and tried once more to make him go to work. In the drawing-room sat the doctor with his mother, giving her an amusing account of Robin's first days at school, which he had learned from the master. "He's a dreadful handful: I think I shall have to get him into a ragged school after all, mother. Who do you think was teaching his class when I went in to school, yesterday?" " I don't know, my dear ; any one I know ? " "Emily," said the doctor, rising and going to the window. " Emily ! Then she is staying with the Andersons again, I suppose." " Yes. I'll tell you, mother I always fell you everything," he said suddenly, turning to 166 RAGGED ROBIN. her. " I saw her one day walking with that impudent puppy, Harvey, laughing and looking so bright and happy. She did not see me, and the next time I met her I passed her with only a how, and so when she eame down here she cut me cut me, mother dead! What am I to do? I had meant never to speak to her again ; hut she looked so nice and gentle and good, teach- ing the children so patiently, that somehow I think I have heen a fool." " Yes, my Douglas," said his mother, gently smiling, " 'but it is the wise man who knoweth himself one.' You are human, dear, and so not quite perfect ; and you know, and I know too, what is the blot on your bright nature. Go and make it up with Emily." " Shall I ? Well, so I will. She is more like you than any woman I ever saw, and the only one I shall ever wish to call you ' mother.' " "Then secure her if you can, love. It is much better for a medical man to be married ; and RAGGED ROBIN. 167 I can have a little room near you for the short time I shall trouble you," she said, smiling. " Mother, that is not kind." " My dear Douglas, if you knew how full of joy that thought is to me, you would forgive me for sometimes speaking of it. I only wish to linger here for you : if there was some one to love and care for you, it would be only joy to go home, Douglas." Her son made no answer, but taking the de- licate hand in his own two kissed it reverently. A few days afterwards Mrs. Mapleton was called upon to welcome her new daughter, a fair, gentle, lady-like girl, who seemed very fond of Douglas, and that was recommendation enough to Mrs. Mapleton. "There can be little amiss, Douglas," she said, " when the love is true and sincere. Weak- nesses, and faults, and whims you may both have ; but, if you love truly, even the faults will lose half their annoyance, because they are 168 RAGGED ROBIX. part, as it were, of the one who makes life so bright to us. It is not wise to think those we love faultless, but to be sure we love them in spite of their faults." And so beneath the roof of the rose-covered cottage often came the young girl, who never having had a daughter of her own to love grew soon very dear to the gentle invalid. And many peals of laughter often sounded in the pretty drawing-room at Emily's account of Robin at school at his hopeless defiance of rules the difficulty of making him comprehend the difference between wrong and right ; and the inveterate love of "shying," which evi- denced itself by little pellets of paper flying across the school-room, sent by Robin after some unfortunate fly on the wall, or on to the slate of some studious boy striving to master com- pound addition. Emily was making a long stay in the village, with some relatives of her mother's ; and ac- EAGGED ROBIX. 169 customed, as a clergyman's daughter, to make herself useful in her own parish, she was thoroughly at home at the school, teaching and visiting ; and as it soon spread that she was to be the wife of the new doctor, she was most warmly welcomed in every cottage. They had liked Mr. Mapleton for his kindly, courteous manner ; and now his goodness to the poor little child, who had excited the compassion of all in the village, save Miss Allen's little community, had made him quite a hero in their eyes. But poor Mr. Mapleton had put a charge on him- self : daily, almost hourly, came some com- plaints somewhere about poor Robin : he icould take his shoes off in church ; he would talk to the boys in school, and make faces when he was told not ; he would play truant for whole days, and be discovered at last with his naked feet in the stream, and his new clothes all mud, trying to catch eels ; and, finally, was discovered in the flagrant act of exchanging his waistcoat with a 170 RAGGED ROBIN-. boy for a pocket-knife. But Mr. Mapleton bore it all with exemplary patience; declared that a boy who was so troublesome at that early age had something in him, and that he only wanted help and direction. And when one day he found that, unable to buy or make an ex- change for a knife, he had borrowed one, and taking a piece of rough wood, whilst his master was engaged, had made from it, roughly, an exquisite little model, to the master's intense astonishment, he was perfectly delighted, set him up with a perfect little tool-box, and pro- mised him a turning-lathe for a month's regular and proper attendance at school. The boy's keen eyes glistened at this promise, and it was wonderful to see the effect it produced how hard he tried to be attentive to read the uninte- resting statement that "the dog barks," "the cat mews/' to make any legible kind of letters on his slate, to refrain from " shying " at any- thing, to keep those wretched shoes on all RAGGED ROBIN. 171 through church and school, in short, to win such praise as should obtain for him the coveted pos- session. And he won it, too ; and then who so happy as he? The old woman where he lodged said he was another child, carving and cutting and turning ; he was contented for hours. And as Mr. Mapleton kindly talked to him, and told him how much better he could turn this taste to account if he learned also to read and write, and how, if he was not good and diligent at school, he should feel obliged to take his treasure from him, little Robin soon became restored to the master's favour, and the kind doctor had less constant complaints of his protfyS. But, alas ! he himself was entirely banished from Miss Allen's good opinion. After all her warnings, to have thus cherished a viper ! All the little boys in the village would now think that they had but to be as naughty, and mischievous, and dirty as possible to be instantly made heroes of 172 BAGGED KOBIN. by this misjudging person. But somehow or other the village hoys did not deteriorate much ; and when in after-years Robin, a prosperous and eminent architect, came to see his early patron and preserver, Mr. Mapleton thanked God for the good deed he had been permitted to do, and for the happiness of seeing the seed he had sown yield such a harvest. There are many such little ragged Robins who, thirsty, like the spring flower which bears that name, for love and tenderness and care, only want them to bear a good crop of blossoms. Let them not wither in the dry and dusty road, but out of your abundance give to them, or even in your need, pity and befriend them. " ' Yes, that is such a prime story of him," said the boy, who had left off cleaning hit> little boat." THE IKIS. THE IKIS. ft OH ! go on telling, Peter ; you know lots more, and it is not near time to go home." " Yes ; and when you gets home late, you'll tell your ma old Peter kept you with his yarns." " She won't mind ; she knows I'm to be a sailor, and she likes me to love the profession, like you would make me do with your grand old stories, if I had not hefore. Since I was ever such a little chap, I've wanted to be a sailor ; and when Uncle George said he'd manage it for me, oh ! I was just glad. Why, there can be nothing like it in this world, to be riding over those waves in the bright sunlight, or under 176 THE IRIS. the moon to see the sunsets the great big icebergs the waves mountains high; to swing up to the top of those great masts, and look over all that quantity of sea, feeling, I should think, like a great big grand bird up there, to see, oh ! ever so many wondrous sights that poor landsmen never dream of." "Ah, true, my lad, those that go down to the sea in great ships, they see the wonders of the Lord." " Oh ! yes, I should think so ; and the beautiful clean big ship, with the blue sky above you, the green sea beneath, think of that, compared to a high stool in a musty, fusty warehouse ! No ; give me the sea, the sea ! ' Home is home, where'er it be, but the gallant vessel's deck for me ; * that's my song, old salt," said the boy, bringing his hand down on the old man's shoulder. THE IRIS. 177 " Ha ! ha ! you're a boy, and no mistake ; and so Uncle George has got you your com- mission ? " "Yes. He's not my real uncle, you know; he's a great friend of mamma's, and we call him uncle. I don't mind telling you, Peter, because I tell you everything you're my friend, you know ; I believe he'll be my papa, some day : you know mother is quite a little young thing. Now a fellow oughtn't to say anything against his own father, I suppose, but when I think about mine I feel as if I wish I'd been a man, and not his son, for ten minutes ; " and the boy cut a piece of wood off the boat he was carving, with a sharp petulant action, as though it was a relief to his feelings to punish something. " Heyday ! " said the old sailor, " why what have you got against him in the log, eh ? " " Cruelty, and neglect of my sweet, gentle, 178 THE IRIS. loving, little mother. Oh. ! can't I remember her crying, till I wonder she did not wash all the hlue out of her dear eyes. I was only a little rat of a thing then ; so I only knew how to comfort her, by clinging to her, and crying too, to keep her company ; and now, when old Sally Crampton sits and tells me what mother used to go through from him, I am ashamed to think I carry the name of such a man." "And more shame for old Sally Crampton," said Peter ; " bad deeds are best laid away in the graves with them as did them. You see, there ain't no conditions with the command, 'Honour your father and mother: ' it don't say anything about their characters, you know. My boy, your sailing orders is plain enough : honour them that is as I read it mind them, be respectful to them, and so hide their faults that no one else shall have aught to say against THE IRIS. 179 them. And now you take an old man's advice ; forget all this about him whose gone ; don't go listening to old Sally's yarns, but be a good son to your mother, and a honest man, true to your- self, so shall your father's name be honoured through you." " Peter, you're a regular old brick : I think I'll try. I shall often think of you when I'm miles away, over the sea, and all your stories of great men. I say, tell us one more story of Nelson : why you ought to be shown as a sight yourself for having had a father who served with so great a man." " Well, yes, it's a pleasant thought ; and of winter nights, when I sits by my fire, and the wind's a-howling and a-roaring outside, I goes back to them times and thinks over the tales my father used to tell me. Well, I can tell you one more story of him: it was that same s 2 180 THE IRIS. expedition as I was a-speaking to you about, with Captain Phipps to the North Pole. They was laid up amongst the ice-floes, and Nelson and another young chap started off in pursuit of a bear ; a thickfog came on, and they got afraid about the youngsters. Towards morning the fog lifted a little, and they could see them a long distance off attacking a huge animal, big enough to swallow 'em both whole. A recall signal was hoisted at once ; for, of course, they were thought too young and inexperienced for such an encounter. But do you think he was a-going to give in ? His musket had missed fire ; their ammunition was all gone, and a large chasm in the ice, by a blessed providence, divided them from the animal ; but, in spite of all that the other lad could do, Nelson stood there, saying, " ' Let me but get a blow at him with the butt- end of my musket, and we shall have him.' THE IRIS. 181 The captain, however, could stand the ight no longer that little stripling a-standing up to show fight with a monster like that ; so he ordered a gun to be fired from the ship, which frightened the bear, and so Nelson came back. Of course he had a word or two from the captain, who wanted to know what a youngster like him wanted bear-hunting. " ' I wanted to carry the beast's skin home to my father,' he said, with a sort of a pout he had when he was put out ; and the captain, he could not say much more to him ; bless you, he never could. Something in the brave daring of the boy seemed to prevent anyone a-interfering much with him. To the last day of his life he was the same, and carried out the old saying, ' The boy is father of the man.' "* * This anecdote of Nelson is told in a book-called, " The Boy makes the Man." 182 THE IRIS. " Yes, that is such a prime story of him," said the boy, who had left off cutting his little boat, and sat with his large blue eyes fixed on the old man, "when his grandmother asked him why hunger and fear didn't drive him home, and he "'I never saw fear, grandmother; what is it?' Oh! that was fine." "Yes, yes, that's the stuff fine fellows are made of, my lad ; and yet he was tender as a woman. To think of that brave man, who'd seen and done so much, saying as his last words, ' Kiss me, Hardy ; ' why I can't now think of that without getting dim about my eyes." " No, it's beautiful. Well, I suppose I really must go no w. Good-by, Peter : I shall see you to-morrow." " Good-by, sir, good-by ; " and