&& ssiiv;E >'> v ^,^t.> ^-vy UNIV. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES "I want to speak to you, my dear. Will you attend 1 "Page n. Life in a Nutshell a AGNES GIBERNE AUTHOR OF "WON AT LAST," ETC. BOSTON A. J. BRADLEY & CO. PUBLISHERS CONTENTS. CHAP. i. KATIE'S HOME . If. MATCH-BOXES . III. AT "THK WALNUTS" IV. SOMETHING TO DO . V. BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS . VI. AUNT CII.VTTIE . VII. A COMING BIRTHDAY VIII. LATE TALKING . ix. MR. BALFOUR'S GIFT x. FROM KATIE'S FATHER . XI. THE BLUE DRESS XII. NIGHT-WATCHING XIII. THE BIRTHDAY . XIV. AN INVITATION XV. KEPT APART XVI. BY THE FIRESIDE . XVII. SOMETHING GONE WRONG XVIII. A CRASH PACK 7 19 27 38 47 5S 66 77 86 94 1 06 "3 121 I 3 I3S 146 153 161 vi CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIX. AT "THE WALNUTS" AGAIN 172 XX. PASSING AWAY l8l XXI. KATH'S LOSS 189 XXII. A QUESTION 197 XXIII. THE LAST THREE WEEKS 206 XXIV. TOGETHER 214 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. CHAPTER I. KATIE'S HOME, had never been out into the great world, or even into any considerable por- tion of it, beyond a day's trip to Great Yarmouth or to Norwich, at distant intervals. Katie Balfour was still unfledged at the age of eighteen, knowing practically nothing of life, beyond the limits of the remote east-country village which had always been her home except, of course, what books might teach her. One may learn a good deal of life from books ; much that is true, as well as much that is false. But books were not abundant in Eckham. Mudie extended no finger there; while the nearest rail- way station was five miles away. Moreover, the said station was much too small to possess a book- 7 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. stall ; and had things been otherwise, Mr. Balfour was too poor to pay a subscription to any library. The village itself was a mere collection of cot- tages, apparently squatted down, without aim or object, on the flat coast flat, except for the great sand-dunes running all along the shore, between the village and the beach. But those sand-dunes, or long low hills of sand, were not stationary. Slowly, century by century, they had been creep- ing inward, as inch by inch the sea gained upon the land. The Eckhani of olden days had lain where now the waves danced among sea-weeds at the lowest tides. The Eckham of these days would by-and- by lie, in like manner, a ruined village under the sands. People knew this, but they held their know- ledge calmly ; for it was a case of " not in my days." Eckham Church was a grand old building, with windows down one side only, and with the massive square tower characteristic of Norfolk. It would hold more than four hundred people with ease. Not much use in that, since the whole population of Eckham, old people, middle-aged folk, children and babies, all together fell very far short of four hundred. Mr. Balfour counted himself well off with a Sunday morning congregation of twenty or thirty, and a Sunday afternoon congregation of perhaps twice that number. KATIE'S HOME. He had toiled many a long year in this place, labouring patiently, though not 'very hopefully, without making much impression. The people took his efforts as a matter of course, and his kindnesses as their right. Mr. Balfour often called himself an "unprofitable servant," because he saw so little fruit to his labours ; and perhaps he forgot, sometimes, that " the Lord seeth not as man seeth." He was growing old fast, this Eeverend Stephen Balfour not yet sixty-five in years, but in appear- ance much past seventy, with his worn hands, his stoop, his furrowed brow. He looked thin, and his cheeks were sunken, and a certain tremulous- ness of manner was perceptible when he read and preached. It had been more marked lately. The keen winds of Norfolk seemed too much for him, and a winter cough troubled him much. September had come round again, and cold weather lay not far distant, with the terrible easterly blasts of spring to follow. He dreaded them in prospect. Mr. Balfour had only one child, his eighteen-years- old Katie; and one servant, faithful and devoted, though crabbed and disagreeable. Katie's mother had died in her childhood, and since then, Mr. Balfour had been to her, father, mother, friend, all in one, to the best of his ability. Katie loved him most dearly. Still, it was a io LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. strange and lonely life for a young girl. She had no intimate friends. "Society," for her, consisted of the few families of the neighbouring clergy; and, after all, they met but seldom. Mr. Balfour had a rough little two-wheeled " chay," and a very feeble ancient pony, with which he and Katie sometimes drove to a rectory or a parsonage, here or there. But callers were few, and calls due were not many. So Katie grew up with her little round of home- duties, in the way of dusting, cooking, and mending ; her little round of interests, in the way of pet chickens and kittens; her little round of parish occupations, in the way of Sunday-school and village calls; her little round of pleasures, in the way of reading, and of a walk or drive with " father ; " her little round of troubles, in the way of Deborah's temper, and Sunday scholars' dulness. She grew up, year by year ; and for a long while it never dawned on her father that she was a child no longer. Only Katie herself felt a difference. They were out together in the garden one after- noon ; Mr. Balfour on the rustic seat, not reading, but thinking. It was a small garden surrounding a small house; part being laid out for vegetables, and a portion reserved for flowers. A few late roses hung over Katie's smooth brown head, as she sat on KA TIE'S HOME. 1 1 a little wicker chair, quite absorbed in Goldsmith's "History of Greece." She wore a navy-blue summer serge, of the plainest possible make, with linen collar and cuffs. A slight breeze swept by, stirring the small clump of bushes in their rear bushes planted, one and all, by Mr. Balfour's own hand, during past years. He had " made " the garden, such as it was. With the breezy breath he shivered sharply. Katie at once looked up, and said, " Are you cold, father ? " " Yes. I almost think I will go in," Mr. Balfour answered ; yet he did not move. He seemed to be thinking. Katie's eyes went back to her page. " Goldsmith is so interesting," she remarked. "He was thought more of at one time than he is now. Katie " " Yes, father." " I want to speak to you, my dear. Will you attend ? " Katie shut the book at once. "But won't you come indoors, father, if you are cold." " It was momentary. I think the breeze has died down." "Has anybody done anything wrong?" asked Katie. " Father, I think you look worried." " I dread changes, my Katie. Things have gone 12 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. on quietly so long so many years. Yet, if it has to be " " Changes ? " said Katie. " How would you like to pay a long visit to your uncle Thornton and his family ? " " You and I together ? " "You alone." "Oh, I couldn't, of course," Katie answered at once, and very decidedly. "It isn't as if there were any one else. I couldn't leave you alone, father, with only Deb. She has been so cross lately." "Poor Deb! She and I are growing old to- gether ! " Katie looked beseeching. She had an expressive face, oval in shape, and healthy in colouring, not remarkable for beauty of feature, with the excep- tion, perhaps, of a pretty little mouth and chin ; but answering to every shade of thought and feel- ing below. " Please don't talk about being old," she said. " Sixty-five is only quite middle-aged for a man, father." "Ah, my dear!" Mr. Balfour half-smiled, half- sighed. " Age is not only a question of years." "But you haven't had such very hard work either, have you? not like a London clergyman. Of course I should like very much to see London," KATIE'S HOME. 13 Katie went on sedately. " Still, I could not leave you. And there would be no one to take the Sunday-school." This was literally true. Katie " took " the Sun- day-school herself, with only the help of a farmer's young daughter. Mr. Balfour shivered again. "I think I will go iu," he said. " It is certainly turning cold." He stood up and slowly crossed the lawn, Katie walking by his side. The drawing-room which they entered was dimi- nutive, and furnished in old-fashioned style, with a round table in the centre, and heavy chintz-clothed chairs standing stiffly against the walls. The chintz was old-fashioned too, having a pattern of big red flowers and leaves upon a white ground. A little old cottage piano occupied one corner, and a straight- backed sofa stood opposite. " I think you will like a fire this evening, father," said Katie, as he sat down. "Yes, perhaps so. Don't go, my dear; I have something to say still." Katie took a seat, feeling somewhat anxious. His manner was unusual. " What is it ? " she asked, looking