which was the way to the beach, which we took with the least possible
delay. Then came the first delights of bathing, and when that was over,
the digging in the sand and hunting for shells, while baby took his
morning sleep on Susette's lap. By and by we went home to dinner, and
after that, to hemming and sewing and reading with the nurses. And
when early tea was over, it was cool enough for a fresh walk over the
hills, or away to the rocks farther off.
This was the way we spent four pleasant weeks, getting as rosy and
strong as any one could wish. Three or four times we were surprised in
our morning play on the beach by the welcome sight of Uncle Hugh. For,
every now and then, he would ride over to give grandmamma some news of
the children. This was a great delight, for it was sure to mean, first
of all, that there were letters from home for us all,--those foreign
sheets that Lottie loved to see, and the long crossed letters full of
mamma's love to me. And to us four elder ones, Harry and Lottie and
Alick and me, uncle's visit always meant a glorious afternoon in a boat
far out at sea. I hardly know whether Harry or Gus delighted most in the
prospect of these visits. The pleasure simply of holding the
"Capitaine's" horse was enough to make the French boy's eyes glisten and
his teeth shine with the broadest smile. And to Harry the delight of
handling an oar or managing a sail was beyond anything delicious.
But the visit which we had all most cause to remember was the last which
Uncle Hugh paid us. He was going away to London on business--business
which would soon end in another long voyage, the news of which brought a
flush of pleasure to Gus's cheeks, soon changed to intense
disappointment at the news that he must this time be left in England.
That afternoon we were longer than usual on the sea, only returning just
in time for a late tea and bed. Uncle Hugh started about seven o'clock,
and Harry as usual mounted his pony in great haste to go with him part
of the way. I remember that uncle was in a hurry, and did not wait for
him, for as I stood undressing near the window I saw Harry waving his
hat and calling after him, with the two dogs at his side.
[Illustration: THROUGH THICK AND THIN.]
The long summer evening faded away; from my pillow I saw the stars come
out one by one, and then kissing my hand to them, I let my sleepy eyes
go shut, and was soon in the midst of pleasant dreamland. I don't know
how long after this it was, that I was aroused by a sound of whispers at
the door, and then by a little timid question from Lottie, "Susette,
isn't Harry come home?" "But no, Miss Lottie," was the answer in a
troubled voice, and Jane broke in: "Hush, hush! you'll wake Miss Sissy!
Go to sleep, there's a darling. He'll be home directly now--no need to
be frightened!"
"No need to be frightened!" said Susette, in her foreign accent. "But,
yes----"
Jane had pulled her out of the room, and Lottie and I, now wide awake,
were left to wonder, and talk in low, frightened tones. Lottie had heard
the whining of one of the dogs under the window--both dogs had gone off
with Harry--and she had heard Susette call Jane gently, and then they
had whispered outside the door something about Gus and the dog; and
after that she had heard Gus run off under the window, the dog barking
joyfully and going, too. How we lay and trembled! By and by I got out of
bed, and peeped through the Venetians, in spite of Lottie's entreaties.
"Oh, Sissy, please don't! Susette will be so angry! Please, Sissy, come
back!"
I protested that Susette was not _my_ nurse, yet I knew she could scold
in such a bewildering torrent of French as did sometimes frighten me;
and as I could see nothing but the calm, beautiful starlit sky over the
sleeping sea, I dropped the blind, and sprang back into bed. It made a
noise as I dropped it, and for some time the fear of being heard, and
the anxiety to appear asleep if any one came, made us forget our alarm
about Harry. In fact, I think we were getting sleepy again--I was, at
least--but we started up at the sound of the hall-door softly opened,
and then men's footsteps on the stairs. There was a low moan as the
steps passed our door. Oh, how breathlessly we waited! Once, even, I had
the door ajar, and was peeping out, when a hurried hand outside suddenly
shut it again, making me start back. By and by there was a sound of
footsteps going downstairs, and in a moment Lottie and I were both in
the passage entreating Jane to tell us what had happened.
