THE RECTORY CHILDREN

BY MRS MOLESWORTH

ILLUSTRATED BY

WALTER CRANE

[Illustration: 'It's the sun going to bed, you know, dear. ' P. 37. ]

 London MACMILLAN AND CO. , LIMITED NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1897

 TO MY NIECE AND GOD-DAUGHTER Helen Louisa Delves Walthall

 85 LEXHAM GARDENS _Shrove Tuesday_, 1889. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE CHAPTER I THE PARLOUR BEHIND THE SHOP 1

 CHAPTER II THOSE YOUNG LADIES 18

 CHAPTER III A TRYING CHILD 34

 CHAPTER IV BIDDY HAS SOME NEW THOUGHTS 51

 CHAPTER V CELESTINA 66

 CHAPTER VI THE WINDOW IN THE WALL 83

 CHAPTER VII ON THE SEASHORE 99

 CHAPTER VIII A NICE PLAN 117

 CHAPTER IX A SECRET 134

 CHAPTER X BIDDY'S ESCAPADE 151

 CHAPTER XI AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 169

 CHAPTER XII ANOTHER BIRTHDAY 186

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE '----and--oh, Alie, I have so torn my frock, and it's my afternoon one--my new merino' 27

 'Little girl, ' she called, when she got close to the other child 75

 'It's like a magic-lantern; no, I mean a peep-show' 89

 'I would like to go there, ' she said 115

 A secret 148

 ----carrying between them a little dripping figure, with streaming hair, white face, and closed eyes 161

 'Now, Biddy. Open your eyes' 195

 'O little hearts! that throb and beat, With such impatient, feverish heat, Such limitless and strong desires. '--LONGFELLOW. 

THE RECTORY CHILDREN

CHAPTER I

THE PARLOUR BEHIND THE SHOP

 'I was very solitary indeed. ' (_Visit to the Cousins_). --MARY LAMB. 

The blinds had been drawn down for some time in the back parlour behindMr. Fairchild's shop in Pier Street, the principal street in the littletown of Seacove. And the gas was lighted, though it was not turned upvery high. It was a great thing to have gas; it had not been known atSeacove till recently. For the time of which I am writing is now a goodmany years ago, thirty or forty at least. 

Seacove, though a small place, was not so out-of-the-way in somerespects as many actually larger towns, for it was a seaport, though nota very important one. Ships came in from all parts of the globe, andsailed away again in due course to the far north, and still farther offsouth; to the great other world of America, too, no doubt, and to theancient eastern lands. But it was the vessels going to or coming fromthe strange mysterious north--the land of everlasting snow, where thereindeer and, farther north still, the white bear have their home, andwhere the winter is one long, long night--it was somehow the thought ofthe north that had the most fascination for the little girl who wassitting alone in the dull parlour behind the shop this late Novemberevening. And among the queer outlandish-looking sailors who from time totime were to be seen on the wharf or about the Seacove streets, now andthen looking in to buy a sheet of paper and an envelope in her father'sshop, it was the English ones belonging to the whalers or to the herringsmacks bound for the north who interested Celestina by far the most. 

This evening she was not thinking of sailors or ships or anything likethat; her mind was full of her own small affairs. She had got two newdolls, quite tiny ones--Celestina did not care for big dolls--and longas the daylight lasted she had been perfectly happy dressing them. Butthe daylight was gone now--it was always rather in a hurry to saygood-night to the back parlour--and the gas was too dim for her to seeclearly by, even if she had had anything else to do, which she had not, till mother could give her a scrap or two for the second dolly's frock. It was mother she was longing for. She wanted to show her the hats andcloaks she had made out of some tiny bits for both the dollies--thecloaks, that is to say, for the hats were crochet-work, crocheted inpink cotton. Celestina's little fingers were very clever at crochet. 

'Oh, mother, mother, ' she said half aloud, '_do_ come. '

She had drawn back the little green baize curtain which hung before thesmall window between the shop and the parlour, and was peering in, hernose flattened against the glass. She was allowed to do this, but shewas not allowed to run out and in of the shop without leave, and at thistime of the day, or evening, even when there were few customers, sheknew that her father and mother were generally busy. There were lateparcels to put up for the little errand-boy to leave on his way home;there was the shop to tidy, and always a good many entries to make inthe big ledger. Very often there were letters to write and send off, ordering supplies needed for the shop, or books not in stock, which somecustomer had asked for. 

It was a bookseller's and stationer's shop; the only one worthy of thename at Seacove. And Mr. Fairchild did a pretty good business, thoughcertainly, as far as the actual _book_ part of it was concerned, peopleread and bought far fewer books thirty years ago than now. And bookswere much dearer. People wrote fewer letters too; paper and envelopeswere dearer also. Still, one way and another it was not a bad businessof its kind in a modest way, though strict economy and care wererequired to make a livelihood out of it. And some things had made thismore difficult than would otherwise have been the case. Delicate healthperhaps most of all. Mr. Fairchild was not very strong, and littleCelestina had been fragile enough as a baby and a tiny girl, though nowshe was growing stronger. No wonder that a great share of both work andcare fell on Celestina's mother, and this the little girl alreadyunderstood, and tried always to remember. 

But it was dull and lonely sometimes. She had few companions, and forsome months past she had not gone to school, as a rather serious illnesshad made her unable to go out in bad weather. She did not mind thismuch; she liked to do lessons by herself, for father or mother tocorrect when they had time, and there was no child at school she caredfor particularly. Still poor Celestina was pining for companionshipwithout knowing it. Perhaps, though mother said little, she understoodmore about it than appeared. 

And 'Oh, mother, mother, _do_ come, ' the child repeated, as she peeredthrough the glass. 

There were one or two customers in the shop still. One of them Celestinaknew by sight. It was Mr. Redding, the organist of the church. He waschoosing some music-paper, and talking as he did so, but the pair ofears behind the window could not hear what he said, though by his mannerit seemed something not only of interest to himself but to his hearersalso. 

'I wish I could hear what he's saying, ' thought the little maiden, 'ormost of all, I _wish_ he'd go and that other man too--oh, he's going, but Mr. Redding is asking for something else now! Oh, if only motherwould come, or if I might turn on the gas higher. I think it would benicer to have candles, like Fanny Wells has in her house. Gas is onlynice when it's very high turned on, and mother says it costs such a lotthen. I _do_ so want to show mother the cloaks and hats. '

She turned back at last, wearied of waiting and watching. The fire wasburning brightly, that was some comfort, and Celestina sat down on therug in front of it, propping her two little dolls against the fender. 

'To-morrow, ' she said to herself, 'as soon as I've made a frock forEleanor, I'll have a tea-party. Eleanor and Amy shall be new friendscoming to tea for the first time--if _only_ the parlour chairs weren'ttoo big for the table!' she sighed deeply. 'They can't look nice and_real_, when they're so high up that their legs won't go underneath. People don't make our tables and chairs like that--I don't see why theycan't make doll-house ones properly. Now, if I was a carpenter I'd makea doll-house just like a real house--I could make it so nice. '

She began building doll-houses--her favourite castles in the air--inimagination. But now and then she wanted another opinion, there wereknotty points to decide. As 'all roads, ' according to the old proverb, 'lead to Rome, ' so all Celestina's meditations ended in the old cry, 'Ifonly mother would come. '

The door opened at last--gently, so gently that the little girl knew itcould be no one else but mother. She sprang up. 

'Oh, mother, I am so glad you've come. I've been so tired waiting. I doso want to show you the cloaks and hats, and _can_ you give me a bit tomake Amy's frock? She looks so funny with a cloak and hat and no frock. '

'I will try to find you a scrap of something when I go upstairs, ' motherreplied. 'But just now I must see about getting tea ready. Father istired already, and he has a good deal to do this evening still. Yes, youhave made the cloaks very nice, and the little hats too. I'll turn upthe gas so as to see better. '

Celestina gave in without a murmur to waiting till after tea for thepiece of stuff she longed for so ardently, and she set to work in aneat, handy way to help her mother with the tea-table. They understoodeach other perfectly, these two, though few words of endearment passedbetween them, and caresses were rare. People were somewhat colder inmanner at that time than nowadays perhaps; much petting of children wasnot thought good for them, and especially in the case of an only child, parents had great fear of 'spoiling. ' But no one who looked at Mrs. Fairchild's sweet face as her eyes rested lovingly on her little girlcould have doubted for a moment her intense affection. She had a verysweet face; Celestina thought there never could be anybody prettier thanmother, and I don't know that she was far wrong. If she ever thought ofherself at all--of her looks especially--it was to hope that some dayshe might grow up to be 'like mother. '

Tea was ready--neatly arranged on the table, though all was of theplainest, a little carefully-made toast to tempt father's uncertainappetite the only approach to luxury--when Mr. Fairchild came in and satdown in the one arm-chair rather wearily. He was a tall thin man, and hestooped a good deal. He had a kindly though rather nervous and carewornface and bright intelligent eyes. 

'Redding is full of news as usual, ' he said, as Mrs. Fairchild handedhim his tea. 'He is a good-natured man, but I wish he wouldn't talkquite so much. '

'He had some excuse for talking this evening, ' said Celestina's mother;'it is news of importance for every one at Seacove, and of course itmust affect Mr. Redding a good deal. I shall be glad if the newclergyman is more hearty about improving the music. '

Celestina so far had heard without taking in the drift of theconversation, but at the last words she pricked up her ears. 

'Is there going to be a new clergyman--is old Dr. Bunton going away, mother?' she asked eagerly, though the moment after she reddenedslightly, not at all sure that she was not going to be told that 'littlegirls should not ask questions. ' But both Mr. And Mrs. Fairchild wereinterested in the subject--I think for once they forgot that Celestinawas only 'a little girl. '

'Yes, ' the mother replied; 'he is giving up at last. That has been knownfor some weeks, but it is only to-day that it has been known who is tosucceed him. Mr. Vane, that is the name, is it not?' she added, turningto her husband. 

'The Reverend Bernard Vane, at present vicar of St. Cyprian's, somewherein the west end of London--that is Redding's description of him, ' Mr. Fairchild replied. 'I don't know how a fashionable London clergymanwill settle down at Seacove, nor what his reasons are for coming here, I'm sure. I hope the change will be for good. '

But his tone showed that he was not at all certain that it would proveso. 

'Is he married?' asked Celestina's mother. 'Oh yes, by the bye, Iremember Mr. Redding spoke of children, but old Captain Deal came injust as he was telling more and I could not hear the rest. '

'There are several children and Mrs. Vane a youngish lady still, hesaid. The old Rectory will want some overhauling before they come to it, I should say, ' remarked Mr. Fairchild. 'It must be nigh upon forty yearssince Dr. Bunton came there, and there's not much been done in the wayof repairs, save a little whitewashing now and then. The doctor and Mrs. Bunton haven't needed much just by themselves--but a family's different;they'll be needing nurseries and schoolrooms and what not, especially ifthey have been used to grand London ways. '

Celestina had been turning her bright brown eyes from one parent toanother in turn as they spoke. 

'Is London much grander than Seacove?' she asked. 'I thought the Rectorywas such a fine house. '

Mrs. Fairchild smiled. 

'It might be made very nice. There's plenty of room any way. And manyclergymen's families are very simple and homely. '

'I wonder if there are any little girls, ' said Celestina. 'And do youthink they'll go to Miss Peters's to school, mother?'

Her father turned on her rather sharply. 

'Dear me, no, child. Of course not, ' he said. 'Miss Peters's is wellenough for plain Seacove folk, but don't you be getting any nonsense inyour head of setting up to be the same as ladies' children. Mrs. Vanecomes of a high family, I hear; there will be a French ma'amselle of agoverness as like as not. '

Celestina looked at her father with a world of puzzle in her eyes, herlittle pale face with a red spot of excitement on each cheek. But shewas not the least hurt by her father's words. She simply did notunderstand them: what are called 'class distinctions' were quite unknownto her innocent mind. Had she been alone with her mother she might haveasked for some explanation, but she was too much in awe of her father toquestion him. 

Her mother turned to her somewhat abruptly. 

'I want some more water; the kettle, Celestina love, ' she said; and asthe little girl brought it, 'I will explain to you afterwards, but don'tsay any more. Father is tired, ' she whispered. 

And Celestina quickly forgot all about it; the sight of Eleanor and Amystill reposing on the hearthrug as she replaced the kettle drove out ofher mind all thoughts of the possible little Misses Vane. 

After tea, when the things were cleared away and Celestina had helpedher mother to make the room look neat and comfortable again, fox thelittle servant in the kitchen was seldom seen in the parlour, as shefidgeted Mr. Fairchild by her awkward clattering ways, Mrs. Fairchildwent upstairs to fetch some sewing that needed seeing to. 

'I will look for a scrap or two for you, ' she said to Celestina as shewent. 'But I'm not sure that you should sew any more to-night. It'strying for your eyes. '

'And what about your sums, child?' said her father. 'Have you done all Iset you?'

'Yes, father, and I've read the chapter of _Little Arthur's History_too, ' Celestina replied. 

'Well, then, ' said Mr. Fairchild, drawing his chair nearer to the tableagain--he had pushed it close to the fire--'bring your slate and yourbooks. I'll correct the sums and set you some more, and then we'll havea little history. I will question you first on the chapter you have readto yourself. '

Celestina could not help an appealing glance at her mother--she had thetwo little dolls in her hand, poor Amy still looking very deplorable inher skirt-less condition. Mrs. Fairchild understood her though no wordwas spoken. 

'I thought you were going back to write in the shop, ' she said gently toher husband. 'The stove is still hot. '

'I am too tired, ' he replied, and indeed he looked so. 'There is nothingso very pressing, and it's too late for the London post. No--I wouldrather take Celly's lessons; it will be a change. '

Mrs. Fairchild said no more, nor did Celestina--father's word was law. The little girl did not even look cross or doleful, though she gave atiny sigh as she fetched her books. She was a docile pupil, thoughtfuland attentive, though not peculiarly quick, and Mr. Fairchild, in spiteof his rather nervously irritable temper, was an earnest and intelligentteacher. The sums were fairly correct and the multiplication table wasrepeated faultlessly. But when it came to the history Celestina was lessready and accurate in her replies. 

'My dear, ' said her mother, who had sat down beside them with her sewingby this time, 'you are not giving your full attention. I can see you arethinking of something else. If it is anything you do not understand askfather to explain it. '

'Certainly, ' Mr. Fairchild agreed. 'There is nothing worse than givinghalf attention. What are you thinking about, child?'

Celestina looked up timidly. 

'It wasn't anything in the lesson--at least not exactly, ' she said. 'Butwhen father asked me who was the king of France then, it made me thinkof what father said about a French ma'amselle, and I wondered what itmeant. '

'Ma'amselle, ' said her father, 'is only our English way of saying"mademoiselle, " which means a miss, a young lady. '

'But those young ladies, the Rectory young ladies, aren't French, 'Celestina said. 

'Of course not. What I meant was that very likely they have a Frenchgoverness. It's the mode nowadays when every one wants to speak Frenchwell. '

'Oh, ' said Celestina, 'I didn't understand. I'd like to hear somebodyspeak French, ' she added. 'Did you ever hear it, mother?'

'Yes, ' Mrs. Fairchild replied. 'When I was a girl there was a Frenchlady came to live near us that I was very fond of; and she was very kindto us. She sent me a beautiful present when I married. I called youafter her, you know, Celestina--I'm sure I've told you that before. Hername was Célestine. '

'I remember, ' the little girl replied; 'but I forgot about her beingFrench. I would like to see her, mother. '

'I do not know if she is still alive, ' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'She must bean old lady by now, if so. She went back to France many years ago; shewas in England with her husband, who had some business here. They had nochildren, and she was always asking mother to let her adopt me. Butthough there were so many of us, mother couldn't make up her mind tospare one. '

'Things would have turned out pretty different for you, Mary, if shehad. You'd have been married to a French "mounseer" by now, ' and helaughed a little, as if there was something exceedingly funny in theidea. Mr. Fairchild did not often laugh. 

'Maybe, ' his wife replied, smiling. 

'I do hope they'll have a French governess, ' said Celestina. 

'Who? oh, the Miss Vanes, ' said her father. 'Why, you _are_ putting thecart before the horse, child! We don't even know that the new clergymanhas any daughters--his family may be all boys. Besides, I don't knowwhen you'd be likely to see them or their governess either. '

'They'd be sure to come to the shop sometimes, father, ' Celestinareplied eagerly. 'Even old Mrs. Bunton does--I've often seen her. Andthere's no other shop for books and stationery at Seacove. '

Mr. Fairchild smiled at the pride with which she said this. 

'It would be a bad job for me if there were, ' he said, 'for as it isthere's barely custom for a shop of the kind, ' and an anxious look cameover his face. But Mrs. Fairchild reminded him that if they did notfinish the chapter of _Little Arthur_ quickly, it would be Celestina'sbedtime, so the talk changed to the Black Prince and his exploits. 

CHAPTER II

THOSE YOUNG LADIES

 'Leave me alone--I want to cry; It's no use trying to be good. '--ANON. 

Six weeks or so later--Christmas and New Year's day were past; it wasthe middle of January by this time--a little group of children mighthave been seen standing on the shore about half a mile from Seacove. 

Though midwinter, it was not very cold. There is a theory that it neveris very cold at the seaside. I cannot say that I have always found thisthe case, but it was so at Seacove. It lay in a sheltered position, outof the way of the east wind, and this was one reason why Mr. Vane haddecided to make it for a time the home of himself and his family. 

These were his children--the group on the seashore. Rumour hadexaggerated a little in saying he had 'several. ' There were but three ofthem, and of these three two were girls. So Celestina Fairchild'sthoughts about them had some foundation after all. 

'It looks just a little, a very little dreary, ' said the eldest of thethree, a girl of thirteen or so, slight and rather tall for her age, with a pretty graceful figure and pretty delicate features; 'but then ofcourse it's the middle of winter. Not that spring or summer would makemuch difference here; there are so very few trees. '

She glanced round her as she spoke. It was a bare, almostdesolate-looking stretch of country, down to the sea, which was stilland gray-looking this morning. Yet there was a strange charm about ittoo--the land, though by no means hilly, was undulating. Not far fromwhere the children stood there was a grand run of sand-hills, withcoarse, strong grass and a few hardy thistles, and, in its season, bindweed with its white and pinky flowers, growing along their summit. Farther off was a sort of skeleton-like erection, looking not unlike thegaunt remains of a deserted sail-less ship: this was a landmark orbeacon, placed there to point out a sudden turn in the coastline. Andout at sea, a mile or so distant, stood a lighthouse with a revolvinglantern; three times in each minute the bright light was to be seen assoon as night fell. A kind of natural breakwater ran out in a straightline to the lighthouse, so that in low tides--and the tides aresometimes very low at Seacove--it was difficult to believe but that youcould get on foot all the way to the lighthouse rock. 

But all these interesting particulars were not as yet known to Mr. Vane's children. They had arrived at Seacove Rectory only the nightbefore. 

The boy--he was next in age to his elder sister Rosalys--followed thedirection of her glance. 

'No, ' he said, 'there's very few trees, certainly. But I think it'sgoing to be very jolly all the same. When I get my pony _I'll_ be allright any way; and on Saturdays, or odd half-holidays--there always areodd half-holidays at every school, you know--I'll take you girls out adrive in that funny little donkey-chaise, or whatever it is, that'sstanding in the coach-house. '

'I don't fancy there are many places to drive to, ' Rosalys replied. 'Papa said there would be no use in having any sort of proper carriage. The only good road is the one to your school, Rough, and you'll haveenough of that morning and evening. '

'Papa said Seacove was a--I can't remember the word--somethingFrench--cool--cul----'

'_Cul-de-sac_, ' said Rosalys; 'leading to nowhere, that means. '

'Except to the sea, I suppose, ' added the little girl who had stumbledat the French word. 'It would be nice to have a ship of our own insteadof a carriage. Don't you think we might ask papa to get us one?'

'A _ship_, Biddy--I suppose you mean a boat, ' said Rosalys, in a rather'superior' tone. 'No; I don't fancy papa would trust us to go about in aboat. Mamma would be frightened out of her wits about us. '

'The sea looks _so_ quiet, ' said Bridget, gazing out at it. 'I don'tthink it could ever be tossy and soapy here like it used to be atRockcliffe. '

'Couldn't it just?' said Randolph. 'Wait a bit, Bride. It may look quieton a day like this, and inside the shelter of the bay, but I can tellyou there's jolly rough work outside there sometimes. I was talking toan old sailor this morning when I ran out before breakfast. '

'I'd like to see a shipwreck--I mean, ' as she caught sight of a shockedexpression on her sister's face--'I mean of course one that nobody wouldbe drowned in. '

'But how could any one be sure of that? You should be more careful whatyou say, Bride; you are so heedless. '

Bridget's face puckered up. It was rather given to puckering up, funnylittle face that it was. She was eight years old, short and ratherstout, with thick, dark hair and a freckled complexion. Her nose turnedup and her mouth was not small. But she was not ugly; she had merry grayeyes and very white teeth. Somehow, thorough little English girl thoughshe was, she reminded one of the small Savoyard boys one sees with a boxof marmots slung in front of them, or a barrel organ and a monkey. 

'I didn't mean to say anything naughty, Alie, ' she began, in a plaintivetone. 'I'm always----'

'Oh, come now, Biddy, stop that, do, ' said her brother; 'don't spoil thefirst morning by going off into a howl for nothing. No one supposes youwanted to drown a lot of people for the sake of watching a shipwreck, only, as Alie says, you should be more careful. Strangers might thinkyou a very queer little girl if they heard you say such a thing. '

Bridget still looked melancholy, but she did not venture to complain anymore. She was a good deal in awe of Rough, who was twelve and a big boyfor his age. He had been at school for two years, and now he was goingas a day-scholar to a large and very excellent public school, which wasonly about two miles from Seacove, quite in the country. Mr. Vane hadbought a pony for him to ride backwards and forwards, so Randolph was incapital spirits. But he was not an unkind or selfish boy, and though hispet name 'Rough' suited him sometimes as regarded his manners, his heartwas gentle. And indeed the name had been given to him at first onaccount of his thick shaggy hair, as a very little boy. 

'It's rather cold standing about, ' said Rosalys. 'Don't you think we'dbetter walk on or take a run?'

'Let's have a race, ' said Rough. 'The sand's nice and firm about here. I'll give you a good start, Alie, and Biddy can run on in front and waittill we call to her that we're off. '

Bridget trotted off as she was told, obediently. She did not care muchfor running. Her legs were short and she was rather fat, but she didnot like to complain. She ran on, though slowly, till at last Randolphshouted to her to stop. Then she stood still waiting till he called toher again, for he and Rosalys took some time to settle how much of astart Alie was to have--from where she stood, Biddy heard them talkingand measuring. 

'I wish they wouldn't run races, ' thought the little girl. 'They're sobig compared with me--they've such much longer legs. I shan't likeSeacove if they're going always to run races. In London they couldn't inthe streets; it was only when we went in the gardens, and that wasn'tevery day, it was too far to go. I wish I had a brother or a sisterlittler than me; it's too much difference between Alie and me, thirteenand eight. I wish----'

But here came a whoop from behind. 

'Off, Biddy; look sharp--one, two, three. '

Poor Biddy--off she set as fast as she _could_ go, which is not sayingmuch. She puffed and panted, for she was not without a spirit of her ownand did not want to be overtaken _too_ soon. And for a time Rough'scries of encouragement, 'Gee-up, old woman, ' 'Famous, Biddy, ' 'You'llwin yet, ' and so on, spurred her to fresh exertions. But not for long;she felt her powers flagging, and as first Alie and then Rough, bothapparently as fresh as ever, passed her at full speed, she gave in. 

'It's no use. I can't run races. I wish you wouldn't make me, ' she said, as in a minute or two the two others came flying back again to where shestood, a convenient goal for their return race. 

'But you ran splendidly for a bit, ' said Randolph; 'and I'll tell youwhat, Biddy, it would be a very good thing for you to run a good dealmore than you do. It'll make you grow and stop you getting too fat. '

'I'm not fatter than you were when you were as little as me, Roughie. Nurse says so--you were a regular roundabout till you had the measles;mamma says so too, ' replied Bridget philosophically. 

'I'm quite hot, ' said Rosalys; 'fancy being hot in January! But we'dbetter not stand still or we'll get a chill. Isn't it nice to come outalone? I'd like to walk to Seacove--I want to see what it's like, but ofcourse we mustn't go so far. Mamma said we must stay on the shore. '

'If it was summer we might dig and make sand-castles, ' said Biddyregretfully. Digging in the sand was an amusement much more to her tastethan running races. 

'I think that's stupid--it's such baby play, ' Rosalys replied. 'But comeon, do. I'm going to climb up to the top of that bank--that's thesand-hills papa was speaking about. '

It was more tiring work than she had expected. Before they got to thetop of the bank Alie had decided that they would have done better toremain where they were, on the smooth firm sand down below, but once atthe top she changed again. What fun can be more delightful than playingin sand-hills, jumping from a miniature summit to the valley beneathwith no fear of hurting one's self even if one comes to grief and rollsignominiously as far as one can go! How helplessly one wades in theshifting, unstable footing--tumbling over with a touch, like a housebuilt of cards! The children's laughter sounded merrily in the clearcold air; Bridget plunged about like a little porpoise in the water, andRosalys quite forgot that she had attained the dignity of her teens. 

But a bell ringing suddenly some little way off caught their ears. 

'That's papa ringing, ' said Randolph. 'He said he'd have the bigdinner-bell rung when it was time for me to go in. I'm going to walk tothe town or the village, or whatever it is, with him. Good-bye, girls. It's only three o'clock--you can stay another half-hour, ' and offhe ran. 

'Let's go down to the shore again, ' said Alie. 'Mamma said _perhaps_she'd come out a little, and she'd never see us up here. '

Bridget hung back a little. 