the lad went slowly up the beach, and through the steep, THE IRIS. 183 narrow, little high street of the fishing village where he and his widowed mother lived, till he came to a small wooden cottage, through the latticed window of which looked out the bright baby face of a little girl about five years old. "Come and let me in, Ida," he said; and when the door opened, and the small child appeared, he tossed her on to his shoulder, and she nestled her sweet face against him, and he carried her into a small room where sat his mother at work. " Ah ! pets," she said, "I was just wondering where you were. Walter, I think it is past tea- time." " Yes, mother dear, I've been listening to old Peter's yarns, as usual." " All right, my boy ; go and brush that wild hair and come to tea, what a mat it is ! " she said, passing her long white fingers through the 181 THE IRIS. boy's thick curls, as he bent down to kiss her. " Uncle George has been," she said ; " and he will dine here to-morrow, for he hopes he shall have news for you." "The appointment, oh! mother, how lovely! Hurrah ! a second Nelson in embryo ; " and away the boy ran, and the little girl nestled closer to her mother, for to both of them the idea of Walter's departure had in it more of sorrow than of joy. The news came all too soon for them ; but the boy was mad with delight. How well he looked in his clothes ! what joy it was to send for old Peter to see him dressed in them ; and even Ida forgot her sorrow, for the time, in her pride and admiration. " Uncle George " was to take him to his ship: he was to come to breakfast in the morning, and take the boy after. "Walter was up and about THE IEIS. 185 almost as soon as it was light, and out, in that bright summer morning, in the little garden rich with roses and lilies, on which the dew was now glittering the little garden he would not see for so long, it might be never again. But " Uncle George " had told him he must be brave for " her " sake the gentle little mother, who had shown no sign to the boy of what an agony it was to let him go, what a bitter grief this choice of a profession had been to her. What would she have done without the strong, tender man, who, taking so sensible and practical a view of the case, had managed so beautifully to prevent any morbid grief or unreasoning sorrow distressing her. Prom the moment it was decided that the boy was to go to sea, he had talked of it to her continually, told her how much better men got on when they followed the bent of their inclinations, put before her 186 THE IRIS. constantly the men who had made their lives great on the deep waters, lived to fine old ages, dying honoured with historic names ; how many a time storms must have threatened destruction to them, and yet in their own homes, tended by living care, they had passed away, whilst others exposed to no constant danger had died some fearful deaths ; spoke of how each life came here with its destiny all the minute- incidents pre-ordered, pre-arranged and that the most loving mother as she kissed her boy to send him to his daily labour, in a city ware- house, a country town, or on an ocean voyage, had no real cause to feel any difference, any more or less anxiety; the accidents and trials of the life would be the same, the chance ever to meet again the same. " Do not let your tears, then," he said, "damp the boy's ardour, or weaken his resolution ; " and so she had tried to THE IRIS. 187 see it all as he saw it, and had bidden Ida to try and forbear from tears, for the sake of the little brother she loved ; " and for my sake too, Ida," she said, " you will help me to be brave : my little girl must be son and daughter, too, to me now, till Walter comes home." And so Walter in the garden, that sweet summer morning, was trying, too, to let no sad thoughts mar the brightness of his face, to make the parting more bitter to his mother. He had chosen his profession for himself, and knew that he should love it ; and so he must not let her suffer through his choice, if he could help it. But somehow the tears would keep welling up into his eyes, as he stood in the sunny garden, listening to the song of the thrushes and black- birds, the busy hum of the bee, smelling the sweet fragrant flowers, and thinking how far, far away he should soon be from his pretty little home, 188 THE IRIS. and that dear, dear mother he had never felt to love so much as now. He snatched a rose and a piece of jasmine, and thrust them into his jacket, as a step behind him made him turn, and Uncle George stood beside him. " Up betimes ; that's right, my boy," he said in his cheery, but gentle, low voice, so curiously contrasted with his large powerful form and unusual height. " This bright glorious sun will gild the waves for you, and you will think with Childe Harold that ' He, that has sailed on the dark blue sea, has viewed at times a full fair sight.' You have not seen your mother this morning yet, I suppose ? " " No, uncle." " You are going to be a brave boy, for her sake." "Yes, uncle." He could not speak, poor Walter, much, save in monosyllables. THE IRIS. 189 " Look here, "Walter," said his friend, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder, and looking down in his face. " I am going to tell you something to help to comfort you. "When you come back to us, I shall not want you to call me ' uncle/ but ' father.' You smile : did you expect this ? " "Yes." " "Well, I shall come back here this evening tell your mother how bravely you went off and then I shall ask her to let me earn the right never to leave her again. So to-night do not, when you turn into your hammock, think of her as sad and lonely, but happy in a new gladness, which I pray may have power to soothe and soften all sorrows for the rest of her dear life. You will not be jealous of me, Walter ; she will never forget her boy, however happy she may be. But I have set great restraint on myself not to tell her what I feel, on purpose that it 190 THE IRIS. might help to cheer her on this day. And now here is just a little trifle that may be of use to you," he said, putting a little packet in "Walter's hand, " which you must accept from your ' " Father," said the boy, grasping the kindly hand held out to him. " Thank you ; it is nice to have your hearty approval. Ah ! her window opens ; she too is up and dressed. Good morning," he said, cheerfully, as the sweet face bent forward from the window, with a tender wistful look at her boy, in her large blue eyes. " Good morning," she said, cheerfully too ; " what a nice morning you have, Walter love." " Yes, mother, awfully jolly." " Toss me a rose all wet with dew." Quickly he gathered one, and threw it up to her : she stretched out her hand and caught it. THE IRIS. 191 " There, you ought to cry, ' Well caught, indeed!' No cricketer could have done it better." " True, Mary, it was famously caught," said Uncle George. " Is breakfast ready ? Are we to come in ? " " Yes, I think so. I am coming down now to make the tea," and she went from the window, kissed the rose her boy had thrown her, and placed it in a little glass on her table. Many years after, it was found amongst her treasures, carefully dried and placed between the fly- leaves of a favourite book of poetry, written under, "From my boy, the day he went to sea." The breakfast was got over one could scarcely say eaten, their hearts were too full; and then came the dreadful sound dreadful to those brave hearts, heavy with tears, striving sc 192 THE IRIS. hard to prevent them welling to their eyes of the wheels of the vehicle which was to hear the hoy away. Ida gave one glance at her mother, and then getting down from her chair, said quickly, with an innocent childish effort to he hright, and restrain her tears " I shall go in the garden and see that heau- tiful pony what's going to drive my Walter ; " and away she flew. Uncle George rose quietly, and taking Mrs. Langley's hand in his, held it tenderly hut firmly, and said, "Now, "Walter, time and train wait for no man ; kiss your mother, and let's he off." " Good-hy, my precious, write as often as you can ; " she said it quite firmly, quite hrightly, though he who held her hand could feel its grasp tighten upon his. "Walter said never a word, kissed her with one long kiss, and then THE IRIS. 193 turning quickly away, hurried from the room, calling Ida ; and " Uncle George " bent over the sweet white face, and whispered, " Courage, I will be back with news of him this evening;" put her tenderly into a chair, and followed Walter. An old servant stood at the door, her apron covering her face, crying bitterly. "Don't be silly, Sarah, pray don't make a scene." " Oh ! but think of my boy," she sobbed, " going on to that hawful sea. I'm sure I shall lay awake a-thinking of him a-drowning every windy night." "Then you will be a very ridiculous old woman. For goodness sake go and shut yourself up somewhere out of sight of your mistress ; " and he passed out into the garden down the little path, where at the gate stood Ida, sobbing 194- THE IRIS. "bitterly now : she had seen Sarah's tears and that had been too much for her. Walter was up in the dog-cart, his eyes turned from the cottage, and from the little sister, for fear of en- countering the sweet pale face of his mother watching from the window. Uncle George jumped up heside him, and away they went ; and Ida ran in to her mother, and flinging her arms round her neck, said " I couldn't help a little hit, mamma ; but I won't any more, indeed. I'm going to begin now to count the days till he comes back, with bits of paper, you know." "That's right, Ida; we promised Uncle George to be brave and wise, and we will," said her mother, kissing her. " Now come and help me put away his things carefully : it is the best cure for sadness to be busy, Ida." " What is the name of Walter's ship, THE IRIS. 195 mamma?" she asked as she followed her mother upstairs. " I always forget." " The Iris." " Ah ! I know, the yellow flowers that grow on the edge of that deep pool in the meadows, great, big, tall beauties." " Yes, love." " I'm glad his ship has such a pretty name, I will go, after dinner, with Sarah and gather you some ; and we will have them always won't we, mamma." " Yes, love." " Now, mamma, you musn't," she said, taking some things of Walter's from her, her love making her quite womanly and authoritative over her mother ; " there come all the naughty tears. Don't let us do this room to-day. Oh ! I know ; come and gather the flowers with me now : we will get a beautiful large bunch and o 2 196 THE IRIS. put them in water. I shall not let you stay in this room : we promised Uncle George to be brave and wise." The mother smiled through her tears, and submitted to be led away by her little daughter; for she felt she was right, that that first day was almost too much for her to meddle with all the little belongings that spoke so plainly of her boy. Mr. Westmeath was back again just in time for tea. Mrs. Langley stood watching for him. and for Ida, whom she had sent out for a walk. When the child came home, Uncle George took her in his arms and said " Kiss papa ; " and she looked wondering at her mother, at the bright blushing face, a smile shining through tears like the sunny rays on rain- clouds, and said " I thought you was my uncle." THE IRIS. 197 "Yes, Ida, and I liked my litle niece so much that I wanted to have her for my daughter, and mamma says I may only that I must have her for a wife ; so I love you so much that I have even consented to that ! Are you glad or sorry ? " " Glad ; hecause you will never go away any more then, will you ? " " Never." And so they sat down to a happier, brighter meal than the morning one, talking of "Walter, and how bravely he had borne himself, of his nice ship, and his pleasant cheery captain ; and the evening wore away, and Ida went to bed full of all bright thoughts of the wedding that was to be, dreaming that "Walter was going to be married to her best doll, and that mamma and Uncle George had sailed away from the garden-gate in a big ship which was like her 198 THE IRIS. Noah's ark, only "Walter's old-rocking horse, \vith a wreath of Iris round his neck, was harnessed to it. And in a few weeks from, that time, in the small village church, with the nmsic of the waves outside, a quiet wedding was solemnized, and Mary Langley was changed to Mary "West- meath, to be the petted, cherished wife of him who had so long and truly loved her, known her from her birth, and seen with bitter grief the cruel usage of the man she had married, and which he prayed now he might make her forget by his own devoted love and care. Cheerful letters came from Walter. He liked the life quite as much as he thought. He was rather queer for a day or two, but was all right again now; and the Captain was an "awfully jolly " fellow. That was the first to his mother ; then followed one to " My dear father " to the ci-dcmnt Uncle George's great delight ; and THE IKTS. 199 then one to Ida, cfie first letter she had ever had, and it came, as she triumphantly assured Sarah, " off a big ship on the sea all the way to her ; " there were messages in it to all to Sarah and old Peter; and Ida was to he sure to tell him there was a hoy on hoard the cabin- hoy who said Peter was his uncle. That was charming ! to have to go down the village with this news to the old man ; and she could hardly eat her breakfast from anxiety to go and carry the message to the old man. She was allowed