up in his face. "Father, I am quite sure something is troubling you, and you have not told me. Won't you tell me I 4 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. now ? I think I ought to know. You and I are friends not only father and child and we always tell each other everything. I shouldn't like to think there were secrets between us. It isn't as if there were anybody else in the world, except, of course, dear old Deb and the villagers. But that is quite different. Please tell me. I am not a child now, you know." And as Katie pleaded thus, the old clergyman turned his head aside, and burst into tears. Katie had never in her life seen him do this before. " Father ! " she said, in an awe-struck tone. She drew closer to his side, and laid her head on his shoulder. " Father, dear, please don't ; I won't tease you any more." Mr. Balfour's arm came round her, and he was already recovering himself. " Will you be a dear brave child, and help me ? " he asked. " It will be a trial, I know ; but will you be brave ? " " Yes," she answered steadily. " I know you will try. I have not been very not very well or strong for a year or two past. It did not seem worth while to say much ; but last winter was trying, and this summer has not done so much for me as perhaps I hoped. Last week, when I drove alone to the station, I did not tell you my reason for not taking you ; but I went by train KATIE'S HOME. 15 to see Dr. Bandall. That is why I was so long gone. He is skilful, and he understands me." " Yes, father." "He says I must not spend another winter in Norfolk." Katie was silent for a few seconds. Then she asked, in the same firm voice, "Does he think it too cold ? " " Too cold for me in my present state. There is active mischief in the lungs. He does not think we have any cause for present alarm. People in this condition often last for years ; but I must be very careful, and he insists, above all, on a winter abroad." "Where?" " He would prefer Cannes." Katie lifted a perplexed face. " But the money ? " she said ; " and the work here ? I don't quite " Those were my difficulties. I would not speak to you till I could see my way." " And do you now ? " " Yes ; I wrote in one or two directions. Of course the expense would be great. We have some- thing laid by ; but it grieves me to think of using that. I meant it for you, by-and-by. Still if it has to be ! Dr. Eandall spoke very strongly of the need. 1 6 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. Katie grew pale. "And that money will be enough to take us ? " " I find I can obtain help from a society as to my locum tenens. That clears away one obstacle. Dr. Eandall suggested it, and kindly took steps in the matter, bringing me a quick answer by private interest, as to what I might hope for. With that help, I think my stipend and what is laid by will make the winter in Cannes a possibility for me." Katie did not notice the slight stress on the last word. "And that will make you quite strong again, father ? " " I hope it may, dear," he answered. " But, Katie about yourself " " I must go too, of course, to take care of you." " Impossible, my dear child. The cost " . She gave one start. " That was my second great difficulty. I wrote at once to your uncle Thornton, and he has answered most kindly, offering you a home for at least the greater part of my absence. If it should not be quite convenient to him and his wife to have you all the while, Mrs. Carrington will take you in. You remember her name ? " " Aunt Euth's sister," murmured Kate. " Yes ; they live near together at Penshurst. Dear Katie, I can't tell you what the thought of the part- KATIE'S HOME. 17 ing is to me. But it does seem arranged for us. It seems as if I should be wrong not to go, after all Dr. Eandall said; and six months will very soon pass. You will be a brave child, and, after all, you will enjoy being with your cousins, having young com- panions, and seeing a little of life. It will be good for you, my child." " Yes, father." Katie spoke calmly ; and he could not see her pale dazed look. " So we will make the best of it, won'c we ? Dr. Eandall said I must avoid agitation ; and I do feel that I am not equal to it. We will both be brave, darling. It is God's will for us, and it must be right. Think how much we shall have to say when we meet again. Besides, we shall write very often ; and I have not to go for another month or six weeks. Plenty of time to get used to the thought." Katie had had as mucli as she could endure. " Yes, father," she said, " there will be a great deal to do. And now I'm going to to see about your tea," But seeing about the tea did not come first. Katie slipped out of the room, and fled upstairs to her own. There she stood, looking out on one corner of the sleepy little village, and on the great square tower of the old church. A cornfield lay beyond, and to the right, as she stood, she could see the top of the 1 8 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. nearest sand-dunes, on the other side of which rolled the waters of the German Ocean. Katie gazed and gazed, till her eyes were blinded with tears, and she clasped her hands and held them out, with one smothered cry, "0 father, father, father ! I don't know how to live without you ! " CHAPTER IT. MA TCH-BO XES. ' to France, indeed ! I know what that means. It's the way of 'em. Send him x off when there's nothing more to be done, to die alone in a furrin' country, and ne'er a friend to speak a word o' comfort. That's what it'll be. There's no sort of folly in life folks ain't capable of more especial when it's a-flying in the face of Providence. If master goes to them furriii' parts, he'll never come back no more." Katie had gone into the kitchen next morning to " order dinner," which meant to hear Deb's intentions about dinner. Deb, having held the little Katie in her arms, washed, nursed, petted, and scolded her at will, had no notion now of taking orders from her. Katie knew better than to give orders. She only stood in the daintily clean kitchen, and asked meekly, " What shall we have to-day, Deb ? " And Deb concisely said what she meant to do. After all, 20 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. nobody knew better than Deb what was needed, and what could be afforded ; only sometimes Deb's temper gained the upper hand of her wish to please. That very simple matter, "to-day's dinner," being settled, Katie falteringly told Deb what she had heard the afternoon before. Deb, not gratified that " the child " should have been informed on so weighty a matter before herself, and feeling the important question of her own future put into the background though she would have been the first to put it there, had somebody else brought it forward answered a"s above. Poor Katie listened with a heavy heart. She knew what Deb's predictions were worth, and could quite allow for Deb's irritability; yet the words were such as she could hardly bear to hear. A mist came over her eyes, and a choking into her throat, as she leant against the dresser. " Oh, Deb, don't," she said once or twice ; and at the end, " But Dr. Eandall thinks it will do father good, and \ve must try it ; you know we must." Yes, Deb knew that, and she knew she had said cruel words to the young girl in her foolish vexation. But Deb never seemed to think it necessary to con- quer this troublesome temper. It was " only her way," she said; and she held the absurd theorv held MATCH-BOXES. 21 self-comfortingly by many irritable people, that a sharp temper is the token of a fine character. Katie could not trust herself to discuss the matter with Deb. She went away to her own room, and did not venture downstairs again for some time. Mr. Balfour seemed to be waiting about for her when she appeared. "Come, Katie," he said, with a glance at the reddened eyelids, " I think we will have a little stroll on the shore. I feel unsettled, and I shall write my' sermon the better afterwards. They say there has been a wreck near some small merchant- man, I fancy." "The wind was so high last night," Katie said, thinking how she had lain awake, listening to it, for once hardly remembering the perils of those at sea in her own new sorrow. A straw hat hung within easy reach, and no other " dressing " was needful. They were soon passing down the one tiny irregular street leading shore- wards hardly a street so much as a loose group of cottages. The ground really did slope a little here, so that it might fairly be termed "going down." But the country around was flat as a pan- cake. An opening in the sand-dunes admitted them to the level sandy beach. The wind blew rather 22 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. strongly still, and the waves were tumbling busily about at half-low tide. Two or three fishing-boats stood above high-tide mark, and two or three fisher- men lounged listlessly near. Mr. Balfour gave the men a kind word in passing, and received a curt acknowledgment of the same. These folks of Eck- ham were not genial-mannered. Mr. Balfour sighed as he passed on. " Will any of them care, Katie ? " " Oh, father after all these years ! They must be sorry when they know." "I cannot tell. I seem to have made no mark here. Years of work, and no result. Last night those words so haunted me, 'I have laboured in vain, and spent my strength for nought.' " A glow came to Katie's cheeks. " You know what comes next," she said, "don't you, father?" Mr. Balfour hesitated. "No, I could not recall. My memory often fails me now." "'Yet surely my judgment is with the Lord, and my work with my God.' " Katie's clear tones had a ring of heart-cheer in them. "Yes, yes true I forgot. One cannot decide as to one's self, or others. But He understands perfectly. Thank you, Katie ; that ought to comfort your old father. I have tried to carry out His will, and I will leave results with Him. See, there has MATCH-BOXES. 