'I daresay she won't come out, ' she said. 'Do stay up here, Alie. Ifmamma comes out she'll only talk to you and I'll be all alone. I don'twant her. '

'Oh, Bride, that's not nice. I'm sure mamma likes to talk to you too, only you see I'm older, and there's often things you wouldn't understandabout perhaps, and----'

'I know--it's always the same. I'm too little to be any use. I knowyou're older and sensibler, and I don't mean that mamma's not kind. Butfamilies should be settled better--and--oh, Alie, I have so torn myfrock, and it's my afternoon one--my new merino. '

[Illustration: '--and--oh, Alie, I have so torn my frock, and its myafternoon one--my new merino. ' P. 27. ]

Rosalys looked much concerned. 

'_What_ a pity!' she exclaimed. 'I wish we hadn't played in the sand. But really, Biddy, you are very unlucky. I've been jumping just as muchas you, and I've got no harm. '

'You never do--I don't know how it is that I always get torn, ' saidBride dolefully. 'And oh, Alie, there is mamma'--they were down on theshore by this time, coming down being a much speedier affair thanclimbing up, --'she will be so vexed, for I've got this frock new, extrato yours, you know, because of the stain on the other the day I spilt mytea all down it. I am so sorry, Alie. Could you pin it up?'

Rosalys stooped to examine the damage. It was not _very_ great, stillunder the circumstances of its being a new frock, it was vexing enough. 

'You've got it so sandy, too--that makes it look worse, ' said the eldersister, giving the unlucky skirt a shake as she spoke. 

'I wish mamma hadn't come out, ' said Bridget. 'Then I could have got itbrushed and mended before I told her, but perhaps it's best to tell atonce, ' and she gave a little sigh. 

'Much best, ' her sister agreed, and they went on to meet their mother. Suddenly Bride gave a little cry of satisfaction. 

'Oh, Smut's with mamma, ' she exclaimed. 'I'm so glad. You can walk withmamma alone then, Alie, and Smut and I will come after you. I'm alwaysquite happy with Smuttie--I wish he was my very own. '

It was rather unlucky that just as they got up to Mrs. Vane, Bridget wasso occupied in calling to Smut, who came careering forward to meet thegirls, that the dilapidated frock went quite out of her mind. At thefirst moment her mother did not notice it. 

'Well, dears, here I am!' she began brightly. 'I got my letters finishedmore quickly than I expected. What a quantity of things there are toorder when one first comes to a new house! And I do so miss M'Creagh!Did you see me coming, Alie darling?'

'Yes, mamma--not very far off though. We were up on the sand-hills whenpapa rang for Rough, and----'

But Mrs. Vane interrupted her. 

'Oh, Bridget, ' she exclaimed in a tone of vexation, 'what have you beendoing to yourself? Do you see, Alie? Her skirt is torn from top tobottom--the stuff torn, not the seam. And so dirty. Your new frocktoo--really, child, you are too provoking. '

Biddy's round rosy face grew longer and redder, and her eyes filled withtears. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rosalys came before her. 

'It isn't so very bad, dear mamma, ' she said eagerly. 'I've beenlooking at it. It looks worse because of the sand, but it isn't reallydirty; it will brush off. She rolled down one of the sand-hills. I'mafraid it was my fault. It was my idea to play about there. '

Mrs. Vane glanced at Alie's own garments. 

'Your frock is none the worse, ' she said. 'I do not see that Bride needhave hurt hers if she had been the least careful. But you are soincorrigibly heedless, Bridget, and _so_ thoughtless. Why, you weredancing and jumping and calling to Smut when I met you as if there wasnothing the matter! I suppose you had forgotten all about your frockalready. '

Mrs. Vane's voice was rather sharp as she spoke thus to the little girl. It sounded quite differently from the bright sweet tone in which she hadgreeted them. And it did not seem to suit her to speak sharply. She wasvery pretty and sweet-looking, and she seemed young to be tall Alie'smother; indeed, people often said they looked more like sisters: stout, sturdy little Bridget was quite unlike them both. 

Rosalys looked up at her mother anxiously. She could not bear her to betroubled, and though she was sorry for Bridget, she was vexed with hertoo. She slipped her arm inside Mrs. Vane's and drew her on. 

'It's too cold to stand still, mamma dear, ' she said. 'Let us walk on tothat beautiful smooth piece of sand--it's rather stony just here. Biddy, take care of Smut. '

That meant, 'You may stay behind and keep out of the way a little. 'Biddy had no objection to do so. 

'Come, Smuttie, stay by me, ' she said coaxingly to the little shaggyblack dog. Smut was very fond of Bridget, who had a very big heart forall dumb animals. He wagged his tail and looked up in her face withinquiring sympathy, for he saw quite well that Biddy was in trouble. This was nothing new; many and many a time had the little girl buriedher tearful face in his rough coat and sobbed out her sorrows to him. They were never very big sorrows really, but they were big to her, andrendered bigger by the knowledge in her honest little heart that theywere generally and mostly, if not entirely, brought about by her ownfault. 

She could not stoop down to cry on Smut's back now; it would have riskedconsiderable more dirtying of her poor frock. But she stayed some waybehind her mother and sister, so that she might talk without beingoverheard by any one save her four-legged companion. 

'Smuttie, ' she said, 'I'm very unhappy. This is only the second day atSeacove and I've vexed mamma already. I made good resol---- never mind;_you_ know what I mean, Smut--to begin new here, and it's all gone. Idon't know what to do, Smuttie, I truly don't. Alie means to be kind, but it's quite easy for her to be good, I think. And it's no good metrying. It really isn't, so I think I'll just leave off and becomfortable. '

Smut looked up and wagged his tail. He was quite ready to agree withanything Biddy proposed, so long as she spoke cheerfully and did notcry. 

'Good little Smuttie, kind little Smut, ' said the child; 'you're so niceand understanding always. '

But Smut seemed restless; he fidgeted about in front of Bride, firstrunning a step or two, then stopping to wag his tail and look backappealingly at her in an insinuating doggy way of his own. Biddypretended not to know what he meant, but she could not long keep up thisfeint. 

'I do know what you want, ' she said at last with a sigh. 'It's a scamper, and I hate running, and I'm sure you know I do. But I suppose I must doit to please you. You won't roar after me like Rough, anyway. '

And off she set, her short legs exerting themselves valiantly forSmuttie's sake. He of course could have run much faster, but he was fartoo much of a gentleman to do so, and he stayed beside her, contentinghimself every now and then by stopping short to look up at her, with aquick cheery bark of satisfaction and encouragement. 

CHAPTER III

A TRYING CHILD

 'I think words are little live creatures, A species of mischievous elves. ' _Child Nature. _

Bride and Smuttie did not overtake Mrs. Vane and Rosalys, for they wererunning towards the sea, whereas the others were walking straight alongthe shore. But the dog's bark and the sound once or twice of the child'svoice speaking to him came clearly through the still winter air. 

Mrs. Vane stopped for a moment and looked after them. She and Alie hadbeen talking about Bridget as they walked. 

'There she is again, ' said her mother, 'as merry and thoughtless as canbe. That is the worst of her, Alie, you can make no impression on her. '

'I don't think it's quite that, mamma, ' Rosalys replied, 'though I knowit often seems so. She was really very, very sorry about her frock. Andshe's so young--she's not eight yet, mamma. '

'You were quite different at eight, ' answered Mrs. Vane. 'Justthink--that time I was so ill and papa was away. You were barely seven, and what a thoughtful, careful little body you were! I shall neverforget waking up early one morning and seeing a little white figurestealthily putting coal on the fire, which was nearly out; taking up thelumps with its own little cold hands not to make a noise. My good littleAlie!' and she stroked the hand that lay on her arm fondly. 

Rosalys smiled up at her. She loved her mother to speak so to her, butstill her heart was sore for Biddy. 

'I believe--I _know_ Biddy would be just as loving to you, mamma, if sheknew how, ' she said. 'But it is true that she's very provoking. Perhapsit would be different if she had brothers and sisters younger thanherself--then she'd _have_ to feel herself big and--as if it matteredwhat she did. '

'Responsible, you mean, ' said Mrs. Vane. 'Yes, that is the besttraining. But we can't provide small brothers and sisters ready-made forBiddy, and I am very well contented with the three I have got! It mightbe a good thing if she had some companions nearer her own age, but eventhat has its difficulties. Just think of the scrapes she got into thattime I sent her to your aunt's for a fortnight! Why, she was sent homein disgrace for--what was it for--I forget? Biddy's scrapes are somany. '

'For taking the two smallest children to bathe in the pond beforebreakfast, wasn't it?' said Alie. 

'Oh yes--after having half killed their valuable Persian cat by feedingit with cheese-cakes, or something of the kind, ' added Mrs. Vane. 

But she could not help smiling a little. Alie had already seen that shewas softening; whenever mamma called Bridget 'Biddy, ' she knew it was agood sign. 

'There is one comfort, ' said the elder sister, in her motherly way, 'Biddy has a _terribly_ kind heart. She is never naughty out of--out of_naughtiness_. But oh, mamma, let us wait a minute; the sunset isbeginning. '

And so indeed it was. Over there--far out, over the western sea, thecold, quiet, winter sea, the sun was growing red as he slowly sank, tillhe seemed to kiss the ocean, which glowed, blushing, in return. It wasall red and gray to-night--red and gray only, though there were grandlysplendid sunsets at Seacove sometimes, when every shade and colour whichlight can show to our eyes shone out as if a veil were drawn back fromthe mysterious glory we may but glimpse at. But the red and gray werevery beautiful in their way, and the unusual stillness, broken only bythe soft monotonous lap, lap, of the wavelets as they rippled themselvesinto nothing on the sand, seemed to suit the gentle tones of the sky. And some way off, nearer the sea, seeming farther away than they reallywere, as they stood right in the ruddy trail of light, were two littlefigures, both looking black by contrast, though in point of fact onlyone was so. They were Bridget and Smut, both apparently absorbed inadmiring the sunset. 

'Isn't it beautiful, Smuttie?' Biddy was saying. 'It's the sun going tobed, you know, dear. '

Smut wagged his tail. 

'It's so pretty, ' she continued, 'that it makes me think I'd like to begood. P'raps I'd better fix to try again after all--what do you think, Smut?'

Repeated and more energetic tail-wagging, accompanied this time by ashort sharp bark. Smut has had enough of the sunset and standing still;he wants to be off again. But Bride interprets his response in her ownway. 

'You think it would be better?--thank you, dear, for saying so. You areso nice, Smut, for always understanding. Well, I will then, and I'llbegin by telling mamma I'm dreadfully sorry about my frock. Good-night, sun--I wish I lived out in the lighthouse--one could see the sun rightdown in the sea out there, I should think. I wonder if he stays in thesea all night till he comes up at the other side in the morning? No--Idon't think he can though, for it says in my jography that it's sunshineat the other side of the world when it's night here, so he can't stay inthe sea. I must ask Alie--p'raps it's not the same sun as in London. '

She turned, followed by Smut, who, failing to persuade her to anotherscamper, consoled himself by poking his nose into the sand in search ofunknown dainties which I fear were not to be found. The pair came up toMrs. Vane and Rosalys, who seemed to be waiting for them. 

'Mamma, ' Biddy began, in a very contrite tone, 'I've been thinking andI want to tell you I am truly and really very, _very_ sorry about myfrock. I didn't mean not to seem sorry. I can't think how it got torn, for Alie didn't tear hers, and she was playing about just the same. '

'I don't know either, Biddy, ' said her mother. 'It is just the oldstory, you must be more careful. Perhaps, to go back to the beginning, it would have been better to change to an old frock if you meant to rompabout; _or_, it would have been better still perhaps, not to romp whenyou knew you had a good frock on. '

'That was my fault, mamma, ' Alie put in. 

'Well, we must try and get the mischief repaired, and let us hope itwill be a reminder to you, Biddy, every time you wear this frock. '

Bridget murmured something; she meant to be very good. But when she gota little behind her mother and Alie again she gave herself a shake. 

'I shouldn't like that at all, ' she thought. 'I should hate this frockif it was always to remind me. I think mamma is rather like the mamma in_Rosamund_ when she speaks that way, and I'm like Rosamund on her day ofmisfortunes, only all my days are days of misfortunes. But I do thinkI'm nicer than she was. '

As they reached the edge of the shore, where a gate opened into apathway through a field to the Rectory itself, Mrs. Vane stopped to lookacross once more at the sunset. 

'Yes, he is just going--just. Look, children. '

Alie turned too, but Biddy walked on. 

'I don't want to look again, ' she said. 'I've said good-night to himonce. '

Mrs. Vane glanced at Rosalys. 

'What's the matter now?' her glance seemed to say. 

Rosalys smiled back. 

'It isn't naughtiness, ' she whispered. 'It's only some fancy. '

And so it was. 

'I said good-night to him when I'd fixed to try to be good, ' Bride wassaying to herself, 'and if I look at him again now it'll undo thefixing. Besides, I've begun to feel a little naughty again already--Idon't like Rosamund's mamma. '

As they walked up the path, Smut, who was really Mrs. Vane's dog and hadgot his own ideas as to etiquette, returned to his mistress's side andtrotted along gravely. He knew that his chances of scampers were overfor the day, for not even the most ardent runner could have crossed thefield at full speed without coming to grief. It was rough and stony, and to call it a field was a figure of speech; the soil was nothing butsand, and the grass was of the coarsest. But the Rectory stood on ratherrising ground, and old Dr. Bunton and his wife had fortunately been fondof gardening. The lawn on the farther side of the house was veryrespectable, and more flowers and shrubs had been coaxed to grow thancould have been expected. Still, to newcomers fresh from a comfortabletown-house--and there is no denying that as far as comfort goes atown-house in winter has many advantages over a small country one--itdid look somewhat dreary and desolate. All the brightness had gone outof the sky by now; it loomed blue-gray behind the chimneys, and a faintmurmuring as of wind in the distance getting up its forces began to beheard. 

Mrs. Vane shivered a little. 

'I do hope your father and Randolph will be in soon, ' she said. 'It maybe very mild here, but it strikes me as chilly all the same. I reallydon't think it is wise to stay out so late, and it has been so almostunnaturally still all day, I shouldn't wonder if it was setting in forstormy weather. '

Biddy's eyes sparkled. 

'I would so like, ' she was beginning, but she suddenly checked herself. 'Are there always shipwrecks when there's storms?' she asked. 

'I fear so, ' her mother replied. 

'Then I mustn't like storms, I suppose, ' said the child. 'It's verytiresome--everything's made the wrong way. '

'Bridget, take care what you're saying, ' Mrs. Vane said almost sternly. 

Biddy's face did not pucker up, but a dark look came over it, takingaway all the pleasant brightness and the merry eagerness of the grayeyes. She did not often look like that, fortunately, for it made heralmost ugly. And though her face cleared a little after a while, stillit was gloomy, like the darkening sky outside, when she followed Aliedownstairs to tea, after they had taken off their things and the tornfrock had been changed. 

Things had hardly got into their regular order yet at Seacove Rectory. The Vanes had only been there three days, and every one knows that thetroubles of a removal, especially to a considerable distance, are verymuch aggravated when it takes place in midwinter. It was not to bewondered at that 'mamma' felt both tired and rather dispirited. She wasa little homesick too, for mammas can feel homesick as well as both boysand girls; and indeed I would not take upon myself to say that 'papas'are quite above this weakness either. Christmas time had been spent atMrs. Vane's old home, a warm, cheery, old-fashioned country-house, wheregrandpapa and grandmamma were still hale and hearty, and never so happyas when surrounded by their grandchildren. This old home of mamma's waswithin easy access of London too; no wonder, therefore, that the remoteseaside rectory seemed a kind of exile to Mrs. Vane, though the reasonsthat had made Mr. Vane accept the offer of Seacove had been veryimportant ones. 

Rosalys, and Randolph too, though in a less thoughtful way, understoodall this, and both of the elder children were anxious to help and cheertheir parents to the best of their ability. And as all children lovechange, and most children enjoy, for a time at least, the freedom andindependence of the country, it was much less trying for them than fortheir father and mother. To Bridget the idea of coming to livealtogether at the seaside was one of unmixed pleasure. She dearly lovedthe sea, and all she had hitherto known of it was in pleasant summerweather, and at a bright amusing little place called Rockcliffe. Seacove was certainly not exactly what she had expected; still, sand-hills and a great stretch of splendid shore were not to bedespised. I feel sure, however, that young as she was she would havesympathised with her mother, and tried 'extra' hard not to vex her, hadshe known more about it all. But very little had been explained to her;indeed, Rosalys had been forbidden to say much about the reasons for thechange to her little sister. 'She is such a baby for her age, and soheedless, ' said Mrs. Vane. In treating Bride thus, I think her mothermade a mistake. 

The children's tea was laid out in the dining-room, for the schoolroomwas still in a chaotic state, and Miss Millet, the governess, was notcoming back for another week yet. And in the meantime mamma, and papatoo, sometimes had tea with the little girls and Randolph. 

The fire was burning brightly and the table looked inviting when Mrs. Vane came downstairs. Alie had hurried down to see to it all; she knewwhat a difference a little care makes sometimes--how a crumpled-lookingtable-cloth or untidily placed dishes will add to low spirits when anyone is not feeling as bright and cheerful as usual. There were stillsome of grandmamma's good things, which she had had packed in a hamperfor the first start at the new rectory--home-made cakes and honey andfresh butter, the very sight of which made one hungry!

Rosalys glanced at her mother, and was pleased to see that the sweetface looked rather brighter and less anxious as she stood for a momentat the fire warming her hands. 

'There is one comfort in this house, inconvenient though it is in manyways, ' said Mrs. Vane, 'the chimneys don't smoke. And close to the seaas it is, one could scarcely have wondered if they had done so. If onlyit really does your father as much good as the doctors said, I am sureI shall get to like it. '

'Yes indeed, ' Alie agreed. 'Mamma dear, won't you sit down and let mepour out your tea?'

'The wind is really rising, ' said Mrs. Vane. 'I wish they would comein--papa and Rough. It would be such a pity if he caught cold, ' sheadded with a little sigh. 

Something in the tone and the sigh caught Biddy's attention. She wassitting at the table more silent than usual, very much absorbed, infact, with her own grievances. What did mamma mean?

'Is papa ill?' she asked abruptly. 

Alie glanced at her, frowning slightly. Her mother turned quickly. 

'What a strange question to ask, Bride, ' she said; 'it is just likeyou--you cannot but know that papa is not at all strong. '

Biddy looked puzzled. 'Strong' to her meant vaguely being able to liftheavy weights, or things of that kind. 

'I didn't know he was _ill_, ' she replied. 'I didn't know big peoplewere ill except for going to die, like our 'nother grandmamma. Papa'shad the measles and chicken-pox when he was little, hasn't he? I thoughtit was only children that could be ill to get better like that. '

Mrs. Vane glanced at Rosalys in a sort of despair. But before Alie couldsay anything to smooth matters, her mother called Bridget from her seatand made her stand before her. 

'Bridget, ' she said, 'I don't know what to say to you. Have you no heartor feeling at all? How _can_ you say such things. I do not believe inyour not understanding; you can understand when you choose, and you arenearly eight years old. You must know how miserably anxious I have beenand still am about your father; you _must_ know it is for his health wehave come to this strange, dreary place, away from every one we carefor, and you can talk in that cold-hearted, cold-blooded way about dyingand not getting better and--and----' Mrs. Vane's voice trembled andquivered. She seemed almost as if she were going to cry. Alie came andstood beside her, gently putting her arm round her mother and lookingdaggers at Bride. Mamma was nervous and over-tired, she knew; she hadhad so much to go through lately. How could Biddy be so naughty andunfeeling? And yet, as the words passed through her mind, Rosalyshesitated. Biddy was not really unfeeling--it was not the word for her. It was more as if she would not take the trouble to feel or tounderstand anything that was not her own special concern; there was aqueer kind of laziness about her, which led to selfishness. It was as ifher mind and heart were asleep sometimes. 

But she could feel. Her face was all puckered up now; there was notemper or sullenness about it, but real pale-faced distress. 

'Mamma, ' she said brokenly, 'I didn't, oh, truly, I didn't mean it thatway. I know papa isn't old enough to die; but I thought he was too bigto be ill like that. '

'Biddy, ' said Alie sternly, 'you are talking nonsense again. You knowbig people are ill often, and sometimes they get better and sometimesthey die. Don't you remember Mrs. Hay--Meta Hay's mamma? She was illand----'

'Yes, I quite forgot, ' exclaimed Biddy eagerly; 'I didn't think. Yes, Meta's mamma was very ill, and she died. I wish I'd remembered; and shewasn't at all old like Grandmamma Vane. '

She spoke almost cheerfully. Again Mrs. Vane glanced at her elderdaughter. 

'It's no use, ' she was beginning, but Alie interrupted. How she wishedthe unfortunate Mrs. Hay had not been the first instance to occur toher!

'_Children_ get ill and die too sometimes, ' Alie went on, 'and bigpeople very often get better. There was Captain Leonard next door to usat home----'

'And--I know--the boy-that-brought-the-potatoes' papa, ' cried Biddy. 'I_am_ so glad I thought of him. I was in the kitchen one morning fetchingsand for Tweetums's cage and he came in, and cook asked how was hispapa, and he said, "Finely better, I thank ye, mum. " I think cook saidhe was a _Hirish_ boy, ' Bridget hurried on in her excitement--and whenshe was excited I am afraid her 'h's' were apt to suffer--Mrs. Vanegasped! 'I am _so_ glad I thought of him. Papa will get better like thepotato boy's father. I'll say it in my prayers. Dear mamma, I won'tforget. And I _will_ try to be good and not tear my frocks nor speakwithout thinking. '

The tears were coming now, but Biddy knew mamma did not like her tobegin to cry, and truly it was no wonder, for once she began it was byno means easy to say when she would leave off! She choked them down aswell as she could. And the little face, hot and flushed now, was timidlyraised to her mother's for a kiss of forgiveness. 

It was not refused, but a sigh accompanied it, which went to the child'sheart. But there was no time for more, as at that moment the hall doorwas heard to open and Mr. Vane's and Rough's voices sounded outside. 

Quite subdued, desperately penitent, Bridget went back to her place. Herhead was full as well as her heart. She had so many things to think overthat she felt as if she could not eat. First and foremost was thestrange newly awakened anxiety about her father. She looked at him as hecame in as she had never looked at him before, almost expecting to seesome great and appalling change in his appearance. But no--he seemedmuch as usual--his face was indeed reddened a little by his brisk walkin the chill air, and his voice was as cheery as ever. Biddy gave aloud, most audible sigh of relief. Mr. Vane started and interruptedhimself in the middle of a lively account of the adventures he andRandolph had met with in their walk. 

'My dear Biddy, ' he said. 'What _can_ you have to sigh about in thatappalling way?'

Bridget opened her mouth as if to speak, but Rosalys, trembling as towhat she might not be going to say, interrupted. 

'Please, papa, don't ask her just now, ' she said; 'do go on telling usabout what sort of a place Seacove is, ' and she added in a whisper, asshe gave a little private tug to his sleeve, 'Biddy's beenrather--tiresome, and if she begins to cry----'

CHAPTER IV

BIDDY HAS SOME NEW THOUGHTS

 'O, children take long to grow. ' JEAN INGELOW. 

Mr. Vane nodded in token of comprehending Alie's hint. 

'You must walk to Seacove to-morrow and see it for yourselves, ' he said. 

'That is to say if it is fine, ' said Mrs. Vane. 'Doesn't it look stormyto-night?'

'The wind is getting up, but that one must expect at this time of theyear, and a good blow now and then won't hurt the girls. I feel ever somuch the better for the touch of it we had this afternoon. I'm certainit is a very healthy place. '

Mrs. Vane smiled a little. 

'I have noticed that that is generally said of places that have nothingelse to recommend them. But no, ' she went on, 'I must not begin byfinding fault. If it proves to us a health-giving place I certainlyshall like it, whatever else it is or is not. Did you go into the churchthis afternoon?'

'Just for a moment. Rough wanted to glance at it, ' Mr. Vane replied, histone sounding rather less cheerful. 

'It looked very dingy and dismal, ' Randolph said. 'It's all high pewsand high-up windows, you know, mamma. Papa says it must have been builtat the very ugliest time for churches, before they began to improve atall. '

'And there is nothing to be done to it, ' said Mr. Vane. 'Even if wecould attempt it and had the money, there would be endless difficultiesin the way of prejudice and old associations to overcome. '

'And it is not as if we were really settled here, ' said the children'smother. 'You must not take the church to heart, Bernard; you couldscarcely expect anything better in a place like this. '

'No--it will be slow work to bring about any improvement in outlyingplaces of this kind certainly, ' Mr. Vane agreed. Then he brightened up alittle. 'There is a very good organ, and I met the organist. He seemsvery hearty and eager. '

'That's a good thing. How did you come across him?' asked Mrs. Vane. 

'We went to the stationer's to order the newspapers. I might of coursehave had them straight from town, but I think it is right to get whatone can in the place, and it helps me to get to know the people alittle. The organist--Redding is his name--was in the shop; I fancy he'sa bit of a gossip, for he looked rather guilty when we went in, just asif they had been talking about us, and then he introduced himself. He'scoming up to have a talk with me to-morrow. '

'It is quite a nice shop, ' said Randolph. 'I expect it has some of theCollege custom. I saw some books with the College crest on lying about. You can get painting things there, Alie, ' he added. 

Rosalys looked interested, and Biddy's face grew some degrees less long. 

'Is there a toy-shop?' she asked. 

'There's better than a toy-shop--a wonderful sort of place they call abazaar, ' Rough replied. 'You may walk all round and look at the thingswithout having to buy, and there's one part where all the toys are onlya penny. '

Biddy clasped her hands in ecstasy. 