to go that little way by her- self. They had not moved from the pretty little home. Mr. "Westmeath's business was carried t on in the town, a few miles off; and at Mary's request he had consented to make the ( house larger and more commodious, and keep another servant. That was all the change that Walter was to find when he came home : when he came 200 THE IRIS. home ! how often those words were on their lips. And so little Ida soon found herself at Peter's door ; it was open, and she walked in. He was standing with his hat on, and his back to her, when she entered ; at sight of her he gave a little cry and said "Oh! my dear, I was coming up to your cottage. Is is Mr. Westmeath gone to busi- ness?" "No, not when I came out; he's just going though : but I came in a hurry to tell you I've had a letter from Walter I, my own self; and your uncle, or you're his uncle is on board Walter's ship." The old man made no answer, but sat down in his chair, and passed his hand across his eyes. " Ain't you glad, Peter ? " said little Ida. ' " Yes, my dear, yes ; go home and and THE IRIS. 201 I'll come presently. Ask Mr. Westmeath not to go till I come I want to speak to him so very much. Run on, there's a dear." Wonderingly Ida turned to go, sadly disap- pointed that her news had produced so little effect Mr. "Westmeath was just going out of the gate as Ida came up and delivered old Peter's mes- sage. "I'll walk that way, then," he said ; "it will not make much difference." " Gone down ! all hands lost ! " Yes, that was the fatal news Peter had to tell. His sister had had a paper sent her with the news, by some one who knew she had a relation on board. How was he to tell her ? Walter was to have been home in a month, and now never more never more. But it might not be true; there was that hope. He would go to London, and 202 THE IRIS. strive to find more certain information. Ah ! it was too true the Iris had foundered at sea, and all hands were lost. So he went home praying God to help him tell her. What does he see ? Is he mad or dreaming ? She stands at the gate with her arm about the neck of Walter ! " I learned the secret of your journey too late for it to trouble me," she cries. " He came, my boy himself, to tell me how his poor vessel was lost; but he himself preserved by what then seemed sad to him a severe illness which kept him on shore between life and death; so the vessel sailed without him, and he is home here safe in my arms. Oh ! George, think of that other mother." " Yes ; to praise and bless Him who has saved you from like suffering. ' Our darling, who did not die, is clasped in our arms again.' " COLUMBINE. THERE was an organ playing in the road, a broad open road, on one side of which was a long range of barracks, from the windows of which the soldiers were lounging out listening to the music and tossing halfpence to the player. The bright spring sunshine glittered on the young green leaves, and a light breeze wafted the scent of lilacs and hawthorns from the gardens near, and shook gently down the petals from the pink blossoms of the almond trees. The thrushes, and larks, and linnets, in their cages, hanging outside the barrack windows, 206 COLUMBINE. among the pots of scarlet geraniums, stocks, and mignonettes, swelled their little throats into song, answering the notes of the wild free birds amongst the trees ; and near the organ a group of ragged children stood staring at it, running to pick the halfpence up, and give them to the man. One amongst them, a girl, stood listening, beating her foot in time to the music ; then suddenly, as the air changed, she flung her arm round another child standing near, and broke into a quick graceful dance, so grace- ful and joyous that loud plaudits broke from the men lounging out of the barrack windows, and passers-by stood to watch in wonder- ing admiration, the rapid movements of the supple limbs, the little head so well set on her shoulders, with its masses of rich black hair, the dark eyes flashing with merriment, the little brown ears, in which large gold ear- COLUMBINE. 207 rings hung, and the dress, poor and coarse, but picturesque as her little bright self. It was of some coarse dark cloth, very short, show- ing her small feet in heavy shoes, that it was a wonder she could move so quickly and so lightly at all, in such things. A scarlet handkerchief was knotted round her neck, and a clean white linen apron longer than her frock was caught up at one corner under the waistband ; her head had no covering but her glorious hair, and she danced there beneath the sunshine, unmindful of the admiring eyes which watched her movements, enjoying the pure excitement of the exercise for its sake alone. A man stopped to watch her as, after a moment's pause, she resumed her dance, changing her time according to the tune, from the short rapid steps of the polka to the more undulating graceful 203 COLUMBINE. Mazourka ; half closing her dark liquid eyes she threw her head back on the shoulder of the strong rough girl she had chosen to dance with, and with a kind of sentiment, as though she \vould express some deep and tender feeling, she moved with gentle grace to the music. Then, suddenly breaking from her companion, and whirling round several times on one foot with astonishing rapidity, she threw her arms over her head, with a bright loud laugh and flew away with the speed of an antelope down the long road, stopping once to turn and drop a graceful curtsey, for the plaudits which greeted her performance, to the soldiers who leaned out of the windows to watch her as far as they could see her. The man, the moment she sprung away, had followed her, but he had to walk rapidly to keep in sight the child, who, laughing and singing, sprang on before him. She turned COLUMBINE. 209 presently down a court, in which there was no thoroughfare, and stopped before a house the door of which was open, and across the sill was a low board over which hung a flaxen - haired baby, scratching up the dirt with its little brown fingers, watched by another child, a year older, with shoeless and stocking- less feet, who occasionally fulfilled what it considered its duty by saying "Dirty, adone, baby ! oh, your mother will just slap you ! " But baby scratched on, unheeding the remon- strance, and the small brother, finding the remonstrance and the threat equally unavail- ing, left baby to continue his amusement. "Ah, here's Nita, coming at length," said the boy, with a sigh of relief at this shifting of the responsibility which had devolved on him in her absence. "He will keep on scratching the dirt, Nita." 210 COLUMBINE. "Will he?" said the child, listlessly; "I suppose I must take him up then. Oh, you dirty little horror ! " she continued, lifting him up from the floor, and receiving for reward for her attention, a smart slap from baby's dirty hands in her face. But she only laughed, and carried him kicking to a back room, where was a bedstead with apparently but little clothing on it, a broken chair, and a box, on which stood a large yellow basin, and a small wooden bowl, in which was a piece of soap, and at this apology for a wash- stand, she wiped the dirt from the baby's hands and face. And then turning to the boy who had stood leaning against the door watching her, told him he might go out to play now, if he liked. The boy readily took advan- tage of the permission, and the girl put the baby down on the floor and began dancing COLUMBINE. 211 to it in the same wild graceful fantastic fashion with which she had charmed the soldiers. She thought haby was her only audienct,, till a shadow seemed to fall on the floor, and, turning round, she saw a man standing in the doorway. " Who do you want ? " she asked, advancing to him. " You," said the man, smiling. "What for?" she asked, looking at him with her fine fearless eyes. " To make your fortune," said the man. She laughed, and turned to pick up haby, who cried to be noticed. " Is that your little sister ? " " It's a boy, and it's not my sister." " Have you a mother and father ? " "People I call so," she answered. "Are p 2 212 COLUMBINE. fortunes made by answering questions ? " she said saucily. "Sometimes, child," said the man, smiling at her sharpness. "Who taught you to dance ? " " No one ; I taught myself." " And is this your home ? what is your name ? " "Does it matter to you? What if I don't choose to tell you ? " she said defiantly. " I shall wait till your mother comes in, and ask her." " Ha ! ha ! how long you'd have to wait, wouldn't he, Bah ? " and she tossed the child ahove her head with her strong young arms and laughed again. At this moment a woman entered, a pale, worn, weary-looking woman who stared to see a stranger in her house, and asked him did he want her. COLUMBINE. 213 "I want your little girl, ma'am," he said, "if you're inclined to spare her; my name and occupation you will read here." And he handed a somewhat dirty, greasy card to her. " I saw her dancing just now in the road, and I see she has talents which might he turned to account. I'll give you money down for her, and so much a week to the child. "Will you let her go ? " The woman stared at the card and at the man, and then said, "I don't mind, I'm sure, I'd like Nita to do what she likes best ; she does not belong to me, you know. What say, Nita, will you go with this gentleman ? " " What for to dance in the streets for coppers ? No, thank you, I'll stay here." " It's not in the streets, my fine little maiden ; I have a small theatre, and want a little dancer 214 COLUMBINE. like you. Come, strike a bargain. Is she no rela- tive to you?" he said, turning again k the woman. "None at all, sir. Her mother at least a a woman a foreign woman brought her here when she was quite a baby, and begged a lodging. She looked scarce fit to drag one leg behind the other. I gave her that little room for a trifle a week, and there she died, leaving the poor child alone ; I did not like to send her to the work'us, poor thing, so she's grubbed along with mine ever since, doing a little to help with the little ones; but me and my man have often wondered what was to become of her." " A theatre, a real theatre, is it ? " asked the child, who had been thinking seemingly of the man's last words. " A real theatre ; " he answered, " it's a movable one, you know. I travel about." COLUMBINE. 215 " No, no, thank you, I'd rather stay here. Do you want me to go, though?" she said, turning suddenly to the woman. "No, no, child, I don't want you to go, you ain't in my way ; one mouth more, you see, sir, makes hut little odds, you don't feel it." " No, perhaps not now, hut she is growing daily bigger, a strong, sturdy little wench, and wall make a great hole in the bread and butter soon." " I can't help that, sir, I shall never send her away," said the woman, with a patient sigh ; " her mother left her here." " Well, I'm very sorry ; it's a pity. The child is full of genius. If you, or she, repent before the end of the week that is my address, you know, on that card. Good morning, little lady, yes," he said, looking at her, and speaking half to himself "and it is little 'lady,' too, I 216 COLUMBINE. believe. A foreigner, do you say the mother was ? " he asked, turning to the woman. " Yes ; from Spain some said," she answered. "She spoke English pretty fair, so as I could understand her well enough, but when she nursed and played with the baby, she ran on in a jargon I eould make nothing on. I've saved her big ear-rings she wore, and a large silver ring, against the little one grows up. But what few things else she had, and God knows it wasn't much, I've sold at times to help keep her. I've tried hard to keep these trinkets, though my master often says I'd ought to sell 'em ; and sometimes when he's had a drop too much, he swears at her, and says he don't see why ho should keep another woman's brat; but he's very good-hearted my Jim is, when he's all right, and then he's pleased enough with her." COLUMBINE. 217 " She's clever, isn't she, in every way ? " " Oh ! lor bless you, yes sharp as a needle, and she's got little proud 'perious ways as pleases my man he often calls her little duchess." She stood the child whilst they talked of her leaning against the open doorway, in the golden sunlight, shaking a piece of coloured glass to catch the rays of light for the baby's amusement, whom she had seated on the ground at her feet, the round well-shaped arm holding up the glass in the sun, the little head leaning against the doorway, one foot crossed over the other with a sort of indolent grace which made her always a study. Her interest in the con- versation seemed to have ended with her refusal to accept the stranger's offer, and as he passed out wishing her " good-by " she moved her head slightly in acknowledgment as a 218 COLUMBINE. young princess might have done, and still stood flashing the glass before the eyes of the happy baby, expressing no more interest in him or looking after him as he passed down the court, though he turned back often and stood for a moment at the end to look again at her. The monotonous days went on, the poor woman going out to her wretched day's "char- ing," or in default of that sitting at home mend- ing up the ragged clothing of the children, and Mta doing anything she could to help, principally employed with the baby, dancing her wild fantastic dances to it, or tossing it in her arms, singing the burdens of the songs she heard in the streets or the airs played on organs, in a bright ringing voice; sometimes, seated on the floor with it in her lap, its fingers tangled in her long thick hair, submitting to COLUMBINE. 