[Illustration: The child watched them with an increasing sense of
fascination, for she knew that it would not be very long before she
lost her friends, who would fly far, far away.--_Page 8._]
Our Winnie
and
The Little Match-Girl
BY
EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN
AUTHOR OF
‘THE MASTER OF FERNHURST,’ ‘IN CLOISTER AND COURT,’ ‘IN SHADOWLAND,’
‘ODEYNE’S MARRIAGE,’ ETC.
John F. Shaw & Co., Ltd.,
_Publishers_,
3, Pilgrim Street, London, E.C.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. WATCHING THE SWALLOWS 7
II. WINIFRED’S TROUBLE 18
III. A STRANGE JOURNEY 31
IV. THE FIRST ATTEMPT 50
V. LITTLE PHIL 61
VI. WINIFRED’S BROTHERS 72
VII. WINIFRED’S PARTY 89
VIII. SUNDAY 107
IX. THE LAST FLIGHT 119
THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
A LITTLE MATCH-SELLER 127
CHAPTER II.
IN THE STUDIO 138
CHAPTER III.
WONDERFUL DAYS 149
CHAPTER IV.
AT BROOKLANDS 160
CHAPTER V.
DARK DAYS 171
CHAPTER VI.
CONCLUSION 182
OUR WINNIE,
OR
“WHEN THE SWALLOWS GO.”
CHAPTER I.
WATCHING THE SWALLOWS.
Winifred sat by the nursery window, upon the wide cushioned seat,
leaning her little pale face against the glass and gazing with big blue
eyes towards the rosy sky, where the sun was setting in a blaze of
golden glory.
It was a pretty view the great oriel window commanded--garden and
shrubbery just below, and beyond the close laurel hedge, low-lying
pasture lands dotted with pine trees, and a large piece of water, which
lay shining like molten gold in the glow of sunset radiance.
The swallows were enjoying the beauty of the evening as much as living
things could do. They were darting this way and that in the bright,
soft sunshine; now flying high, now low, and ever seeming drawn by
irresistible attraction towards the shining surface of the water, which
lay smiling and placid, without even a ripple to break its glassy
smoothness.
Winifred was very much interested in the swallows. In the springtime
she had watched them with the utmost absorption as they built their
nests and hatched their chattering broods amid the many eaves and
jutting lead-pipes of the old-fashioned manor-house in which she lived.
When the summer came, and the young birds had left the nests, she
still fancied she knew “her swallows” from all the rest, and was
always interested in their movements; fond of foretelling the weather
according as to whether they flew high or low, and making stories
about them and their cleverness which would rather have astonished an
ornithologist.
And now that autumn was drawing on, the child watched them with an
increasing sense of fascination, for she knew that it would not be
very long before she lost her friends and playmates (for in her eyes
they were friends and playmates), who would fly far, far away from
England with the first approach of winter.
“I wonder why they want to go?” the child sometimes said. “I shall so
miss them. I wish they would stay here always.”
Winifred was nine years old, but she was so small and thin that she
hardly seemed so much; and yet her little face, with its large,
thoughtful eyes, and grave, serious lips, looked almost older than a
nine-year-old child’s should do.
She had been very, very ill last winter, so ill that nobody had thought
she could get better; and even now, although the summer had brought a
little strength to her limbs, and a little colour to her face, she was
still very delicate, and her father and mother often looked anxiously
into the deep eyes of their only little daughter, and wondered how long
they would keep her with them, and if she would ever grow up strong and
hearty like Charley and Ronald, her two big brothers.
Winifred did not know this; she only knew that she could not run about
and play like other children, that she soon grew tired, and that it was
much more pleasure to her to sit on the nursery window-seat and read a
favourite story-book, or watch the swallows, than it was to romp and
race about the garden and fields as the boys so loved to do. The little
girl was not discontented; she was very happy in her own way, and was
fond of being quiet, and indulging in her own dreams and fancies. She
saw no reason why she was to be pitied.
A door opened softly, and without turning her head to look, Winifred
knew that her mother had come in.
Nobody but mamma had such a soft, gentle step; nobody else seemed
to bring into the room that kind of brightness and sweetness which
Winifred always felt accompanied her mother’s presence. Sometimes the
child would think to herself that it was like music and moonlight just
to feel that mamma was near.
Mrs. Digby was a tall, graceful, sweet-faced mother--an ideal woman
for a child’s love and worship, so gentle, so firm, so loving and
sympathising.
Winifred’s little face smiled all over, a slow smile of satisfaction,
although she never turned her head until her mother had seated herself
in the great rocking-chair that stood beside the window. Then she left
her seat and crept into her mother’s arms, laying her head against that
comfortable shoulder, and looking alternately out of the window and
into her mother’s face.
“What was my darling doing all alone? What was my little girl thinking
of?”
“I was watching the swallows, mamma dear.”
“You are fond of the swallows, Winnie.”
“Yes; so many of them are my swallows--and soon they will go away.”
“Yes, darling.”
“Mamma,” asked the child, with a serious, wistful look in her eyes,
“how is it that the things we love best and care most for always seem
to go away soonest?”