'Oh, mamma, ' she said, '_may_ we go and see it to-morrow? Oh, I'm sureSeacove is ever so much nicer than London!'

Mr. Vane smiled. 

'How many pennies have you got to spend, Biddy?' he said. 

Biddy's face sobered again, and the corners of her mouth went down. 

'I've got two, ' she said in a very meek voice, 'and there would havebeen another to-morrow, that's Saturday, if--I--hadn't----'

'What?' asked Mr. Vane. 

'Tore my frock, ' said Biddy very slowly. 

'_Torn_, if you please, ' said her father. 'Well, suppose mamma lets youoff as it's the first Saturday at Seacove, that will be threepence, andsuppose I give you three pennies more, that will be sixpence--withsixpence you could make important purchases at the penny counter, couldshe not, Rough?'

'Certainly, I should say, ' Randolph replied. 

Bridget's face crimsoned with pleasure. She got up from her seat and ranround to the arm-chair by the fire where Mr. Vane was quietly sippinghis tea, and at the imminent risk of throwing it all over him, flung herarms round his neck. 

'Oh, thank you, papa, _dear_ papa, ' she said, 'dear, dear papa, and I do_so_ hope you'll be like the boy-that-brought-the-potatoes' papa, andI'm going always to be good now, always. '

Poor Mr. Vane disengaged himself and his tea-cup with some difficultyfrom his little daughter's embraces. To his surprise, when he couldmanage to see her face, there were tears in her eyes. He was touched butat the same time rather apprehensive; it was ticklish work when Biddy'sfloodgates were opened. 

'My poor little woman, ' he said; 'yes, it's quite right to make goodresolutions. But, remember, Rome wasn't built in a day, Bride; you'llhave to keep up your courage and go on trying. But what's all that aboutboys and potatoes?'

Biddy grew red; she felt by instinct that she must not tell over all theconversation; mamma would be vexed. 

'I only meant----' and she hesitated. 

'Biddy knew a little greengrocer boy in London who was very fond of hisfather, ' said Rosalys quickly. 

'Never mind about that just now, ' Mrs. Vane added. 'I have severalthings I want to ask you about your study. If you have finished yourtea, will you come in there with me? The work-people about here arerather stupid, I'm afraid, Bernard. They don't the least understandabout the book-shelves. '

'Don't worry yourself about it, ' Mr. Vane replied. 'Things will getstraight by degrees. I'm afraid you have much more trouble now thatM'Creagh's gone. '

M'Creagh was Mrs. Vane's 'old maid, ' as the children called her. She hadbeen with her since Mrs. Vane's childhood, and had lately given up herright to the title by getting married, to the great regret of everybodyexcept, I _fear_, Biddy. For M'Creagh had 'managed' the little girl in awonderful way; that is to say, she had kept her in order, and Biddy verymuch preferred being left to her own devices. 

Mrs. Vane sat down on the low couch--one end of which was covered withpiles of books, --they were in the study by this time. 

'Yes, ' she said, 'I miss M'Creagh, but my real trouble just now, Bernard, is Biddy. I am afraid I don't take the right way with her, somehow. She is so tiresomely heedless and provoking, and sometimesI really wonder if she has any heart. '

Mr. Vane looked up in surprise, in which there was a little touch ofindignation, at this. Fresh from Bridget's loving hugs and the sight ofthe tears in her eyes, he could hardly be expected to agree with thisopinion of her. 

'My dear, ' he said, 'I think you are not fair upon her. I really can'thelp saying so. The poor child is heedless and provoking to a degree, but she is very affectionate. '

Mrs. Vane did not seem annoyed; she was, on the contrary, rather glad ofwhat Mr. Vane said. 

'Yes, she seems so sometimes, and I hope it is only herchildishness--but it is so impossible to make any lasting impression onher. And I don't see how things are to improve with her. Rosalys was aperfect little woman at her age. Bridget thinks of _nothing_--I haveseen it so much since we came here and during the bustle of the removalfrom London. She lives like a complete baby--perhaps it is partly thatAlie is so unusually thoughtful and helpful, a real right-hand to me, and Rough too for a boy is very sensible. So Biddy goes her own way, nothing is expected of her, and she certainly fulfils the expectation, 'she wound up with a half smile. 

Mr. Vane sat silent. 

'She might be better with some companionship of her own age, ' he saidin a few minutes. 'The give-and-take of even childish companionship is akind of training and discipline. As it is, she is almost like an onlychild. Now, if Alie were away for a while, Bridget would have to try totake her place. '

'I could not do without Alie, not just now certainly, ' said Mrs. Vanedecidedly. 'We must just hope that somehow time will improve Bridget. '

'And don't be too hard on her, ' said her father. 'I feel sure she meanswell. '

'When she means anything, ' replied Mrs. Vane; 'but she seldom thinksenough for that. '

'I don't know about that, ' said Mr. Vane doubtfully, 'still----'

But then something in the arrangement of the book-shelves caught hiseye, and no more was said of Biddy for the time. 

Papa did not forget. Bridget got her fourpence the next day, a pennyfrom mamma and threepence from papa. And all troubles were thrown to thewinds, torn frocks and everything disagreeable forgotten, when she setoff with Rosalys and Randolph, under their maid's charge, for a visit toSeacove, the wonderful bazaar being the real object of the walk. 

Only a very slight misgiving came over her as papa stooped to kiss herin the doorway; they met him on their way out. 

'Be a sensible little woman to-day, my Biddy, ' he said, 'and don't getinto any scrapes to worry your mamma. '

The child looked up into his face. Was it the yellowish morning lightfrom over the sea--for it was clear and bright though cold--that madepapa's face so pale? And yesterday he had looked so nice and rosy--Biddyfelt rather strange; for the first time in her little life there cameover her a faint, very faint shadow of _the_ shadow which, as we growolder, we learn cannot be avoided; the wings of the solemn angel seemedfor an instant to brush her softly. Biddy trembled without understandingwhy. 

'Papa, dear papa, ' she said, but somehow no other words would come. 

He kissed her again, and he smiled. It seemed to brighten up his face. Bridget gave a sigh of relief: the potato boy's papa had got well, andvery likely he too looked pale sometimes. Still that strange breath offeeling had left some result. 

'Alie, ' she said, as she trotted down the garden path beside her sister, the sixpence tightly clasped in her hand, 'is there anything I could getfor a present for two of my pennies? I want to get some of the toys formyself with papa's three pennies, and I want to get a thimble with one, 'cos I've lost mine, and my workbox is messy-looking. '

'You can't get a proper one for a penny, not a silver one, and mammasays imitation ones are bad to wear, ' said Rosalys. 'I've got my firstthimble that's too small now--it's real silver. I'll give it you, andthat'll leave you threepence for your present. But who's it for?'

'Three pennies won't do, ' said Biddy. 'It must be two pennies, 'cos it'sfor papa, and he gave me three pennies, and it would just be like givingit him back again. '

Rosalys and Randolph glanced at each other. They could scarcely believeit was thoughtless Biddy speaking. 

'Yes, I quite understand, ' said Alie. 'Let's see--what could you get forpapa? Can't you help us, Rough?'

Rough considered deeply. 

'A purse--no, that would be too dear--or an inkstand?' he said. 

'I'm sure an inkstand would be far dearer, ' said Alie sharply. 'You'reno good, Rough. I daresay we'll see something there, Biddy dear. I'llnot forget. '

Bride felt very pleased. She was in high favour with Rosalys, she couldsee. She began jumping up and down the little grass-covered sandyhillocks that bordered the road, scarcely more than a cart-track, acrossthe common between the Rectory and the little town. 

'There's a shorter way if we turn, a little farther on, ' said Rough. 'Wecan either get on to the road above the shore--it's a proper road--orcut across a very sandy place, much sandier than the common. '

'No, ' said Alie, 'I'd rather go along the road even if it's farther. Walking on sand is so tiresome, and spoils one's boots so. Biddy, Ithink you'd better walk quietly: remember what papa said, and you knowyou are rather unlucky. '

It was pleasant walking along the firm, hard road, and the fresh air wasexhilarating--the sunshine, thin and wintry though it was, gilded palelythe little shallow lakes and pools left by the outgoing tide along theshore, for it was almost low water now. Even the bare stretches of sanddid not look ugly, as they sometimes do--a touch of sunshine makes allthe difference! And the even stony path--a sort of natural breakwaterrunning out towards the lighthouse--here and there caught a gleam or twofrom the sky. 

'It looks quite different to last night, ' said Alie. 'That's one thingI like the seaside for; it's always changing. '

'And the wind's gone down with the tide, ' said Randolph, 'though it didblow last night. There'll be rough weather before long, everybody says. '

'I _would_ so like to be in the lighthouse if there was a storm, ' saidBiddy. 'That isn't naughty to wish, Alie, for the lighthouse is to keepaway shipwrecks. And if there just _was_ one, you know, it _would_ benice to be there to help the poor wet people, and carry them in to thefire, and rub them dry with hot blankets, like in that story, you know. '

'A lot you'd be able to carry, ' said Rough contemptuously. 'Why, you'reso fat and roundabout, and your legs are so short you can scarcely carryyourself. '

'Rough, ' began Rosalys warningly. And

'_Alie_, ' began Bridget at the same moment in her whining tone, 'dolisten to him. '

But a peremptory 'Hush' from Randolph checked her. Both the girls lookedup. A short, rather stout, pleasant-faced man was at that momentovertaking them. 

'Good-morning, sir, ' he said as he passed, and 'Good-morning, Mr. Redding, ' returned Rough courteously, as the other lifted his hat. Rough had very nice manners. 

'That is Redding, the organist, ' said Rough. 'He's something else aswell--a tailor or a draper----'

'"A butcher, a baker, or candlestick-maker, "' interrupted Rosalyslaughingly. She did not mean to make fun of good Mr. Redding, but shewanted to make the others laugh too, to restore their good humour. 

'Well, something, any way, ' Randolph went on. 'Papa says he's an awfullygood sort of man; he gives all his spare time to the organ for nothing. '

'That's very nice, ' said Alie approvingly. 

They were near the actual town of Seacove by this time--town or village, it was difficult to say which, though the rows of tall masts a littleway off in the docks and the paved streets hardly seemed to suit theidea of a village. And a few minutes more brought them to what wasambitiously called the 'Parade, ' where stood the long low bazaar, with alarge placard at the door announcing that 'entrance' was 'free. '

In summer the bazaar blossomed out into twice its winter size, thanks toa tentlike canvas front; at present it was a building of not veryimposing appearance. But it was long in proportion to its width, and oneor two gas-jets lighted up the innermost end, even in the daytime. Thisgave it a rather mysterious air, and added much to Biddy's admiration. 

'It's a _lovely_ place, ' she whispered to the others in an almostawestruck tone. Rough felt much gratified; he considered the bazaar hisown 'find. ' He set to work very graciously to do the honours of it, andled the way slowly between the two sloping-upwards counters or tables ateach side, on which were arranged the more important and expensivewares--china vases, glass, English and foreign, some of it really quaintand uncommon, such as was not, in those days at least, to be often metwith in regular shops, workboxes and desks of various kinds;papier-mâché writing-books, a few clocks; jewelry, a little real, agreat deal imitation, in glass-lidded cases; and so on. And down thecentre stood groups of walking-sticks, camp-stools, croquet-sets, andsuch like. 

'Usefuller' things, as Biddy afterwards told her mother, were notwanting either. Hair-brushes and combs, metal teapots, and lots of gailypainted trays were among them. And some very magnificent dolls gazeddown with their bright unblinking eyes at the whole from a highposition, where they and the larger, more costly toys were placed. 

It was all very imposing, very breath-taking-away, and Biddy's eyeswere very eager and her mouth wide open as she trotted after Alie. ForLondon shops were not as magnificent forty years ago as they are now;and, besides it was not often that the little Vanes had paid a visit toCremer's or the arcades, which are children's delight. And then it washere so delightfully uncrowded and quiet. The shopwoman, knowing whothey were, felt not a little honoured by their prompt visit, and beyonda civil 'Good-morning, young ladies, ' left them free to stare about andadmire as they chose. 

But they did not linger long before the objects which they knew to bequite beyond their reach. It was the penny counter for which they werereally bound, and to which Rough piloted them with an air of greatpride. 

'There, now, ' he said, waving his hand like a show-man; 'what do you sayto that, girls? All these things--everything you can see as far ashere--for a penny!'

Biddy gasped; even Alie was impressed. 

'They're really very nice, Biddy, ' she said. 'And oh, look, what nicedolls' furniture! What a pity, Biddy, you don't care for dolls!'

CHAPTER V

CELESTINA

 'Little china tea-things and delightful dinner-sets; Trumpets, drums, and baby-horses; balls in coloured nets. ' _What the Toys do at Night. _

Just as she said these words Rosalys became conscious that some one elsewas standing beside her. She looked round. A little girl, simply butneatly dressed, had come into the bazaar, and had made her waynoiselessly up to where the Rectory children stood. She was a slight, delicate-looking child, taller than Bridget, though not seemingly mucholder. She had large, earnest, perhaps somewhat wistful, brown eyes, which made her face attractive and interesting when you looked at itclosely, though at first sight it was too small and pale to catch one'sattention. She stood there quietly and very grave, her eyes fixed onAlie Vane's lovely and sweet face, yet without the slightest shadow offorwardness or freedom in her gaze. An expression of great surprise, mingled with a little pity, flitted across her when she heard the eldergirl's words--'What a pity, Biddy, you don't care for dolls!' and it waswith intense interest she listened to Bridget's reply. 

'I would care for them, Alie, if I had any one to play at them with me. But you think you're too big--I think you've always thought yourself toobig--and Rough's a boy. So how could I care for dolls all alone?'

Bride's voice had taken the peculiar little whine it always did when shewas at all put out. It was comical and yet a little irritating; but justnow neither Rosalys nor Randolph was inclined to be irritated. Alie onlylaughed. 

'Well, I'm not forcing you to play with dolls, nor to buy them, ' shesaid. 'Only these little tiny chairs are so funny. '

A voice behind her made her start. Yet it was a very soft, rather timidlittle voice. 

'You can play much nicer with little dolls alone--a good many littledolls--than with one or two big ones, ' it said. 

Biddy turned round and stared at the small maiden. She did not mean tobe rude; she was only surprised and curious; but her rosy cheeks andround eyes looked much less sweet and gentle than Alie's pretty face andsoft long-lashed blue eyes, which had always a rather appealingexpression. Biddy opened her mouth but did not speak. The littlestranger grew very red. Rosalys spoke to her gently. 

'Yes, ' she said, 'I should think little dolls would be much more amusingto play with alone. You could make them act things, and you could makehouses for them. Biddy, wouldn't you like to furnish our old doll-housefresh?'

'I don't know, ' said Biddy rather surlily. 'You'd call me a baby. '

'Indeed I wouldn't, ' said Alie eagerly. 'It would be such a nice playfor you. You might buy two or three of those sweet little chairs as abeginning. '

'They are particular nice, ' put in the shopwoman. 'It isn't oftenthey're made so small, not so cheap. And what were you wanting thismorning, my dear?' she went on to the little newcomer. 

'If you please, I want two of them--of the chairs, ' the child replied, holding out two pennies. Her face was still rather red, but she glancedwith admiration mingled with gratitude at Rosalys. 

The shopwoman handed her the two little chairs, but she did not seemquite satisfied. 

'Would you like to choose for yourself?' said the woman with a smile. She seemed used to the ways and manners of small customers--of thissmall customer especially, perhaps--and she made way for her as thelittle girl, well pleased, came close to the counter. Then for a minuteor two the child stood absorbed, weighing the comparative merits of blueand pink cotton chair seats, and of dark and light coloured wood. Atlast, with a little sigh of mingled anxiety and satisfaction, she heldout two to the woman. 

'These, please, ' she said; and, without waiting for her purchases to bewrapped up, she turned, and with a glance at the other children, ashadowy smile for half an instant wavering over her face, she quietlymade her way out of the shop. 

'Poor little girl, ' said Rosalys. 'You quite frightened her when shespoke, Bridget. Why did you glare at her so?'

'I didn't glare at her; you're very unkind, Alie, to say so, ' saidBiddy, in her complaining tone. 

'Oh, I say, Biddy, don't be so grumpy, ' Randolph put in, 'and do fixwhat you're going to buy. There's something over here that papa wouldlike, I know. A whistle, such a jolly strong one, and only two-pence. Itwould do for him to call me in by, and much less trouble than ringingthat clumsy bell. '

Biddy went off to look at the whistle. It was a very neat one, in theshape of a dog's head, and she at once decided upon it, for she hadgreat faith in Rough's opinion as to what papa would like. Then ensuedanother weighty consultation at the penny stall, where Alie had meantimebought a pair of tiny dolls, which she meant to dress in secret as a'surprise' for her little sister--'it would be so nice if she took todressing dolls for herself, ' she thought--and a yard measure forherself. Bridget's perplexities ended in the purchase of one of the neatlittle chairs and a small table and a tiny china dog. 

'They'd be pretty as ornaments on my mantelpiece even if I never have adoll-house, ' she said. 'And if I did have the doll-house done up, it_must_ have a dog, to keep watch, you know, Alie. '

At the entrance of the bazaar they ran against Mr. Redding. He lookedhot and hurried and was walking very fast, but at sight of them hestopped suddenly, and then, came up to Randolph. 

'_Would_ you excuse me, sir, ' he began, 'if I were to ask you a greatfavour? I have just been at the Rectory to see Mr. Vane and I amhurrying off to Brewton by the next train, for unfortunately there issomething wrong with one of the organ stops and I must get a man to comeover at once. It would never do not to be able to use the organ properlythe first Sunday Mr. Vane is here. I find it later than I thought, andI had undertaken to leave this note at Mr. Fairchild's in Pier Street forthe rector. You will pass there on your way home, unless youparticularly want to go by Sandy Common?'

'Oh no, ' said Rough, 'we don't mind. Of course I'll leave it for you, Mr. Redding. Is there an answer?'

But Mr. Redding, having thrust the note into the boy's hands, wasalready some paces off. He called out some rather incoherent reply, ofwhich 'thank you, thank you, ' were the only intelligible words. 

'What a fussy little man, ' said Alie. 'But papa said he was proud of hisorgan, and it would be horrid at church without it. Which is PierStreet, Rough, do you know?'

'Not a bit of it--nor which is Mr. Fairchild's shop, or if it is a shop. He only said at Mr. Fairchild's, ' replied Randolph. 'I suppose any onecan tell us however; it's not like London. '

The 'Parade' at its farther end turned into the docks. The childrenwalked on, tempted by the sight of the tall masts in front of them. 

'Wouldn't I like to see over some of those ships, ' said Rough. Just thena little group of sailors, looking little more than boys for the mostpart, in spite of their bronzed and sunburnt skin, passed them, chattering and whistling cheerily. They belonged to a vessel but newlyarrived from some southern port. One could see how happy they were to beon English ground again--some of them maybe belonged to Seacove itself. 

'Would you like to be a sailor, Rough?' said Alie. 

Randolph hesitated. 

'No, I don't think so, but I like seeing ships and hearing aboutvoyages. '

'_I'd_ like to be a sailor, ' said Bridget suddenly. Rosalys and herbrother could not help laughing. 

'What a funny sailor you'd make, ' they said. And indeed it was not easyto imagine her short, compact, roundabout figure climbing up masts anddarting about with the monkey-like swiftness of a smart little middy. 

'I don't think you'd like it for long, Miss Biddy, ' said Jane, theyoung maid. 'I came once, in my last place, from Scotland by sea, andthough I wasn't at all ill, it was dreadful rough work. I was glad tofeel my feet on firm land again. '

'Was it very stormy?' asked all the children together. 'And how longwere you in the ship? Oh, do tell us about it, Jane. '

Jane's value rose immensely on the spot. She was not a particularlylively girl generally, but this was quite a discovery. 

'Was it a very big ship?' asked Bridget, 'or quite a teeny-weeny one, just big enough to hold all of us like?'

'You stupid little goose, ' said Rough. 'You mean a boat--a _ship_ isnever as little as that. '

'Boats and ships is all the same, ' Biddy persisted; 'and I heard papasay there was a Scotch boat to Seacove twice a week--there now, Rough. '

'Oh well--but that's only a way of speaking. Papa didn't mean a realboat--a little boat. Now, if we could go down those steps right amongall the ships I'd soon show you the difference. '

'But we mustn't, Rough, ' said Alie anxiously. 'Not without papa orsomebody big--any way we must ask leave first. '

'Well, I suppose it would hardly do for you girls, ' Rough replied. 'Butof course papa would let _me_ go. He and I walked all round the dockslast night, and we should have gone to the end of the pier if----'

'Oh, that reminds me, ' said Rosalys. 'Haven't we passed Pier Street?I believe that must be it opposite. Yes, I see it put up. Now we mustfind out Mr. Fairchild's. Can't you ask somebody, Rough?'

Randolph, though he would not have confessed it, was a little shy ofaccosting any of the few passers-by. Just because there were so few andthe place was so quiet, the children felt themselves ratheruncomfortably conspicuous, and they could not help noticing that hereand there the inhabitants came rather unnecessarily to their doors tolook at them as they passed. It was not done rudely, and indeed it wasonly natural that the arrival of a new rector and his family at Seacoveshould attract a good deal of attention, considering that old Dr. Buntonand his wife had been fixtures there for more years than Mr. Vanehimself had been in the world. 

'Oh yes, ' said Rough in an off-hand way, 'I can ask any one. But wemay as well walk on a little and look about us. If it is a shop we'llsee the name. '

Just then there came out of a shop in front of them--a baker's, I thinkit was--a small figure which walked on slowly some paces before them. 

'That's the little girl of the dolls' chairs, ' exclaimed Bridget. 'ShallI run on and ask her? I don't mind. '

'You never do, ' said Alie, and indeed Biddy was most comfortablyuntroubled with shyness. 

'Yes, run on and see if she knows where it is. '

Off trotted Biddy, her precious purchases tightly clasped in her hands. 

'Little girl, ' she called, when she got close to the other child. 

[Illustration: 'Little girl, ' she called, when she got close to theother child. P. 75. ]

The little girl turned, and looked at Biddy full in the face with hergrave earnest eyes without speaking. And for half a moment Bridget didfeel something approaching to shyness, but it gave her a comfortablefellow-feeling to see that the small stranger was also still carryingthe little chairs she had bought. They were not done up in paper likeBiddy's--she had not waited for that, --but she had covered them looselywith a very clean, very diminutive pocket-handkerchief, and Bridget sawquite well what they were. 

'Please, ' Biddy went on, slightly breathless--it did not take much toput Biddy out of breath--'please can you tell us where Mr. Fairchild'sis in this street? Rough's got a letter for him, but we don't know ifit's a shop or only a house. '

'Mr. Fairchild's, ' repeated the little girl, 'he's my father; it's ourshop. I'll show it you, ' and a faint pink flush of excitement came intoher pale face. These were the Rectory young ladies, she had been sure ofit when she saw them in the bazaar. Fancy--wouldn't mother be surprisedto see them coming in with her? And father, who had said she'd maybenever see them. Was that the French ma'amselle with them?--and Celestinaglanced back at honest Jane Dodson, from 'grandmamma's' village, walkingalong in her usual rather depressed fashion--if so, French ma'amselleswere very like English nurse-maids, thought her little observer. 

'How funny!' said Biddy, quite interested. And Celestina began to likeher better--she had been rather disappointed in Biddy at the bazaar. Shewas not pretty, and Celestina, though she scarcely knew it, was verymuch taken by beauty, and she had been rather, almost a little rude--atleast Celestina knew that _she_ would have been told she was rude hadshe behaved as Bridget had done. But now she seemed so bright andnatural--'She is quite a little girl, ' thought Celestina; 'and perhapsif she's the youngest she's treated rather like a baby. ' 'How _very_funny!' Biddy repeated. 'I must run back and tell Alie and Rough. Andhave you a doll-house, little girl, and will you show it me? I've boughta chair too and a table. Perhaps if I saw your doll-house andteeny-weeny dolls I'd get to like to play with them too. We have a----Oh, Alie, ' as Alie, surprised at the length and apparent friendliness ofthe conversation proceeding between the two children, hastened up. 'Oh, Alie, _isn't_ it funny? She's his little girl. The note's for herhouse. '

Rosalys turned her soft blue eyes full on Celestina. 

'How like an angel she is!' thought Celestina. 

'Who's?' said Alie. 'Do you mean Mr. Fairchild's? Why don't you explainproperly, Biddy?'

'Yes, that's it, ' said the stranger child. 'I'm Celestina Fairchild. I'll show you the shop. '

'Thank you, ' said the elder girl. But Biddy would scarcely let her saythe two words. Her eyes were very open, looking rounder than ever. 

'_What_ a funny name!' she exclaimed. Biddy's collection of adjectivesdid not seem to be a very large one. 'Do say it again; oh, please do. '

'Biddy, I think you are rather rude, ' said Alie severely. 'You wouldn'tlike any one to say your name was funny. '

'I didn't mean----' began Bridget as usual, but Celestina quietlyinterrupted. 

'I don't mind; she's only a little girl. Don't be vexed with her, ' shesaid to Alie with a sort of childish dignity that seemed to suit her. 'Ithink my name _is_ funny; mother called it me 'cos--, but p'raps we'dbetter go on. I've been out a good while and mother might be wonderingwhat I was doing, and then if the letter for father matters much----'

'Yes, ' said Alie; 'you're quite right; we'd better be quick. '

So the little party set off again up the street. Biddy andCelestina--for now that Biddy's interest was awakened in the strangerchild she had no idea of giving her up to the others--in front; Rosalysand her brother following; Jane Dodson, discreet and resigned, bringingup the rear. 

They had not far to walk, but Bridget's tongue made the most of itsopportunities. 

'Have you got a doll-house, then?' she inquired of Celestina; and as thelittle girl shook her head rather dolefully in reply, 'What do you getfurniture' (Biddy called it 'fenniture') 'for, then? Is it forornaments?'