219 have it pulled with all baby's force, all indifferent to the pain it might cause. And yet she did not appear to be moved by either love or gratitude especially in all she did for the little thing. " Mind baby ! " she was told, and so realising that that meant "don't let him be hurt, nor let him cry," she fulfilled the duty to the letter he never did cry whilst she " minded " him, for her bright continual movements, her merry musical voice, with the gleaming smile that parted her full red lips displaying her white even teeth, all had an endless fascination for the boy. She kept him clean too for her own sake because whatever was in her of higher, purer culture seemed to show itself in an innate cleanliness, a dislike to all that was uncleanly or essentially low. The wretched children in the court she never 220 COLUMBINE. played with or talked to when they were not clean, nor would let the elder boy if she could prevent him. She deplored his shoe- less feet, hut she kept him clean as well as she knew how, and scolded him if words passed his lip that were unfit for him to use, with a strange sense of right born in her, not taught, for education she had none. To love the sun, the trees and flowers, such as grew in the neighbourhood where she had lived her little life ; music ; all things bright and beautiful, was her nature ; to hate all things coarse and ugly and unlovely was her nature too, but to love and worship Him who made the things she loved, she had not been taught, nor save in horrid oaths ever heard His name mentioned. It might have been a week or more since the visit of the stranger, when the man Stevens came home very late and not sober. COLUMBINE. 221 His wife had waited tea for him and supper the latter meal was still on the table when he came in, she only said, "How late you are," in her meek voice and with her poor heavy eyes heavy with sorrow and unrest raised to his, but he had no pity, no love in his heart for his wretched weary wife, and he only uttered bitter cruel words and stumbled into a chair with a horrid threat to kill her if she spoke again. And then turning he saw the child Nita lying on the mat before the small fire, her arm sup- porting her head, some flowers beside her Immortelles she had been making into wreaths. A neighbour had offered her a few halfpence to help her make them ; but it was late and she was tired, and she had flung down her flowers and was lying there idly when he entered. His manner, his cruel 222 COLUMBINE. wicked words stirred the passion in the child's heart, which from her look had been so diffi- cult to keep in control a kind of grandeur in her nature prevented her from ever displaying it to the weak, weary, tender woman who had tried to fill a mother's place to her, or to the little children she nursed, but the man and some of the neighbours had seen often the tempest raised, her eyes gleaming with anger, the veins standing out on her broad forehead, the little fists clenched and the whole form convulsed with anger, and now his degraded state, his cruel unkindness to the patient wife made her blood boil, and in her fierce eyes he read her scorn and indignation. Knowing well enough what had caused it sufficiently himself to know how well he deserved it, and enraged to be thus as it were rebuked by a child he staggered to his feet, COLUMBINE. 223 and seizing her by the arm dragged her up and shook her violently, while a storm of hideous words and oaths broke from his dry parched lips. The poor mother screamed to him to desist, but he rested not till he flung her from him on the ground and then rushed out of the house. The poor woman raised her in her arms and carried her to bed, bathed the swollen arm where the cruel grip had been, but never a word said either of them. The Immortelles lay on the floor and the moon's rays came in through the small window and fell on them and on the pale face of the child, awake in her miserable little bed. No tears or cries had the man's cruelty wrung from her proud heart, but she would bear it never more, that was the settled determination which seemed to speak in her glowing eyes, wide open there 224 COLUMBINE. in the pale moonlight and on her close-shut lips. * * * Seated in a clergyman's study, in a large old-fashioned vicarage house in a small country town in the south of England, sits a man in earnest conversation with the Yicar. He is evidently a foreigner, his appearance would betray that without the foreign accent which marks his speech. " I have sought her so long sorrowing with tears," he has said as he clasped his trembling hands together, " and for ever just when I think to clasp her in my arms she escapes the dream passes, the vision fades and my hope is gone." "I think from what you tell me that you are certainly on the right track now. The troupe only left the town yesterday, and I know they were bound to "Wilchester. I should advise your at once proceeding there." COLUMBINE. 225 " Yes, yes, I am so a stranger that I shall not know my way, but I shall find it, I make not doubt; if I could keep hope, fatigue and trouble would be naught to me. My poor beautiful Juanita. Oh! I have felt to hate all Inglis for his sake that took her from the orange groves and the sweet scented fruits and blue skies of her own fair land, and from the father that loved her, to bring her here to your fogs and your dull streets, and leave her to die with no care, no love. I knew he was bad, with his smooth tongue, his fair face he lured her away and left her to die in a strange land, the villain, wicked man." " You traced her to a street in London, you say, and learned that she died there, sir?" asked the clergyman. ' Yes, Senor, yes, I got this letter what I Q 22G COLUMBINE. show you, these few sad lines of suffering, and I came at once to fetch her. When I came to arrive there she was not. I have so much trial to make myself my explanations, and still worse to receive them of others, that I found it a work of many days to discover any trace of my sweet girl and any hope even to find her more ; hut at length with my hard work I find she had got and that he the villain had left her, and she is somewheres alone with one little hahy striving to make a life for her- self with her dancing. I seek and I seek, but nowheres can I find her, and with a great heavy heart I go home to my own land ; of course I had my ' affaires ' to attend to and I must be there. I leave a friend to kindly watch for me, but the years go by and I hear noting. At last I got this oder letter what I show you to tell me he my friend think he COLUMBINE. 227 have got a trace, a link of her, that he has found all that is left of my child her little one. I fly to England I seek the poor miserable place where they say she was, and lo, she is gone runned away they say, what to them was it only one burden the less to bear. They had been good; I gave them money of which I see they had great need, and again pursue my search." " You are satisfied then that it is your grand- child." " Oh ! yes, I have here the ear-rings and her ring and some letters," he said eagerly, producing a pocket-book from which he took the things, "which quite assures me. But I shall no longer keep you. I will go on my way, for if she is above ground I shall found my little girl." " She inherits her mother's talent of dancing, Q 2 228 COLUMBINE. certainly," said the Vicar, "for I hear she is quite wonderful, the most perfect columbine ever seen, and worthy of a much higher rank in her profession; hut it is a sad life for a young innocent girl." "Oh! it is too sad, too pitiful, hut I shall find her and take her home to the sunny land, and she shall want never more, never more. And now I will hid you farewell. You will think of the poor Espagnol in his weary search and bid him God speed." " I will, I do, and I shall he most interested in your success. I wish I could better have helped you." "You have helped me much, I thank you. Depend on me to repay you the little loan, it is a great cost this long search " " Papa, who is your foreign friend ? " said a bright young voice, ar.d a merry face peeped COLUMBINE. 229 in at the window which opened into the garden. " Ah ! Miss Curiosity, I thought you'd want to know." " Mamma wants to know, she sent me. What an age he has been here ; do come and tell us all ahout it," and springing into the room she put her arm through her father's and laugh- ingly dragged him on to the lawn where beneath the trees his wife sat working. " It is a very romantic story," he said, sitting down on the turf beside her; "the little dancing girl who has made such a sensation is a Spanish donzella. That poor old man is her grand- father ; his daughter ran away from him with a scampish Englishman who deserted her, and she died in some miserable lodging in London. The poor people with whom she lodged kept her poor baby till it grew up to twelve years 230 COLUMBINE. old and then tempted, they suppose, by the offer of a strolling company of players to join them, she ran away from these poor protectors. Now, after years of searching inquiry, the old man has learnt her fate and has traced her to this town he came to me for advice." " And assistance ; of course, Richard. You have given him money, and he'll turn out an arrant swindler," said his wife, laughing. " I own I have lent him some money ; but I am not frightened; the man is honest enough." "Oh! Richard, what a dear, silly, good- natured darling you are. I wouldn't have lent him a farthing." " No, my dear, you would have given him a pound." "Yes, that mamma would," said Lucy, laughing. " I think you are both alike." COLUMBINE. 231 " Better trust all and be deceived, and mourn that trust and that believing, Than doubt one heart which, if believed, would make the joy of that believing." " I always think of those lines, Lucy ; we had better be deceived twice than doubt un- justly once." "Where the sweet orange groves fill the air with their scented blossoms, the deep intense blue of the sky reflected in the fair waters of the Guadalquiver, in her Spanish home walks with stately grace the poor child who once danced to please the audience of a travelling theatre and " minded " a half-starved baby for the poor guerdon of her hard fare. Her life is bright now; she is the idol of the old man who had searched for her with such patience and devotion, and he has rewarded the trust reposed in him by the good Vicar who had so readily lent him money to 232 COLUMBINE. pursue his search, by not only returning the sum but adding another to it to be expended on the poor of the parish in token of his grati- tude to Heaven for giving him back his child and taking her from the hard life which in her despair and desolation she had chosen as a travelling " COLUMBINE." " It is impossible to say what frightened her." THE DKAULY MGIITSII AI>K. THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. THERE is a sudden rush, and a sudden joyous shouting : " Papa, papa, here we come ! " and down the staircase of a small house in the suburbs of London, race three children, and bound into a room in which a gentleman has just entered and thrown himself into an armchair. They had heard him, of course ; had they not been loitering outside the nursery-door, peeping over the banisters to see how far that tiresome late dinner was progressing, Johnny acting as scout telling his little sisters, " the meat is 236 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. gone the pudding's come out now the cheese hurrah, girls ! he'll only be a few minutes now." " And you won't hear the story at all, Master Johnny," said nurse, "if you take and pitch yourself over the banisters." "Of course I shan't, Mrs. Grim Griffin," answered Johnny with school-boy wit, "but I'm not going to be such a muff as that cheese out and there he goes," and down they rushed. It was Mr. Teignmouth's pleasure and principle to have his children every day, after his dinner, down in his study for one hour's amusement. They did for that hour exactly what they liked, chose their own entertainments, and he would sit in his easy chair with his dressing- gown and slippers, watching them and enjoying it all as much as the children ; at the end of the THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 237 time, lie unlocked a cupboard and produced a box well known to the eager little ones, which was always kept filled with sugar plums for their conclusion of the entertainment. Ques- tions on Geography, Arithmetic, History, etc., properly answered, were rewarded by so many bonbons, and the child who got the most had a ticket, seven of which purchased a larger one at the end of the week, and fifty-two of those a prize on New Year's Day. No wonder that hour was so longed for, so counted on. The questions were so funny he asked, too, not a bit like lessons, as Alice said. Then he thought of such lovely games, and sometimes told them such lovely stories, that they would have sacrificed any pleasure party to stay that one hour with " Papa." They were all over him now in a minute, as 238 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. he said, like a swarm of bees, and when they had kissed him to their heart's content, he asked what the programme was to be. " Oh ! a story, papa, it's so long since we had a story," said Alice. " Yes a story, a story," chimed