"Master Harry has been tumbled over the pony's head, Miss Lottie," she
said, "and he's been lying in a ditch nobody knows how long; but the
dog's saved his life--him and Gus together--and the doctor hopes he
won't be very bad, no bones being broken, only bruises and knocks of the
head. He don't quite know himself, you see, yet, poor young gentleman!
and we have to keep him quiet, so you must go and be as still as mice.
The doctor'll be here in the morning, and the missis, too, may be!"
All this while she was tucking us into bed again, and when she drew the
curtains and left us we were afraid to whisper even, for fear of being
heard in the next room and hurting Harry.
At breakfast the next morning we were told that Gus was "nigh about at
Beecham by this time," and before evening the carriage had come just in
sight, and stopped, and grandmamma was walking up to the house.
Then followed a very quiet week, during which we never spoke aloud
without getting a sharp "hush!" Indeed, we were not allowed to be in the
house a minute longer than necessary, being down on the beach whenever
we were not eating, drinking, or sleeping. By the end of the week, Harry
was to be seen at these rare intervals looking very pale, and quiet, and
unlike himself on the sofa. I distinctly remember feeling rather
pleased as I looked from him to Alick, and thought how much more of a
boy Alick looked with his brown, rosy face, than the pale, languid,
almost girlish elder brother, speaking in a weak, tired voice from his
pillow. It was about another ten days before the close carriage came
from Beecham, and with plenty of soft cushions, Harry was laid in it,
and driven away back to the Park.
When we saw him there on our return, he was almost himself again, merry
and bright, but a little pale and easily tired.
IX.
_SUSETTE AND HER TROUBLES._
So we all came back to Beecham Park, and the holidays were over, and we
had to buckle to work again; work that had a pleasant mixture of play in
it, out-of-door fun, Saturday rambles and birthday treats.
When first we returned from the sea-side there came a very earnest
letter from mamma, begging that Sissy might really be sent home now,
for surely grandmamma had had enough, and too much, of her. Indeed, a
message was added at the end to say that papa had made up his mind to
take a holiday and run down to fetch me. All seemed to be settled, and I
myself got into that doubtful state--glad to go home but, oh, so sorry
to leave this happy Beecham home! I began to wonder, too, whether I
should feel quite at home with papa when he came, and on the morning
fixed for his arrival, a very shy fit came over me, so that, at first,
it seemed rather a relief when Harry called out to me that a letter had
come from my home, and that I was to go up to grandmother at once. But
what a grave, sad face met me! My very heart stood still as she kissed
me. Then in gentle words she told me that Bobbie was ill, had caught the
scarlet fever, so papa could not come.
And, to dear grandmamma, I think it was a very anxious time that
followed. My little head could not take in all it meant when news came
of danger, then of baby's illness, then of nurse's. I could see that
other people were sorry; once I found Jane crying, and was caught up on
to her lap and kissed and talked to, till a clear memory of the dear,
chubby little brother at home came back to me, and I had a long,
miserable fit of sobbing. But, you see, I had been away from them all
for nearly six months, and the little brothers and sisters around me had
somehow shut out the two little fellows at home, and my play and lessons
at Beecham seemed much more real than the sorrow all those miles away.
In a few weeks all the worst time was over, but, of course, there was no
idea now of my going home.
I wonder if grandmamma ever thought, in the early spring, that for a
whole year she was to have her house full of children! For a long time
we fancied every week that we should hear of aunt and uncle coming home.
Every now and then Lottie and I would fret a little bit at the idea of
parting, but still it did not come.
One morning brought a letter for Lottie, with a great deal of news in
it. She read it to me in the nursery, as we were having our hair brushed
for the evening in the drawing-room. It told us that her papa had just
made up his mind to take the work of a clergyman in a more
out-of-the-way part, somewhere between Switzerland and Germany, and that
it was just the place to suit her mamma, so they would probably stay
there till Christmas. Besides, there were some little German cousins of
Lottie's living close by with their aunt, so there was a great deal to
tell altogether. We were very eager talking about little Heinrich and
Carl--so eager that at first we never noticed that Susette had thrown
herself into a chair with clasped hands, and her black eyes full of
tears. When we came to question her, she said Monsieur and Madame had
gone to a place close to her native village, and would they--oh, would
they--see her poor, poor father, in the misery extreme, frightful! We
were quite used to Susette now, and not at all surprised at her
passionate manner; and if we did a little smile to each other at that
favourite word "affreuse," yet Lottie was eager and sincere enough in
her assurances that certainly papa would go and look for the poor
family. Out came the foreign paper at once, and if the summons to the
dining-room had not come at that moment, I believe the letter would
have been written there and then. As it was, it certainly went the next
day. It was our first piece of anything like charity, and we waited
eagerly for the answer from Lottie's papa, which, of course, did not
arrive directly it was wanted.