'No; I've got a room, though not a doll-house, ' Celestina replied. 'Itonce was a kitchen, but I played with it too much when I was little, andthe things got spoilt. So father did it up for me with new paper like aparlour--a best parlour, you know. Not a parlour like you use everyday. '

'I don't know what a parlour is, ' said Biddy; 'we haven't got one at theRectory, and we hadn't one in London either. We've only got aschoolroom, and a dining-room, and a droind-room, and a study for papa, and----'

'I forgot, ' said Celestina. 'I remember mother told me that they don'tcall them parlours in big houses. It's a drawing-room I mean; only thedolls have their dinner in it, because I haven't got a dining-room. Theyhaven't any bedroom either; but I put them to bed in a very nice littlebasket, with a handkerchief and cotton-wool. It's very comfortable. '

'Yes?' said Bridget, greatly interested, 'and what more? Tell me, please. It sounds so nice. '

'Sometimes, ' Celestina went on--'sometimes I take them to thecountry--on the table, you know--and then I build them a house withbooks. It does very well if it's only a visit to the country, but itwouldn't do for a always house, 'cos it has to be cleared away fordinner. '

Biddy's mouth and eyes were wide open. 

'We have dinner in the dining-room with papa and mamma, ' she said; 'sowe don't need to clear away off the schoolroom table except for tea. That's in London. I don't know where we're to have tea here, when MissMillet comes back. Don't you have dinner with your papa and mamma--whenthey have luncheon, you know?'

In her turn Celestina stared. 

'I don't know how you mean. We all have dinner in the parlour, ' shesaid, 'like--like everybody. But this is our shop, ' she added, stoppingand turning so as to face the others. 'If you please, miss, ' she went onto Rosalys, 'this is father's shop. If you'll come in, he'll be there. '

Not a little surprised was Mr. Fairchild to see his daughter showing theway in to the three children, whom he rightly and at once guessed to bethe new rector's family. Celestina looked quite composed; though so veryquiet and silent a child, she was neither shy nor awkward. She was toolittle taken up with herself to have the foolish ideas which make somany children bashful and unready: it never entered her head that otherpeople were either thinking of or looking at her. So she was free tonotice what she could do and when she was wanted, and her simple kindlylittle heart was always pleased to render others a service, howeversmall. 

'Father, ' she said in her soft voice; 'it is young Master Vane and theyoung ladies with a letter for you. '

Mr. Fairchild came forward, out from behind the counter. He made alittle bow to Rosalys, who was the foremost of the group, and a littlesmile brightened his thin face as his eyes rested on hers. Every one wasattracted by Alie, and her voice was particularly gentle as she spoke toMr. Fairchild, for the first thought that darted through her mind was, 'How very ill he looks, poor man--much worse than papa. '

'It is a letter for you, Mr. Fairchild, ' she said. 'Mr. Redding asked mybrother to give it to you. It is from pa--from Mr. Vane. '

'But I don't know if there is any answer, ' said Rough. 'Redding didn'tsay. Please see, will you?'

Rosalys and Randolph and Jane in the doorway stood waiting while heread. But Biddy's eyes were hard at work. She caught Celestina as shewas disappearing through an inner door. 

'Oh, please, ' she said, 'don't go away. Won't you show me your dolls?And oh, please, what _is_ that funny little window up there in the wall?I would so like to look through it. '

CHAPTER VI

THE WINDOW IN THE WALL

 'Will you step into my parlour?' _The Spider and the Fly. _

Celestina hesitated. She was anxious to be friendly to Bridget, and shehad a strong instinct of hospitality, but the little girl rather tookaway her breath. Just at that moment, luckily, the door between the shopand the parlour--a door in the corner behind the counter--opened, just alittle, enough to admit Mrs. Fairchild, who came in quietly. She hadheard voices in the shop, and thought she was probably needed there, though at this time of the morning, especially when Celestina was out, she had to be sometimes in the kitchen. 

'Celestina, ' she exclaimed, surprised and not quite sure if she shouldbe pleased, 'what are you doing? You should have come in at once. I havebeen expecting you. '

Then her eyes fell on the three--or four--three and a half, one mightsay, to be very correct--strangers in the shop, for Jane was stillwavering on the doorstep, one foot on the pavement outside and oneinside. 

'Won't you come in?' said Mrs. Fairchild to her civilly; 'it is a coldmorning--and then I could shut the door. '

Jane moved inwards, though without speaking, and Rough darted forwardand shut the door carefully. 

'Thank you, sir, ' said Mrs. Fairchild, with a little smile that lightedup her whole face. She gave a half unconscious glance at herdelicate-looking husband, which explained her anxiety. Bridget drew nearher and looked up in her face. Somehow since Mrs. Fairchild had come inevery one seemed more friendly and at ease. 

'Are you Ce--Cel--the little-girl-in-the-bazaar's mamma?' asked Biddy. 

Mrs. Fairchild smiled again. 

'Yes, ' she said, touching Celestina on the shoulder, 'I am _her_ mother. Did you see her at the bazaar?'

'She was buying chairs, and that made me buy one too, ' replied Biddyrather vaguely. 

'The young ladies met me after that in the street and asked me the wayhere. I showed them. That was why I was in the shop, ' explainedCelestina, on whose brow a little wrinkle of uneasiness had remainedtill she could tell her mother the reason of her moment's lingering. 

'I see, ' said Mrs. Fairchild, who would indeed have found it difficultto believe that Celestina had been careless or disobedient; and at thewords Celestina's face recovered its usual quiet, thoughtful, butpeaceful expression. 

Bridget pressed up a little closer to Mrs. Fairchild. 

'You're not vexed with her then, ' she said. 'She was quite good. I thought at first you were going to be rather a cross mamma. '

'_Bridget_, ' said Rosalys, colouring, and in an awful tone. When Aliesaid 'Bridget' like that it meant a great deal. 

'I didn't mean, ' began Biddy as usual. 

Celestina's mother turned to Rosalys. 

'Please do not be vexed with her, miss, ' she said, with again thatwinning smile. And the smile that stole over Alie's face in responsemade Mrs. Fairchild's gaze linger on the lovely child. 'No, my dear, 'she went on, speaking now to Biddy, 'it was quite right of Celestina toshow you the way; and I am glad you happened to meet her. '

During this time, which was really only a minute or so, for it takesmuch longer to relate a little scene of this kind than for it actuallyto pass, Mr. Fairchild had been busy with the contents of the envelopeRandolph had given him. It contained, besides a note, a list of somebooks which Mr. Vane wished to have sent as soon as possible. Afterknitting his brows over this for some moments, the bookseller cameforward. 

'I find that Mr. Vane would like this order executed at once, ' he said, addressing Randolph. 

'I don't know, I'm sure, ' said Rough; and indeed how was he to know, seeing that the letter had only been given over to his charge by Mr. Redding?

Mr. Fairchild looked perplexed. 

'Oh, ' he said, 'I thought that possibly you could have explained alittle more fully'--then he considered again. 'I think perhaps I couldsend specimens of some of the hymn-books, and I can make out a list ofthe prices, etc. , so that Mr. Vane would have no trouble in selectingwhat he requires. It will only take me a few minutes, and it would savetime if----' he hesitated. 'My errand-boy has gone some distance awaythis morning. '

'If you mean that it'll save trouble for me to carry the parcel, I don'tmind, ' said Rough in his boyish way. 

Mr. Fairchild thanked him. 

'I will see to it at once, ' he said, and turning to his desk he beganwriting down the details of some books which he took down from theshelves behind. 

The four children, Mrs. Fairchild, and Jane Dodson stood together in themiddle of the shop; it was quite small, and with these six people itseemed crowded. There was only one chair, pushed up in a corner by thecounter. 

'It is draughty near the door, even when it is shut. Will you not comefarther in, Miss Vane? or, ' with a little hesitation, 'would you stepinto the parlour--there is a nice fire--and sit down for a few minutes?'said Mrs. Fairchild to Rosalys. 

Rosalys began to thank her, but before she had time to do more thanbegin Bridget interrupted. 

'Oh yes, Alie, please do, ' she said eagerly. 'I do so want to see what aparlour's like. But, please, ' she went on to Mrs. Fairchild, 'would youfirst tell me what that dear little peep-hole window up in the wall isfor? I would so like to look through it. '

Alie's face grew red again; she really felt ashamed of Biddy. 

'And it's worse, ' she said to herself, 'to be so forward to people whoare not quite the same as us, though I'm sure Mrs. Fairchild is as niceas any lady. '

And Mrs. Fairchild confirmed this feeling of Alie's by coming again tothe rescue. 

'Certainly, my dear, ' she said, smiling. 'You shall look through thewindow from the other side. There's pretty sure to be a chair in frontof it, if you are not tall enough. My little girl is very fond oflooking through that funny window. '

She led the way through another door--a door facing the streetentrance--into a very small passage, whence a narrow staircase ran up tothe first floor. The children could scarcely see where they were, forthe passage was dark, till Mrs. Fairchild opened another door leadinginto the parlour, and even then it was not very light, for the parlourwindow, as I think I said before, looked on to a little yard, and therewere the walls of other houses round this yard. 

It was a very neat, but to the children's eyes a rather dreary-lookinglittle room. 

Biddy turned to Celestina. 

'I think I like droind-rooms better than parlours, ' she said, returningto their conversation in the street, 'except for the sweet littlewindow, ' and in another instant she had mounted the chair and waspeering through. 'Oh, it _is_ nice, ' she said. 'I can see Roughie'--forRough, had considered it more manly to stay in the shop--'and Mr. --yourpapa, Celestina. It's like a magic-lantern; no, I mean a peep-show. Iwish we had one in our house. Alie, do look. '

[Illustration: 'It's like a magic-lantern; no, I mean a peep-show. 'P. 89. ]

Rosalys came forward, not so eager to take advantage of Biddy's obligingoffer as to seize the chance of giving her a little private admonition. 

'Biddy, ' she whispered, 'I'm ashamed of you. I never knew you so freeand rude before. '

Bridget descended dolefully from the chair. 

'I'm very sorry, ' she said; 'please, ma'am, ' and she turned to Mrs. Fairchild, 'I didn't mean to be free and rude. '

The babyishness of her round fat face, and her brown eyes looking quiteready to cry, touched Mrs. Fairchild, though it is fair to add that sheapproved of Alie's checking the child. She would have been perfectlyshocked if Celestina even when younger than Biddy had behaved tostrangers as the little visitor was doing. Children were kept much morein the background forty years ago than now. On the whole I don't knowthat it was altogether a bad thing for them, though in some cases it wascarried too far, much farther than you, dear children of to-day, wouldfind at all pleasant, or than I should like to see. 

'No, my dear, I am sure you did not mean any harm, ' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'We all have to learn, but it is very nice for you to have a kind eldersister to direct you. '

Biddy did not seem at that moment very keenly to appreciate thisprivilege. 

'I'd rather have a littler sister, ' she said; but as she caught sight ofCelestina's astonished face, 'I don't mean for Alie to be away--Alie'svery kind--but I'd like a littler one too. It's very dull playing alone. And oh, please, ' as the word 'playing' recalled the bazaar and theirpurchases, 'mayn't I see her dolls' house?' and she pointed toCelestina. 

Rosalys sighed. Bridget was incorrigible. 

'It isn't a house, ' said Celestina, 'it's only a room. May I get it, mother? I do so want to see if the new chairs will do, ' she went on, forthe first time disengaging the toys from her handkerchief. 'The othersare so big that when the dolls sit on them their legs go all over thetop of the table instead of underneath. '

'I know, ' said Alie, 'that's how mine used to do when I was a littlegirl and played with our doll-house. But mamma got some for me fromGermany all the proper size, on purpose. The doll-house was really verypretty then. '

Celestina looked up with eager eyes. 

'Oh, I would like to see it, ' she said. 'It must be beautiful. '

'No' said Rosalys, 'it isn't now. Some of the furniture's broken, andnearly all the chair-seats need new covers. But it might be made verynice with a little trouble, only you see Bridget has never cared to playwith it. '

Biddy had drawn near and was standing listening. 

'I daresay I would care if I had anybody to play with me, ' she said. 'You know you're too big, Alie. I wish Celestina could come and playwith me. Won't you let her, if mamma says she may?' she went on, turningto Mrs. Fairchild. 

Celestina's eyes sparkled, but her mother looked rather grave. 

'My dear young lady, ' she said to Biddy, 'you are rather too young toplan things of that kind till you have talked about them to your mamma. Besides Celestina almost never goes anywhere. '

'I went to tea at Miss Bankes's once, ' said Celestina. 'That's where Iused to go to school, but I didn't like it much--they played such noisygames and they were all so smart. And once I went to Nelly Tasker's, andthat was nice, but they've left Seacove a long time ago. '

Mrs. Fairchild looked at Celestina in some surprise. It was seldom thelittle girl was so communicative, especially to strangers. But then, asshe said to her husband afterwards--

'Miss Vane is a very sweet girl, and the little one chatters as if she'dknown you for years. They certainly have a very friendly way with them:I couldn't exactly wonder at Celestina. '

'I'll ask mamma. You'll see if I don't, ' said Biddy, nodding her headwith determination. 'And please, Celestina, do let me see yourdoll-room, if that's what you call it?'

'May I fetch it, mother?' asked the child. But at that moment Randolphput his head in at the door. 

'We must be going, ' he said. 'Come along, girls. I've got the parcel. Thank you, ' he added to Mrs. Fairchild, 'and good-morning. '

Alie and Biddy turned to follow him. But first they shook hands withCelestina and her mother. 

'I'm so sorry, ' said Biddy, 'not to see the dolls' room. Wouldn't Roughwait a minute, Alie?'

'No, ' the elder sister replied. 'We've been out a good while and there'sno reason for waiting now the parcel's ready. '

'Well I'll come again. You'll let me, won't you?' said Bride, and notcontent with shaking hands, she held up her round rosy mouth for a kiss. 

'Bless you, love, ' kind Mrs. Fairchild could not resist saying, as shestooped to her. 

'She is a very nice mamma, isn't she, Alie?' said Biddy withsatisfaction, when they found themselves out in the street again. 

'Yes, ' said Rosalys. But she spoke rather absently. She was wonderingwhat made Bridget so nice sometimes, and sometimes so very tiresome andheedless. 

'I wonder if it would have been better for her if she was more like thatlittle Celestina, ' she thought. 'I'm sure they're very strict with her, and yet I'm sure she's very fond of her mother and very obedient. But itmust be rather a dull life for a little girl, only she seems so womanly;as if she really felt she was useful. '

It was almost dinner-time--their dinner-time, that is to say--when thechildren reached the Rectory, and there was something of a scramble toget hands washed, hair smoothed, and thick boots changed so as to be intime and not keep papa and mamma waiting. Randolph came into thedining-room, carrying the parcel of books. 

'Papa, ' he said, 'these are the books you told Redding to order foryou--at least there are some of them, and if they are right, or ifyou'll mark down which of them are not right, Fairchild the booksellerwill order what you want at once. '

'I'll look at them immediately after luncheon, ' Mr. Vane replied. 'Buthow did they come into your hands, my boy? Has Redding been here again?'

'No, ' Rough explained, 'we met him, ' and then he went on to tell thehistory of the morning. 

'And she 'avited us--the little-girl-in-the-bazaar's mother, I mean, 'Biddy hastened to add, 'to step into the parlour. I never saw a parlourbefore; it's not as nice as a droind-room, except for the dear littlewindow up in the wall. Couldn't we have a little window like that in ourschoolroom, mamma? And I'm to go another day to see the room; it's not aproper doll-house, she says; only a room, and I said I was sure I mightask her to come here, but she said I must ask my mamma first. I thoughtat first she was going to be rather a cross sort of a mamma, but I don'tthink she is--do you, Alie?'

Biddy ran off this long story so fast that Mrs. Vane could only stare ather in amazement. 

'My dear Biddy!' she said at last. 'Alie, you were there? You don't meanto say that you let Bride run into the toy-shop people's house and makefriends with their children, and--and----' Mrs. Vane stopped short, at aloss for words. 

Mr. Vane looked up. 

'My dear child, ' he said too, to Bridget, 'you must be careful. Andhere--where everybody is sure to know who you are, and when you shouldset a good example of nice manners--you must not behave in this wildsort of way. '

'I didn't mean, ' began Biddy plaintively. 

But this time she was not chidden for her doleful tone--both Alie andRough came to the rescue. 

'Please, mamma, oh please, papa, you don't understand, ' began Rosalys. 

'It wasn't the bazaar people at all, ' said Rough, chiming in; 'it wasall right. Only, Biddy, you are really too stupid, the muddley way youtell things----'

'Yes, ' agreed Alie, with natural vexation, 'you needn't make it seem asif we had all gone out of our minds, really. '

'I didn't mean, ' started Biddy again, and still more lugubriously. 

'Stop, Bride, ' said Mr. Vane authoritatively, laying down his knife andfork as he spoke. 'Now, Rosalys, tell the whole story properly. '

Alie did so, and as Randolph had already explained about meeting Mr. Redding, it was not long before his father and mother understood thereal facts clearly. 

'We couldn't have refused to go into the parlour when Mrs. Fairchildasked us like that--could we, mamma?' Rosalys wound up. 

'And she asked us to step in so nicely. And there were no chairs in theshop, 'cept only one. And I did so want to see a parlour, ' added Biddy, reviving under Alie's support. 

'No, you did quite right, ' said Mrs. Vane to the elder ones. 'But Biddymust not begin making friends with every child she comes across andinviting them to come here. You are not a baby now; you should have moresense. '

The tears collected in Bridget's eyes; they were very obedient to hersummons, it must be allowed. Rosalys felt sorry for her. 

'Mamma, ' she said, 'of course Biddy shouldn't invite anybody withoutyour leave first, but still this little Celestina isn't _at all_ acommon child. She's so neat and quiet, and she speaks so nicely. And hermother is _nearly_ as pretty as you, not quite of course. '

'She's awfully jolly, ' put in Rough. 

Mrs. Vane smiled. 

'What an uncommon name, ' she said. '"Célestine, " did you say? It isFrench. '

'No, mamma, not "Célestine, "' said Alie, '"Celestina. " I suppose it'sthe English of the other. '

'I never heard it in English before, ' said Mrs. Vane, 'though I once hada dear old friend in France called "Célestine"--you remember Madamed'Ermont, Bernard? I've not heard from her for ever so long. '

'Celestina was going to tell us about her name, but somethinginterrupted her and then she forgot, ' said Alie. 'Perhaps they've gotsome French relations, mamma. '

'It isn't likely, ' her mother replied. 'But some day when I am in thevillage, or town--should we call it "town, " Bernard?'

'It is a seaport, so it must be a town, I suppose, ' said Mr. Vane. 

'I should like to see the little girl and her mother, ' Mrs. Vanecontinued. 

'And oh, mamma, ' cried Biddy, jumping up and down in her chair as herspirits rose again, 'when you do, _mayn't_ I go with you, and thenCelestina would show me her dolls' room?'

'We shall see, my dear, ' her mother replied. 

Biddy was not at all fond of the reply, 'We shall see. ' 'It's only aperlite way of saying "no, "' she once said, but she dared not tease hermother any more. 

'Nobody cares about what I like, ' she said to herself disconsolately. 

Perhaps she would not have thought so if she had heard what her motherand Rosalys were talking about later that afternoon. 

CHAPTER VII

ON THE SEASHORE

 'The sands of the sea stretch far and fine, The rocks start out of them sharp and slim. ' _A Legend of the Sea. _

'Oh dear, ' exclaimed Mrs. Vane one morning at breakfast two or threedays after the children's walk in to Seacove. Everybody looked up--thetwo girls and Rough were at table with their father and mother. Mrs. Vane had just opened and begun to read a letter. What could be thematter?

'It is from Miss Millet, ' she said; 'her sister's children have gotscarlet fever, and she has got a bad sore throat herself from nursingthem. They had no idea what it was at first, ' she went on reading fromthe letter; 'but of course she cannot come back to us for ever so longon account of the infection. '

'Poor Miss Millet, ' said Rosalys. 

'_I_ don't mind, ' said Biddy; 'I like having holidays. '

Alie, who was sitting next her, gave her a little touch. 

'Hush, Biddy, ' she said, 'that's just one of the things you say thatsound _so_ unkind. '

She spoke in a whisper, and fortunately for Bridget her father andmother were too much taken up with the letter to notice what she hadsaid. 

'I didn't mean, ' Biddy was beginning as usual, but Mrs. Vane wasspeaking to Alie by this time, and no one listened to Biddy. 

'I must write to Miss Millet at once, ' their mother said, 'though Ishall ask her not to write often till the infection is gone--she saysthis letter is disinfected. And, Alie, you had better put in a littleword, and Biddy too, if she likes. It would be kind. '

'Yes, mamma, ' said Alie at once, but Bridget did not answer. 

It was not usual for Mrs. Vane to discuss plans and arrangements for thechildren before them, but this morning her mind was so full of theunexpected turn of affairs that she could not help talking about them. 

'It will be a question of several weeks--even months, I fear, ' she saidto Mr. Vane; 'there are such a lot of those children, and Miss Milletis sure to wish to nurse them all. We must think over what to do. '

'Perhaps you and I can manage the girls between us, ' said Mr. Vane. 

'Alie perhaps, ' began Mrs. Vane doubtfully. 

'Yes, ' said Bridget suddenly, to every one's astonishment, 'if it wasonly Alie. But it would never do for me. I'd be too much for you andpapa, mamma. '

She spoke quite gravely, but the others had hard work not to laugh. 

'How do you mean, Biddy?' asked her father. 

'I'm very tiresome to teach; often I'm very cross indeed, ' replied thechild complacently. 

'But you _need_ not be; you can help being so if you try, ' said Mr. Vane. 

'Well, I don't like trying, I suppose it's that, ' she answered. 

For the moment her father thought it wiser to say no more. 

Mr. Redding happened to call that morning, and at luncheon Mrs. Vanetold Alie and Bride that she was going to Seacove, and they might gowith her. 

Alie's eyes sparkled. 

'Are you going to----' she began, and her mother seemed to understandher without any more words. 

'Yes, ' she said, 'I have got all the measures. '

'And oh, mamma, ' asked Biddy, too full of her own ideas to noticethese mysterious sayings, '_will_ you go to Pier Street and let usshow you where Celestina lives. And if you _could_ think of somethingyou wanted to buy, just any little thing, a pencil or some envelopesor anything--they've got _everything_--we might go into the shop, andI _daresay_ if the nice mamma saw you, she'd ask you to step into theparlour too. '

'We shall see, ' mamma replied. 

But 'We shall see' was this time accompanied by a little smile, whichmade Bridget think that the 'We shall see' was perhaps a way of saying'Yes. '

Mamma had several messages to do at Seacove, and though Biddy was in agreat hurry to get to Pier Street, she was rather interested in theother shops also. At the draper's, Mrs. Vane made some small purchases, as to which Alie showed great concern. One was of pretty pink glazedcalico and of some other shiny stuff called 'chintz'--white, with tinylines of different colours; she also bought some red cotton velvet andneat-looking white spotted muslin, and several yards of very narrowlace of a very small and dainty pattern, and other things, all of whichinterested Alie very much indeed, though after a while Biddy got tiredof looking on, and went and stood at the doorway of the shop. 

'I am sorry to give you the trouble of taking down so many things whenI only want such a short length of each, ' said Mrs. Vane civilly to theshopman--or shopwoman, I think it was. 'But the fact is I am buying allthese odds and ends for my little girl's'--and here she glanced round tomake sure that Bridget was out of hearing--'for my little girl'sdoll-house, which needs doing up;' by which information Mrs. Cutter, thedraper's wife, was much edified, repeating it to her special cronies atSeacove, together with her opinion that the new rector's wife was a mostpleasant-spoken lady. 

One or two other shops Mrs. Vane and Rosalys went into; a paper-hanger'sfor one, or rather a painter's, where wall-papers were sold; and aniron-monger's, where she bought two or three different kinds of smallnails, tin tacks, and neat little brass-headed nails. Bridget stayed atthe door of both these shops: she thought them not at all interesting, and mamma and Alie did not press her to come in. The little girl was ina great fidget to get to Pier Street, and stood murmuring to herselfthat she didn't believe they'd _ever_ come; Alie might make mamma bequick, she knew how she, Biddy, wanted to see Celestina and her dolls'room. 

'But nobody cares about what _I_ want, ' she added to herself, with thediscontented look on her face which so spoilt its round rosypleasantness. 

Just then out came Mrs. Vane and Alie. They both looked pleased andbright, and this made Biddy still crosser. 

'Well, now, ' said her mother consideringly, 'is that all, Alie? Yes--Ithink it is. I must call at the grocer's on the way home, but I think wepass that way. No--I don't remember anything else. '

At this Bridget could no longer keep silent. 

'Oh, mamma, ' she exclaimed, 'and you said you'd come to Celestina'shouse. It's too bad. '

Mrs. Vane looked at her in surprise. 

'I did not say so, Biddy; I said we should see. And we are going therenow. You have no reason to be so impatient and to look so cross, ' andshe turned and walked on quickly. 

'Biddy, ' said Alie, 'you're too bad really. You spoil everything. '

Then she ran after her mother, and Bridget followed them at some littledistance. 

They went directly down the street which a little farther on ran intoPier Street, Biddy feeling more and more ashamed of herself. How shewished she had been less hasty, and not spoken so rudely and crossly toher mother. It did seem true, as Alie said, that she spoilt everything. But she did not appear as sorry as she felt; indeed, her face had arather sulky look when at last she came up to the others, who werewaiting for her at the door of the shop. 

'I am going in to see Mrs. Fairchild, ' said her mother. 'I havesomething to ask her. You may come in too, Biddy, and I will ask to seethe little girl too. '

A naughty spirit came over Biddy, even though in her heart she wassorry. 