in the others. " My dear children, I've told you every story I can think of." " Tell us all again then." "No, no, a new one," said Johnny; "now, papa, while we are quite quiet, or play at some- thing softly, think of something, and you call us when you're ready." " I always go to sleep when I think, so you'll see I shall be off in five minutes, and then I shall talk in my sleep." And putting his feet on a stool and throwing himself back in his chair, Mr. Teignmouth shut his eyes close. THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 239 "It's only papa's fun," whispered Johnny, "you be quiet, he'll begin presently, he's laughing at the corner of his mouth, hush ! sit here, let's be quite still." And so they were for a few moments, sitting close together, bursting into little ripples of laughter every now and then, till at length a voice from the chair made them all look up with eager expectation. " Once upon a time there was a little man who had two dark hairs, an abundance of shiny nose, several legs, and no body." "Papa is talking in his sleep, really" said grave little Marion, " because that's nonsense." " Hush ! listen," said Johnny, " he's awake enough." " This little man lived in a turn-up bedstead, that never turned down." " Oh, papa, what did he do ? " 240 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. " I don't know what he did do, I only know what he didn't." " Go on, Pa dear, don't, please girls, inter- rupt," said Johnny, " it's beautiful, like Alice in Wonderland." " Only much better," said Alice. Of course ; if papa had written a play or a poem, Shakespeare, Byron, Sheridan, Pope, would have paled before him. "And so, papa, he lived in a turn-up bed- stead," prompted Johnny. "Yes, a turn-up bedstead, and lived upon nothing, which was brought him every day in a clean plate. He never played, he never sang, he never walked, he never ran, he never worked, he never slept, and yet there was no family for miles round who, when an accident happened, did not find out that he had done it. He ate THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 241 jams, he spoilt books, he broke crockery, he smashed windows, all things lost or missing he quickly took possession of. So that the turn-up bedstead must have been frightfully full of other people's property." " Oh, papa," said little Marion, demurely, " this cannot be a true tale." " "Who said it was ? " said Johnny. " Do be quiet, Marion; we don't care about its being true. Jack the Giant-Killer isn't true, stupid, is it?" "And did the policemen never come after this strange, naughty little man ? " asked Alice. " Oh dear yes, very often ; but they could never see him anywhere." " I suppose they never thought of looking in the turn-up bedstead ? " asked Johnny. " Oh yes, they looked there of course, but he 242 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. was never there in one family in particular lie was a great nuisance; there was a little girl there who was frightened to death at him." "Well, I'm sure I should be if I ever saw him, fancy a man with two hairs, heaps of noses, two legs, and no body why I should be frightened," said Marion. "Frightened? nonsense; I shouldn't," said Johnny. "I should like to see such a rum- looking chap awfully." "Yes, but this little girl never did see him," continued papa. " How could she be frightened then of him? " said Alice. " Ah, that's what she never could explain." " I suppose it was hearing of him and think- ing she should see him, that frightened her," answered Marion. THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 243 " It is impossible to say what frightened her, out everyone thought it was very tiresome ; she was no sooner in bed than she began to scream and cry, and mamma and nurse ran up as hard as they could, and there was no one to be seen, though the light was taken into every corner ; sometimes the little girl said he made a noise like a frightful cat, sometimes like a fierce cow, sometimes like a terrific sparrow. You will acknowledge these noises were enough to frighten any child/' Marion's face grew red, and she said, quickly, " I'm sure I don't mind the sparrows twittering, now." Mr. Teignmouth did not answer this inter- ruption, but continued, " In vain mamma said that the sparrows had gone to roost, and that cows and cats were not a 2 244. THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. carnivorous, still the child tormented herself and others with the nightly alarms occasioned by these visits, and laid awake staring into the darkness to see this dreadful being who uttered these dreadful noises. A light was then put in the room, and the poor little girl told to ring the bell the moment the dreadful man appeared ; but he never came, I suppose, for she never rang, and the cats and the cows and the sparrows were all quite silent after the room was kept light. I suppose he objected to light, this odd little man, and so nothing more was heard of him in that house for a long time. " But in the next house, a little way off, he began to play his pranks. One night, the lady, a quiet innocent maiden lady, who kept only two servants, heard a strange noise downstairs in the kitchen ; she went down to ask about it, THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 245 the servants had heard nothing, only the cat in the cupboard they certainly had heard her, she was turned out at once, hut in the morning the plate was nearly all gone, and Jane, the cook, affected to have seen this awful being going up the ' airy ' steps, with a load on his back ; she was that frightened she couldn't scream, and before she came-to he was gone. " In another house the food kept going in the strangest manner, the baker's and butcher's bills got bigger and bigger, and yet the people in the house did not eat one bit more, and as to the poor cook, 'she hadn't have had,' as she said herself, 'a ounce of appetite for ever so long,' and the housemaid, 'what she lived on were a miracle, for she never eats meat nor bread, only a little mouthful just at dinner, 246 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. to keep life in her,' but still the loaves dis- appeared in a frightful manner, and the meat too ; it must he the little man. So at last it was determined hy all the principal families in the neighbourhood to hold a meeting, discuss the several ways in which this mysterious and odious little being annoyed them, and arrange some way of getting rid of him. " Some members of each family were called upon to attend. " Mr. Caustic, a very unpleasant looking man, arrived first, then Mrs. Grub, a cross, dirty- looking woman, short, fat, and untidy, then Miss Simper the old maid, who heard the strange noises in the kitchen, with a continual smile on her face, then Mr. and Mrs. Dismal came to- gether, looking very dark and very sad ; old Mrs. Crosspatch, and Mr. Merriman, completed the THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 247 numbers. They all assembled at the house of Mrs. Lovechild, the lady whose Little girl had been such a dreadful martyr to this most aggra- vating little being, and, when all had taken their places, Mrs. Lovechild asked them if they would each, in turn, state their grievances, and in like manner, each in turn should suggest a remedy. Mr. Caustic rose first, and thus addressed them in a sharp loud voice, chopping up his words as if he were chopping hay. " ' I've got a garden, and a hothouse, and I grow vegetables, and fruit, and night after night, and day after day, I lose both; my gardener accuses this little man, or fiend, or bogie, or whatever he is. I spend a fortune on my garden, for him to reap the benefit, that's my complaint, I've nothing more to say,' and down he sat." 248 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. Roars of laughter from Johnny, Alice, and even grave little Marion greeted " Mr. Caustic." " Oh, papa, how lovely," said Alice, " you did not look a bit like yourself." " And was it lovely, because it was not like me oh ! Alice." " No, no, papa. I mean clever, you know, when I say lovely." " Oh I I see, aU right." " Then, who speaks next, oh ! go on papa," said Johnny. " I do want to know what this little man was, will it tell us in the end, papa ? " asked Alice. " I believe I know," said Johnny, looking very wise. * What, Johnny ? a fairy, I suppose." THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 249 " Oh ! no, but don't talk now, go on, papa, dear." " Well, then, up rose Mrs. Grub. "Mrs. Grub had a lisp, and a sort of slobber- ing way of talking, which was very unpleasant to hear, she said, " 'That really the had heard evethy evening, thome one come up her garden at the thame time and heard dithtinctly a rough kind of a voith at the back door, and yet her thervant declared there wath no one there. I never allow anyone to vithit my thervant, I know ith no friend of herth, and ith too late for tradeth people. When I mentioned it to Mrth. Dithmal, the thaid, ' why ith the little man/ My thervant heareth step, and the voith, but there's no one ever to be theen, the thays.' "Up jumped Miss Simper, who spoke very 250 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. gently in a high, treble voice with a running accompaniment of a giggling laugh. " ' My case/ she said, ' is is really most ridiculously unpleasant because not only have such strange such strange noises been heard, but my plate has been taken away, and the police could make no discovery as to the thief ; my cook describes seeing a most extraordinary figure go up the area steps, with a load on his back, and says she was too frightened to scream but what you will admit is more extraordinary, is that the next morning it was all found in its own place again, after the great trouble the poor policemen have had. I was really quite cross, and you know it may happen again ; one is never safe, both bolts and bars are quite unavailing, it seems so very ridiculous, and and annoying/ THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 251 "'Miss Simper lias much to complain of, certainly, but no case can be so distressing as mine,' said Mr. Dismal, in his sad, gloomy tones. 'I have a young nephew residing with me who is studying hard for the legal profession, but, poor youth ! he is driven distracted by the mischievous pranks of this hated individual. Sometimes he fills the poor boy's room with tobacco smoke, till his head aches, and he is well-nigh choked; at another time, he sings loud boisterous comic comic songs, to distract him from his grave studies, and I assure you, you would fancy there were two or three people singing there together. I, and Mrs. Dismal, have been nightly disturbed from our rest, and our poor student has unlocked his door and called to us in piteous accents to know if we 252 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. heard the noise, and what he had better do. I consider this the most remarkable case.' " ' We searched the house in every part,' interrupted Mrs. Dismal in a weak tremulous treble. "'It is unnecessary to mention that, my love, said Mr. Dismal in his quadruple bass ; ' every one will be sure we did so before we complained.' " ' You may call yours the worst case,' said old Mrs. Crosspatch, starting up in her turn, 'but I should say that to have four cats all put in a row dead on your door-step is about the most dreadful thing that can happen, four favourite cats. I can only say that if this being, whoever it is, comes in my sight he shall rue it ugh ! I'll stick him through with my crotchet needle ; ' and with a savage glare on the company round, as though they THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 253 were all in league with this dreadful monster, she sat down. " Then up rose Mr. Merriman. "'Ladies and gentlemen,' he hegan in a nice, bright, genial voice and a meny twinkle in his eyes, ' I have really nothing to complain of, and so I do not know that I have any right to be here. This strange little man has never given me the slightest inconvenience, and I cannot understand the matter at all, but I shall be most happy to assist in making any suggestions that may facilitate others in ridding themselves of this terrible nuisance. So please, Mr. Caustic, will you commence to make a suggestion.' "'He'd nothing to suggest; if he had known what to do he should have done it ; he'd come there to be told;' this was all he would say; 254 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. all said much the same, and unanimously begged that Mr. Merriman would give his suggestion. " 'Well then,' he said, 'I venture to suggest that Mr. Caustic should discharge his gardener, Mrs. Gruh her two servants, Mr. Dismal should send his nephew into a lawyer's office, who would prevent any mysterious person from filling his room with smoke, and Mrs. Cross- patch should have a man- trap set in her garden, so that she might be able to show this strange and wonderful being to the world on his next expedition after her pet cats.' "Mrs. Lovechild, who had not yet spoken, but had sat smiling at the others as each made their statement, rose at this and said, " ' Mr. Merriman and I are evidently of the same opinion in this matter. The creature THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 255 who has so alarmed my little girl, is too often accused of the sins of others, and it would be a more difficult task to catch him than you can think.' "'He has never been seen by mortal eye, has he, Mr. Merriman ? ' " * Then he is ! ' exclaimed the company, with a cry, starting to their feet ' he is ' and that's the end of the story." " Oh ! papa, what a shame ; what is he, what was it?" exclaimed the two little girls. "You ought to tell us." " But how can I, I never saw him." " I know, don't I, pa ? " said Johnny. " I don't know, Johnny, that you know, I'm sure, I " "Well, may I say?" " Certainly." 