23 been a wreck. How singular ! I never saw quite such a sight before." On the beach, far as the eye could reach, there lay along high-water mark a wavy line of match- boxes. Small boxes all of them, uniform in shape and pattern, not so large as the " Bryant and May's," strewn in countless thousands; here whole still by scores, there by scores torn open, the discoloured matches in multitudes keeping up the line. Mingled with the match-box cargo were seaweeds little red weeds, and long ribbon weeds and now and then, at intervals, might be found a plank or a broken spar. Side by side, slowly, Mr. Balfour and Katie fol- lowed the slender line of wreckage, left by the waves in their retreat. For ten minutes or more the two walked on, facing the gusty breeze, and presently a small mast was visible, tossed up on the sands. And still, far ahead, extended that thin waved line of broken and unbroken match-boxes. "From Sweden, I suppose; this is Swedish," Mr. Balfour said, standing still to examine a box which Katie had picked up. He spoke rather breathlessly. "Father, I wonder if any of the sailors were lost ? " " I wonder whether any of them were saved, my dear ? After all, there are worse troubles in the world than ours ! " 24 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. Katie thought of Deb's words. " If only we were a little richer," she said, sighing. " Yes ; then you could couie with me. But suppose you are wanted at Penshurst? Sup- pose there is some little work for you to do there ? It may be so. I think we will go home now, dear." " Kath is my own age, isn't she ? " said Katie, after a pause. " To the day. That was partly why you both received the same name." " I can just remember seeing them all ; but it was so long ago. Grace was the nicest, I think ; only, being four years older made her seem almost grown- up. Bessie and Winnie teased me, but Kath and I were friends, rather. I wonder if I shall be afraid of them all now ?" "You will soon get over the feeling of strange- ness. Of course there may be little rubs and trials," Mr. Balfour said thoughtfully. " Set one thing before you, Katie, never to forget Whose servant you are, and never to be ashnmed of that service. Others may do or say tilings you believe to be wrong, and you have not to judge them ; but never be drawn yourself into going against your own conscience." " No, father." MATCH-BOXES. 25 " I think you will like to see Mrs. Carrington's letter to me. Here it is." He did not offer to show his own brother's letter, and Katie was conscious of the omission, as she read : " THE NUTSHELL, PENSHURST, Tuesday. " DEAK STEPHEN, It is long since I heard from or of you, .but I have not forgotten my old friend of childish days. Thornton has told me of your trouble, and I sincerely feel for you. " I dare say you are aware that I lost my dear husband two years ago, and that I have since then settled down within reach of my sister and her husband. They tell me your daughter will spend the time of your absence with them. Quite right that she should. " I have, however, one microscopic spare room, and if at any time it should prove not quite con- venient to my sister to have your Katherine, or if she would like it herself, for any other reason, she shall come to me. Only she would have to put up with Life in a Nutshell. The name of this ' bit hoose ' is my own fancy. It seemed appropriate, my brother having chosen to call his < The Walnuts.' " At all events, if Katherine comes, I will pro- 26 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. mise her a kind welcome, for the sake of my old friend, her dear father. So believe me still, yours sincerely, C. CARKINGTON." " Father, she must be nice." " She was ; but I have not seen Charlotte Carring- ton for years ' Chattie ' every one called her." " And she lives alone, I suppose, at that house what an odd name ! ' The Nutshell.' " " She has one son," said Mr. Balfour. CHAPTER III. AT "THE WALNUTS." [ESSIE ! How you do plague ! " "But, Winnie, you have no business to draw on this table." " I've as much business as you, so there !" " I always keep my Shoe Club and Library ac- counts here. You must move." "You can take your accounts somewhere else. There's not light enough anywhere else for drawing. Now then ! Saint Elizabeth in a passion ! " Winifred leant back in her chair with an exas- perating laugh. She was about seventeen years old, plain-featured and angular, and in a manner sturdily wilful. By her side stood another girl, three or four years her senior ; tall and rather thin, with a long nose and a low forehead not classically low, but low merely because it was not high and a generally uncomfortable expression ; disturbed, restless, almost 28 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. unhappy. Vexation was plainly written at this moment on lips and brow. "I can't possibly move them all. Everything is together in these drawers. And it is nonsense about the light. You could see better in the bow window. I must get things done this afternoon." " Very well. Get them done." Winnie bent over her drawing, and Elizabeth's hand came on the sheet, moving it slightly. Winnie flashed up with a look of fury. " Bessie ! You dare ! If you do, I'll tell father." " Tell him anything you like. This is my place, Winnie." " How you two do go on ! " a distressed voice said from the bow window of which Elizabeth had spoken. Grace Balfour, eldest of four sisters, lay there on a couch, her thin cheeks and white hands telling of illness. She had large blue eyes, bright still, and must have been very pretty in health, though almost too wasted now for beauty. " It is like two chil- dren. Winnie, do come away, and let Bessie have the table. You know she always does sit there, and it is tiresome having to move everything." " I don't see why it is more tiresome for her than for me," said Winnie, in a sulky voice. " But the light here is quite as good; and I like to have you near me." AT "THE WALNUTS." 29 " I don't believe you do." Nevertheless, Winifred actually rose, gathered together her drawing mate- rials, and marched into the bow window, her vacated seat being occupied at once by Elizabeth, in severe silence. " She might have said ' Thank you,' " mut- tered Winnie, in a disgusted tone ; " but that isn't a part of religion, I suppose." " Hush, Winnie ! you must not say such things." Grace turned her face away, sighing. Winnie sat looking at her. ' Are you in bad pain this afternoon, Gracie ? " " Yes." The voice told of threatening tears. " Can't anything be got ? Where's Katli ? " "Father wanted her. She will be in soon. I must just bear it." " Where's the pain ? Your chest ? " " Yes." Winnie did not seem to know what else to do or say. Elizabeth uttered not a word. She was stoop- ing over her account-books, with rounded shoulders, and a look of gloom still upon her face. Then the door opened, and another sister came in a girl of about eighteen, with a slight figure and a face not exactly beautiful, but sweet and bright and intensely lovable. People often called Kath Balfour "lovely," and she really was that. The features were soft in outline, good enough to be set off by a fair clear 3 o LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. complexion ; the light brown hair clustered in curly rings round a straight white brow ; and the grey eyes, if neither dark nor large, were full of light and tenderness. So no wonder Kath won admiration. She cast one look at Elizabeth, and the corners of her mouth gave an involuntary twitch, as if of amuse- ment ; then one look at Grace, and the same rosy lips grew pitiful and sad. Kath came straight to the sofa, bent over it, kissed Grace, and altered the arrangement of the pillows. "Is that better?" she asked. " Yes. You always know how, Kath." " Of course I do. And you have chest-ache and back-ache, and you would like the comfort of a good cry, wouldn't you ? " said Kath lovingly. A sob came in answer. Kath laid her soft cheek beside Grace's, and comforted her with touch and whisper till something of a smile became possible. "Where's mother?" she asked then. "Gone a round of calls," said Winnie. "She wanted Bessie with her, and Bessie would not go." " I could not," Elizabeth's voice said, with a kind of injured protest. " And who is going to meet Katie ? " General silence. " You know what father said at breakfast about his engagement, and depending on us. I would AT "THE WALNUTS." 