It seemed to Winifred that the warm, loving arms closed more tenderly
and closely round her as the mother answered gently:
“Does it seem so to you, darling?”
“Yes, mamma. It was my favourite rose-tree that died last winter, and
my favourite oak-tree that was blown down in the storm. Ronald lost his
best puppy, and papa’s favourite horse went lame. I like all the birds
very much, but the swallows much, much the best, and it is the swallows
who go, and the robins and chaffinches that stay behind. I wonder why
it is.”
“But the swallows come back again, darling,” said the mother, kissing
her child’s broad brow. “I remember how sorry my little girl was when
they had all gone last year; but here they are again, and it was such
pleasure to watch them build that you told me it made up for the long
time of waiting. It will be the same again this year, Winnie.”
“Will it, mamma? It seems as if it would be winter for such a long,
long while. I cannot fancy that the spring will ever come again.”
Mrs. Digby made no reply, and by-and-by Winifred went on.
“And last year I was so disappointed, for I never said good-bye; I
never saw them go. I had watched them gather, and gather, and gather,
and I did so want to see them start, and I never did. Do you think
they will gather here again this year, mamma?”
“I think it is very likely. They very often do.”
“If they do, I will be _sure_ not to miss them; I do so want to see
them go, and say good-bye.”
“What is it you are not going to miss, my little girl?” asked a kind,
cheery voice from the other side of the room.
Winifred and her mother looked round, and saw that Dr. Howard had
entered unobserved. He was never very many days without paying the
child a visit, and she had grown fond of the old man, and was not
afraid to talk to him freely.
He came and sat in her vacated seat--the wide window-ledge--and looked
into her face, and took the thin little hand in his, and patted it in a
friendly fashion.
“Well, Winnie, what is it you are so anxious not to miss? Do you want
my leave to go to a children’s party, or to do something else bold and
daring?”
“Oh no!” answered Winnie, smiling; “we were only talking about the
swallows. We think they will gather here before they fly, as they did
last year, and I do so want to see them go. Last year I missed them
somehow.”
Dr. Howard smiled and shook his head.
“I never saw the swallows go yet, little maid, though I am an old man
now; and what is more, I never knew anybody who had, either.”
Winifred’s eyes opened wide.
“Does nobody ever see them go? Somebody must. They do not turn into
fairies and vanish away, do they?”
The old doctor smiled and answered in a fanciful way for a little
while, until seeing the child was growing puzzled, he said at last:
“No, no, my little girl, it is nothing so strange after all; you need
not open your big eyes, and look as if I were telling you mystic
fables. The swallows always start in the night, that is all; and in the
morning we wake up and find them gone, but we do not see them go.”
“In the night?” echoes Winifred, with a cloud passing over her face.
“Then sha’n’t I be able to see them go this year, either?”
“I’m afraid not, little one.”
“Oh I am _so_ sorry!” said the child with a deep sigh; “so very, very
sorry. I did so want to see them go.”
“Dr. Howard,” said her mother’s voice in the pause that followed these
words, “do you think this little bird had better follow the swallows
and the sunshine, and leave the cold and the rain behind? Sometimes I
fancy we ought to run after the swallows and catch them up where they
have caught the summer. What do you think?”
“I think,” answered the kind old man with a look in his eye which the
child did not understand, “that this little bird is best in its own
warm nest, under its mother’s wing. It does not suit all little birds
to fly away.”
And then the doctor rose, and Mrs. Digby too; and Winifred was left
alone to rock herself in the vacated chair and think about the swallows.
She was lying in her little bed that night, cosy and warm, when she
became vaguely conscious that her father and mother had come in, and
were talking together softly, and as it seemed, sadly. Unless it was a
dream (and Winifred did not feel quite sure which it was), papa had his
arm round mamma, and seemed to be comforting her. She almost looked as
if she had been crying, and her voice shook when she said:
“There is nothing that we can do. It is God who gives, and God who
takes away, but it is very, very hard to lose her. You must help me,
Ronald, sometimes I fear my faith will give way.”
“God will give His strength with the trial if He sends it. Perhaps in
His mercy He will spare it us.”
“Yes, we may still hope and pray; but I must struggle for resignation
to His Holy Will. I fear--I fear--”
“I know what you fear, my sweet wife. Did Dr. Howard hold out no hope?”
“He would not--or could not--say anything definite; but he thought--he
thought our darling would not be long after the swallows.”
There was a deep sob, and the sound of tender caresses, then came Mr.
Digby’s voice.
“Our precious little daughter. It is hard to spare her; but think,
dearest, to what a happy place she is going.”
“I know--I know. I try not to be selfish. It is her gain, her
happiness. Oh yes, I know what a happy, happy thing it is for children
to be taken in all their innocence. But oh, I shall miss her so sorely.”
“I know, I know. But we believe that trials are sent us in love and not
in anger; and we must think of our Winifred’s gain and not of our loss.”
Some soft kisses and warm tears were dropped upon the child’s sleepy
face. She had moved, and the voices ceased, but both parents were
bending over her little bed. She opened her eyes drowsily, smiled and
kissed them, and then she sank off to sleep again holding her mother’s
hand in hers.