256 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. "It was 'Nobody.' It is just what the servants say when there's an accident, Nobody did it, can't think how it got done. Foolish babies are frightened at ' Nobody ' in the dark, and so I know that's it, isn't it, papa ? " " "Well, Johnny, perhaps it is ; but now the hour is more than up, I'm tired, and we have had no questions." " No more we have, we must have a double lot to-morrow." " You must, indeed, I have a very grave and serious lot of questions to ask you. There are six sugar plums each on account ; the rest must be made up to-morrow: good night, God bless you! You will be sure to see the little man going upstairs, Marion." " I daresay I shall, but I'm not a bit afraid because I know now what you mean, papa, that THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 257 we lie awake and fancy silly noises and things, and that there really is no one to hurt us. I shall amuse myself now when I am going to sleep by thinking of Mr. Caustic and Miss Simper and Mr. and Mrs. Dismal, and all those foolish people, and never think any' more of being frightened of nothing and ' Nobody.' " " That's right, Marion, you know," said Mr. Teignmouth, drawing his little girl towards him. "Papa tells all these foolish stories and talks this nonsense, not only to pass an hour plea- santly with his little ones, but to try and teach them some useful lesson at the same time, and I would have you learn how foolish it is to indulge in imaginary fears. I want you to put your trust in Him who lets nothing happen to you but that which is wisest and best, who makes all things work together for good to 258 THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. those who love Him, and give you that con- fidence in His watchful care which will make you believe that the ' light and the darkness to Him are both alike/ and that you are always safe in His most gracious care. Now, my little ones, to bed." "With a loving kiss to their good father the children took their leave of him, Johnny saying that as he always liked a name for papa's stories and wrote them down in his pocket-book, he should call this one, being the story of something which frightened people in the night, the "DEADLY NIGHTSHADE." Marion thought this an excellent name, and as I too cannot think of any better or more appropriate one, I shall adopt Johnny's sug- gestion, and call this little tale by the name of THE DEADLY NIGHTSHADE. 259 the graceful but poisonous plant, which our little ones must learn to be aware of, gleam- ing in the hedges with its bright berries, which allures only to deceive, and which is indeed, like many pleasures of youth, a " Bitter Sweet." May the poisons of doubt, fear, and mistrust be kept far from our little ones, and walking along the straight and narrow path in steady hope and trust may they learn to fear only in the right way " Nobody." s 2 OLD SPEEDWELL. OLD SPEEDWELL. ON the borders of a wild heath, among the Surrey Highlands there lived an old man and his -widowed daughter. The daughter had married early and lost one by one the little children born to her, of the same complaint which carried off their father, and so she came back to her childhood's home to keep her old father's house with the patient meekness with which persons of her class, it seems to me, more especially, bear these afflictions. The poor eld man had earned a scanty living by selling 264 OLD SPEEDWELL. hearth-stones in the village and the scattered neighbourhood hearth-stones and Bath-bricks which were carried on his long journeys by a small cart drawn by a large dog. This dog he had saved from drowning when he was a much younger man he had seen some cruel boys tying a stone round the struggling puppy's neck and about to throw it over the bridge which went across the small stream on the village green. He had given them sixpence for the poor thing's life, and brought it home to the child who, widowed now, had come back to live with him. Did the dog know he owed his life to him ? at any rate he showed more gratitude to his master than many Christians do ; for he served him with untiring devotion, and looked love at him out of his large soft brown eyes till the tears would often come into his OLD SPEEDWELL. 265 master's as he stooped to pat his glossy head and say : " Ah ! old man, I shall never want a friend whilst you live, shall I ? " He loved the children too, it seemed, for his master's sake ; he followed two of them to the grave and went to the daughter's bridal knew her when she came back a lonely widow, and running to the arm-chair stood wagging his tail beside it and uttering little sharp yelps as though inviting her to take her seat in the most honoured place and be mistress of the little home. It was about this time that old Speedwell began to weary of his load, and it was suggested to him to get a cart and harness the dog to it, and so carry his wares to his far- off customers. Ponto objected at first, but at last- after a look into his master's face as if to find out 266 OLD SPEEDWELL. if he really wanted him to do it, or was only playing with him, he consented and quietly trotted along, content to know his master was heside him and, with a faith worthy of a higher nature, helieving that that master would impose on him nothing he could not do, nothing that was not good for him to do. Old Speedwell was a character in his way; he had never been twenty miles from his native village nor had any desire to go, but he had none of the narrow-minded prejudices which so often, nay, almost always affect those who live in one place and with one round of ideas for ever. He had had a fair education at the village school and was very fond of books, especially books of travel, and had been all over the world in imagination. He had a great interest in nature, flowers, birds, insects, and OLD SPEEDWELL. 267 especially astromony, possessed for him an infinite charm. He knew the medicinal properties of the wild flowers that grew ahout, and had an old hook which he had given a few pence for to some old body who could not read, which told him how much the wild flowers were valued once, and he would tell his daughter Mary over and over again that the Speedwells were once esteemed hy the Dutch and called ' Honour and Praise.' "Think of that, my dear," he would say, "we must keep up the name 'Honour and Praise,' that's fine." He liked to read to her from his old book, in the evening while she worked, about the flowers which he so loved, and she loved them too, for never was the little sitting-room seen without a few flowers in a jug standing on the table. 268 OLD SPEEDWELL. He would read to her how Linnaeus and stop to tell her, he was a "learned sort of a chap that lived in those far away countries where it was so precious cold," that he had knelt before the golden gorse when first he saw it upon our heaths, thanking God for its beauty ; of how the Rest Harrow, whose long tough roots stop the progress of the plough and so give it its name, was in the days of good Queen Bess used as a pickle ; how the Agri- mony was a great medicine, and used for dress- ing leather and making dye fed sheep and goats too and the Fever Few and the Corn Blue Bottle, all the common flowers she knew so well he would read of in his book and tell of their use. "You see, Mary," he would say, taking off his spectacles and laying them on his open book, "there's nowt that God han made but what's OLD SPEEDWELL. 269 some sort o' use for summat, and there is one thing as we don't sufficiently consider ; why supposing, Mary, I'd a made every mortal thing in this here room, why you'd have said, ' Bless you, Fayther, why you are clever, there's everything as I wants for use ! ' hut think, Mary, God 's filled the large world with every- thing everybody wants. We walk out of our own doors and there in the hedgerows, where rich and poor can help theirselves, is food and physic, heauty and use, all mingled together ; there's not a tiny flower blowing in the world anywhere but brings with it its own duty and fulfils it faithfully it strikes me that's a grand thought, Mary." "Yes, father," would answer the patient widow, her thoughts, even as she spoke, away in the land where she hoped her treasures had been gathered ; but he loved to talk to some 270 OLD SPEEDWELL. one, and he needed but little answering; lie would have read the book to Ponto and com- mented on it, had he been alone. There was one who came often to see the old man, and who, he used to say, made the little room as bright as though the sun had entered it how he looked and watched for her visits. She was the Vicar's little daughter, a sweet, bright thing like the fair blossoms he loved ; he called her by them all in turn, some- times his Golden Celandine, his Daffodil, Rose, Eglantine, all he could think of fairest and sweetest. She loved to sit at the old man's feet and make him tell her the names and properties of the wild flowers she brought him in her little basket, after a morning spent in gathering them, and he looked down at the bright face and the shining golden hair, and the little white fingers handling the flowers with OLD SPEEDWELL. 271 a sort of reverent love that was curious to see. She liked the patient widow too, and felt for her so much pity, that her voice had always a tenderer, softer sound when she spoke to her, which hrought to the sad quiet face a little smile of gratitude ; she knew the altered tone came of her great pity, that the happy bright girl in the fresh sunshine of her life, surrounded by loving friends, felt so deeply for one, left alone in the autumn time of hers, and she felt refreshed by the young girl's presence, and seemed to brighten under it as the drooping flowers are brightened by the sun. Her name somehow seemed exactly suited to her fair sweet presence, her simple purity Angel Fairchild, it was a singular name to give her, but it was an old family name and she was the first and only girl after many 272 OLD SPEEDWELL. boys had been born to them and so the mother felt that she came like an angel to her, and so, after her great-grandmother, she was thus christened. Ponto loved her as well as all the rest, and wagged his tail violently at her approach, and testified in every way his satisfaction at her arrival. She would bring him biscuits, and sugar ; and when she took her place at the old man's feet, he would come and lay his cold nose on her knees, and never leave her whilst she sat there. One warm summer morning Speedwell had travelled with his little cart, to the farthest point where his customers lived, and coming home he perceived with sorrow, that poor old Ponto had trouble to get home ; his tongue hung out of his mouth dry and white ; he panted and stopped, and laid down at every few paces, looking the OLD SPEEDWELL. 273 while in his master's face with sad piteous eyes that went to the old man's heart. " Why, take courage, Ponto, man," he said, " we're well nigh home now, you'll be all right in a minute, let's find some water here here, boy here's some," he said, drawing the poor animal to the side of the road, down which ran a little bright stream of water from a spring at the top of the hill. The dog took a little, and appearing somewhat refreshed, made another effort to get on, but it was sad work, and when the top of the hill was reached, Old Speedwell unharnessed him from the cart, and sitting down called him to lie down beside him. The hill came up to the heath but they had nearly to cross it before they reached home. The purple heather and golden gorse were in their prime, and grandly beautiful it looked in the summer sunshine. 274< OLD SPEEDWELL. Splendid groups of trees were dotted about, studies for an artist beneath their deep shadows cattle stood to shelter themselves from the hot sun and bees buzzed in and out amongst the heath and ling, and the Sphinx and Hawk Moth with their long tongues gathered honey from the long tubular flowers of the honeysuckle clinging to the bushes of hawthorn. The grey smoke of some wood fire of a gipsy encampment curled up to the clear blue sky, and a little naked-legged urchin belonging to the tribe, was amusing himself with throwing stones at a donkey tethered near. Poor Old Speedwell with his tired dog beside him, sat gazing at it all, as at a beautiful picture, and then as he gazed a thought struck him ; if he could manage to get a donkey and give poor dear old Ponto a rest, and OLD SPEEDWELL. 