At last the morning came, when the postman, met by three eager children
half-way down the drive, was greeted by the happy cry, "Oh, there it is!
I see it in his hand!" And the much-longed-for prize was snatched from
him, and triumphantly carried off to the nursery.
"Oh, children, do keep off! You must let Susette hear!" cried Lottie,
and then she read this. But first let me say that this wonderful letter,
having been put away with other more important old papers, has become
very worn and yellow, and you must forgive me if I leave out a piece
here and there, where it is too torn to read.
"'My dear Lottie and all the Chicks,--Your letter came very safely all
by itself the other day, just as well as if it had been in grandmamma's
as usual; and papa knew what an eager little woman his Lottie was, and
so he made his discoveries as soon as possible, and here they are! Poor
Susette, I don't wonder she was anxious to know all about her poor
father, and the rest of them. They have had a hard time of it since she
left them, but they are all so fond of her, and so glad to get news of
her. Such a good girl as she is to them all! Mind, children, you make
much of her, and don't add to all she has to worry about."
[Illustration: SUSETTE'S SISTER.]
At this point we all looked at Susette, and little Murray squeezed her
hand. Her black eyes were overflowing, and her rosy lips were pressed
tightly together; yet she was looking very happy and pleased.
Then Lottie went on:--
"'Heinrich and I set off at once to ----' (reader, I _cannot_ read the
name of the village!), 'but some time before we got there we met a
pretty Swiss girl, with a bundle of corn on her head, whose eyes and
mouth reminded me very much of your kind nurse. So I put my hand on
Heinrich's shoulder to stop him, and then I asked her if her name was
Laurec, and she said, "Yes." So we had a long talk, and she told me all
about them at home, and of the fever in the village, and the want of
work, and all the rest. I fancy it has been little short of starvation
for them all this long time. Then I let her hurry on to tell them at
home who was coming. Such a sweet hill-side village as I cannot hope to
make my little English birds understand, with its pretty chalets lying
against the rock, and the bushy trees shooting out of the cliff above
and around them. I went up to the one pointed out to me, and there,
lying on a heap of rags, was Susette's little blind sister, that she has
often talked to you about. Dear little patient thing! turning her large,
dark, sightless eyes towards me with such a bright smile! As she spoke
of "le bon Dieu," I thought of the pretty French hymns you used to try
to learn, and it gave the soft French words a softer sound when they
were on such a happy theme. But we could not stay there; so making our
little present to the dear child, we set off up the mountain. We had not
gone far, when, among a flock of goats scattered over the hill, we found
a poor old man sitting on a rock, with very downcast look, and little
Pierre Laurec, who had come to show us the way, told us it was his
father. The poor old man was very much out of heart, and it was some
time before we could make him understand that we wanted to help him. At
Susette's name he looked mournfully in my face as I sat down by him,
murmuring that she was gone, gone, bonne fille!
[Illustration: UNHAPPY.]
"'Well, you know, I must not make my letter too long. Tell Susette that
things look brighter now in her old home; that Pierre has found some
work in our garden, and his sister comes now and then to your aunt's
house; and that we will look after them a little, and send you more news
soon.
"'Mamma sends ever so much love, and many, many thanks to dear
grandmamma for offering to house her tiresome chicks for a few more
months. What a grand, happy Christmas we will have together! That is, if
only I can get mamma well enough to brave an English winter. Poor mamma
wants sadly to get a sight of her baby.--Ever your affectionate
"'FATHER.'"
That was the letter, reader. Don't you think it was well worth waiting
for?
X.