31 go, only I should like to stay in and see after Gracie." Grace looked very wistful. " Bessie, can't you ? " " I can't possibly. I have all these accounts to make up to-day. Why can't Kath or Winnie go ? Or why must anybody ? " " Nice sort of welcome," said Winnie. " After what father said, too." She looked at Grace's long- ing eyes, and at Kath's figure leaning over the sofa, then rather indignantly at Bessie. " Not much use in being a saint, if it means never doing anything that anybody wants," she muttered, start- ing up. " I shall get into disgrace to-morrow if this isn't done. But it doesn't matter. Yes, I'll go. What o'clock. Five ! Why, I shall only be just in time. I hope Saint Elizabeth's accounts will come square. It's more than they deserve to do." Elizabeth heard in silence, with a species of martyr-look. She counted herself something of a martyr, ascribing all this to her more distinctly reli- gious profession, and not at all to her less obliging ways than those of her sisters. Winnie meantime rushed away, childlike in movement still, and angry at feeling herself compelled to volunteer. As she had said, there was no time to be lost. Mr. Thornton Balfour's house, " The Walnuts," stood near the higher end of a long valley, half-way up 32 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. one of its sides. This valley had been once, many years earlier, a private park belonging to a single large mansion ; but it was now pretty well lined on both sides with red houses in neat gardens. The station lay at the farther and lower end, some fifteen minutes' quick walk distant. Winnie threw on hat and jacket, and started off at a rapid pace down the dusty road. One or two friends, encountered by the way, received a nod of recognition. Not far from the station a neat little pony carriage, drawn by one brown pony, and con- taining a rather stout and rather handsome lady of middle age, drew up suddenly. " Where are you going, Winnie ? " " To meet Katie, mother." " I should not have thought that necessary." " Father said somebody must, and Bessie wouldn't." The lady's fine dark eyes showed displeasure. " Bessie is becoming perfectly useless since she took up all this parish work. Is your drawing done?" " Couldn't," said Winnie concisely. " I have a great mind to take you straight home. It is absurd," Mrs. Balfour said, frowning. " Why cannot Kate manage for herself ? " " Father said somebody must go." " Then don't be long. I particularly wish you to AT "THE WALNUTS." 33 get that drawing finished. Kate will probably have a fly for her luggage, and of course you will return with her." " Father said at breakfast, that if the pony car- riage couldn't go, we were to have a fly, and pay for it." "Very absurd and unnecessary," said Mrs. Bal- four. After which she drove on, and Winnie per- formed the rest of her way at a semi-gallop, rushing upon the platform in a breathless and dishevelled condition, as the train steamed slowly up. A minute of confusion, and Winnie found herself near a young girl, lady-like, but plainly dressed, and with a certain unsophisticated air, which the town-bred maiden recognised at once. She seemed bewildered, and was looking from side to side for- lornly. " Are you Katie ? " a voice asked. " I'm Katie Balfour. And you ? " " I'm Winnie. How do you do ? The others were too busy to come, at least Kath was, and Bessie made believe to be, and Gracie, of course, is ill. So there was only me. Where is your luggage ? How many trunks ? Only one ! Well, we must have a fly. It is a good distance, and uphill, too." After some waiting, the box appeared, hauled out from among a medley of trunks and bags. 34 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. Penshurst Station was not peculiarly noisy or bust- ling for a station in the near neighbourhood of London, but to Katie all seemed a whirl of con- fusion. Winifred managed for her in business-like style: hailed a cab; desired a porter to bring out the box ; paid him twopence ; and ordered the cab- man to drive to "Mr. Balfour's the Walnuts;" after which they set off. " Father thought you were living in the country," remarked Katie; "but I suppose we go through a part of London first." Winnie's eyes opened widely. " You've just been through London on your way here," she said. " We're a good twenty minutes outside London. This is country." " But there are so many houses," objected Katie. " It is all houses." "They've been building a good deal. Why, this is nothing," said Winnie, in danger of an explosion of laughter. " Nothing," she repeated emphatically. " You should have seen our Westbourne house, be- fore we came to Penshurst. That was town, and no mistake. We call this country. Of course there are plenty of houses and people, and things doing. And London is near. It's not being buried alive. I should think you were pretty well buried in Norfolk." AT "THE WALNUTS." 35 If so, Katie did not as yet find disentombment a lively process. Her heart went back with aching desire to the dear old Eectory and its " buried " surroundings. " Mother would rather be in London, but father likes this best. Mother thinks it too dull and quiet. We came to Penslmrst three years ago nearly four ; and the place has grown ever so much lately ; all that row of houses up there, in front of us, is quite new. Oh, and look this side, Aunt Chattie's? " " Mrs. Carrington ? " " Yes ; her house. She's a dear thing, only rather odd in some ways. We don't like her being in that queer little house much," said Winnie. "Didn't you see ? It's called ' The Nutshell ' ; and it is the most ridiculous little concern ; only one storey high ; and only four or five tiny rooms. One sittiug-room, and the kitchen, and three bed-rooms, and a box- closet, hardly big enough to be called a room. It was a fancy of hers to go there, when uncle died, and she came home from India. She wanted to be near us, and she said she couldn't afford anything bigger. More like a cottage than a house. Father says it must have been the lodge to the estate, when all this valley was a great park belonging to one person. He wonders that 'The Nutshell' was never pulled down. Auut Chattie lives there now, how- 36 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. ever; and Harold never will say he minds it. I think he ought. Of course he isn't often at home, but when he is, he must hate such a poky place. We all wish she would make a change. It is nice to have Aunt Chattie near us ; but still we don't like her being there. Our friends must think it so odd." " I don't see why, if the house is large enough," said Katie. " Oh, I suppose it is large enough, in a way, just for her and one maid. But it is hardly like a lady's house. It is more like a cottage. She might afford something better, if she chose. Mother says so. She says it is just a fad of Aunt Chattie's always to be talking about ' life in a nutshell ' too ! I almost wish father hadn't named our house ' The Walnuts.' Mother wanted it called 'The Elms'; and father said that was so dreadfully suburban. We have two walnut-trees in our garden, so he thought that would be more uncommon. I wish he hadn't." Kate could only ask, " Why ? " "Oh, I don't know. Can't you see? Walnuts and Nuts seem to belong together, and we don't like to belong to that queer little low-roofed concern. I can't explain, if you don't understand. You'll know better when you see Aunt Chattie. She's not a bit AT "THE WALNUTS." 