275 let him pass the remainder of his days in happy idleness, he might have a higger cart, and carry a few faggots, perhaps, as well, "he'd talk to Miss Fairchild, that he would she'd help him get a 'scription up, to buy him a donkey and cart, he lay ; why he never had asked nothing of the Parish so long as he'd lived in it, man and boy over sixty year that's what he'd do, he'd never see his poor little friend knocked up like this again ; " and he rose up from his seat with fresh vigour, and re- harnessed Ponto, and what with pushing behind and cheering him on, and resting once again, they reached home at last, and found Mary watching at the cottage door, for dinner had been ready, she said, this long time, and she wondered where they were. Ponto seemed pretty bright again after his night's rest, and managed his short journey T 2 276 OLD SPEEDWELL. very well ; but still Speedwell continued to think over his new plan. It was some time since Angel had been to visit him, and he was thinking he must go to the Vicarage and seek her, when a low tap at the door, and the start of Ponto from his sleep, with ears erect, gave notice of the approach of a visitor, and before he could rise from his chair, the door opened and a fresh young voice said, " May I come in, Speedwell ? " "May the sun come in I should think so; why I've been wishing and wishing for you." "I have been away a little while, up to town," said Angel, taking her old place on the little wooden stool. "How d'ye do, Mrs. "Winter, how d'ye do, my doggy, are you all pleased to see me back ? " " Of course we are," said the old man, " take OLD SPEEDWELL. 277 off your hat, and let's be sure they haven't robbed ye of your gold in Lunnen." Angel laughed and tossed off her hat, which Mary quietly took from her and then she said, " I've brought you a present from London ; you like quaint old books, and so I bought you one which tells, as your old book does of how in olden times, flowers and herbs were valued and made useful. I know you will like the book, it is innocent and simple, and wise like you, Master Speedwell see, now let me read you a bit " and she opened the book and read, "'Accordingly for salves, the Parson's wife seeks not the city, but prefers her garden and fields before all outlandish Gums and surely Hyssop, Valerian, Mercury, Adder's tongue, Yerrow, Melitot and St. John's Wort, made him 278 OLD SPEEDWELL. a salve, and Elder, Camomile, Mallow, Camphry, and Smallage, made into a poultice, have made many great and rare cures.' "There now, is not that charming, I shall grow quite a Herb doctor, and my fame will be far and near." "Well, well, thank you Missy, this is a book ! I've heard tell of good George Herbert, but I never read his book afore thank you kindly lor, to think now," he said, gazing at her over the spectacles through which he had been examining his present "to think of you a bothering your head with an old buffer like me, when you was up in London. I do believe you're the sweetest and best little lady in all the world " and he laid his hand tenderly on her shining hair, as she laughingly answered, "Do you think so, Master Speedwell? how nice." OLD SPEEDWELL. 279 " I do, and because I believe it I'm agoing to ask you a favour you see this dear old thing," he said, pointing to the dog, "he's like his master, a wearing out, and I've bethought me that if I could have a donkey to draw the goods about, Ponto might have an easy time of it for the rest of his life. Now do you think the good Master would see about a 'scription for it for me, if you were to ask him you see I've never been nowt expense to the Parish, I've a worked all my life and brought up my family decent on my own earnings." " And I am a burden on his hands again now, Miss," spoke Mary. " Mary, lass, hold your tongue, you know that's agin all rules she's now a taking care of me, Miss, that's what she's a-doing burden, stuff and nonsense ; but about this donkey, what d'ye think?" 280 OLD SPEEDWELL. "I think it is a very good plan, and I am sure Papa will do all he can," said Angel, jumping up from her seat. "I must really go now, and I'll ask Papa directly, and come and let you know to-morrow. I say, Master Speedwell," she said, and a little bright flush tinted her cheek, "I am going to bring some one to see you some day, soon ; may I?" " Why in course you may, my dear." " He says," she continued, lifting up and down Ponto's long ears with her little foot, " he wants to see you, because you are so fond of me, isn't that silly ? " "Oh, oh! it's a 'he/ is it?" chuckled the old man. " If I didn't think so. I've been a look- ing after him for ever so long ; well, well, you run and let me see if I think him fit for you. I shall be mighty particular, I can tell you. My OLD SPEEDWELL. 281 pretty woodbine must have a fine good tree to cling round." " Ah ! I tell him he is not half good enough for me, and that I know you'll say so, but I don't mean it, you know," she said laughing, as she bent down to kiss Ponto on his glossy black head ; "goodbye, I must go, I daresay he's waiting about somewhere now, the silly," and away she went, peeping in at the window as she passed to call out good-bye again, and down the lane she went with a quick step, which led to the pretty vicarage, all embowered in trees, and half way down she saw a figure standing, sketch- book in hand, making a drawing of the house, and the old ivied church tower, which rose up behind it. She stopped a moment, with a merry light in her eyes; and then running up the bank, she crept through a gap in the hedge, and stole 282 OLD SPEEDWELL. softly along a cornfield on the other side, till she came to the spot where the young man stood ; it was much higher than the road, and so she was considerably above him, as he stood still quietly drawing. She gathered a corn blue-bottle, which was gleaming with its bright blue blossom among the wheat, and dropped it on to his drawing ; he looked up suddenly, and seeing the sweet laughing face above him over the hedge, he sprang up the bank beside her. " You never saw me coming," she said. " I did, you puss, I knew you, baby thing, you, you were going to hide and bounce out at me, or some such childish thing; so I wouldn't pretend to see you, that you might not be disappointed." " Maurice, what a fib," she said ; " I am shocked at you, you never saw me at all." OLD SPEEDWELL. 283 ""Well, I knew by instinct you were there then, will that do ? Now when am I to make a sketch of your old favourite ? " " There now, I never asked him ; never mind, I've got to go to-morrow about the donkey, you'll have to help about that, come in now with me, and we'll talk to Papa, and you'll give a lot, won't you, and I shall turn out my money box for him, poor old thing, because it would be so nice for him ; you will now, won't you ? " she said, putting her arm through his, and looking beseechingly at him. " You know I would do anything you wish me," said her companion, " especially when you look at me like that ; but what am I to do, what donkey is it you are so interested in ? " "No donkey, you silly boy Old Speed- well." " "Well, my dear girl, you never named him ; 284 OLD SPEEDWELL. your speech was truly most confusing. I thought you wanted to huild a new stable for a donkey, or get him into some refuge for asinine quadrupeds, where he might peacefully pass the rest of his days." " You do think such silly things, dear ; you know I'm only interested in one " she said, pausing with a sly, saucy glance at him. "Yes, I know what you're going to say of me very well ; I don't mind, I'm so satisfied with having gained the interest that I don't mind bearing the name." " There's a good boy, now let us go quickly home, and you're not to speak a single word whilst I explain all about Speedwell as we go along." Whether she ever succeeded in making him understand is not known, anyway they did not arrive at home very quickly, so he must have wanted a great deal of explanation. OLD SPEEDWELL. 285 Mr. Fairchild, of course, readily consented to help Speedwell, and a subscription was at once set on foot. A few days after this visit, Angel fulfilled her promise of taking Maurice to see her old friend, and he preferred his own re- quest to be allowed to paint him with Angel beside him. Speedwell was delighted at the idea, and accordingly a day was fixed. Maurice, busily grouping them, insisting on Mary and Ponto being included, winning the old man's heart by his bright, courteous, gracious manners, and his evident warm love for the little thing, whom he thought was not to be equalled on earth. The sketch was most successful, and to Speedwell's great delight and pride, Angel came one day to tell him the picture had gone 286 OLD SPEEDWELL. up to London and was in the Academy, under the name of " The Favourite Visitor." "And that's me, you know," said Angel. " I am your favourite visitor, now ain't I ? " " You are, my dear, you are ; and now how goes the donkey 'scription ? " "Famously. Papa has gone so far as to speak to Peterson about his donkey : he wanted to sell it the other day, and I think you'll get it ; it's such a jolly little fat thing, quite young and strong." " "Well, that's brave ; and then, my poor old dog, you shan't do an ounce more work," he said, patting Ponto, who came and put his head on his knee as though he wished to take a share in the conversation. A week or two elapsed, and the days grew hotter, and the corn was ripe to harvest, and each day poor old Ponto seemed less able to do OLD SPEEDWELL. 287 his work. The sight of one eye was going, and his teeth broke off, so that he could eat but little, which made the poor old animal of course much weaker, and Speedwell began to grow uneasy about the donkey, wondering what he should do if it did not come, for he himself could never carry the load as far as Deep Dean, and so he should lose one of his best customers. One day, after Ponto had been less able than ever to drag the cart home, and was lying down on his mat panting and exhausted, Mary called eagerly to her father to come quickly, some one wanted him, and there, before the door, stood, harnessed to his little cart, the sleekest, fattest little donkey. At its head stood Mr. Maurice Winthrop and Angel Fairchild, her face aglow with pleasure. " Fetch the old man, Mrs. "Winter," she had said ; " here's a present for him." 288 OLD SPEEDWELL. He was delighted, poor old man, lie tad no words to thank them, but shook their hands over and over again, and bid God bless them. But neither he nor they were prepared for the effect that would be produced on Ponto by this new addition to the family. He showed his teeth, rather, at the quiet little donkey, when he was led into the shed where he too slept which Speedwell then told him was inhospit- able ; but in the morning, when the cart was brought out, and the donkey harnessed to it, the goods heaped up in it, and Speedwell took down his hat and stick and prepared to start, poor Ponto, who had watched the whole pro- ceeding with intense interest and with astonish- ment and anger as plainly evidenced as it could be in a dog, made one spring from the door, where lying crouched like a tiger he had seen it all, and on to the poor little donkey's back, and OLD SPEEDWELL. 289 tore and bit him with, all the ferocity of a wild beast. In the sudden dismay and terror for the poor animal, Speedwell took his stick and violently beat the dog until he loosened his hold and fell half-stunned on the ground ; then lifting his dim eyes to his master's face in a look of penitence, and love, and reproach all mingled, he crawled to his feet and died. The poor little donkey survived him but a few hours : it was a curious and almost unheard-of case of the bitter jealousy of an animal. He could not bear to see another doing his master the service it had been for many years his pleasure to do, and thus he had revenged himself. The story made a great stir in the village, and Speedwell, dreadfully distressed, refused to have either the dog or donkey replaced, but carried his wares on his own back, as far as he could manage ; yet wanting never up to the last 290 OLD SPEEDWELL. moment of his life any comfort or necessity, for his good Angel never deserted him.* * This anecdote of a Jog's jealousy is a fact. MAY. MAY. IT was very peculiar the way that Miss Jemima Brown had of calling her sister's name. Peculiar, because it expressed so much her own disposition, that a stranger hearing her call " Iferia " would have been sure she was one of those unhappy beings, who, having been a peevish child, has become a fretful woman with a con- tinual grievance. It was the more to be regretted in this instance because Jemima was so kind- hearted. All suffering tonched her with an infinite pity, and an earnest desire to relieve it if possible; but in the instance when she had 294 MAY. been successful in doing so, it had served her as a subject for complaint, and a sort of grievance ever after. There had been a third Miss Brown, a pretty, shy, fair, childish thing, who had married, at sixteen, a young fellow, but a year or two older, and died early, leaving a little girl to the mercy of her sisters, for the young father was too heartbroken and bewildered to know what to do with a small child who could scarce lisp his name, and stared at him with large scared blue eyes as though he was some ogre, who would eventually make a meal of her, so Miss Jemima Brown proposed to her sister to take the poor baby and bring it up themselves. Somewhat unwillingly she consented, for she felt sure what continual worry and anxiety it would prove to her sister; but finally the little motherless thing came to live in the red brick house, with its white steps, and brass knocker, in the centre MAY. 295 of the High street, in the little village of Craysford. To indulge every whim of this poor little child, to he its slave night and day, to have no thought for anything but the comfort and happiness of the little thing thus cast upon her, was poor Jemima's life-work ; and it was really touching to see her, and yet strange enough to wake a smile seated at the table with a toy farm playing as May directed, or dressed up in shawls and anti-macassars as her little girl. Of course poor Jemima was thin what fretful person was ever fat ; and she was plain and tall, with iron grey hair, and dark eyebrows, and was dressed always in sad dingy coloured garments ; looking all unfit to be the playmate of the bright fairy thing, who ruled her with childish tyranny, and who was, notwithstanding, the one bright light in her dull and monotonous existence. 