'No, ' she said. 'I don't want to see the little girl, and I don't wantto come in, ' and her face grew still more sullen. 

'Very well, ' said her mother, 'stay there then. '

But as she entered the shop with Alie she whispered to her, 'I reallydon't know what to do with Biddy. She has such a _very_ bad temper, Alie. Just when I am doing everything I can for her too. '

'Only she doesn't know about it, you see, mamma, ' Alie replied. 'Stillshe is very cross, I know. '

Mrs. Fairchild was herself in the shop as well as her husband. As soonas she caught sight of Rosalys she seemed to know who Mrs. Vane was, andcame forward with her gentle smile. 

'I hope you will excuse my troubling you, Mrs. Fairchild, ' said therector's wife, 'but Mr. Redding, whom I saw this morning, thought youwould be the best person to apply to about a little difficulty I am in. '

She half glanced round as if to see that no one was in the way, and withquick understanding Celestina's mother turned towards the inner door. 

'Will you please step into the parlour a moment?' she said. 'We shouldbe less interrupted. '

Bridget, standing by the half-open shop door, heard the words. She feltalmost inclined to run forward and beg leave to go in too. But she knewshe must first ask pardon of her mother for her naughtiness, and theidea of doing so before Mrs. Fairchild was not pleasant. 

'If Celestina would come out herself I could ask her to ask mamma tospeak to me, ' thought Bridget. But no Celestina appeared. 

'They will be so comfortable in that nice warm parlour, ' thought Biddy;'and I daresay Celestina will be showing Alie all her dolls and things, 'for she had not noticed that just as Mrs. Vane went into the parlour shehad said a word to Rosalys, who had stayed behind. 

So Biddy stood outside, very much put out indeed. The ten minutes duringwhich she had to wait seemed to her like an hour; and when Celestina'smother came to the door to show her visitors out, it was not difficultfor her to see that the little girl was not in at all a happy frame ofmind. 

'Good-morning, Miss Bridget, ' said Mrs. Fairchild. 

'Good-morning, ' Biddy could not but reply. 

She did not even wonder how Mrs. Fairchild knew her name; she was sotaken up with her own thoughts. She would have been rather surprised hadshe known that it was about her, poor little neglected, uncared for girlas she chose to fancy herself, that the two mothers had been speakingthose long ten minutes in the parlour--'Mayn't I see Celestina at all?'Biddy went on. 'I think Alie's very----'

'Very what?' said her mother. 'Alie has been quietly waiting in the shopfor me as I told her. '

Alie came forward as she spoke. 

'And Celestina is not in this morning, ' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'She had aheadache, so I have sent her out a walk. '

Thus all Biddy's temper and jealousy had been thrown away. She feltrather foolish as she followed her mother and Rosalys down the street. 

After stopping for a moment at the grocer's, Mrs. Vane turned to go homeby the Parade, the same way by which the children had come to Seacovethat Saturday. It was a fine bright afternoon, still early--a littlebreeze blew in from the sea--the tide was far out. 

'Mayn't we go home by the shore, mamma?' Alie asked. 'It is nice firmwalking nearly all the way. '

Mrs. Vane consented: they all turned down a sort of short cart-track, leading through the stony shingle to the smooth sands beyond. The sunwas still some height above the horizon, but the cold frosty air gave italready the red evening look. Glancing upwards at it Biddy rememberedthe day she had watched it setting and the good resolutions she had thenmade. She almost felt as if the sun was looking at her and remindingher of them, and a feeling of shame, not proud but humble, crept overher. She went close up to her mother and slipped her hand through herarm. 

'Mamma, ' she said very gently, 'I'm sorry for being so cross. '

'I am glad to hear you say so, Bride, ' said her mother. She spoke verygravely, and at first Bridget felt a little disappointed. But after amoment's--less than a moment's--hesitation, the fat little hand feltitself clasped and pressed with a kindly affection that, truth to tell, Biddy was scarcely accustomed to. For there is no denying that she was avery trying and tiresome little girl. And Mrs. Vane was quick andsensitive, and of late she had had much anxiety and strain, and she wasnot of a nature to take things calmly. Rosalys was of a much more evenand cheery temperament: she 'took after' her father, as the country-peoplesay. It was not without putting some slight force on herself that Biddy'smother pressed the little hand; and that she did so was in great partowing to a sudden remembrance of some words which Mrs. Fairchild had saidduring their few minutes' conversation, which, as I told you, had beenprincipally about Bridget. 

'Yes, ' Celestina's mother had replied in answer to a remark of therector's wife, 'I can see that she must be a child who needs carefulmanagement. Firmness of course--but also the greatest, the very greatestgentleness, so as never to crush or repress any deeper feeling wheneverit comes. '

And the words had stayed in Biddy's mother's mind. Ah, children, _how_much we may do for good, and, alas, for bad, by our simplest wordssometimes!

So in spite of still feeling irritated and sore against cross-grainedBiddy, her mother crushed down her own vexation and met the child'sbetter mind more than half-way. 

A queer feeling came over the little girl; a sort of choke in herthroat, which she had never felt before. 

'If mamma was always like that _how_ good I would be, ' thought Biddy, asshe walked on quietly, her hand still on her mother's arm. 

Suddenly she withdrew it with a little cry, and ran on a few steps. Someway before them a small figure stood out dark against the sky, from timeto time stooping as if picking up something. Bridget had excellent eyeswhen she chose to use them. 

'It's Celestina, mamma, ' she exclaimed, running back to her mother andAlie. 'Mayn't I go and speak to her? She's all alone. Come, Smuttie--it'll be a nice run for you. I may, mayn't I, mamma?'

'Very well, ' said her mother, and almost before she said the words Biddywas off. 

'She must be a nice little girl, ' said Mrs. Vane; 'her mother seems sucha sweet woman. But, Alie, did you ever see anything like Bride'schangeableness?' and she gave a little sigh. 

'But, mamma dear, she did say she was sorry very nicely this time--very_real_-ly, ' said Rosalys. 

'Yes, darling, ' her mother agreed. 

A minute or two brought them up to where the two children were standingtalking together, greatly to Bridget's satisfaction, though Celestinalooked very quiet and almost grave. 

'How do you do, my dear?' said Mrs. Vane, shaking hands with her. 'Ihave just seen your mother; she said you were out a walk, but we did notknow we should find you on the shore. Is it not rather lonely for youhere by yourself?'

'I was looking for shells, ma'am, ' Celestina replied. 'There's verypretty tiny ones just about here sometimes, though you have to look forthem a good deal; they're so buried in the sand. '

'But she has found such beauties, and she takes them home for her dollsto use for dishes, and some of them for ornaments, ' said Biddy. 'Do showmamma how _sweet_ they are, Celestina. And oh, mamma, mayn't I stay alittle with Celestina and look for them too?'

Mrs. Vane hesitated. 

'I'm afraid not, Biddy, ' she said. 'I must be going in--and Alie too. She must write to grandmamma to-day. '

'Oh, but mayn't _I_ stay?' asked Biddy entreatingly. 'It's quite safefor me if it's safe for Celestina, and she says her mamma often lets hercome out on the shore alone. '

Mrs. Vane looked round; the seashore was perfectly quiet except for oneor two old fishermen mending their nets at some distance. One could havethought it miles away from the little port and the ships and thesailors. Then, too, the Rectory was a very short distance off, andindeed from its upper windows this sheltered stretch of sand could beclearly seen. 

'Well, yes, ' she said. 'You may stay for half an hour or so--not longer. And indeed by then it will be quite time for you too to be going home, will it not, my little girl?' she added to Celestina. 

'Yes, ma'am. I must be home by half-past four, and it takes twentyminutes from here. I can go past the Rectory and see Miss----' shehesitated over the name, 'Miss Biddy in at the gate, if you please, 'said Celestina, in her womanly little way. 

Mrs. Vane thanked her; then she and Rosalys walked on, and the two smalldamsels were left alone. 

'Why must you be in by half-past four?' asked Biddy. 

'It's getting dark by then, ' said Celestina. 'Besides there's things todo. I get the tea ready very often. When mother's not very busy it waitsfor her till she can leave the shop, but to-day I know she's busy, 'cosfather's got a great many letters to write. So I'll get the table allready. '

Bridget gazed at her. 

'Do you like doing it?' she asked. 'You're such a little girl, yousee--not much bigger than me, and you play with dolls. '

'I like to be useful to mother, ' said Celestina simply. 

This was rather a new idea to Bridget, and she was sometimes very lazyabout thinking over new ideas. 

'Alie's useful to mamma, I suppose, ' she said, 'but then she's theeldest. And you're the only one--that's why, I daresay. Is it nice to bethe only one?'

'Sometimes it's very alone, ' said Celestina, 'some days when mother'svery busy and I scarcely see her, and I've nobody to show the dolls to. '

'I know, ' said Biddy. 'I'm rather alone too, for Alie's so big, you see. Oh, Celestina, do look, isn't this a beauty? Look, it's all pinkyinside. Now I've got six and this beauty. I think that'll do for to-day. I'm tired of looking. '

'Sometimes I look for ever so long--a whole hour, ' said Celestina, rather taken aback by Biddy's fitfulness. 'But perhaps we'd better runabout a little to keep warm. It isn't like as if it was summer. '

'I'm not cold and I don't like running, ' said Biddy. 'Let's just walk, Celestina, and you tell me things. Oh, look at the sun--he's gettingredder and redder--and look at the lighthouse, it's shining red too. Isit a fire burning inside, do you think, Celestina?'

'No, it's the sun's redness shining on the glass. The top room is allwindows--I've been there once, ' she said. 'It's a good way to walkthough it looks so near, and there's some water too between. Fathertook us once in a boat, mother and me, when the tide was in, and wehad dinner there; we took it with us, and there was a nice old manfather knew. And when the tide went out we came over a bit of water tillwe got to the stones, in the boat, and then the boatman took it back, and we walked home right along the stones--you see where I mean?'

She pointed to the rocky ridge which I told you ran out from the shoreto the lighthouse. Bridget listened with the greatest interest. 

'How nice, ' she said. 'Couldn't you have walked the whole way? I'm surethere isn't any water between now--_I_ can't see it. It must have goneaway. '

'Oh no, it hasn't, ' said Celestina. 'It's always there: it couldn't goaway. You couldn't ever get to the lighthouse without a boat; once oneof the men had to come in a hurry, and father said he had to wade toover his waist. '

But Bridget was not convinced. She stood there gazing out seawards atthe lighthouse. 

'I would like to go there, ' she said. 'Can't you see a long way from thetop room that's all windows, Celestina? I should think you could see tothe--what do they call that thing at the top of the world--the northstick, is it?'

[Illustration: 'I would like to go out there, ' she said. P. 115. ]

Celestina was not very much given to laughing, but this was too funny. 

'The North Pole, you mean, ' she said. 'Oh no, you couldn't see to_there_, I'm quite sure. Besides, there isn't anything to see likethat--not a pole sticking up in the ground--it's just the name of aplace. Father's told me all about it. And so did the old man at thelighthouse. Oh, I would like to go there--better than anywhere--justthink how strange it must be, all the snow and the ice mountains andeverything quite, _quite_ still!'

CHAPTER VIII

A NICE PLAN

 'Up where the world grows cold, Under the sharp north star. ' _A North Pole Story. _

Biddy stared at Celestina. The little girl's face was quite flushed withexcitement. 

'Go on, ' said Biddy. 'Tell me some more. I never heard about it. '

'It's what they call the arctic regions, ' said Celestina. 'The oldsailor at the lighthouse has been there. Once he was there in a shipthat got fastened into the ice, and they thought they'd never get outagain, and they'd scarcely nothing to eat. Oh, it was dreadful; but Idid so like to hear about it. And fancy, in the summer it never getsnight up there--the sun never goes away; and in the winter it never getsday, the sun doesn't come up at all. '

'How very funny!' said Biddy. 'What makes it like that? Is it the samesun as ours?'

'Oh yes, but I can't quite explain, ' said Celestina, looking ratherpuzzled. 'Father showed it me with the candle and a little round globewe've got, but I'm afraid I couldn't tell you. '

'Could the old man tell it?' asked Biddy. 'I would so like to go to seehim. Don't you think we might some day?'

'Perhaps, ' said Celestina. 'When the summer comes perhaps your papawould take you in a boat. Lots of ladies go out to the lighthouse in thesummer. It's too cold in a boat in winter. '

'But I don't mean in a boat, ' said Bridget; 'I mean walking. I'm quite_sure_ we could jump over the little bit of water if we gave a great bigjump. I once jumped over a whole brook at grandmamma's--I did really. '

'It's much bigger than that--it is indeed. You don't understand, ' saidCelestina. 'If you'd ask your papa he'd tell you, I daresay. But I thinkwe must be going home now. I'm sure it's time. '

'I'm sure it isn't, ' said Biddy crossly. 'We haven't talked about thedolls at all yet, and I want you to tell me more about that funny placewhere the snow is. '

'I'll try to think of more to tell you if your mamma will let you go outwith me another time, and I'd like dearly to show you my dolls' room ifyou could come to our house one day, ' said Celestina. 'But we must gohome now, Miss Biddy. '

Bridget flounced about, looking very much put out. 

'I'm not going yet. I don't want to go in, ' she said. 

Celestina began to look troubled. Then her face cleared. 

'_I_ must go home, ' she said, 'whether you do or not. I wouldn't foranything have mother worrying about me. You wouldn't like your mamma tobe worrying about you, would you, Miss Biddy?'

'I daresay she wouldn't care; I'd only get a scolding, and I don't mindmuch, ' said Biddy, who had got on to a very high horse by this time. 

Celestina stopped short and looked at her. She could not understandBiddy at all. 

'Mother never scolds me, but I'm very unhappy when she's not pleasedwith me, ' she said gently; 'and I'm sure your mamma's very kind andgood. I'm sure she does care about you a great deal. '

Her words reminded Bridget of what had happened that very afternoon. Perhaps what Celestina said was true: mamma had pressed her hand whenshe said she was sorry. With one of the quick changes of mood whichseemed so strange to Celestina she turned suddenly. 

'I'll go home, ' she said. 'Come on, Celestina, before I get naughtyagain. But it isn't all for being good. It's a great deal that I want tocome out with you again, and perhaps I mightn't if I was late to-day. '

'No. Very likely your mamma would think I made you disobedient, 'Celestina replied; 'and I shouldn't like her to think so. '

'If I might go into the kitchen and get the tea ready for papa and mammalike you do, I'd never want to stay out late, ' said Bridgetthoughtfully. 

Celestina considered. 

'You don't need to do that, ' she said. 'It wouldn't be any good to yourmamma, for she's got servants to do it. But there must be other thingsyou could do if you want to help her. '

'No, ' said Biddy, shaking her head, 'there's nothing. And I don't thinkI want very much; it's just sometimes. Alie helps mamma because she'sthe eldest. '

Celestina scarcely knew how to answer this, though she felt there wassomething wrong about her little companion's way of looking at things. But Celestina had not much power of putting her thoughts and feelingsinto words. Her solitary life had made her a very silent child, notintentionally, but by habit. She found it difficult to express hermeaning even to herself. Just now she gazed at Biddy without speaking, so that Biddy began to laugh. 

'What are you looking at me so for?' asked the younger child. 

'I don't know, ' said Celestina. 'I was only thinking. '

'What?' asked Biddy again. 

'You should help too, even though you're the youngest, ' said Celestinabluntly. 

'Oh, bother, ' was all Biddy's reply. 

They were at the Rectory gate by this time. 

'Good-bye, Miss Biddy, ' said Celestina. 'I must run home fast. ButI don't think it's late. '

'Good-bye, ' said Biddy. 'I've got my shells; have you got yours? Ohyes, ' as Celestina held up a tiny little basket she was carrying. 'Howdreadfully careful you are! Good-night. I'll ask mamma to let me comeand see you very soon. '

On her way up the short drive to the house Bridget came face to facewith Randolph. 

'Oh, you're there, are you?' he said. 'Mamma was just asking if you'dcome in, so I came to look out for you. '

Biddy was silent. This did not seem very like mamma's 'not caring, ' asshe had been saying to Celestina. 

'It isn't late, ' she remarked at last. 'Mamma said I might stay half anhour. '

'She was beginning to worry about you a little, all the same, ' saidRough. 'Were you with the little Fairchild girl?'

'Yes, ' said Biddy. 

'Is she a nice little girl?' asked Rough. 

'Yes, ' said Biddy again. 

'Then why don't you like her? Why are you so cross?' asked her brother. 

'I'm not cross, and I never said I didn't like her, ' replied Bridgetimpatiently. 

Rough began to whistle. 

'I can't say I agree with you, ' he said. 'Well, I'll run on and tellmamma you're all right;' and off he set. 

Biddy followed him slowly, feeling rather depressed. 

'I didn't mean to be cross, ' she said to herself in her usual way, though she really did feel what she said this time. 'It was kind ofRoughie to come to meet me. They're all good 'acept me. Celestina's goodtoo. I'm made all the wrong way, ' and she sighed deeply. 

She brightened up again, however, when she met her mother at the door. 

'That's right, Biddy dear, ' said Mrs. Vane. 'You've not stayed toolate. '

Rough was there too; he had not told about her being cross evidently, and Biddy felt grateful to him. It was very nice when mamma spoke likethat; it reminded her of the way her hand had been pressed thatafternoon. But a sudden thought rather chilled her satisfaction. Biddywas beginning to be troubled with thoughts, and thoughts too that wouldnot be driven away and forgotten, as she had been accustomed to driveaway and forget anything that made her feel at all uncomfortable. Thisthought teased and pricked her for a few seconds, and though shewriggled herself about and stamped her feet down with hard thumps on thegravel, it would not go. 

'Biddy, ' it said, 'Biddy, you know what you should do. '

So that at last, in sheer impatience of its teasing, she gave hermother's sleeve a little tug. 

'Mamma, ' she said, 'it was _her_ that made me not stay longer than you'dsaid. I wanted to. I wasn't very good, but she's good. '

Mrs. Vane turned with real pleasure in her face. 

'I'm very glad you've told me, Biddy, ' she said. 'Yes, it was nice andgood of Celestina to remind you. I think she must really be a veryconscientious child. '

'I don't know what that is, ' said Bridget. 'At least, p'raps I do know, but it's such a trouble to think. But Celestina _is_ good. I almostthink she's a little too good. '

Her tone was very melancholy. Rough burst out laughing, but Mrs. Vanelooked rather disappointed. 

'It will be so vexing if Biddy takes a dislike to her just when I washoping it would be a good thing, ' she thought to herself. 

Still, the remembrance of the little talk with Mrs. Fairchild was in hermind. She took no notice of Biddy's remark, only telling her cheerfullyto run in quickly and get ready for tea, as it was almost ready. 

The children's mother went to Seacove again the next day, but this timeshe did not take either of them with her. She went straight to PierStreet, and as soon as Mrs. Fairchild saw her coming into the shop shecame forward with a smile and showed her into the parlour. ThereCelestina was sitting quietly working at some new clothes for her littledolls: she wanted them to be very smart indeed, in case the Rectoryyoung ladies came to see them. She rose from her seat at once when Mrs. Vane came in, but a shadow of disappointment crossed her face when shesaw that the lady was alone. 

'I have not brought Biddy this time, ' said Mrs. Vane kindly. 'I havecome to see Mrs. Fairchild myself. But Biddy shall come some day soon. I want you to show her your doll-house, for I should be glad for her toget into the way of playing with one. She has always been a difficultchild to amuse, ' she went on; 'she is so restless, and never seems toget interested in her toys or games. '

Celestina opened her lips as if she were going to speak, but saidnothing. 

'What is it, my dear?' said Mrs. Vane, seeing the look in the littlegirl's eyes. Celestina grew pink. 

'It was only, ' she began. 'It's not so nice to play alone. '

'No, that is true, ' said Biddy's mother, 'and true of other things aswell as play. ' Then she turned to Mrs. Fairchild: 'Have you been ableto----' she was beginning, but with a little gesture of apology Mrs. Fairchild glanced at her daughter. 

'Go upstairs, Celestina, for a few minutes, ' and in a moment Celestinagathered together her small concerns and noiselessly left the room. 

'How obedient she is, ' said Mrs. Vane with a little sigh. 'I should havehad quite an argument with Biddy, or at least cross looks. '

'Children are very different, ' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'Still there is notmuch you can do with them without obedience. And if they get the habitof it quite young, it costs them so much less; they obey almost withoutthinking about it. '

'And have you seen Miss Neale?' asked Mrs. Vane after a little pause. 

'She came to see me yesterday, and I think it can be nicely arranged. She is a very good girl: I feel sure you will be pleased with her. Theonly difficulty would have been her promise about Celestina, which shewould not have liked to give up; but what you have so kindly proposedputs this all right of course. It will be a great pleasure and interestto Celestina to learn with a companion. I feel that I cannot thank youenough. '

'On the contrary, ' said Mrs. Vane, 'I have to thank you. I am in hopesthat your little daughter's companionship will be of great good toBridget. '

Mrs. Fairchild's gentle face grew a little red. 

'I think I may at least assure you of this, ' she said, 'little MissBridget will learn no harm from Celestina. '

'I am sure of it, ' said Mrs. Vane warmly. 'By the bye, ' she added, 'Celestina is a very uncommon name. I have never heard it except in itsFrench form of "Célestine. "'

'Celestina was named after a French lady, ' said Mrs. Fairchild--'a ladywho was very kind to my sisters and me when we were young. She happenedto be living near the town where our home was for some years. Herhusband had an appointment there. They had only one child, a daughternamed Célestine like her mother, who died, and my mother helped to nurseher in her last illness, which made Madame d'Ermont very fond of her. Indeed, I think she was very fond of us all, ' she added with a littlesmile, 'and I think I was a special pet of hers. Through her kindnessI had many advantages in my education. But when she and Monsieur, as wealways called him, went back to France troublous times came on. We lostsight of them altogether. Still, I have never forgotten the dear lady, and I determined to give my little girl her name. '

Mrs. Vane listened with the greatest interest. 

'"Madame d'Ermont, " did you say?' she asked eagerly, and on Mrs. Fairchild's answering 'Yes'--'It must be the same, ' she went on; 'ourMadame d'Ermont's name was Célestine too. She was, or is, for I hope sheis still living, a great friend of ours too, Mrs. Fairchild. We spenttwo winters in the south of France near her home, and we saw a greatdeal of her. It is a pity for you not to have kept up writing to her;she is very kind and very rich and childless--she might be a good friendto her little name-daughter. '

Mrs. Fairchild's face flushed again: I rather think Biddy had inheritedsomething of her habit of hasty speech from her mother, kind-hearted andgood as Mrs. Vane was. 

'It would not be from any motive of _that_ kind I should like to hearfrom Madame d'Ermont again, ' said Celestina's mother. 'It is true ourchild has no one to look to but ourselves, and neither her father norI can boast of very strong health--but still----'

'Oh, I _beg_ your pardon, ' interrupted Mrs. Vane impulsively; 'I quiteunderstand your feeling, and I did not mean to say anything you coulddislike. But still I will look out Madame d'Ermont's address, or get itfrom my mother, and when I write to her I may tell her of you, may Inot?'

'I should be very grateful if you would do so, ' Mrs. Fairchild replied. 

Then they went on to speak of the details of the arrangement they hadbeen making, and soon after Mrs. Vane left. 

That afternoon she called Bridget to her. 

'Bride, ' she said, 'I have something to say to you. '

'Yes, mamma, ' Biddy replied, but without giving much attention. It wasprobably, she thought, only to reprove her for her way of sitting attable, or for having been cross to Jane, or for one of the hundred andone little misdemeanours she was always being guilty of. And Biddy wasin a queerish mood just now: there was a good deal of battling andpulling two ways going on in her baby heart. Was the lazy little _soul_beginning to grow, I wonder?

'Yes, mamma, ' she said indifferently, with her peevish 'I didn't mean, 'quite ready to trot out on the smallest provocation. 

'You must give your attention, my dear, ' said Mrs. Vane; 'it issomething rather particular I want to tell you about. '

'I _am_ giving my attention, ' said Biddy, though it did not look verylike it. 

'Well, then, ' her mother went on, determined not to notice Bride'sevident wish to pick a quarrel, 'listen. You know that Miss Milletcannot come back to us for a good long while. Alie's lessons do notmatter so much as yours, for she is very well on for her age and alittle rest will do her no harm; besides, she will have some lessonswith papa and some with me. But we have not time for you too. '

'And you couldn't manage me if you had, ' said Biddy gloomily. 

Mrs. Vane took no notice--'And besides, at your age it is most importantto be very regular. So I have engaged a daily governess for you, my dearBiddy--that means a governess who will come every morning for threehours, just to teach you. But she won't live in the house with us asMiss Millet does. '

'Won't she take us walks?' demanded Biddy. 

'Not every day, for some days she is engaged in the afternoons. Buttwice a week she will come back in the afternoons and take you a walkand stay to have tea with you. Her name is Miss Neale; she is verynice, though she is younger and--less experienced than Miss Millet. I hope you will be very good with her, Bride. '

Bride gave herself a little shake. 

'No, mamma, ' she said. 'I don't want to be naughty, but I can't help it. I'm sure I shall be very naughty with her. '

Mrs. Vane kept her patience. She looked at Biddy quietly. 

'Why, Biddy?' she asked. 'You are old enough to understand that I havetaken a good deal of trouble about this for you. '

'I needn't have lessons till Miss Millet comes back; I'd be quite goodwithout. I don't like having lessons quite alone without Alie ornobody, ' said Biddy. 

'Would you like it better if you had some one to learn with you--someone nearer your age than Alie, who would do the very same lessons?'asked her mother. 

Biddy's eyes sparkled. 