37 like mother, and very religious. So is Bessie, only in a different sort of way. You've got to learn to know us all. What a good thing you were always called 'Katie/ and our Katharine is always called ' Kath.' Ic saves a muddle." CHAPTEE IV. SOMETHING TO DO. ??5EjSj^jHE first evening of Katie's stay at " The 2*k|s Walnuts" was over; and she found her- ^V^K_A. ge j a j. } ag j. a ] one j n th e sma ]| bedroom assigned to her use. It was a very small bedroom, and a shabby one too; for though there were two good spare rooms on the floor below, Mrs. Balfour had decided that this little ill-furnished apartment was " quite good enough for only Kate Balfour." And it was " at last," for Katie had never in her life gone through so lengthy and dull an evening. . Measuring the six mouths ahead by the slow hours just passed, they seemed a life-time, absolutely interminable. We are so apt to forget that the longest part of any given time lies almost always at the beginning. It was not that everybody had not shown kind- ness, more or less. Mr. Balfour had bestowed quite a cordial greeting on his only brother's only child, 38 SOMETHING TO DO. 39 saying repeatedly how very glad he was to see her. Katie appreciated his warmth ; yet somehow " Uncle Thornton " turned out to be not at all what she had expected. He was such a little bustling, excitable man; and everybody seemed so very much afraid of offending him. No lack of kindness lay in that direction ; but it was rather an odd sort of kindness, involving much talk about himself. He evidently liked a good show of gratitude, and expected every- thing to be done in exactly his own way. Katie felt oppressed by his very cordiality. Mrs. Balfour was neither small nor cordial. Eather tall, decidedly stout, and markedly hand- some, so far as features alone were concerned, she seemed to give way to her husband in everything, yet held the household reins firmly in her large plump white hands. Katie had not been five minutes in Mrs. Balfour's presence, before she knew herself to be an undesired addition to the household. It was a terribly painful feeling, but there was no putting it aside ; and with the sense of unwelcome came also a sense of something like fear towards Mrs. Balfour. Katie knew that she would dread greatly having to oppose her aunt's will The evening had passed, as I have already said, very tardily, very drearily. Kath's sunshiny face won Katie's heart more than any other in the 40 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. household; but Grace was upstairs, more ill than usual, and Kath could not leave her. Bessie spent the evening over her Library and Shoe Club ac- counts, frowning grimly in the endeavour to make them come right. Winnie was trying somewhat fractiously to draw by gaslight. Mr. Balfour, after a few remarks, went sound asleep, a little figure in a very big arm-chair. Mrs. Balfour sat opposite, reading a yellow-backed novel, and being by way of contrast a voluminous figure in a very small easy chair. Katie longed to retire, but was too shy to ask leave, and the family did not break up until half-past ten. "I dare say everything is right in your room, Kate," Mrs. Balfour said then, standing up, with a yawn. " If not, you must tell the girls, or ring." She gave her hand, evidently not counting a kiss necessary. " Good-night. Winnie, you are to go to bed directly. It is an hour past your time ; and drawing by gas-light is no use. You ought not to have been out this afternoon. Bessie, I can't have you sit up late. Oh dear, how tired I am ! " So was Katie, but no one seemed to remark it. She took the candle pointed out as her own, and went wearily upstairs to her little bedroom. Her box, half unpacked, lay open ; her things were scattered about, as she had left them, when some- SOMETHING TO DO. 41 what hurriedly dressing for late dinner. A jug of almost cold water stood in the basin : and the Vene- tian blind had not been lowered. Servants are quick to see when a guest is not honoured, and too often drawing-room neglect finds a downstairs echo. Katie was not fussy or over-sensitive, but the general feeling of being imwelcomed weighed upon her heavily ; and she was very tired, almost too much so to make up her mind to unpack or undress. The parting with her father, kept resolutely all day in the background, now rushed in upon her with a great flood-tide of sorrow. It was the first even- ing for many long years that she had not had his good-night kiss. The pain grew and grew, as Katie stood at the unbliuded window, looking out. She could see the lights glittering in many houses, late though it was, all the way down the length of the Penshurst valley ; and coloured station lights, in the distance, at the lower end of the valley ; and heaven's lamps twinkling softly overhead. These last her father might be watching also ; but not the others. He and she had a different outlook now, so far as earthly things were concerned. And every day would make the parting worse, as he travelled south, widening the distance which divided the two. 42 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. And if he should never return, if Deb's foretellings should come true ! Katie could not face that thought. She dashed aside some heavy drops, and began taking off her dress. But grief was not to be so easily kept down. Having put a few things straight, and hung up her dress, and let her brown hair flow over her white dressing-gown, she took out her little Bible, and sat down to read. There com- posure failed. It was the one touch of association too keen. Katie's dim eyes could make out no word of the print. She closed the Book, and knelt down to pray ; but, instead of prayer, there came a burst of weeping, a bitter anguish of sobs. The lone- liness was overpowering. No one to help ; no one to care; no one to comfort! "Father! father!" broke from her repeatedly. Katie almost felt that she could not bear it, could not stand the part- ing, could not endure the present isolation. Would nobody ever love her here ? Must she stand alone, uncared-for; an intruder, tolerated from necessity, but only looked upon as a burden and a trouble. " Poor dear ! " a soft voice said. Katie had not seen Kath enter; had not heard repeated knockings at her door. She only felt now SOMETHING TO DO. 43 a pair of warm hands clasping her cold ones, and kind lips kissing her flushed cheek. " You poor Katie ! " the voice repeated. " Gracie was quite unhappy. She and I sleep just under- neath, you know. Katie, don't cry. It will be all right by-and-by. And you will soon know us. Don't cry, dear. Yes, I know. It's dreadfully hard to say good-bye to your father ; of course it is. But he'll come back in the spring, looking so well, you'll be quite glad he went ; and how nice that will be ! Don't cry, Katie." The very sweetness of that reiterated " Don't cry!" made Katie's tears at first come faster; but before long she managed to whisper, " Dear Kath ! so kind of you ! I didn't mean to disturb Gracie !" " Oh, you didn't disturb her. She can't sleep with pain, poor dear. Now, you are going to leave off crying, and be good. It's no use being unhappy is it ? You'll have to put up with us all for a little while, you know ; and perhaps you won't find us so very disagreeable, after all, when you are used to our ways." This was a new view of the matter. Katie checked her tears, and said energetically " Oh no, it isn't that." " I was afraid they hadn't properly looked after you. Bessie is always so busy with her own concerns ; and 44 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. Winnie has to prepare for classes still. Bessie's business is parish business; and sometimes, I sup- pose, it can't be well put aside. And poor Gracie being like this keeps me rather busy, because I am her nurse. She and I always paired off together, which is odd, for Bessie comes next to her in age." "Has Gracie been long ill?" asked Katie. "I don't remember hearing about it." " Father is such a bad correspondent. Yes, a good while. She had an attack on the lungs a year ago, and it seemed to leave her so delicate all last winter. When summer came on, she really did get better for a time ; but she caught a very bad cold before the end of August, and ever since " Kath paused, sighing. " I hope her cough will not disturb you, Katie. It is often bad at night." " But doesn't it disturb you, sleeping in the same room ? " " Oh, that is nothing. I am Grade's nurse. It is my business to be disturbed. She has been particularly poorly the last week or two. Some- times she is not nearly so bad, but the weather is chilly now." " Wouldn't going to a warm place be good for her like father ? " asked Katie. SOMETHING TO DO. 45 " No. They did talk of such a thing last year, for this winter ; but not now. They say it would be of no use ; and she isn't fit for travelling. She must just stay indoors at home, and be taken care of." Kath spoke quietly, but Katie could see tears shining on her eyelashes. " You must be anxious about her." " Yes," Kath answered briefly. " One must, of course. But don't say a word of that to Gracie, please. We have to keep her spirits up. Now, don't you think it is time for you to go to bed ? And you must not be miserable any more : for we really want to make you happy, Katie." ' : I ought not to be unhappy," Katie said in a low tone. " I have the best comfort of all." " Oh, I don't know about ' ought.' It is quite natural. But you'll try and be brave." Katie was too shy to explain her thought in words. Her hand stole involuntarily to the little Bible, still lying open on the table, and her eyes met Kath's. "Ah! did you mean that?" Kath asked, half- lightly, yet with kindness. "Well, dear, we all have our Bibles, of course. And I suppose they ought to be a comfort, if one is in trouble. It is right that they should. Only don't stay up late 46 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. to-night, reading, because really bed is the best