_AUTUMN DAYS._
"What an idea, papa talking about Christmas!" Alick said, when we came
to the end of the letter; and it did seem funny that hot autumn
afternoon, when all the leaves were in a glow, looking as if they had
been burnt up so long they couldn't and wouldn't bear it any longer!
Perhaps they meant to come down. But I suppose, now I come to think of
it, that months don't seem so never-ending to grown-up people as they do
to children; they are more prepared to see the time fly, you don't know
how, so they are not surprised when they find it gone. Besides, you see,
they don't get taller and taller as the months pass, so, of course, the
time must seem to run past very quickly, they standing still all the
while! How odd it must be! I heard a little boy remonstrating last
night--
"Well, but, uncle, if you keep your clothes till next year they'll be
ever so much too small for you!"
Everybody laughed, and told him that uncle, being six feet high, didn't
expect to grow any more; and, of course, as I said before, if Alick's
papa stood still, the time _would_ seem to go very quickly.
And so, I suppose, when the end of October came, he didn't cry out as we
did all of a sudden: "I do declare it is not quite two months to
Christmas!"
It was one damp, misty afternoon, and Lottie, and Alick, and I were
learning our lessons all alone in the school-room. We were trying to get
the last glimmer of daylight at the window, but it was hardly enough to
see what six times nine might be, and that was my great difficulty.
You know, don't you? how the things that "you do so want to say" will
come into your head just when you ought to be very silent and busy! It's
_very_ odd; but even now that I am old enough to know better, I never
want so much to talk as just when I ought to be quiet. I wonder how it
is? Anyhow, it seemed quite impossible to hold one's tongue that
afternoon. Alick was as busy and quiet as could be, working out a hard
sum on his slate, but even he looked up when Lottie started that
wonderful idea about Christmas; and then we all joined in wondering how
the time had gone, and what lots of fun Christmas would bring with it. I
had my own particular share of delight, for was there not a certain
prospect of papa and mamma coming to the Park to take me home? My little
cousins, too, were looking forward to home directly after Christmas; but
their mamma could not come and fetch them. She had been well enough to
travel, and would be in England very soon now; that is, in the little
island down in the south, you know, where the invalids go. She would
get a nice home ready for them there and then, as she said in her
letters, "have the delight of calling back all the chicks under her
wings again!"
Well, it was just all these things that we were talking about over our
lesson-books at the school-room, when our attention was caught by two
figures coming up the drive in the mist. Such a foggy afternoon as it
was, all the dead leaves hanging yellow and dripping from the trees! It
was not till they got quite up to the house that we saw that the two men
were going to give us some music. One had some bagpipes and the other a
kind of horn, and, of course, all thought of lessons went out of our
heads when we heard them begin. What fun it was to listen, and to watch
their queer grimaces and antics, as they danced about to their own
music!
But we had not been enjoying this long when a terrible thing happened.
Oh, little reader, it makes me shudder now!
You must understand that our school-room was on the ground-floor, but
raised a good way from the ground; a separate room built out from the
house, the roof sloping out under the windows of the day-nursery.
[Illustration: GIVE US A COPPER!]
The first thing we thought of was calling the little ones to hear the
music; but when I proposed it, Alick said he was sure they knew all
about it, he could hear their voices. Lottie declared that that was
impossible; we never heard anything from the nursery unless the window
was open. Just then the men began to beg, and Alick ran off to get some
pence. Grandmamma said they were to have a cup of the servants' tea, and
Alick went to the kitchen to ask for it. When he came back, he told us
that Susette was down there getting baby's supper, and that Jane was
teazing her about her "brothers the players!"
"Oh, Alick!" cried Lottie, "then that's it! Murray and Bertie have got
the window open to hear better, and in all this fog and wet!"
Alick was just going to laugh at her for being such an "old fidget,"
when we were startled by a loud cry, and the sound of something falling
down the roof. At the same moment we saw Harry rushing up to the
house--he was just home from his lessons at the curate's--throwing his
arms about in the most excited way.
"Oh, it's Murray tumbled out of window?" cried Lottie. And away we all
rushed to the front door, feeling sick with fear.