'I should think I would, ' she said, 'but there isn't nobody'--then shegave a sort of gasp. 'Oh, if only--if Celestina could do lessons withme, ' she exclaimed. 'She knows lots, mamma, all about up at the top ofthe world, where there isn't _really_ that stick I thought there was, but lots of snow and always light--no, always dark, I forget which. I'llask her--the old lighthouse man told her. I'm sure she'd help me with myjography, mamma, and she'd teach me to dress dolls and----' Biddystopped, quite out of breath. 

Mrs. Vane smiled; she looked very pleased. 

'I am very glad you have thought of it yourself, Biddy, ' she said, 'forit is the very thing I have planned. Celestina _is_ going to havelessons with you. Her mother had already settled for Miss Neale to giveher lessons, as they don't care about Celestina going to school, so itwould not have been fair for Miss Neale to give her up to come to us. And besides, both papa and I thought it would make our little girlhappier to have a companion--eh, Biddy?'

Mrs. Vane had hardly time to finish her sentence before she felt herbreath nearly taken away by a pair of fat little arms hugging her sotightly that she could scarcely free her head. 

'Mamma, mamma, ' cried Biddy, 'I love you, I do really love you now. Inever thought I did so much. Oh, I am so glad. Thank you, dear mamma. '

Never in her life had Biddy been so affectionate; never, at least, hadshe shown her affection so much. Mrs. Vane kissed her warmly. 

'I am very pleased too, dear, ' she said. 'I do think you will be a goodand happy little girl now. '

'I'll try to be good, mamma, I will really. But it would take me adreadfully long time to be as good as Celestina, I'm afraid. '

CHAPTER IX

A SECRET

 'If the sun could tell us half That he hears and sees, Sometimes he would make us laugh, Sometimes make us cry. ' CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 

'You must eat your breakfast properly, Celestina, my dear, ' said Mrs. Fairchild to her little daughter one morning in the following week. 'Youwill be quite faint and tired before dinner-time if you don't, and thatwould be a bad beginning. '

Celestina on this set to work once more on her bread and milk. She wastoo excited to feel hungry; her pale cheeks had each a bright spot ofcolour and her eyes were shining. It was the day on which she was tobegin her lessons at the Rectory. Miss Neale was to call for her on herway there, and though she had three-quarters of an hour to wait tillMiss Neale came, the little girl was sure she would not be ready intime. 

'I never saw her so taken up with anything before, ' said her mother; andMr. Fairchild, who was sometimes disposed to take rather a gloomy viewof things, said he hoped they should not regret having agreed to thearrangement, and that it would not lead to disappointment, on which Mrs. Fairchild set to work, as she always did, to cheer him up. 

'It will give Celestina a little experience, ' she said; 'and even ifthere should be a little disappointment mixed up with it in any way, itwill do her no harm, and Celestina is a reasonable child. '

She was very quiet but very happy as she set off with Miss Neale. It wasa bright pleasant morning, 'quite spring-like, ' said the younggoverness, and a walk at that early hour was of itself a pleasure toCelestina. She had not been inside the Rectory since the Vane family hadreplaced old Dr. Bunton and his wife, and scarcely was the door openwhen the little girl noticed a difference. The old, heavy, stuffyfurniture was gone, and though it was still plain, the house lookedlighter and brighter. The schoolroom was a nice little room lookingtowards the sea; there was a good strong table with a black oil-clothcover and four hair-seated chairs, such as were much used at that time. But there were two or three pretty pictures on the walls, and a cottagepiano, and in the bookcase were a few bright-coloured tempting volumesas well as the graver-looking school-books. Everything was very neat, and there was a bright fire burning, and in a pot on the window-sill ageranium was growing and evidently flourishing. To Celestina it was aperfect picture of a schoolroom, and she looked round with the greatestinterest as she took off her hat and jacket, according to Miss Neale'sdirections, and hung them on a peg on the door. 

'You must be very neat here, you know, my dear, ' she said; to whichCelestina meekly replied, 'Oh yes, ' quite agreeing with Miss Neale. 

In a moment or two the door burst open and in came Biddy. A verypleasant-looking Biddy, with a spotlessly clean apron, tidy hair, andsmiling face, and just behind her appeared her mother. 

'Good-morning, Miss Neale, ' said Mrs. Vane. 'Here is Bridget, whom, youhave not seen before. Good-morning, Celestina. I hope you will be twovery happy and good little girls, and that Miss Neale will have notrouble with you. '

Then she went on to explain a little about the books Biddy used, sayingthat Rosalys would look out any that might possibly be missing, andafter telling Miss Neale to keep up a good fire and one or two othersmall directions of the kind, she left the schoolroom. 

Everything went on most smoothly. Miss Neale could hardly believe thatBridget was the child she had been warned that she would find 'tiresomeand trying and requiring great patience. ' For, for once Biddy really didher best. She was interested in finding out how much Celestina knew'compared with me, ' and anxious that neither her little friend nor hernew teacher should think her stupid or backward. And though Celestina'shabits of steady attention had made her memory better and her knowledgemore thorough than Biddy's, still Miss Neale could hardly feel thateither of her pupils was more satisfactory than the other; both were soobedient and attentive and intelligent. 

So the morning passed delightfully. 

'And won't it be nice?' said Biddy, as she stood at the gate, whithershe had accompanied Miss Neale and Celestina on their way home; 'the dayafter to-morrow Miss Neale will come back to take us a walk in theafternoon, and you may come too, mamma says, and stay to tea if yourmamma will let you. '

How Celestina's eyes sparkled! To be invited to tea at the Rectoryseemed to her far more enchanting than if she had received an invitationfrom the Queen of the Fairies to be present at one of her grandestfestivals. She was _so_ delighted that she forgot to speak, and MissNeale had to answer for her, and say that she would not forget to askMrs. Fairchild's consent. 

'And some day, Celestina, ' Biddy went on, 'I want you to ask your mammato ask _me_ to tea, for I want to see your dolls. '

Celestina looked rather grave. 

'I'll ask mother, ' she said, but there was a little hesitation in hermanner. This did not come from any false shame--Celestina did not knowwhat false shame was--but from very serious doubts as to what her fatherand mother would think of it. She had never had any friend to tea in herlife; father was always tired in the evening, and she was far from surethat a chattering child like Biddy would not annoy him and make his headache. So poor Celestina was rather silent and grave on the way home;Biddy's thoughtless proposal had taken the edge off her happiness. 

On her way back to the house Bridget met Rosalys. 

'Well, ' said Alie, 'and how did you get on, Biddy? How do you like yournew governess?'

'_Ever_ so much better than Miss Millet, ' Biddy replied. Her superhumanexertions had somewhat tired her; she felt rather cross now, and halfinclined to quarrel. She knew that Alie was particularly fond of MissMillet, and she glanced at her curiously as she made her speech. ButAlie was a wise little woman. 

'I'm so glad, ' she said. 'So glad you like Miss Neale, I mean. Of courseI knew you'd like Celestina. '

'I don't like her so very much as all that, ' said Biddy contradictorily. 'I like her well enough to do lessons with, but she's not very niceabout my going there to tea. '

'Going there to tea, ' Alie repeated. 'What do you mean, Biddy?'

'Mean what I say. She's coming here to tea two times every week if it'sfine, so I think they might 'avite me sometimes, and when I said to herjust now I'd like to come, she looked quite funny and only said she'dask her mother. Not a bit as if she'd like it. '

Rosalys felt very vexed. 

'Really, Biddy, you might know how to behave, ' she said. 'People don'toffer themselves to other people like that. '

'They do, ' Bride retorted. 'I've heard papa say he was going to "offerhimself to luncheon" to Aunt Mary's, and----'

'She's a relation, ' Alie interrupted. 

'Well, and once mamma offered herself to tea to old Lady Butler--I knowshe did--just before we went away at Christmas. '

'That's quite different; she knows old Lady Butler sowell--and--and--mamma's grown up and knows what's right, and you're alittle girl, and you shouldn't do things like that without askingleave, ' said Rosalys decidedly. 

'You're a cross unkind thing, ' said Biddy; 'and if you speak like thatI'll not go on being good any more. '

Then she turned away from her sister and ran down a side-path of thegarden, leaving Rosalys looking after her in distress, and half inclinedto blame herself for having spoken sharply to Biddy. 'It will vex mammaso if this new plan doesn't do, ' she thought regretfully. 'But perhapsBiddy will be good again when she comes in. '

The path down which the little girl had run led to a low wall from whichyou overlooked the sea. The tide was in, and though at some littledistance from the Rectory, Biddy could clearly see the water shining inthe morning sunshine, which was yellower and richer in colour now, forthe season was getting on; the cold thin wintry look was giving place inthis sheltered spot to the warmer feeling of spring. The little wavescame lapping in softly; by listening intently and fancying a little, Biddy could almost hear the delicate sound they made as they kissed theshore. 

'I wish it was warm enough to bathe, ' thought Biddy. 'But if it was_they'd_ be sure to say I mustn't, or that I was naughty or something, 'and in her anger at the imaginary cruelty of 'they, ' she kicked thelittle stones of the gravel at her feet as if it was their fault! Butthe little stones were too meek to complain, and Biddy got tired ofkicking them, and seating herself astride on the wall, sat staring outat the sea. Somehow it reminded her of her good resolutions, though itwas a quite different-looking sea from the evening tide, with the redsun sinking below the horizon, like that first time on the shore. 

What a pity it was that she had spoilt the fresh beginning of being sonice and good at her new lessons by being cross to Alie! And in herheart Biddy knew that her sister had not blamed her without reason--itwas her old fault of heedlessness; she _was_ quite old enough tounderstand that she should not have asked Celestina to invite her, andshe knew too that Celestina had been right in answering as she did. Butall these 'knowings in her heart' did not make Biddy feel more amiable. 

'It's no good trying, ' she said to herself as she got slowly down offthe wall--Bridget was always deliberate in her movements--'I'll just notbother. I'll do my lessons, 'cos I don't want them to say I'm stupid, but I'm not going to try not to be cross and all that. I'm tired oftrying. '

Mrs. Vane noticed at luncheon that Biddy was quiet and silent and notparticularly amiable looking, but Alie whispered that it had nothing todo with lessons, which had gone off well. 

'Don't notice her, mamma; it was only that she was vexed with me forsomething, ' Alie added; so nothing was said to Biddy, and she wasallowed to nurse her grievances in silence. 

She cheered up a little by tea-time, and told Randolph triumphantly thatshe had done all her lessons for Miss Neale 'by myself, without askingthat nasty cross Alie or nobody to help me. ' But she remained very surlyto her sister, though Alie tried to prevent her father and mothernoticing it. 

Next day was rainy and blowy. Miss Neale and Celestina arrived smotheredup in waterproofs and goloshes, and there was quite a bustle to get themunpacked from their wrappings and warmed at the schoolroom fire. Biddymade herself very important, and forgot for the time about being vexedwith Rosalys. 

Lessons went off well, thanks to Bridget's putting a good deal ofcontrol on herself, though there _were_ moments that morning which madethe young governess say to herself that she could understand its being_sometimes_ true that Biddy was tiresome and trying. When Celestina wasputting on her hat and jacket to go she gave Biddy a little touch on thearm. 

'I asked mother, ' she whispered, 'about what you said, and mother saysperhaps some day you would come early in the afternoon, and we couldplay with the dolls and have tea for ourselves out of mother's toy cupsthat she had when she was a little girl. They are so pretty. It wouldn'tbe quite a real tea, for we don't have real tea till past five, but I'msure mother would get us some little cakes, and we might make it a sortof a feast. '

Biddy's eyes sparkled. 

'Oh, that would be nice, ' she exclaimed. 'Yes, please, tell your motherI'd like to come very much. And just fancy, Celestina, that horrid Aliesaid it was very rude of me to have asked you to ask me. I'm sure itwasn't, now, was it?'

Celestina grew red and hesitated. 

'I'm sure you didn't mean to be rude, Miss Biddy, ' she said. 'Mothersaid----' but here she stopped. 

'What did she say?' demanded Biddy. 

'I didn't mean to say that she said anything, ' poor Celestina answered, 'only when you asked me----'

'_What_ did she say?' Biddy repeated, stamping her foot. 

'She didn't say you were rude; she said you were only a child, 'Celestina answered quietly. Biddy's temper somehow calmed her. 'AndI think so too, ' she added. 

'Then, _I_ think you're very, very unkind, and I'll never come to yourhouse at all, ' said Biddy. 

And thus ended the second morning. 

Bridget was a queer child. By the next day she seemed to have forgottenall about it. She was just as usual with Rosalys, and met Celestinaquite graciously. But it was not that she was ashamed of her temper oranxious to make amends for it. It was there still quite ready to breakout again. But she was lazy, and very often she seemed to give in whenit was really that keeping up any quarrel was too much trouble to her. I think, however, that Celestina's perfect gentleness did make her alittle ashamed. 

Lessons were on the whole satisfactory. Celestina worked so steadilythat she would soon have left Biddy behind had Biddy been as idle as hadoften been the case under Miss Millet. And Mrs. Vane was pleased tothink that the plan had turned out so well. 

One day, about a week after Miss Neale had begun to teach the children, just as they were finishing lessons, Rosalys made her appearance in theschoolroom. It was one of the days on which Miss Neale and Celestinacame back in the afternoon to take the girls a walk and to stay to teaafterwards. Rosalys looked pleased and eager. 

'Celestina, ' she said, 'mamma has a little message for you. Please comeinto the drawing-room before you go home this morning. '

Up started Biddy. 

'What is it, Alie? Do tell me. Mayn't I come into the drawing-room withCelestina?'

Alie shook her head, though smilingly. 

'No, ' she said; 'it's something quite private for Celestina. '

'I'll come, ' said the little girl, but Bridget's face darkened. 

'It's not fair, ' she muttered, as Celestina, after carefully putting herbooks away, left the room. 

'Come now, my dear, ' said Miss Neale, not very wisely, perhaps--shescarcely knew Biddy as yet--'you shouldn't be jealous. It's a verylittle thing for Celestina to have a message to do for your mamma. Someother time there will be one for you to do, I have no doubt. '

Biddy wriggled impatiently. 

'They've no business not to tell me, ' she said, taking not the leastnotice of Miss Neale's words. Then she banged down her books and ran outof the room without saying good-morning to her governess. 

Miss Neale did not see anything more of her till she and Celestinareturned that afternoon. It was a lovely day, and so as not to lose anyof the pleasant brightness of the afternoon, Mrs. Vane had made thegirls get ready early and go a little way down the sandy lane to meetthe two coming from Seacove. Bridget was gloomy, but Alie wasparticularly cheerful, and after a while the younger sister's gloom gaveway before the sunshine and the fresh air and Alie's sweetness. 

'There they are, ' she exclaimed, as two figures came in sight; 'shall werun, Biddy?' and almost without waiting for a reply off she set, Bridgetfollowing more slowly. 

When she got up to them Celestina and Alie were talking togethereagerly. They stopped short as Biddy ran up, but she heard Celestina'slast words, 'Mother says she'll be sure to get it by to-morrow or theday after. '

'What are you talking about?' asked Bridget. 

Celestina grew red but did not speak. Rosalys turned frankly to hersister--

'It's a message of mamma's we can't tell you about, ' she said, 'butyou'll know some time. '

Alas, the brightness of the afternoon was over, as far as Biddy wasconcerned. She turned away scowling. 

'Why should you know if I don't?' she said; 'and what business hasCelestina to know--she's as little as me nearly?'

[Illustration: A SECRET. P. 148. ]

'Oh, Biddy, ' said Alie reproachfully. 

But that was all. She knew that argument or persuasion was lost on hersister once she was started on her hobby-horse, ill-temper. She couldonly hope that she would forget about it by degrees. And after a whileit almost seemed so. They went down to the shore, where it was so brightand pleasant that it did not seem possible for the crossest person inthe world to resist the soft yet fresh breeze, the sunshine glancing onthe sands, the sparkling water in the distance. And Miss Neale was fullof such good ideas. She taught them a new play of trying to walkblindfold, or at least with their eyes shut, in a straight line, which_sounds_ very easy, does it not? but is, I assure you, very difficult;then they had a capital game of puss-in-the-corner, though the cornersof course were only marks in the sand; and with all this it was timeto go home to tea almost before they knew where they were. 

'How pretty it must be up in the lighthouse to-day, ' said Celestina asthey were turning away. 

This was the signal for Bridget's quarrelsomeness again. 

'Miss Neale, ' she said, shading her eyes from the sun, as she gazed outtowards the sea, 'Celestina does talk such nonsense. She says you can'twalk over the sands to the lighthouse. Now _can't_ you? I can _see_ sandall the way. '

Miss Neale was anxious not to contradict Biddy just as she seemed to becoming round again, and she was really not quite sure on the point. 

'I can't say, my dear, ' she replied. 'It does look as if you could--butstill----'

'There now, ' said Biddy to Celestina contemptuously, 'Miss Neale'sbigger than you, and she thinks you _can_; don't you, Miss Neale?'

'Yes, yes, my dear, ' Miss Neale, who was on some little way in frontwith Alie, replied hastily; 'but come on--what does it matter?'

But Biddy's tone had roused Celestina, gentle as she was. 

'I know you _can't_, ' she said, 'and whether a big or a little personsays you can, I just _know_ you can't, ' and she turned from Biddy andwalked on fast to join the others. Seeing her coming, Rosalys called toher. 

'Celestina, I want to ask you something, ' and in a moment the two weretalking together busily. 

'It's only the secret, Biddy, ' said Alie laughingly; she did not know ofBiddy's new ill-humour. 'You mustn't mind. '

Down came the black curtain thicker and thicker over Bridget's rosyface; firmly she settled herself on her unmanageable steed. 

'I don't care, ' she said to herself as she trudged along in silencebeside Miss Neale; 'they're horrid to me--_horrid_. And I'll be ashorrid as I can be to them. But I'll let that nasty Celestina see I'mright and she's wrong. I _will_. '

CHAPTER X

BIDDY'S ESCAPADE

 'And Dick, though pale as any ghost, Had only said to me, "We're all right now, old lad. "' _Author of 'John Halifax. '_

Miss Neale was rather in a hurry to get home that afternoon, so she andCelestina did not linger at the tea-table as they sometimes did. Byhalf-past four they had gone, for on Miss Neale's account tea had beenordered half an hour earlier than usual. 

Rosalys disappeared--mamma wanted her, she said. So Bridget was leftalone, for Rough had begun school some time ago. He rode over everymorning, and got home again about six. 

'I wonder if papa is in, ' thought Biddy idly, for a moment or two halfinclined to see if she might pay him a visit in the study. But then sheremembered that he had been out all day, and that he was not expectedhome till dinner-time. There were not many very poor people at Seacove, but there were a great many young men and boys always about the wharf, and some fishermen and their families living half-way between the littletown and a fishing village called Portscale, some way along the coast. At Portscale there was a beautiful old church, and a vicar younger andmuch more active than Dr. Bunton. Mr. Vane and he had made friends atonce, and to-day they had arranged to visit some of these outlyingneighbours together, for even though Mr. Vane was not at all strong andhad come to Seacove for a rest, he was far too good and energetic not todo all he possibly could. 

Biddy felt very cross when she remembered that her father was out. Shestrolled to the window; it was still bright and sunny--a sudden thoughtstruck her. She hurried upstairs to the room where her hat and jacketwere lying as she had just taken them off--her boots were still on herfeet, and in less time than it takes me to tell, for Biddy _could_ bequick if she chose, a sturdy little figure might have been seen trottingdown the sandy path which led to the shore. 

'If they leave me alone I'm forced to amuse myself and do thingsalone, ' she said to herself, as a sort of excuse to her own conscience, which _was_ trying, poor thing, to make itself heard, reminding her toothat there were plenty of things she could have done comfortably at homein the nursery, where Jane Dodson was not bad company when allowed totalk in her own slow way. There were to-morrow's lessons in the firstplace--pleasant, easy lessons to do alone, and not too much of them; andthere was the kettle-holder she was making for grandmamma's birthday!But no, Biddy refused to listen. She was determined to carry out thewild scheme she had got in her head--'It _will_ be nice to put Celestinadown, ' she said to herself. 

A very few minutes' quick walking, or running rather, for Biddy couldrun too when she chose, brought her to the end, or the beginning, whichever you like to call it, of the long rough road, so to speak, ofstones, stretching far out to sea. Biddy had gone some way along it twoor three times when out with the others; it was a very interesting placeto walk along, as the outgoing tide left dear little pools, which heldall sorts of treasures in the way of seaweed and tiny crabs andjellyfish, besides which, the scrambling over the pools and pickingone's way was very exciting, especially when there was a merry party ofthree or four together. Biddy found it amusing enough even by herself, for some little time, that is to say. But after a while she got rathertired of not being able to walk straight on, and once or twice sharpstones cut and bruised her feet, and she wished she had some one's handto take to steady her. She was very eager to get to the other end of thetongue, or ridge of stones, for once there she felt sure it would be buteasy walking over sand to the lighthouse. For the lighthouse as you willhave guessed, was her destination!

'I daresay the sand'll be rather wet, ' she thought; 'it must be thewetness that Celestina thought was water, for it shines just like watersometimes. I'll run over it very quick and my boots are thick. What funit'll be to tell Celestina I've been to the lighthouse all by myself!'

But the stones grew rougher and rougher. The tongue was not really morethan half a mile long, but it seemed much more. Several times before shegot to the end of it Biddy looked back with a half acknowledged thoughtthat perhaps it would be best to give up the expedition after all--noone need know she had tried it. But behind her by this time the roughstones seemed a dreary way, and in front it did not now look far. Shefelt as if she _could_ not go back, and she had a sort of vague hopethat somehow or other the nice old man Celestina had told her of wouldhelp her to get home an easier way. Perhaps he would take her round in aboat!

At last she got to the end of the stones, and then, oh joy! there laybefore her a beautiful smooth stretch of ripple-marked sand--howdelightful it was to run along it, so firm and pleasant it felt to hertired little feet. The lighthouse seemed still a good way off--fartherthan she had expected, but at first, in the relief of having got off thestones, she almost felt as if she could fly. She did get over the groundpretty quickly for some minutes, and even when she began to go moreslowly she kept up a pretty good pace. And at last she saw the queerbuilding--it reminded her a little of an old pigeon-house atgrandmamma's, for it was not a very high lighthouse--almost close toher. But, Celestina had spoken truly, between it and her there lay agood-sized piece of water, stretching up to the rocks, or great roughstones round the base of the lighthouse--a sort of lake which evidentlywas always there, filled up afresh by each visit of the tide. 

Bridget gasped. But she was determined enough once she had made up hermind. She went close up to the water; it did not look at all deep andher skirts were very short. Down she sat on the sand, less dry than itlooked, and pulled off her shoes and stockings, tying them up into abundle as she had seen tramps do in the country. Then lifting her frockas high as she could, in she plunged. _Oh_, how cold it was! But thewater did not come up very high, not over her knees, though now and thena false step wetted her pretty badly. She was shivering all over, but onshe waded, till within a few yards only of the sort of little shoresurrounding the lighthouse, when--what was the matter with the sand, what made it seem to go away from her all at once? She plunged about, but on all sides it seemed to be sloping downwards; higher and higherrose the water, till it was above her waist, and still every movementmade it rise. 

'I'm drowning, ' screamed Biddy. 'Oh, help me, help me! Man in thelighthouse, can't you hear me? Oh, oh, oh!'

Biddy fortunately had good lungs and her screams carried well. But thewater kept rising, or rather she kept slipping farther down. She waslosing her head now, and had not the sense to stand still, and she waspartly stupefied by cold. It would have gone badly with her butfor--what I must now tell you about. 

It was what would be called, I suppose, a curious coincidence, the sortof chance, so to say--though 'chance' is a word without realmeaning--that many people think only happens in story-books, in whichI do not at all agree, for I have known in real life far strangercoincidences than I ever read of--well, it was by a very fortunatecoincidence that that very afternoon Bridget's father happened to be atthe lighthouse. He had gone out there by a sudden thought of Mr. Mildmay's, the Portscale clergyman I told you of, who had mentioned intalking that he had not been there for some time. 

'And it is a very fine mild day, ' he said. 'It doesn't take twentyminutes in a boat. If you don't think it would hurt you, Mr. Vane?'

Mr. Vane was delighted. There was a good deal of the boy about himstill; he loved anything in the shape of a bit of fun, and he lovedboating. So off the two came, and were most pleasantly welcomed by oldTobias and his second-in-command at the lighthouse. And by another happychance, just as Biddy began to wade, Mr. Vane had come to the side ofthe lantern-room looking over in her direction. 

'What can that be, moving slowly through that bit of water?' he said toTobias. 'I am rather near-sighted. Is it a porpoise?'

'Nay, nay, sir, not at this season, ' replied the old man; 'besides it'sfar too shallow for anything like that, though there is a deepish holenear the middle. '

He strolled across to where Mr. Vane was standing as he spoke, andstared out where his visitor pointed to. Then suddenly he flung open oneof the glazed doors and stepped on to the round balcony--perhaps that isnot the right word to use for a lighthouse, but I do not know anyother--outside, followed by Mr. Vane. Just then Biddy's screams cameshrilly through the clear afternoon air, for it was a still day, and outat the lighthouse, when there was no noise of wind and waves, there wascertainly nothing else to disturb the silence except perhaps the cry ofa sea-gull overhead, or now and then the sound of the fishermen's voicesas they passed by in their boats. And just now the waves were a long wayout and the winds were off I know not where--all the better for the poorsilly child, who, having got herself into this trouble, could do nothingbut scream shrilly and yet more shrilly in her terror. 

Old Tobias turned and looked at Mr. Vane. 