place for you. Good-night, Katie. " Mind you sleep well, and don't cry any more." Kath went off, after a parting kiss, and Katie sat thinking, much cheered, yet a little troubled. Was that "best comfort" unknown to the lovable Kath ? Sad if it were so ! Yet Kath had comforted Katie : had helped her up to a cheerier, braver level. Katie no longer felt utterly cast down. She was able now to kneel quietly in prayer, and to read a few verses with thoughtful attention. Grace's cough could not induce wakefulness that night. Katie's head scarcely reached the pillow before she fell into dreamless sleep, which lasted until after morning dawn. CHAPTER V. BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS. )INE o'clock having been the hour named for breakfast, Katie was punctually down- stairs at the sounding of the bell. No- body else had yet appeared. It was a fine cool autumn morning, and the window at one end of the dining-room stood open. Kate leant out, trying not to hear a little voice of longing for the pure ocean breezes, to which she had been all her life accustomed. Penshurst air was counted remarkably fine by Londoners; but it could not bear comparison with Norfolk air. Houses lay below on the hill-side, and houses all down the length of the valley, each standing in its own neat garden. Houses clustered more thickly at the lower end, near the station, where the Pens- hurst Valley ran at right angles into the longer Hurst Valley. Beyond the station, and on the other side of the said Hurst Valley rose steep downs, 47 -n 48 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. dotted with low bushes, forming a lengthy hill, some two hundred feet in height above the station level. The hills bounding the Penshurst Valley rose also to much the same height. Katie's eyes, used to the flat lands of Norfolk, found the effect to be almost mountainous. The view from this dining-room window really was very pretty, though a little spoilt by much recent building. Ten minutes passed, and Katie was still alone. Ten minutes more, and she began to feel very hungry. A step at length sounded, and Mr. Thorn- ton Balfour came in. " Katie ! what has become of Kath ? Are you the first down ? Good-morning, my dear. Slept well ? " He did not wait for an answer. "Trained in punctual habits, I see. The ladies of my household are uncommonly lazy. Not Bessie, I believe, but she is probably out on some wildgoose chase, or muddling her head with Parish accounts. Kath generally is in good time. Do you prefer coffee or tea ? I'll ring for it at once. We don't have prayers till after breakfast. Sit down, and make yourself at home. The time those servants are answering a bell! one would think they had to walk a mile ! Coffee at once, Ann, and ham and eggs, or whatever is cooking." BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS 49 Mr. Balfour betook himself to arm-chair and news- paper, almost vanishing behind the latter. Katie obe- diently seated herself, and waited in hungry patience. Breakfast at home had been a full hour earlier. Presently there was a crunching of gravel out- side, as by a man's boots. Somebody threw wide the partly-opened window. " Uncle ! " " Hey ! what ? Harold ! " Mr. Balfour dropped his newspaper, and went quickly towards a face which was inserting itself between two plants. The lower sill of this -window stood nearly five feet above the gravel path, and was well-lined outside with flowers in pots. The face was a pleasant one, not unlike Kath's in outline, spare and healthily-pale, with laughing eyes, and a soft clerical wide-awake shading the brow. " Good-morning, Uncle. How is Gracie ? " "I have not heard yet. Good-morning. Can't you come in? Your cousin, Katherine Balfour, from Norfolk." Katie drew near, in obedience to his glance, and Harold lifted the wide-awake. " No, not your cousin, by-the-bye no relation really. I forgot." "Next door to cousin," said Harold. "How do 5 o LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. you do, Miss Balfour? Rested after your jour- ney?" " Yes, thank you," said Katie. " Come in," urged his uncle. " Thanks, no ; I can't spare the time. I'm merely come to bring a message from my mother. She is anxious to make Miss Balfour's acquaintance, and would be very pleased to see Miss Balfour to after- noon tea at half-past four. She would pay the duo preliminary call, but for a cold." "Mrs. Carrington, my wife's sister," explained Mr. Balfour. "Your father knew her well long ago." " I should like it very much," said Katie. " Where are you off to, Harold ? " asked Mr. Balfour. "Back to London, by-and-by. I ran down last night ; and we fancied I should catch some of you before breakfast was quite ended ! " with a glance at the table. "It is not quite ended yet," Katie found herself saying. "Have a cup of coffee ? " asked Mr. Balfour. "No, thanks. We breakfasted an hour and a half ago. Good-bye." " That sounds like Aunt Chattie," Kath re- BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS. 51 marked, appearing in time for a glimpse of Harold's retreating back. " Good-morning, Katie. Are you rested this morning ? Did you sleep well, dear ? " Kath looked sleepy herself, and not so bright as the evening before. She heard Katie's answers with a kind but absent smile, and sat down sighing. " Is that Mrs. Carrington's son ? " asked Katie. "That is Harold." And Kath stifled a yawn. " He has a curacy in rather a poor part of London, and works very hard there; but it doesn't seem to hurt him at present. He comes down once a week to see his mother. I am sorry we should all be so late to-day. Gracie has had such a bad night." Mr. Balfour looked at her. " Cough ? " he asked. " Cough, and pain, and breathlessness. I almost had to call some one up." " I have a great mind to get in further advice. Your mother thinks Gracie stronger." " She is not stronger," said Kath. Katie was almost ashamed of her own hearty appetite, Kath took so little. Breakfast was rather a broken meal, one member of the family after another dropping in at intervals. Mr. Balfour read his newspaper diligently, and Mrs. Balfour appeared last. Prayers did not take place till half-past ten, LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. and nobody seemed to suppose that Katie might care to be released sooner. Mr. Balfour hurried off to catch the 11.10 train to London, and Mrs. Balfour went slowly to her housekeeping. Eliza- beth took out Parish accounts once more, Kath returned to Grace, and Winnie ran off to a drawing- class. Katie alone had nothing to do. Nobody seemed to want her. The lack of occupation was a new experience in her life. At home, each day, though not crowded, had always been full. But here Katie found herself at a loss. She went up to her room, and came upon servants there, so she carried a little writing-case into the drawing- room, and began a letter to her father. That would not do, however. Tears threatened soon to become too much for her. Katie shut the writing-case, took up a book, and tried to read, but with poor success. Bessie, busied at her favourite writing-table, with bent brows and rounded shoulders, seemed uncon- scious of Katie's presence. Katie sat watching her for a while, and after a while, nobody else being present, she said softly, " I suppose I couldn't help ? " Bessie turned and looked at her. " Do you care for this sort of thing ? " she asked. BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS. 53 " Parish work, I mean. They all laugh at me for taking to it." " I like everything of the kind." " Not accounts ! " " I kept all my father's accounts. He says I have a good head for figures." Bessie seemed dubious. " If you really mean it " she said at last. " I hate people to offer to help out of mere politeness ; but if you mean it " "I do really." "Well, I should be glad if you could just look through this. I am stupid about figures, and I can't get my Shoe Club accounts to square. And Mr. Hamilton is so very particular." " Is he your clergyman ? " " Yes. He likes everything so very exact, and of course it is right. But this will not come straight. I have been hours over it." " One gets stupefied at last," said Katie. She brought a chair to Elizabeth's side, and sat down, bending her attention at once to the somewhat untidy rows of figures. Two or three slight ques- tions were asked; and then she went through column after column, in the rapid and assured manner of a "ood accountant. 