Now, up the side of the wall grew a very thick, bushy fig-tree, the stem
of which was very big of its kind. When we rushed out into the foggy
air, there was Harry clambering so cleverly up among the large, wet
leaves; and on the edge of the roof, caught by his clothes in some way
that we could not see, was poor little Murray! Susette covered her face
with her hands, and most of us turned away too frightened to look. I
remember hiding my face in Jane's gown, and feeling her stroking my
hair; and I never looked up till there was a cry that it was all right,
and Harry and Murray were both safe on the ground again.
How glad we all were, and how we all talked at once, and said how we had
felt, and how Murray cried though he wasn't hurt, only frightened--all
this I mustn't stop to tell you. By and by it came to be one of those
things that are always nice to talk about with shudders, and sighs, and
laughter. Many and many a tea-time the same wonder and thankfulness were
repeated, always beginning with, "Don't you remember that dreadful day?"
and so on.
Meanwhile Christmas was coming, and Christmas weather came sooner still.
Then the snow collected outside the nursery window, and the mornings
were very dark, and bed the only comfortable place; and Gus's hands got
blue, and his face thin and pinched, and he wished himself away with the
"Capitaine" in the warm South Seas.
[Illustration: LOOK AT ME!]
But there was fun, too, about that cold weather; fun with the snow-man
in the Park; fun in learning to skate on the frozen pond, shut in so
nicely with the fir-trees; and fun in the real Christmas treats,
Christmas-trees, and Christmas games.
And so it was a very bright time that came to finish up those happy
Beecham days. The end of it all was saying "good-bye" to grandmamma and
cousins one fine, frosty morning, just the other side of New Year's Day,
and driving off between papa and mamma.
When you think of my first evening in that drawing-room, perhaps you
will wonder at the doubtful look which I know there was on my face, and
which made papa look right into my eyes, questioning, as he said,
"Whether I wanted to go home or not."
XI.
_GOOD-BYE TO BEECHAM._
Was I glad to go home or sorry? How could I tell? When it came to the
train, it was all such fun that I chattered away to mamma as fast as
possible about the stations we should pass, and the things we should
see, till I saw an old gentleman opposite exchanging smiles with mamma.
That made me feel shy, and shrink back into the corner silent enough;
and with the silence came a sigh, and five minutes later mamma's
question surprised me, in a fit of melancholy thought, about all that I
had left behind me. When would Lottie and I meet again? And how should
we know which was getting on best with the history? Ah, those nice
history lessons, with all those exciting stories and our favourite
heroes, who would read them with me now? I am not at all sure that I did
not have to choke down two or three tears before I could answer mamma.
Do you think she noticed it?
We were getting near our own station now, and I grew very eager, looking
out for papa's brougham. How cold the air was, going out of the station,
and what a cosy remembrance of home feeling there was about the soft
corner, where I had often nestled when driving with papa!
I don't remember much about Bobby's welcome; I know both little brothers
seemed a little strange to me till about the middle of tea-time. Bobby
was very hot and excited with his half-hour before the nursery fire,
making toast for Sissy's first tea at home. I could feel that he was
looking at me very hard, but I don't think we were either of us quite
comfortable till he had thrown his arms round my neck, repeating his old
cry, "Nursey, I'm so glad Sissy's come home!" After that it was all
right, and we chattered away nineteen to the dozen. Dear old nurse! she
was as pleased to see me again as possible. Indeed, I am not sure that
she did not keep me up half an hour later than mamma intended, just
talking to me and "blessing my little heart," in her own loving fashion.
When I went through the night nursery at last to my own little room, I
made her let me stop and look at the little ones; and what a hugging and
kissing she gave me when I declared that they were ever so much prettier
than the Beecham cousins. Dear little Bobby, with his sweet, rosy,
budding mouth, and baby Willie's round cheeks and bright, golden curls,
I can remember just how they looked!
In a day or two we settled down together, and I was quite at home. The
only person who still seemed restless was Jane. For two or three weeks
she was always talking about the Park, and wishing herself back there.
Then, all of a sudden, she grew quite bright and happy, and talked away
to nurse in quite a different way.