296 MAY. "Some day, Jemima, you'll think of my words, and rue your neglect of them, when too late : you're spoiling that child." " Oh ! Mma, it is unkind to say so ; why only yesterday I gave her bread and jam instead of pudding, because she would not say ' please/ " "A very severe punishment, which I am sure she will never forget," said ' Meria ' with a half smile. "You should never have undertaken the charge of the child : we are not learned in such matters, and she would have been better at a good school or orphan home." " "What ! Amy's child turned adrift, oh ! Meria, I wonder at you" and whilst she wondered, the door burst open and a child entered, holding in the skirt of her little clean y frock four young rabbits. Her hat had fallen from her head, and was hanging by its elastic round her throat, her hair was all in golden MAY. 297 tangles and her little cheeks scarlet with excite- ment. She looked, it must be owned, a very picture as she stood there, the sunshine gleaming on her through the vine leaves which clambered round the window ; but Miss Jemima had not long dressed her in her clean frock and bid her play at some quiet game that would not make it dirty. What was the use of this injunction ? alone in the little garden, with only dumb Dolly for a companion, whom she often shook, because she would not answer her, she was easily tempted from the stool under the mulberry tree, by a voice calling her name. It was the little boy next door ; he had lovely young rabbits to show her, could she clamber over the wall if he helped her? Of course she could the clean frock was forgotten. "What were clean frocks or stockings, or Aunt Jemima's gentle remonstrance to the excitement of this moment. 208 .MAY. Young rabbits to see ! over the wall she scrambled, and was soon standing before the hutch surveying the little soft white things with their red eyes, beside their proud little owner. With a burst of childish generosity, seeing her delight, he said, " You may have them, if you like." " What, all of them ? how nice ! I'U take them now ; " and without the formality of thanks, they were all expressed in the joyous face in the eager acceptance of the offer, she held her frock to have them put in with diffi- culty scrambling over the wall thus laden, and hurried to Aunt Jemima with her treasure. " Oh, my dear child, how are we to keep them ; you must take them back," was Aunt Jemima's first exclamation. "No, no," said the child, stamping her little foot. " Gerald gave them to me : they are mine, my very own." MAY. 299 " But where are you going to keep them," mildly interposed Aunt Maria. " In a hutch." "But where's the hutch ? " " "Well, I s'pose there's hutches : Gerald's got one," answered the child, defiantly. " There are hutches at the carpenter's, May, but they have to be paid for ; and there is no occasion to go to that expense : go and take the rabbits back to Gerald." " But he gave them to me, and I want them ; it is a shame. Aunt Mima, mayn't I have them ? " said May, bursting at once into a passion of tears. " Come with me, dear, and I'll see." Oh ! she dreaded those tears as nervous people dread a storm, and would at any personal inconvenience to herself have prevented them. It ended with the rabbits being consigned to their owner for the present, with a promise to SOO MAY. get the gardener to knock up an old box and convert it into a hutch as soon as possible ; and it is as well perhaps to state, that a week after the little animals had been in May's posses- sion, thry were all dead ; first, because they were too young to be taken from their mother's care, and, secondly, because for one whole day May forgot to feed them. Her aunt had consented to let the garden boy clean them, but May was to feed them, as she tried hard, poor thing, to teach her little charge all that was right, and told her that if she kept pets she must really take the trouble of them, and see they were fed and warm and comfortable " Suppose I forgot to give you your dinner,. May, what would you do ? " she asked. " Be very hungry at tea," answered the little maid, which sharp answer was unhappily thought so clever by Aunt Jemima that the lecture MAY. 301 ended in a laugh, and the rabbits died May consoling herself with the ungrammatical but philosophic remark, " "Well, I daresay you would have eated them if they hadn't died." Her next pets were a miserable little pair of white mice, which she cried to buy of a little organ-boy, who came one day into the little village street, and, attracted by the child's face at the window, stopped before the house, and with his bright Italian smile, showing his white teeth, he offered the little creatures for sale. " So pretti, le picciole : buy, very sheap : un soldo, ni madre, ni padre, per pieta." "Buy them, auntie do, he's hungry; that'swhat he says ; I'm sure I want them, see how they run over his hand oh ! they are pretty, I do want them, I will be so happy, so good." And so the white mice left the little owner's hands they had 302 MAY. run over so long, and lived in a twirling cage for some time, till May grew tired of seeing the per- petual movement, and took them out to dress them in some little frocks she made them, and gave them bread and milk out of the doll's cups and saucers ; this was successful twice, but the third time the mice escaped from her, and signally failing to catch them herself, the cat volunteered her services, and so thus ended the brief life of these second pets. Auntie said she should really have no more, until at least she was older, she continued, seeing the ominous clouds gathering in the face which always preceded the storm of tears ; when she was older she should have a little dog, a nice little dog that would run about after her " and bite her," said a severe voice from the corner of the room. " No, no, we'll have a nice little good-natured dog, won't we, May ? Meria you shouldn't dis- MAY. 303 courage her when she was taking comfort so good temperedly," said poor Jemima. "I haven't common patience," muttered " Meria," impatiently twitching her knitting. " No, dear, you haven't that's it ; you see if you had, the dear child would not worry you : but really it makes my life very trying to please her and please you requires two such opposite treatments, that really I am torn in halves." " I wonder you're alive to tell the tale," gruffly replied her sister ; " but any worry that you have serves you right ; you know I warned you about it, I knew the child would be too much for you, for either of us." Jemima only gave a heavy sigh. She knew argument was useless and sat down to her work. What uninteresting work hers always looked : some women have pretty baskets lined with 301' MAY. blue or rose silk, in which there is muslin and lace and bright coloured riband, or some fine delicate cambric, or soft white flannel as the fabric they are working on elegant shaped bright scissors, and silver chased thimbles all seeming to speak of the gentle feminine delicate-minded owner; but poor dear Jemima had a large wooden box, lined with some paper, which a century ago might have been blue filled with tapes and cottons and buttons all in a wonderful heap together, and her work seemed always a very faded sage green stuff gown she was lining, or a brown-looking black she was re-trimming her thimble, a large dis- coloured metal one, and her scissors large enough for shears, she called them her " cutting out " scissors, they must have been singularly useless to her, for she never cut out anything. They had a married servant living near, and when it was necessary to make any garments for herself MAY. 305 or May, she went immediately to her, to " poor Susan." Why poor no one knew, for she was very happily married to a most respectable man ; but Jemima was always full of pity for all who were married : " they brought such cares on them, my dear," she would say. So " poor Susan " invariably made her appearance after the arrival of Mr. Caley's "young man" with a parcel done up in black glazed calico, and took up her station in the dining-room, the table in which was duly cleared for her operations upon the newly imported calico and flannel. "What a day this was ! Aunt Maria generally went out for as Jemima wished very much to superintend and watch Susan, May was more than usually anxious for her to come and play with her ; so that the crying and the coaxing, and general confusion, was something too much for Miss " Brown's philosophy." MAY. " I'll be Susan, and cut out, to-day," May suggested ; and so, perched up on her high chair by the table, she took the pieces Susan had given her, and stripped them into the smallest possible fragments ; and when the operation was over, she proceeded to continue the same on a breadth of flannel Susan had let fall ; " it was on the ground, it was, and I thought was no use," she sobbed, as Susan violently reproached her, and implored Miss Jemima to send her out of the room, for she " was enough to worrit the hair off Agnes's head she was," Poor little girl ! no wonder she was trouble- some : the life was so unnatural, with no one to play with of her own age ; no occupation that interested her ; no change in the daily round ; the child's mind thirsting for information hun- gering for the brightness, and joy, and cheerful- ness, which are the natural elements in which we should live, sought to satisfy the craving in MAY. 307 her own way, and the result was constant disap- pointment to herself, constant irritation to her aunt. It is true Jemima played with her ; but, kind as she was, and earnestly desirous to please her, she could not be really a child, poor thing ; nor had she the happy tact which some have of appearing really to enjoy the games as much as the child itself; therefore, the real zest was wanted, and May would often as soon have played alone. She was getting into her sixth year, when Aunt Maria suggested one day that May should begin her education. " Teach her yourself, if you can, Jemima, or send her to school ; but do let her have an edu- cation of some kind," she said ; " last time her father came to see her, he said he thought it was high time she knew something." " Yes, I was thinking so myself. I will buy her a box of pretty letters, and try to teach her x 2 308 MAY. that way. I'm afraid they will be hard to her at school." "Do her a great deal of good, too," muttered Aunt Maria; "you're making a nice rod for your own hack." So the letters were bought, and, while the novelty lasted, May was surprisingly good; and, being naturally quick, she speedily mas- tered the names of the letters, and knew them by sight in books. But Jemima had so im- pressed her that A was for apple, B for ball, C for cat, etc., according to the pictures on the cards, that she could not, or it might be would not, speak of them in any other way ; therefore, to teach her to read appeared impossible. In vain auntie pointed to " cat." She only per- sisted in saying : " Cadt, apple, top. Dog was "doll," "orange," "goose ;" and so in despair poor Jemima determined to go and talk to Mrs. Green, who kept a day-school close by, and in- MAY. 309 quired whether she would take her for an hour a day. She went for a week, and then came back one day with a small note, from Mrs. Green, to say that she really could not let Miss May come there any more, for she disturbed the whole" school. And then there was another lull in the education, while Jemima considered what was next best to be done. TThilst she was considering and bemoaning herself on the trouble the poor dear child was, she one morning received a letter from Mr. Farmer, which she read with blanched face, and carried it with tearful eyes to her sister. "What's the matter now?" she demanded; the sight of Jemima in tears was nothing new, and her sister only expected to hear that the cook had given warning, or the kitchen chimney was on fire. 310 MAY. " Read this, Meria. Oh dear! however shall I bear it." "My dear Jemima," ran the letter, "with many, many thanks for all your kindness to my little girl, I am going to ask you to send her back to me. The fact is, I am going to be married again ; and the lady I have chosen will, I am sure, make an admirable mother to my dear child, and it will be a pleasure to me to have her with me. We are to be married next Tuesday ; and, after a tour of three weeks, shall be ready for our little girl. I propose coming with my wife to fetch her, and, at the same time, make you acquainted with my bride. " Again thanking you for all your kindness, " I am your affectionate " .BROTHER." " Well, and a very good job, too," said Miss Brown. "I shall be heartily glad when the MAY. 311 child is gone to its natural protector, and your mind is at rest." " How I shall miss her, no one knows," said poor Jemima. " Yes, you will miss her miss the everlast- ing anxiety, the perpetual care which has ended in a total failure, and there may he some hope of something being done with the child." " Ah ! Mnai