54 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. " Yes," she said presently ; " there are two mis- takes in adding up enough to make everything go wrong: and here is another. I think you have read your own figures wrongly." Bessie looked grateful. She did not speak, and Katie went on adding, and making pencil altera- tions, till the sum-total was reached. " There ! " she said, smiling. "Why, it is exactly right! Katie, how clever you are ! " " Oh, just a matter of practice. You must let me help you sometimes. I like being useful." " Should you not mind ? And you don't despise this sort of thing ? But, of course you are a clergyman's daughter." "I don't see why that should make any differ- ence." Bessie looked round, rose, and shut the door, then came back. "It makes all the difference," she said. "You have been brought up not to count religion a mere secondary thing, just to be pushed into the back- ground. That is how we have been brought up. You will soon see ! It is only the last two years that I have felt differently, and they all laugh at me. You will soon see for yourself." BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS. 55 " A little laughing doesn't do one any harm," said Katie, not pleased with Elizabeth's tone. " It makes one angry sometimes." Katie thought silently of the " love " that " is not easily provoked." " Besides, it is wrong. Things are altogether wrong in this house. Nothing but pleasure, and dress, and gaiety, and living for this world. Of course I know that many people have more gaieties than we ; but that isn't from want of will, at least so far as mother and Kath are concerned. I don't join in things myself more than I can possibly help, and that vexes my mother." " It must be difficult to know what to do, some- times." " Oh, I don't know about the difficulty. The only thing to be done is to make a stand, and not to miud what anybody says. I have a great deal to bear sometimes from them all, and so will you have, if your religion is worth anything. Kath seems very charming to strangers, but you have no notion what hard things she can say, and mother expects every one to do exactly what she wishes." "Kath is so kind to me," said Katie; "and Grace " "Poor Grace! It is saddest of all about Grade. 56 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. Yes, she is very pleasant, naturally; but it is only natural pleasantness nothing more. And to see her like this, going down and down, and to know that there is no hope of her recovery, and not to be allowed to say one word " " Is she so very ill ? " asked Katie, with a grieved look. " Oh yes ; there is no hope at all. She may live for some months, or even perhaps for a year or two, but she will never be well again. The doctors say so plainly. Father and mother and Kath all know it, though mother pretends to think it is a mistake. But Gracie doesn't know. She always thinks she is getting better, and nobody may contradict her, or say a word to make her think the contrary. It is dreadful to feel that she is to be left to go down into the grave unprepared to the last." " Oh no, surely," protested Katie ; " surely, by-and- by, if she gets worse r-" " But it may not be only a gradual getting worse. She might at any time be taken very ill, and be gone suddenly. She broke a blood-vessel once and if that came again but she doesn't seem to have the very least notion of danger herself. She is always talking of getting well, and of things she means to do by-and-by ; and Kath encourages her BESSIE'S ACCOUNTS. 57 'in it. It is dreadful, Katie. Oiily you mustn't re- peat a word of all this. I ain the oiily one who feels so. Everybody else is bent on keeping up her spirits, and deceiving her into thinking herself better." CHAPTER VI. A UNT CHA TTIE. SELCOME to my nutshell, Katie Balfour!" It certainly was an old little house, one - storeyed and low - roofed, standing near the lower end of the Penshurst Valley. Creepers grew abundantly over the little porch and up the side gable ; Virginian red showing in conspicuous style, where, somewhat earlier, white roses had vied with clematis and passion-flower. Not that these three had quite given over blooming yet. A little garden ran round the small dwelling, and a poplar tree, just as tall as the roof, guarded the door ; another and taller one rearing its head at a distance of three or four yards. ' Mrs. Carrington stood in the doorway, a slim and upright figure, dressed in black, with a semi- widow's cap on her smooth hair. She was un- usually tall; not exactly handsome, but with a 58 AUNT CHATTIE. 59 face so full of life and character, that it could hardly fail to win attention. " Welcome, Katie, my dear. Excuse me, but I can't call Stephen Balfour's daughter by any- thing but her Christian name, so I hope you will not be offended." " No, indeed," Katie said, as Mrs. Carrington led her indoors. " And you have found my little shell without difficulty. Not too spacious, is it ? But I have room enough to eat, sleep, and turn round in. More than Diogenes had in his tub or so one would imagine." Mrs. Carrington seated herself in an easy-chair, and examined Katie all over, with penetrating yet kind eyes. Katie blushed a little under the scrutiny, yet could not feel uncomfortable. She had already a sense of being with a friend. " I don't know exactly who you are like, child. There's a touch of your father, and a touch of your mother, and there are a good many touches of no- body in particular ; yourself individually, I suppose. Good thing to have individuality in look as well as in character. I never can see why human beings are to be transformed into a row of pegs, all alike in shape and pattern. And you are not yet a fashion- able young woman of the day. That's easily seen ! " 60 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. " I hope not," said Katie, smiling. "No, that's easily seen," repeated Mrs. Car- rington, folding her hands, and continuing her survey. " Take off your bonnet, Katie. It's a nice little bonnet. Your father always had a neat taste, and I suppose he has trained you. Yes ; I see a likeness now. Well, how did you leave your father, my dear ? " Katie tried to answer, and faltered. " It's not easy saying good-bye for the first time, is it ? And at your age, six months seem an age. But don't be afraid; the time will soon go. It is anxious work for you, of course, having him so far away. And we are apt to think nobody can take care of our dear ones, as we could do ourselves. As if the Everlasting Arms were not powerful enough ; and as if HE couldn't provide human friends and caretakers ! But you are like the rest of us, child, I don't doubt always fearing where there is no cause for fear. How did you manage to find your way here this afternoon ? Anybody come with you ? " "No," said Katie, helped to composure by Mrs. Carrington's words and manner. " Winnie showed me the house yesterday, and the way is very simple. Kath meant to walk with me, but she did not like to leave Grace." AUNT CHATTIE. 61 " Poor Grace ! " Katie looked gravely up, and said, " Mrs. Car- rington, do you think " "Why not call me 'Aunt Chattie,' child? I have always counted myself your father's sister." " May I ? Yes, I should like that." " Well, you were going to ask " " Is Gracie ill at all like my father ? " " Like, and not like ! Lungs in both cases. But your father's seems to be a case rather of delicacy than of actual disease. He will, I hope, come back well." " And Gracie ? " Mrs. Carrington made a negative gesture. " Katie," she said slowly. " I don't know much of you yet. It seems to me, however, at least lilccly, that a child of Stephen Balfour's will have been trained to serve the Master whom he serves. Something he said, too and something in your own look " " I do try," was the simple answer. " That might mean much or little. From you I think it means much. Well, we have not to judge other people. Many a one may be at heart a truer servant to God than appears on the surface. But my heart is sore often for that poor fading flower, dying day by day, and taught to think 62 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. herself getting daily better. I don't know how things may be between you and her; but if ever you have an opening, remember her need. Some- times a comparative stranger may say words which the home-folks cannot, or will not venture to say. Kath dear little Kath ! nobody can help loving her! guards Gracie like a very ogre from aught that might open her eyes. It's cruel, cruel kindness, so lovingly meant too ! You must wait and watch. Agitation is forbidden, and might do harm. There is the real difficulty. I am treating you with confidence, my dear, for your face tells me that I may." Katie raised her eyes to Mrs. Carrington's, as she said only, " Yes ! " Mrs. Carrington smiled. "I would rather have your quiet ' Yes,' than a great amount of vehement protestation. You must, as I say, wait and watch. Any word which might seem to hint at danger or death is strictly forbidden by Grace's parents. Yet an opening may come, if we ask it in prayer. Poor Gracie ! She was the flower of the family before this came on, so bonny and true-hearted. Even Kath doesn't equal what Gracie was. But she is sadly changed. Here comes tea, and here is Harold. You have met already." "Through a window," Harold said brightly AUNT CHATTIE. 