'It's a child, 'pon my soul, it's a child, ' he exclaimed, and he spranginside again and made for the ladder leading downstairs. But quick as hewas, his visitor was before him. People talk of the miraculous quicknessof a mother's ears; a father's, I think, are sometimes quite as acute, and Bridget's father loved dearly his self-willed, tiresome, queer-tempered little girl. Long before he got to the top of the ladderhe knew more than old Tobias, more than any of them--Mr. Mildmay oryoung Williams, the other lighthouse man--had any idea of. He knew thatthe voice which had reached him was that of his own Biddy, and beforeTobias could give him a hint, or ever a word had been said as to whatwas best to do, he had pulled off his coat, tossed away his hat, and wasup to his waist in the water. For though not _so_ deep close round thelighthouse as at the dangerous place where Biddy had lost her head, thissalt-water lake even at low tide was never less than two or three feetin depth at the farther side. 

'I can swim, ' was all Mr. Vane called out to the three hurrying afterhim. But so could Mr. Mildmay, and so could, of course, Tobias andWilliams. And it was not so much the fear of his friend's drowning asthe thought of the mischief that might come to him, delicate as he was, from the chill and exposure, that made Mr. Mildmay shout after him, 'Come back, I entreat you, Vane; you are not fit for it, ' while hestruggled to drag off a very heavy pair of boots he had on--boots he hadon purpose for rough shingly walking, but which he knew would weight himterribly in the water. 

A touch on his arm made him start. It was Tobias. 

'Stop you here, sir, ' he said; 'Bill's off, and he's the youngest andspryest, ' and sure enough there was Williams already within a few yardsof Mr. Vane. 'I don't take it there's much danger of no drownding--andBill knows the deep part. But it's cold for the gentleman, so delicateas he is--we two had best stay dry and be ready to give 'em a hand whenthey get in. But it beats me, it do, to think what child could be such afool as to try to cross that there water--such a thing's ne'er happenedbefore. '

Mr. Mildmay did not like to give in, though he knew there was sense inwhat Tobias said. He stood hesitating, one boot half off, but there wasnot long to wait. Soon came a cheery cry from Williams, 'All right, sir, all right, ' and in almost less time than it takes to tell it, the twomen, half-swimming, half-wading, were seen returning, carrying betweenthem a little dripping figure, with streaming hair, white face, andclosed eyes. 

[Illustration: '----carrying between them a little dripping figure, withstreaming hair, white face, and closed eyes. ' P. 161. ]

It was thus that Biddy paid her long thought-of visit to the lighthouse. 

She was not drowned, nor anything approaching to it; she had only once, or twice perhaps, been thoroughly under the water; the whole had inreality passed very quickly, but not so had it seemed to Biddy. Unlessyou have ever been, or thought yourself in danger of drowning, you couldnot understand how in such a case seconds seem minutes, and minuteshours; and the ducking and the cold and the terror all combined had madethings seem worse than they really were. Bridget was almost quiteunconscious by the time her father had got hold of her--perfectlystupefied any way; her clothes were heavy too, and she was at no time alight weight. Altogether it was a very good thing indeed that stronghardy Bill was close behind Mr. Vane, whose powers would not have heldout very long. As it was, he was whiter even than Biddy, his teethchattering with cold and nervous excitement, when at last the wholeparty found themselves safe in the living-room or kitchen of thelighthouse. 

Old Tobias had hot blankets down before the fire and a steaming tumblerof brandy and water ready in no time. Biddy, deposited in front of thegrate, sat up and looked about her in a dazed sort of way. She felt asif she were dreaming. 

'Biddy, ' said her father, 'you must take off the wettest of your thingsat once. '

Biddy began to finger her garments. 

'My frock's the worst, ' she said; 'and oh, where's my hat gone?'

'Never mind your hat, child, ' said Tobias. 'Here, step this way, ' and heled her to a sort of partition in the corner of the room, behind whichwas his own bed; 'take off your things, my dear, and get into bed withthis blanket round you whiles I sees to the gentleman. You'll be nonethe worse of your drenching: salt water's a deal better for not catchingcold. It's the gentleman we must see to. It's the new rector, and adelicate gentleman he is. '

Biddy stared up at him. 

'It's my papa, ' she said. 

It was the old man's turn to stare now. 

'Your papa!' he exclaimed. He had never dreamt but that Biddy was aSeacove child, tempted out too far by the fine afternoon--a fisherman'sor boatman's daughter. But however curious he was to hear more, he hadtoo much sense to cross-question her just then. 

'Get into bed, missie, and get to sleep for a bit, while your thingsdry. '

Biddy had had her share of weak brandy and water; she had never tastedit before, and it soon sent her to sleep. 

Tobias went back to Mr. Vane. 

'She's all right, sir. I'd no notion as she was your young lady. Was sheawaitin' for you on the sands, or how?'

Mr. Vane shook his head. 

'I know no more about it than you, ' he said. But he still looked sowhite and faint that the lighthouse man and the others gave all theirattention to getting him warmed and dried, and at last they got him tolook a little better, though he declared he could not go to sleep. 

'You can stay quiet any way, ' said Mr. Mildmay. But Mr. Vane looked upanxiously. 

'My wife, ' he said. 'She will be getting frightened, not about memerely, but the child. '

'I will take the boat back at once and tell her, ' said Mr. Mildmay; 'ifWilliams can come with me, it won't take long. I'll run up to theRectory, and then we'll bring another man out to help to row us all backagain. I'll bring some wraps too. You think you'll be fit to go home inan hour or so?'

'Certainly, ' said Mr. Vane decidedly. 'I could not stay here. '

Mr. Mildmay reached the Rectory to find poor Mrs. Vane in a sad state offright. Biddy's absence had not been discovered for some time, asRosalys was busy with her mother, and Rough had not come in from school, and everybody, if they thought about her at all, naturally thought shewas with some one else. For a girl of seven or eight should surely besensible enough to be left to herself for an hour in her own nursery orschoolroom! But once the hue and cry after her began, it really did seemas if there were cause for alarm. Every one had some new idea tosuggest, ending by Rough, who, as he came riding in on his pony andheard the news, declared she must be hiding out of mischief. 

But no--a very short search dispelled that possibility, and the pony hadto be saddled again for Rough to set off as fast as he could to Seacoveto inquire if the truant had perhaps followed Celestina home. 

'And your father not in yet either, ' said Mrs. Vane. 'Oh, Alie, what_can_ be the matter? Can something have happened to him that Biddy hasheard of, and that has made her run off to him--poor Biddy, she is veryfond of papa. But if she has run away out of mischief, Alie--oh, _could_she be such a naughty, naughty girl?'

Mrs. Vane was dreadfully excited. Alie had hard work to keep back herown tears. 

'Just as we were _so_ happy about the doll-house for her too, ' Mrs. Vanewent on. 

Rosalys gave a little sob. 

'I _think_ perhaps she's at Celestina's, ' she said. But in less timethan could have been expected back dashed Rough. No, Biddy was not, hadnot been at Pier Street, but Celestina and her mother were following himas fast as they could to the Rectory--Celestina had an idea--she wouldexplain it all--but she begged Mrs. Vane to send down to the shore; thesea was out, and it was still light enough to see any one there a goodway off. 

A party was at once despatched to the sands, in vain, as we know, forby this time Mr. Mildmay had landed from his boat and was hurrying alongto calm Mrs. Vane's anxiety. He arrived there a quarter of an hour or soafter Mrs. Fairchild and her daughter, so Celestina had had time toexplain the idea which had struck her--we know what it was, and that itwas the true one--and to relate to Mrs. Vane all her reasons forimagining it possible that self-willed, obstinate Biddy had set out onher own account to walk to the lighthouse. 

So when Mr. Mildmay appeared and told his strange story, his hearerswere able to explain what to him and Mr. Vane had seemed a completemystery. 

'How _could_ she be so naughty?' Mrs. Vane exclaimed. But Alie touchedher gently. 

'Only, dear mamma, ' she whispered, 'think; she might have been drowned. '

'And so might your father, and as it is, I tremble to think what theconsequences may be for him. I do feel as if I could not forgiveBridget, ' said Mrs. Vane excitedly. 

Mrs. Fairchild was very, very sorry for her, but she was a brave woman. She managed to draw Mrs. Vane aside. 

'Dear madam, ' she said, 'I do feel for you. But we must be just. Remember the child had no idea of what would be the result of her folly. It was really but a piece of childish folly or naughtiness. And it maybe a lesson for all her life; it may be the turning-point forher--if--if only you would--if you can meet her--gently--if nothing issaid to harden her. '

'I will try. I promise you I will try, ' said Mrs. Vane very softly. 'Butoh, Mrs. Fairchild, if it has made my husband ill!' and her voice broke. 

'We must hope not--hope and pray, ' said Celestina's mother in a lowvoice. 

'And there was something so interesting I wanted to tell you; I had aletter to-day from Madame d'Ermont--such a nice letter. And now all thishas spoilt everything, ' went on poor Mrs. Vane. 

'Never mind. You will tell me about it another time, ' said Mrs. Fairchild soothingly. 'Would it--excuse my suggesting it--would I be inthe way if I stayed till they come? I have some experience as to chillsand accidents of all sorts--and I would like to see how they are. '

'Oh, thank you, ' said Mrs. Vane fervently. 'I should be most grateful. I have no one now with any head about me since my last maid left. '

And Mrs. Fairchild stayed--not that evening only, but all night, sendingCelestina home to explain matters to her father. 

CHAPTER XI

AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

 '"Love will make the lesson light. ... Teach me how to learn it right, " Through her tears smiled Daisy. '--ANON. 

For Mrs. Vane's troubles came thickly just then. Before night it wasevident that both Biddy and her father were not to escape all badresults from the chill and wetting; and the Seacove doctor, who was sentfor at once, looked grave, shook his head as he murmured that it was nodoubt most unfortunate. He would say nothing decided beyond giving somesimple directions till he should see how the patients were the next day. Biddy, after a violent fit of crying, which came on when she found herfather could not come 'to say good-night, ' and begging, among her sobs, to be forgiven, fell asleep, and slept heavily, to wake again in an houror two, feverish, restless, and slightly delirious. This, however, wason the whole less alarming, for very little will make a childlight-headed, than Mr. Vane's condition. There was no sleep for him, poor man; he was racked with pain and terribly awake--nervously anxiousto know the ins and outs of Biddy's escapade, and to soften it as muchas possible in her mother's eyes. Mrs. Vane kept her promise of beingvery gentle with Biddy, and indeed, when in her room, and seeing thepoor little thing so ill, it was not difficult to be so. But once awayfrom her, and in sight of her husband's sufferings, the irritationagainst Biddy grew almost too great to keep down. And Mrs. Vane was notvery good at keeping down or keeping in her feelings, and each time sheburst out it seemed to make Mr. Vane worse. There was no going to bedfor either her or Mrs. Fairchild that night; indeed, what she would havedone without Celestina's wise and gentle mother I do not know. It wasshe who sensibly made the best of it all, soothing Mrs. Vane, who reallyneeded it almost as much as Biddy and her father; and the only snatchesof sleep Mr. Vane got were when her soft and pleasant voice had beenreading aloud to him. 

'I don't know how to thank you, ' said Biddy's mother tearfully the nextmorning early, when she at last persuaded Mrs. Fairchild to lie down alittle. 'Can't you stay all day to rest?'

But Mrs. Fairchild shook her head, smiling. 

'I must go home, ' she said. 'At the latest I must go home by teno'clock. It will be all right till then. I can trust Celestina to see toher father's breakfast and everything, and there's not much doing in theshop before then. Celestina will have let Miss Neale know not to come. '

'How well you have brought your little girl up--how thoughtful andwomanly she is; and to think that she is only a year or two older thanBridget!' said Mrs. Vane sadly. 

'It has not been exactly my doing, ' Celestina's mother replied. 'I oftenthink the very things I would have wished different for her have beenthe best training. She has _had_ to be helpful and thoughtful; she hashad her own duties and share of responsibility almost all her life. '

'Biddy never feels responsible for anything--not even for learning herlessons or being ready for meals, ' said her mother. 

'Well, that is just what wants awaking in her. This lesson may show herthat even a child is responsible, that a child may cause sad trouble. One would rather she had learnt it the other way, but it may be what sheneeded. '

Mrs. Vane sighed. She wanted to be patient, but she could hardly bringherself to feel that a lesson which was to cost Biddy's father suchsuffering, nay, even to risk his life perhaps, would not be too dearlybought. 

The doctor came, but he was not much more outspoken than the nightbefore. Biddy was to be kept very quiet, the more she could sleep thebetter; as for Mr. Vane, he _hoped_ it would not be rheumatic fever, butit was plain he feared it. And he advised Mrs. Vane to get a trainednurse. 

A trying time followed. For some days it seemed almost certain that Mr. Vane was in for rheumatic fever; in the end he just managed to escapeit, but he was sadly weakened, and the cough, which had disappearedsince his coming to Seacove, began again. It would be weeks before hecould leave his room. 

And Biddy, too, did not get well as had been expected. She lay therewhite and silent as if she did not want to get better, only seemingthoroughly to wake up when she asked, as she did at least every twohours, how papa was, and sinking back again when the usual answer cameof 'No better, ' or 'Very little better. ' Her mother was very kind toher, but she could not be much with Biddy, and perhaps it was as well, for it would have been almost impossible for her to hide for long hergreat unhappiness about Mr. Vane. 

Mrs. Fairchild came to the Rectory as often as she could; sometimes shesat with Biddy for an hour or more at a time, but Biddy scarcely spoke, and Celestina's mother was both sorry for her and anxious about her. 

'There seems no one able to pay much attention to her, ' she said oneevening at home; 'poor Mrs. Vane is so taken up, and no wonder, with herhusband, and Rosalys is as busy as she can be, helping and seeing toeverything. '

There came a little voice from the other side of the table: theFairchilds were at tea. 

'Mother, do you think I might go to see her?' it asked. 'I'd be veryquiet. '

'I'll ask, ' Mrs. Fairchild answered. 'You might come with me to-morrowand wait outside while I find out if it would do. '

Mrs. Vane had no objection--Biddy was really not ill now, she said. Itwas just one of her queer ways to lie still and refuse to get up. Perhaps Celestina would make her ashamed of herself. So Celestina wasbrought upstairs, and tapped gently at the door. 

'Come in, ' said Bridget, though without looking up. But when the neatlittle figure came forward, close to the bedside, and she glanced roundand saw who it was, a smile came over her face--the first for a longtime. 

'Celestina!' she exclaimed joyfully. But then the smile died away again, and a red flush covered her cheeks and forehead. 'No, ' she said, turningon the other side, 'I don't want to see you. Go away. '

Celestina felt very distressed. But she wanted to do Biddy good, so sheput back her own feelings. 

'Please don't say that, ' she said. 'I'll stay as quiet as anything, butplease don't send me away. I've been so wanting to see you. '

There was a slight turning towards her on this, and at last Biddy liftedher head from the pillow a little. 

'Did you truly want to see me?' she said. 

'Of course I did. I've been very sorry about you being ill, ' Celestinareplied. 

Biddy did not speak. Then Celestina heard a faint sound, and going up alittle closer still, she saw that Biddy was crying. 

'Dear Miss Biddy, ' she whispered. Then a pair of hot little arms, not sofat as they had been, were stretched out and thrown round her neck. 

'Will you kiss me, Celestina?' whispered Bridget. 'Do you really loveme? If you do, you're the only one. I'm too naughty--I've been toonaughty. I've as good as killed papa--I know he's going to die. I heardthem saying the first night I'd as good as killed him, though I pretendednot to hear. And I've been trying to die myself; I thought p'raps if Iprayed a great, great lot to be forgiven, God would forgive me before Idied. But I want to die, because I'm so naughty I'm only a trouble. AndI _couldn't_ live without papa, knowing I'd as good as killed him. Oh, Celestina, ' and here the voice grew so low that Celestina could scarcelyhear it, 'are you quite sure that papa hasn't died already and theywon't tell me?' and Celestina felt her shiver. 

'I heard him speaking as I came upstairs, ' said Celestina, so quietlythat Biddy believed her perfectly; 'the door of his room was open. I think he must be a little better to-day. '

'Oh, ' said Biddy with a gasp, 'I do wonder if he is. '

'And----' Celestina began, then stopped again, 'I don't think you shouldtalk about trying to die like that, ' she said. 'I--I think it would berather a lazy way of being sorry for what we'd done wrong just to try todie. '

'I suppose it's because I'm lazy then. They all say I'm very lazy, 'Biddy replied. 'But I can't help it. I'm not going to try and be goodany more. I fixed that before--before that day. It's no use. '

Celestina considered a little. 

'I should think, ' she said at last--'I should think you would want toget better to help to take care of your papa and make him better. '

Biddy started at this. It was a new idea. 

'Do you think they'd let me?' she said in a half whisper. 'I thought Iwas too little. Did you ever help to take care of your papa when he wasill? But p'raps he's never been ill?'

'Oh yes, he has, ' said Celestina, with a sigh. 'I think he's iller thanyour papa very often. I do lots of things for him then: I make his teaalways, and tidy his room. And sometimes when he's getting better andcomes downstairs to the parlour I read aloud to him. For when he's ill, mother has all the more to be in the shop, you know. '

Bridget listened intently. At last--

'Celestina, ' she said, 'I do wish I could see papa. It would make me_quite_ sure he's alive, you know, for it all seems so muddled in myhead since the day I was so naughty. And if he'd forgive me, and if he'dget better, I think, _perhaps_, I'd ask God to make me better too, sothat I might make papa's tea and read aloud to him like you do. '

'Perhaps it wouldn't be exactly that, ' said Celestina, a little afraidof the responsibility of putting anything into Bridget's head, 'but I'msure you could do _something_. And why shouldn't you see him? Miss Aliewas in his room just now. '

Bridget would have hung her head if she had not been lying down. As itwas, she looked ashamed. 

'He mustn't get up at all, you know, ' she said. 'And one day when theyoffered me to go to see him, I wouldn't. '

'You wouldn't?' exclaimed Celestina. 

'No, ' said Biddy; 'I didn't want to see him looking like he did thatday. '

'But you'd like to see him now, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, ' said Biddy. 'If you were to get me my dressing-gown, Celestina, don't you think I might just run down the passage and the little stairand go to see him? He lies on the sofa in his room, Alie said one day. '

Celestina looked frightened. 

'Don't you think you should ask your mamma first?' she said. 'Besides, I thought you were too ill to walk. '

'Oh no, ' said Bridget; 'I think I could walk if I tried. But you may goand ask mamma if you like; I'm sure she'll say I may. '

Off flew Celestina. She too felt pretty sure that Mrs. Vane would bepleased to hear of Biddy's wish. But when she got to the room where shehad left her mother with Mrs. Vane, they were not there, and Alie, whocame in a moment afterwards, said they were walking up and down thegarden; if Celestina would go out she would be sure to meet them. 'Andmamma will be very pleased to hear that Biddy wants to go to see papa. He has asked for her several times, but he said she wasn't to be forced, not till she felt inclined. Papa _is_ so good and patient, and he isreally a little bit better to-day, ' said Rosalys brightly. 

Upstairs Bridget was eagerly waiting for Celestina's return. She had gotout of bed and reached down her dressing-gown for herself, feelingrather surprised at finding how well she could walk; she had found herslippers too, and stood there leaning against the bed, quite ready forher little expedition. 

After a while she crept to the door and peeped out. Sounds, cheerfulsounds of the usual morning stir in a well-managed house came up thestairs; she heard faint clatter from the kitchen, and now and then alittle laugh or a few words of the servants talking together. But no onewas about upstairs. 

'Papa must be a little better, ' thought Bridget, 'else they wouldn'tseem like that. I do wish Celestina would come back. I wonder if she'sforgotten?'

She edged herself a tiny bit into the passage. It did not seem far, onlyalong by the balusters and down the little stair to papa's room; andjust then came a sound which seemed to go straight to Biddy's heart. Itwas papa's cough--not a very bad one, just his usual little cough. Itseemed to waken her up--till now she had felt almost as if in a sort ofdream; it was so queer to feel and hear all the house-life going on thesame as ever when she had been out of it so long, for ten or twelve daysis a long time to a child--but the sound of papa's cough seemed to makeeverything real, to join the past and the present together again, stillmore, to touch a spring in Biddy which I think she had scarcely knownwas there. And without stopping to think any more, off she set, alongthe passage and down the stair, till she found herself, breathless andrather giddy, but full of eagerness, at her father's door. 

It was open, as Celestina had said, and half shy now, Biddy peeped in. He was lying on a couch between the fire and the window; it was a brightspring-like morning--he had a book in his hand, but he did not seem tobe reading; he was quite still, his eyes were gazing out to the clearblue sky, and the look in his face was very sweet. Then again came thelittle cough. That was the signal. In rushed Biddy. 

'Papa, dear papa, ' she cried, as she half threw herself, half tumbledupon him, for she felt giddy again with moving so fast. 'Dear papa, areyou getting better? Please don't die, dear papa, and I _will_ try to begood. And oh, please forgive me, and don't say I as good as killed you. '

'My poor little Biddy, ' said Mr. Vane, raising himself so as to see her, and drawing her tenderly on to the couch beside him, --'my poor littleBiddy. So you've come to see me at last! And are you getting better, dear?'

'Yes, yes, papa, but please tell me you're not going to die because ofme, ' and Biddy began to cry, but gently, not in her old way. 

Mr. Vane tried to speak, but his cough was troublesome. 

'I think I'm a little better, dear, ' he said, 'and, please God, I hopeto be better yet. And it will be a great help to me if I see you quitewell again, and trying to be of use to mamma, Biddy, and to Alie. Youcan help to nurse me, you know. '

Biddy looked up. The very things Celestina had said!

'Papa!' she said, 'might I really? Would mamma let me? Will everybodyforgive me?'

Was it Biddy speaking? Even her father could scarcely believe it. 

Just at that moment Mrs. Vane came hurriedly into the room: she had beento Biddy's, on receiving Celestina's message, and finding the birdflown, had naturally taken alarm. 

'_Biddy!_' she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the child beside herfather, his arm round her, her eager flushed face looking up at him--andher tone was rather anxious and annoyed. But Mr. Vane glanced at hiswife with a little sign which she understood. She came quickly towardsthem. 

'Biddy, ' whispered her father, 'here is mamma. '

Bridget's face worked for a moment, then she flung her arms round hermother's neck. 

'Mamma, mamma, ' she whispered, 'I'm going to try to be good--if onlyyou'll forgive me. I don't want to die if I can be good and help tonurse papa. Mamma, there was something _very_ sorry came into my heartwhen papa got me out of the water and I saw how white he was. But Iwouldn't listen to it, and it got hard and horrid. But now it's comeagain--Celestina began it, and I _will_ be good--and _don't_ you thinkGod will make papa better?'

I don't think Mrs. Vane had ever kissed Biddy as she kissed her then. 

 * * * * *

Doctors say that _wishing_ to get better has a good deal to do with it. It did seem so in Mr. Vane's case; he was not afraid to die, but he wasstill young, and it seemed to him that if he were spared to live therewere many good and useful things he could do. And he was a happy andcheerful man; he loved being alive, and he loved this beautiful world, and longed to make other people as happy as he was himself. Most of allhe loved his wife and children, and his great wish to get well was fortheir sake more than for any other reason. And never during the severalillnesses he had had did he wish _quite_ so much to get well as now. Forhe had a feeling that if he did not recover a sad shadow would be castover Biddy's life--a shadow that would not grow lighter but darker, hefeared, as she came more fully to understand that her folly or childishnaughtiness had been the cause of his illness and death. 

'It would leave a sore memory in her mother's heart too, ' Mr. Vane saidto himself, 'however much she tried not to let it come between her andthe child. '

And I fear it would have done so. 

So Biddy's father did his best to get well. Not by fidgeting andworrying and thinking of nothing but his own symptoms, but by cheerfulpatience. He obeyed the doctor's orders exactly, and forced himself tobelieve that the work he would fain have been doing would get done, byGod's help, even though _he_ might not do it; he kept up his interest inall going on about him, watching with the keenest interest the pretty, shy approaches of the spring from his window; he read as much as he wasallowed, and helped Rough with his lessons in the evening, and had abright smile for everybody at all times. 

'I almost feel as if he were too good to live, ' said Mrs. Fairchild oneevening to Celestina and her father, when she had returned from a visitto the rectory. But this time it was Mr. Fairchild's turn to speakcheerily, for he too had been spending an hour or two with the invalidthat day. 

'I saw a decided improvement to-day, ' he said. 'I do think Mr. Vane'spatience is wonderful, but I have a strong feeling that he is reallybeginning to gain ground. '

Celestina's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and so did her mother's. Thetwo families had grown very much attached to each other in these fewweeks. 

'_Won't_ they all be happy when he gets well?' said the little girl. 'And oh, mother, isn't dear little Biddy different from what she was?She is so gentle and thoughtful, and she's hardly _never_ cross. Shedoes so many little things to help. '

Mrs. Fairchild smiled. In her heart she thought that Celestina hadcertainly had a hand in this pleasant change, but she would not say so. Children got less praised '_then_-a-days, ' as a little friend of minecalls long ago, for their parents were exceedingly afraid of spoilingthem, and the thought of taking any credit to herself had never enteredthe child's mind. 

'I do hope, ' she went on, 'that Biddy's papa will be nearly quite wellby her birthday. It'll come in a month, you know, mother, and thedoll-house is almost quite ready. Mrs. Vane has begun working at itagain the last few days, and Rosalys and I and Miss Neale have all beenhelping. It _will_ be so lovely, mother, ' and Celestina's face lightedup with pleasure quite as great as if it was all for herself. 

Truly, selfish people have _no_ idea what happiness they miss!

CHAPTER XII

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

 'Rare as is true love, true friendship is still rarer. ' LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

Bridget's birthday came in May--the middle of May. From the time I havetold you about in the last chapter Mr. Vane went on getting slowlybetter; at least he got no worse. But it did seem very slow. At lastthere came a day on which the doctor gave him leave to go downstairs. 