63 "Mother miue, I found I should just have time for a cup of tea and good-bye before catching my train more than I expected. What a lovely day it is ! Fresh, after London. Miss Balfour, I am seri- ously thinking of bringing all my Parish accounts to you. Some one tells me you are magnificently gifted in that line." Katie did not blush or look embarrassed, as he half expected. She only smiled and said, " I sup- pose you have seen Bessie." "What is that?" asked Mrs. Carrington. " Only poor puzzle-headed Bessie, floundering as usual in a hopeless quagmire of figures. Miss Bal- four has kindly pulled her out, and set her on firm ground." " Mr. Hamilton might find work for which Bessie is better fitted." " But Uncle Thornton objects to a district, for fear of possible infection." A slight sound made him turn towards Katie. " I suppose you have been used to visiting among the poor." " Yes ; I meant to ask for a district here." Harold looked at his mother, and Mrs. Carrington shook her head. " You will have to wait for a while. By-and-by, perhaps " " I don't know what to do," said Katie, rather dis- tressfully. " I can't be idle for six months." 64 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. " Work will be given you, if you really want work. My dear, don't be afraid. A little waiting does no- body harm." " If you can help Bessie out of a few of her quag- mires, that will be a real charity," said Harold. "Other quagmires besides figures," murmured Mrs. Carrington. Harold looked mischievous, as he added, " And if you want to win Kath's heart, you only have to show yourself as much an adept at hat-trimming as at figures." " For the poor ? " asked Katie innocently. " I believe Uncle Thornton does count himself a necessitous individual; otherwise one wouldn't ex- actly describe his daughters as ' the poor ! ' " laughed Harold. Katie did not know what to make of Harold's jesting manner, seeing which he became graver and talked pleasantly on other matters for ten minutes or so. Then he said good-bye, and went off at a quick pace to catch his train, Mrs. Carrington ob- serving, "My dear, you must not misunderstand Harold. His high spirits are not flippancy. His is a life of hard work and self-denial; and I like to see my boy able to laugh merrily." " My father never jokes," AUNT CHATTY. 65 "No; Stephen was always of a serious nature. But don't let yourself think that fun is wrong, because your father is not given to it. 'A merry heart is a continual feast,' you know; or if you don't know, I should like you to learn the fact. You will find certain difficulties in your new home, Katie. I know my sister too well not to be assured of this beforehand. Some such difficulties it will be best to meet, if possible, lightly and cheerily, not in too desperately serious a manner." " Only if they should want if I should be told to do anything wrong " " Then, my dear, don't do it." CHAPTER VII. A COMING BIRTHDAY. JELL, Katie, what do you think of Auiit Chattie's Nutshell ? " asked Winnie. Twenty-four hours had passed since Katie's visit to Mrs. Carrington, and nobody had yet taken the trouble to make any inquiry on the subject. Katie felt the omission, accustomed as she was to a close exchange of thought with her father on any and every matter which interested either. It was a very wet afternoon, and Katie had been spending an hour in her bedroom, writing a long letter to Mr.Bulfour,and indulging in some saddened dreams of past days " old times," she called them already to herself, though so recent. Coming downstairs at about four o'clock, she found her aunt and three cousins in the drawing-room, Elizabeth alone being absent. Gracie's sofa had been drawn near the fire, for it was a chilly day. Kath sat beside her, wearing 66 A COMING BIRTHDAY. 67 a sunny face, and busily engaged with a heap of white India muslin. Winnie, on a low chair near, with elbows on knees and chin on hands, seemed to be giving alternate attention to a story-book, and to the movements of Kath's fingers. " Come near the fire, Katie, you look quite blue," Grace said kindly ; and almost immediately Winnie uttered the above question. " I think it is a dear little place," Katie answered warmly. " Tastes differ," pronounced Winnie. " / like a house, not a cottage. It's all spiders and crawly creatures, and the ceilings are horribly low. What do you think of Aunt Chattie herself. Queer! isn't she?" Katie was conscious of inspection from Mrs Balfour's black eyes, and she had difficulty in con- trolling a sense of shyness. " Mrs. Carrington was so very kind," she said, " one could not help liking loving her. She told me I might go in as often as I could." " Oh, then, Aunt Chattie has taken one of her fancies. Mother, Aunt Chattie has fallen in love with Katie ! " " Nonsense," was the only answer vouchsafed by Mrs. Balfour. " She has. You'll see, mother ! / know." 68 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. "Nonsense," repeated Mrs. Balfour, in a tone rather disdainful than displeased. " You'll see," repeated Winnie, nodding her head. "I don't see anything so very surprising, if she has taken a fancy to Katie," remarked Kath with quick and pleasant tact, seeing her cousin look un- comfortable. " She and Katie's father were always great friends. Katie, there are lots of books on that side-table. Wouldn't you like to choose one to read ? " "Very much," Katie began; and then she hesi- tated. " But couldn't I help you in your work ?" Kath glanced up, with the sweetest of graceful smiles. " To be sure you could ! What a kind creature you must be ! I should like some help immensely ; but Gracie is too ill, and Bessie is too good, and Winnie is too lazy." " I think needlework is horrible ! " declared Winnie. Katie brought her workbasket from a side-table, pondering in some perplexity over the expression, " Bessie is too good ; " but glad to find once more a prospect of being useful to somebody, even in a small degree. She was speedily supplied with a long narrow flounce to hem. " I'm sorry not to give you something more interesting," Kath said apologetically ; " but perhaps you won't mind. A COMING BIRTHDAY. 69 Something is wrong with our sewing-machine, or that wouldn't take long. I don't often venture to bring out this sort of work in the drawing-room ; only it is so wet. I think we are pretty secure against callers." " Is this an evening dress for yourself ? " asked Katie. " Yes, for the 29th. Oh, don't you know ? It is Gracie's birthday. She can't get out and be amused this winter, poor dear, so we are going to have a big party of friends. I want to get my own dress done, father has just given it to me, and then I shall have plenty of time for Gracie's. Father has given her a new one, too, for the occasion, the prettiest pale blue silk, and she will look lovely in it. She must be well that evening, and able to enjoy herself. I'm going to make the dress myself, for nobody fits Gracie as I do. I don't mean to let her look too thin. Everybody is coming, and Gracie is to be our Queen, are you not, darling ? It will do you lots of good." Kath paused in her work, to lean over the couch for a kiss. Gracie brightened up, and grew flushed and eager, in the anticipation of her birthday party. Katie thought of certain words spoken by Bessie and Mrs. Carrington, and wondered silently. The 70 LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. first week of November was not yet over; and how could any one tell what might be Grade's state before the end of the month ? This question came before her, as she noted Grade's frail look and transparent hands. " Katie, you look as solemn as a judge," said Kath quickly ; and Katie met a peculiar warning glance, which told her that she was gazing at poor Grade too solicitously. " I'm afraid you don't like such a long seam," continued Kath. " Oh yes, indeed ; I like work very much," said Katie hurriedly. " What shall you wear on the 29th, Katie ? " asked her youngest cousin. " My evening dress, I suppose. I only have one." " What ! that old thing that you wore yesterday evening ! " " My father could not afford to buy me another," said Katie gently. " I am very sorry ; but his going abroad costs so much. If that dress won't do, I can easily stay up in my room for one evening." Katie suddenly found her eyes full, and one or two large drops fell. She looked up at Grace, trying to smile. " I am not crying about a dress ; please don't think so," she faltered. " It doesn't matter in the least ; and nobody would miss me. I shouldn't mind ; indeed I shouldn't. It's only only about my father." A COMING BIRTH DA Y. " Yes, \ve know, dear," said Grace, in a soft tone. " Poor girl ! It won't seem so hard to bear in a few days. But you mustn't talk of staying upstairs on my birthday evening, for I should not like that at all." "Don't you have an allowance?" asked Winnie bluntly. " Father said he would send me something five pounds, perhaps by-and-by. He could not just now," Katie said, with some difficulty ;