'I want to see what he can do, ' the doctor explained. 'At this rate wemight go on for months and gain little ground. Perhaps he is strongerthan he seems. '

They were all very eager and excited about this great step. It was an'afternoon' day, as the little girls called those days on whichCelestina and Miss Neale came back again, and this afternoon Mrs. Fairchild came with them. Mrs. Vane was thankful to have her at hand incase of any help being needed. And all the children were sent out for awalk, with the promise of finding papa in the drawing-room when theycame in again. 

But as they were coming home they were met by Rough at the Rectory gate. It was one of his occasional half-days. He ran out to meet them, but helooked rather grave. 

'Is papa down? Is he in the drawing-room?' cried Rosalys and Biddy. 

'Yes, ' said Rough; 'but mamma's been rather frightened about him. Heseems so weak. She's sent me for the doctor, and he's there now. So youmust not go in to see papa. That's why I came to meet you. '

Alie's face fell and Biddy's grew very red. 

'I'm sure _we_ shouldn't hurt him, ' she said. 'It's all that nastydoctor, ' and she almost looked as if she were going to get into one ofher old tempers. 

Celestina took hold of her hand gently. 

'Don't, Biddy dear, ' she whispered. 'Perhaps when the doctor goes you'llsee him;' which did Bridget far more good than if she had overheard, asshe luckily did not, Rough's remark to Alie: 'I don't think _she's_ anyright to grumble when it's all her doing. '

It was not a kind thing to say, but then Rough's heart was sore andanxious, and when one feels so it is difficult not to be cross andsharp. All their hearts were sore, I think. Children jump on so fast intheir minds. Bride and Rough, and Alie too, I daresay, had fancied tothemselves that once 'downstairs' again papa would seem directly likehimself, and this news was a great disappointment. So the little partywent in rather sadly, Miss Neale telling them in a low voice to take offtheir things and come down to tea in the schoolroom as quietly aspossible, Rough, over whom her authority did not extend, stationinghimself at the front door to watch for the doctor's departure. 

He stayed some time, and when he had gone Mr. Vane asked for thechildren. 

'In a little, ' Mrs. Vane answered. Then she turned to Celestina'smother. 'This idea has rather taken my breath away, ' she said, but hervoice was pretty cheerful. 

'I hardly see how it is to be managed, ' said Mr. Vane, for once ratherdespondently. 

'We will talk it all over afterwards, ' said Mrs. Vane, at a little signfrom Celestina's mother; 'and now we will leave you to rest a while. '

'Oh dear, Mrs. Fairchild, ' she said, when they were alone in the nextroom, 'I wonder what we can do. It is dreadful to think of goingabroad--to be alone among strangers, and my husband so ill. And thenleaving the children. I cannot send them to my mother. Her house is fullwith my eldest brother's family home from India. '

'I think they would get on very well here, ' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'Andyour own governess will be back in a fortnight. Of course Miss Nealewould be too young for such a charge; besides, she cannot leave hermother. And--you must excuse my suggesting it--but is not Madamed'Ermont's home somewhere in the south?'

'To be sure, ' exclaimed Mrs. Vane, starting up joyfully; 'how stupid ofme not to have thought of it! Thank you so much for reminding me. I haveher last letter here. You have written to her yourself, have you not?'

'Yes, indeed. I wrote to thank her very much for her kindness, ' saidMrs. Fairchild. 'It may be of the greatest advantage to Celestina someday. '

For I have been so busy with the story of Biddy's escapade and itsconsequences, that I have put off too long telling of the French lady'skind letter to Mrs. Vane about her old friend Mrs. Fairchild and herlittle name-daughter Celestina. 

'It has touched me very much, ' she wrote, 'to find I was stillremembered; and if ever I can be of use to little Célestine and hermother I hope she or you will let me know. '

Well, the doctor had ordered Mr. Vane to go abroad, as I daresay youwill have guessed. 

It was a sad disappointment, just when they had come to Seacove and heseemed so well, and though no one reproached her, Bridget felt that theconsequences of her self-will were not to be soon forgotten. 

It was all settled very quickly; and from the time it was settled Mr. Vane, 'out of contradiction, ' he said laughing, really seemed to improvefaster than hitherto. So that he was looking a good deal more like 'aproper papa, ' as Alie said, the day he and Mrs. Vane started on theirlong journey. 

'I am so glad you are going to be near that nice old lady, ' said Alie, amidst her tears; 'and oh, mamma dear, I will try to do everything youwould like. '

'I am sure you will, darling, and it is a great comfort to feel so muchhappier about Biddy now. You will try to make a nice birthday for her, I know. '

'There'll be the surprise--that's something nice to look forward to. Andwe may have Celestina as often as we like, mayn't we?'

'As often as her mother can spare her, of course, ' Mrs. Vane answered. 

Then came Biddy. She was not crying, though she winked her eyes a gooddeal. 

'Mamma, I'll try to be good, ' she said bluntly; 'and if papa gets quitewell again'--here her voice broke. 'Oh, mamma, if only it was the dayfor you and papa to come back, and him quite, _quite_ well. Mamma, Ithink I'd never be naughty again. '

This was a great, great deal from Biddy!

That day _did_ come, but a good many other days had to pass before itcame, and some of these were rather sad and anxious ones. For the firstletters from abroad were not as cheerful as Mrs. Vane would have likedto make them for the little party so eagerly awaiting them at SeacoveRectory. Mr. Vane was very tired by the journey, and had it not been forthe kindness of Madame d'Ermont, who would not hear of them stayinganywhere but in her house, at any rate till he grew stronger, Mrs. Vanesaid she felt as if she would have lost heart altogether. But after alittle things brightened up again. 'Papa really seems to get strongerevery day, ' she wrote; and on Bridget's birthday morning there came aletter from papa himself, all scented with the sweet violets he hadslipped into it--for that was long before the days of parcel posts, bywhich flowers reach us from the south of France and Italy as fresh as ifwe had just gathered them in our own gardens--and telling of quite along walk he had been able to take without feeling too tired. The letterended up with wishing Biddy a truly happy birthday, and hopes that itmight be bright and sunny at Seacove. 'I only wish I could pack up someof the sunshine here to send you, ' wrote Mr. Vane, 'for we have enoughand to spare of it. But after all, the best sunshine of all is that ofhappy and contented and loving hearts--is it not, my Biddy?'

There was sunshine of both kinds that day at the Rectory. Celestina cameearly, almost immediately after breakfast indeed, so as to be present atthe great 'surprise. ' She was to spend the whole day for once with herfriends, which was a great treat, though she saw them regularly once ortwice a week when she came to have a French lesson from Miss Millet. Mrs. Vane had arranged this before she left, for little Miss Neale, whonow gave Celestina lessons every day at Pier Street, could not teachFrench, and it was a great pleasure, and help too, to Biddy to haveindustrious, attentive Celestina still her companion in something. 

But to-day, of course, there was no question of lessons of any kind. 

They had breakfast extra early, which some children I know, would not, I fear, consider a treat. Indeed, I once heard of some young people, scarcely to be called children, and by no means overworked young peopleeither, who chose for a holiday pleasure that they should stay in bedfor breakfast, and not get up till the middle of the day, which, I mustsay, I did not at all admire. The great reason for the extra earlybreakfast on Biddy's birthday was not that the Vane children were so_very_ fond of being up betimes, but that Rough wanted to be there atthe great scene, and with some difficulty he had got an hour's 'grace'from school that morning. 

To begin at the beginning--for I know that when I was a child I liked tobe told all about everything--the first pleasure of the day, after thereading of papa's nice letter, was the sight of the breakfast-table. Kind Miss Millet and Alie had dressed it up with cowslips after Biddyhad gone to bed the night before, for there were cowslips, and verypretty ones, to be had in some woods a mile or two inland from Seacove. And May birthdays always make one think of cowslips. 

The breakfast itself was very nice too--extra nice; for there was nobread and milk for once, but only 'grown-up' things--a tempting dish ofham and eggs, and delicious hot rolls and tea-cakes, and strawberry jamand honey to eat with them as a finish up. And besides the letter frompapa--which had _really_ come the day before and been kept till thismorning, as, in his fear of being too late, Mr. Vane had sent it offrather too soon--there was a neat little packet for Biddy fromgrandmamma, containing a story-book called _The Christmas Stocking_, anda lovely scarf worked in all kinds of marvellous Eastern colours, 'making one think of the Arabian nights, ' as Alie said, from the Indiancousins. So that it was with a sigh of deep content that Biddy sat downto breakfast, knowing that something still more delightful and wonderfulwas in store. 

Celestina arrived before breakfast was quite over, and Rough ran out andbrought her into the dining-room, where she had to eat a roll andstrawberry jam to refresh her after her early walk. And then when everyone had finished and Rough had said grace, they all set off to theschoolroom. 

'Shut your eyes, Biddy, ' said Rough. 'I'll lead you in, and mind youdon't open them till I tell you. '

There stood Biddy, as quiet as a mouse, though her heart was beatingfast, till, after one or two whispered directions--'That isn't quitestraight, ' 'Put the chairs by the fire, Celestina, ' and so on--cameRough's voice--

'Now, Biddy. Open your eyes. '

[Illustration: 'Now, Biddy. Open your eyes. ' P. 195. ]

And 'open her eyes' she did, though she half shut them again the nextminute, and then had to rub them to make sure they were not trickingher. For there in front of her, on the schoolroom table, stood, its twobig doors flung wide open, the very nicest, most complete doll-housethat, in those days at least, could have been imagined. There were sixgood-sized rooms: drawing-room, dining-room, two bedrooms, nursery, andkitchen--the last, perhaps, the most fascinating of all, with its littlekitchen-range, its rows of brightly shining pots and pans, some black, some tin, and some copper; its dresser and shelves, and charming dinnerservice, and ever so many other things it would take me a very long timeto describe. And the dining-room, with its brown and gold papered walls, and red velvet carpet and little stuffed chairs; and the drawing-room, with sofas covered in dainty chintz and blue carpet and gilt-framedmirrors; and the bedrooms, one white and one pink; and the nursery, withthe _sweet_ little cradle and rocking-chair and baths and wash-handstands and I don't know all what--truly it was a very pretty sight. Biddy gasped; she could not speak. 

'And only think, Biddy, ' said Rosalys; 'it is our own old doll-housedone up. The one mamma had herself when she was a little girl, you know. Doesn't that make it all the nicer? You _can't_ think how we've allworked at it. We'd begun it before--before papa and you got ill; thatwas our secret that Celestina and I were always whispering about. '

And in her delight even staid Alie gave two or three jumps up into theair! But as she came down again she felt herself caught round the neckand hugged and squeezed. Oh, how she _was_ hugged and squeezed!

And '_Oh_, Alie, ' whispered Biddy, 'you are too good to me; for youdon't know how naughty I felt about your having a secret. '

'Never mind, never mind. I daresay it was my fault. Mamma says it's veryteasing to talk about secrets, but it's all right now, and we are allgoing to be so happy with the doll-house, aren't we? Now you must kissCelestina too; you don't know what a lot she's done. She hemmed thesheets of the beds and the table-cloths and ever so many things, and hermamma dressed the dolls--and--oh yes, Roughie papered nearly all therooms, and----'

But here Rosalys, who seemed to be turning all of a sudden into aregular chatterbox, was interrupted by more huggings and squeezings, asRough rather objected to much of this sort of thing, and Biddy had stilla great deal to spare even after she had bestowed a full share uponCelestina. She quieted down, however, when Miss Millet suggested thatunless they set to work to go all over the house and admire all itsnumberless treasures, it would be getting too late for the nice walkthey wanted to have before dinner. But in the midst of the showingeverything Celestina made them all laugh by calmly taking a littleparcel from her pocket, from which she drew out three or four littledolls, announcing that they were Eleanor and Amy and one or two newones, all in grand clothes for the occasion, who had come to spend theday with the Rectory doll party. 

'You did invite them, Alie, you remember, don't you?' she said, lookinga little bit aggrieved. 'They would never have come without beinginvited. '

'Oh yes, I know I did, ' Rosalys replied. 'It was only the funny way youpulled them out of your pocket. '

'And some day, Biddy, mother says, perhaps you'll bring yours to drinktea with mine, ' said Celestina, quite pleased again. 'We might pretendthat mine were some cousins they had in the country who were not veryrich, you know, ' she went on simply. 'And I'd make their parlour assmart as I could. I'd try to dress it up with flowers and green, so thatit would be like an arbour. '

'Yes, ' said Biddy, 'that _would_ be nice. And _we_ might have tea aswell as the dolls, mightn't we, Celestina? You know once you told meabout some little cups you have that we might have tea out of. '

'Oh yes, ' Celestina replied hospitably, '_of course_ we'd have real teatoo. Mother would make some cakes and----'

'My dears, ' said Miss Millet, 'I think we must be going out. You willhave all the rest of the day to play with the doll-house, but it is sucha lovely morning, and I think it's always so nice to have a good walk ona holiday. '

The little girls were quite of their governess's opinion, only sorrythat Randolph could not make one of the party. He came home, however, ingood time in the afternoon, and they all had a very merry tea together. 

'What a nice birthday it's been!' said Bride, as she and Alie kissedCelestina, whose mother managed to spare an hour to come to fetch herand at the same time to wish Biddy 'many happy returns. ' 'How good ofyou to dress the dolls for me, Mrs. Fairchild!' she went on. 'I thinkI shall love the doll-house more and more every day, for, you see, it'sfull of kind things you've all done for me. And I'm going to keep it_so_ neat. Mamma will be quite surprised when she comes home to find howneat I've learnt to be. '

'And only think, Mrs. Fairchild, ' added Rosalys; 'do you know that papaand mamma will most likely be home in one month? Just fancy, how nice!'

The 'most likely' came true. One month saw Mr. And Mrs. Vane safe backat Seacove; 'papa' so bright and well, so bronzed and ruddy too, that itwas difficult to believe he was the same feeble-looking invalid who hadstarted on his long journey nine weeks before. 

 * * * * *

It is not often--very seldom, indeed--that I am able to tell my readers'what became of' the children they have come to know, and sometimes, Ihope, to care for in these simple stories. But as it is now many yearsago since the Vane family came to Seacove Rectory, and as Randolph andhis sisters and Celestina Fairchild have long ago been grown-up people, I can give you another peep of them some eight or ten years after thebirthday I have been telling you about. 

The curtain rises again on a different scene. 

It is a lovely, old-fashioned garden, exquisitely neat and filled withplants and flowers, showing at their best in the bright soft light of amidsummer afternoon. A rectory garden, but not Seacove. Poor Seacove, with its sandy soil and near neighbourhood to the sea, could not haveproduced the velvety grass of that old bowling-green, now (for we arestill speaking of a good many years ago) a croquet-ground, or theluxuriant 'rose hedge' bordering one end. Two girls were walking slowlyup and down the wide terrace walk in front of the low windows, talkingas they walked. One was tall and slight, with a fair sweet face--a verylovely face, and one that no one loved and admired more heartily thandid her younger sister. 

'Alie dear, I do hope you've had a happy birthday, ' saidBridget--sixteen-years-old Bridget!--for Rosalys was twenty-one to-day. 'There are some birthdays one should remember more than others. Atwenty-first birthday is a _very_ particular one, isn't it?'

'Yes indeed, Biddy, it is, ' Alie replied. 'I can scarcely believe it. And fancy, in five years more _you_ will be twenty-one!'

'I hope I shall go on growing till then, ' said Biddy, whose greatambition was to be as tall as her sister. 'Some girls do, don't they?And I have grown a good deal this year. I don't look as stumpy as I did, do I?' and Biddy looked up in her sister's face with a pleasantsmile--a smile that showed her pretty white teeth and shone out of hernice brown eyes. She was not lovely like Alie, but she had a dear honestface--though she was still rather freckled, and her dark wavy hair gaveher a somewhat gipsy look. 

'You aren't a bit stumpy--you're just nice, ' said Rosalys, 'though Idaresay you will grow some more. Just think what a little roundabout youonce were, and how you've grown since then. '

'Yes indeed, ' laughed Biddy. 'Talking of birthdays, Alie, do youremember my eighth birthday? The one at Seacove, when papa and mammawere away after his being so ill, and when you all gave me thedoll-house--the dear old doll-house; do you know I really sometimes playwith it still? I often think of Seacove. '

'So do I, ' said Alie. 'Of course I didn't like it _as much_ as this, forthis garden is so sweet and the country all about here is so beautiful, and then it's so nice to be near grandmamma. But Seacove had a greatcharm about it too. '

'The sea, ' said Biddy--'the sea and the sunsets, ' she went on halfdreamily; 'I always think when I see a red sunset----' but then shestopped. There are some thoughts that one keeps _quite_ in one's ownmind!

'I always feel grateful to Seacove, ' she said after a moment's pause. 'Mamma is quite sure that the three years we lived there did more thananything to make papa strong again. What a blessing it is that he is sowell now!'

'And quite able for all his work here, though he could never standLondon again, ' said Alie. 'I wish Rough had gone into the Church too, Bride--that is to say, I wish _he_ had wished it. Then we should havehad him somewhere near us, instead of far away in India, ' and she gave alittle sigh. 

'But he's getting on so well--he was just _made_ to be a soldier, ' saidBiddy. 'And papa says it is like that. Some people just _feel_ whatthey're meant to be. And Rough is a great comfort, even though he has tobe away--and you know, Alie, ' she went on quite gravely, 'I don't thinkthere _could_ have been another as good as papa, not in the same way:he's just nearly an angel. ' Alie did not disagree. 'And Roughie will behome before your next birthday, you know. '

'I hope so indeed, ' said Rosalys. 

'Talking about long ago, ' went on Bride, to whom eight or nine yearswere still a _very_ 'long ago, ' 'reminds me of dear little Celestina. What ages it is since we have heard of her--not since the year herfather died, and we were afraid they were left rather badly off. Howstrange it seems, Alie, doesn't it? that poor Mr. Fairchild should havedied and papa got well, when you think how ill papa was and that heseemed quite well then. '

'He was always delicate--Mr. Fairchild, I mean, ' said Rosalys. 'But itwas very sad; they were so very fond of him. But, Biddy, we have heardof Celestina since then--don't you remember, mamma wrote to tell Madamed'Ermont of their trouble, and she wrote to Mrs. Fairchild inviting themto visit her? They couldn't go--not then--but mamma had another letter, thanking her and telling us where they were going to live. Still allthat is a good while ago, and when mamma wrote again her letter wasreturned. '

'How kind they were to us at Seacove!' said Bridget. 'I would love tosee Celestina again--fancy, she must be grown up. '

What I am now going to tell you will seem to some people 'too strange tobe true, ' but begging these wise people's pardon, I cannot agree withthem. Strange things of the kind--coincidences, they are sometimescalled--have happened to me myself, too often, for me not to believethat 'there is something in it. ' In plain words, I believe that ourspirits are sometimes conscious of each other's nearness much soonerthan our clumsy bodies are. How very often is one met with the remark, 'Why, we were just speaking of you!' How often does the thought of somedistant friend suddenly start into our memories an hour or two beforethe post brings us a letter penned by the dear far-away fingers!

Something of this kind was what happened now. A young man-servant cameout of the house and made his way to where the girls were. 

'If you please, miss, ' he said, 'a young lady is in the library waitingto see you. My mistress is out. The lady asked for both you and MissBridget. '

'Who can it be?' said Rosalys. 

'How tiresome!' said Biddy. 

But they were accustomed to see visitors that had to be seen when theirmother was out, and they went together to the library. 

Alie went in first, but she stood perplexed and a little confused as aslight tall figure rose from a chair and came forward to meet her. 

'I am afraid, ' the stranger began, but before she could say anotherword, or before Alie had time to do more than think to herself, muchmore quickly than it takes to tell it, that surely she _should_ knowthat sweet pale face and bright though gentle eyes, Biddy had dartedforward and was throwing her arms round the young girl's neck. 'Don'tyou know her, Alie?' she cried. '_I_ do. It's dear little Celestina, grown up, and oh, how nice and pretty and good you look! And we've beenspeaking of you all this morning. It's Alie's birthday; she'stwenty-one, just fancy! And where have you been, and where's yourmother, and----'

Her breathlessness gave Rosalys time to come forward and warmly kissCelestina in her turn. Then they made her sit down; she was lookingrather tired, for she had had a long walk in the sun--and by degrees shetold them all her news. There was a good deal to tell. The last fouryears had been spent by her mother and herself in France, not far fromMadame d'Ermont, whom Celestina described as having been more than kind. 

'She paid for all my schooling and lessons, ' the girl said simply, 'sothat mother could afford to stay with me all the time. Mother gave someEnglish lessons herself too. And I was able to learn French _quite_well, which will be such an advantage to me. The last two years I taughtEnglish at the school, so the expenses were not so great. And we spentthe summer holidays at Madame d'Ermont's château. Oh, she was _so_kind!'

'But why have you not written to us all this time?' asked her friends. 

'We have--two or three times, but the address must have been wrong, forone letter was returned to us. I remember I put all rightly except thecounty, for I did not think that necessary; and now--the other day, Imean--when, we had answered the advertisement and were inquiring aboutCalton, we found that there are actually three or four places of thename in England. And oh, we were so delighted when we found on gettingthere that Laneverel Rectory was only two miles off. '

'Are you living at Calton then? What do you mean about an advertisement?Is your mother at Calton?'

Celestina laughed and blushed at her own confused way of explaining. 

'I am so pleased at seeing you that I am losing my head, ' she said. 'Yes, we have come to live at Calton. We have got the dearest littlehouse there. And I am French teacher at the large girls' school justoutside the town. I get sixty pounds a year--is it not delightful? So weare quite rich. If only--you don't know how I wish poor father couldhave enjoyed it too--if he could but have had a few years of thepleasant life and rest. '

She smiled through the tears in her eyes. Biddy stroked her hand gently. 

'But you yourself--it isn't all rest for you?' said Alie, thinking asshe spoke that it was 'Celestina all over, ' never giving a thought toherself. 

'Oh no, I have to work of course. But I like it. And some of my pupilsare very nice and intelligent. Besides--I should be miserable if I wereidle, ' she added brightly. 

'Yes, indeed, ' both the girls heartily agreed. 'We are very busy too, Celestina. We have lots and lots of things to do at home to help papaand mamma, and all the village people to look after, and the schools andthe choir and the church. You must see the church, Celestina. '

'It is just--almost, at least--perfect, ' added Biddy enthusiastically, 'compared with poor old Seacove! Oh, do you remember the high pews withcurtains round, and the old clerk, and the pulpit like a Queen Elizabethbedstead. '

'Only _without_ curtains, ' said Celestina, at which they all laughed. They were so happy they would have laughed at anything!

Then Celestina had to be told about Rough, and how well he was gettingon, though so far away, alas! And _then_ she had to be taken out intothe garden to see its beauties, and have promises of unlimited cuttingsand seeds and I don't know all what for her own little garden. There waspoor old Smuttie's grave to show her too, in one corner, for Smut hadlived to enjoy a year or two of peaceful and slumberous old age on thesunny doorstep in summer and the library hearthrug in winter atLaneverel Rectory. And _then_ came the sounds of wheels, and the ponycarriage turned in at the gate with Mr. And Mrs. Vane, and all the storyof the joyful surprise had to be told over again. 

The rector and his wife welcomed their old young friend as heartily astheir daughters had done, you may be sure. They pressed her to stay todinner, promising to drive her home in the cool of the evening, butthis, Celestina, unselfish as ever, would not do, for 'mother' might beuneasy. So they had a very delightful 'afternoon tea' in the garden, forafternoon teas were just coming into fashion, and Rosalys and Bridewalked half-way home with Celestina, parting with invitations andpromises on both sides. Celestina was to spend at least _half_ of herhalf-holidays at the Rectory, and Alie was to drive to Calton to fetchMrs. Fairchild the very next Saturday, and the sisters were to payCelestina a long visit the following week, to see the dear little houseand all her treasures. 

'You shall have tea in the sweet little French tea-cups Madame d'Ermontgave me, ' said she joyfully. 'They are a _little_ bigger than my dollones long ago. '

'Oh dear, ' said Biddy, 'that reminds me of the time I invited myself totea to your house, and Alie was so shocked at me. I _was_ a horridlittle girl. '

'No, you _weren't_', said both the others. 'And any way, ' added Aliefondly, 'isn't she nice now, Celestina?'

'I've never had any friends, if I may call you so, ' was Celestina'sindirect reply, 'that I have cared for as for you two, ' and there was adewy look in her gentle eyes which said even more than her words. 

 * * * * *

A _real_ friendship--a friendship to last through the changes that_must_ come; a friendship too firmly based to be influenced by the factthat none of us, not even the sweetest and truest, are 'perfect, ' thatwe _must_ 'bear and forbear, ' and gently judge each other while in thisworld--such friendships are very rare. We are not _bound_ to ourfriends, not obliged to make the best of them, as with relations, andso, too often, we throw each other off hastily, take offence in somefoolish way, and the dear old friendship is a thing of the past, one ofthose 'used to be's' that are so sad to come across in our memory. Butit is not always so. Some friendships wear well, sending down theirroots ever deeper and more firmly as the years go on, spreading outtheir gracious branches ever more widely overhead for us to find shelterand rest beneath them in the stormy as in the sunny days of life. Andoh, dear children, such friendship is something to thank God for!

My little girls, whose friendship began in the old back parlour atSeacove, are not even young women now--they are getting down into theafternoon of life--but they are still friends, true and tried. Friendswhom sorrow and trials only join together still more closely; whose lovefor and trust in each other even death cannot destroy. 

THE END

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. 

 * * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors have been repaired. 

The original text had a frontispiece that the list of illustrationsrecorded as being on page 89. It has been moved from the front tothe text it refers to. 

Page 180, "springlike" changed to "spring-like". 

Page 169, "beggings" changed to "begging". 

Illustration that begins "----carrying" original read P. 162. Actualtext is on page 161 and the table of illustrations reads 161. 

All illustration captions but one were mixed case. This was retained.