To Ethel and Blanche the memories of the next few days seemed, through
the rest of their lives, ever like a dreadful dream. Then they were
taken on board an ocean steamer bound for the city of Philadelphia in
the United States of America, where two brothers of their father had
settled years before. They were merchants doing a large wholesale and
retail business, and were known to be abundantly able to provide for the
orphan children of their deceased brother.
The address of the parents of Mrs. Eldon was not known to those who made
the arrangements, so that they were not even advised of their daughter’s
death.
There were no relatives to take charge of the forlorn little ones on
their voyage, but they were given into the care of the wife of a soldier
who was going out to join her husband in Canada, a Mrs. McDougal, a
warm-hearted earnest Christian, childless herself, but with a heart full
of love and tenderest sympathy for the sadly bereaved little ones
committed to her care. She petted, soothed, comforted them, attended
faithfully to all their physical needs, and spent many an hour amusing
them with quaint stories of Scottish life and manners, of brownies,
elves, and fairies; tales that would interest and amuse, yet teach no
harmful lesson.
Before the good and gallant vessel had reached her destination the
mutual love between the kind caretaker and her young charges had grown
very strong, and it was with a heavy heart that Mrs. McDougal looked
forward to the coming separation.
The announcement of the deaths of their brother and his wife, and that
the children would be sent directly to them, had reached the firm of the
Eldon Brothers only a few hours before the arrival of the vessel
bringing them.
It was a great and not altogether welcome surprise, yet their hearts
were moved with pity for the forlorn little ones, and together they
repaired at once to the dock and boarded the newly arrived vessel in
search of them.
They found them on the deck with their kind caretaker, Nannette on her
lap, the others grouped about her.
“Ah, here they are! I’d know that little lad anywhere as poor Harry’s
boy!” exclaimed Mr. Albert Eldon, the younger of the two, with emotion,
and laying a hand tenderly upon the child’s head, as he spoke.
“That’s my name, sir; and it was my papa’s name too. Mamma called him
that, but most folks said captain when they talked to him,” volunteered
the little fellow in return.
“Ah? then I’m your uncle Albert; and this gentleman,” indicating his
brother, “is your uncle George.”
“Oh I thought so for you resemble papa; at least as he was before he was
taken so ill,” Ethel said, lifting tearful eyes to the face of Mr.
George Eldon.
“Do I, my dear? I believe there is said to be a strong family
resemblance among us all,” he returned. “At all events we are your
father’s brothers, and therefore own uncles to all of you little ones,”
he added, stooping to caress them in turn, as his brother was doing.
Then the gentlemen held a conversation with Mrs. McDougal in
which—perceiving how loth the children were to be separated from her,
clinging to her with tears and entreaties that she would not leave
them—they proposed that she should remain in charge of them for a few
days or weeks while they were becoming familiar with their new
surroundings.
She replied that she could do so for only a day or two, as she must
embrace the first opportunity to rejoin her husband.
“I am sorry to hear that,” returned Mr. Albert Eldon, “but do us the
favor to stay while you can; and let it be at my house; for we will not
try separating these little folks while you are with them, whatever
arrangement we may decide upon later. Will not that be the better plan,
brother?”
“For the present—till we have time to talk the matter over with our
wives? Yes, I think so.”
A carriage was waiting on the wharf, in which Mrs. McDougal and the
children were presently bestowed, Mr. Albert Eldon following, after a
moment’s low-toned chat with his brother and an order to the driver. He
seated himself and took Harry on his knee.
“Where are we doin’ now?” asked Nannette, peering out of the window as
the vehicle moved on.
“To my house—Uncle Albert’s house, little one,” replied Mr. Eldon in
pleasant tones. “You will find some little cousins, a girl and a boy,
and I hope have nice times playing with them.”
“What’s the boy’s name, Uncle Albert?” queried Harry.
“Charles Augustus; the little girl is Leonora; but they are usually
called Gus and Lena, or Nora, for short.”
“Are they all the children you have, uncle?” asked Ethel with shy look
and tone.
“Oh, no,” he replied; “there are Albert and Arabella, nearly grown up,
and Olive and Minnie; Minnie is twelve and Olive fourteen.”
“Has dey dot a papa and mamma?” asked Nannette.
“Yes; your Aunt Augusta is their mamma and I am their papa.”
“And we haven’t any; our papa and mamma both went away to heaven,”
sighed Blanche.
“Where they are very, very happy, dear child,” returned her uncle,
laying a hand tenderly on her head as she sat by his side.
Then he called their attention to something passing in the street, and
exerted himself to amuse them in various ways till the carriage drew up
in front of a spacious dwelling.
“Ah, here we are,” he said, throwing open the door, alighting and
handing them out one after the other.
“Why, who in the world can they be? And what is papa bringing them here
for?” exclaimed a little girl, leaning out from an upper window and
scanning with eager curiosity the new arrivals whom her father was
marshalling up the front door steps, and at once admitted to the hall
with his dead-latch key.
“What’s that? More company coming, Min?” queried another voice, and
Olive’s head appeared beside that of her sister, just as the hack in
which the little party had arrived turned and drove away. “Pooh! nobody
of any consequence; they came in a hired hack.”
“But they were children—except one woman—their nurse, I suppose; and
papa with them! There, I hear them coming up the stairs now, and I mean
to find out all about it,” and with the words Minnie threw down her
books and ran from the room, Olive following close at her heels.
They heard their father’s voice coming from the nursery, and rushed in
there, asking breathlessly:
“Papa, whom have you got here? And what did you bring them for?”
“These children are your little cousins,” he answered pleasantly. “Come
and speak to them, all of you. They are the children of your Uncle
Henry, of whom you have often heard me speak. Ethel, here, Charles
Augustus, is just about your age, and Blanche might be Lena’s twin;
Harry is two years younger, and Nannette, a baby girl, the youngest of
all.”
The greetings over:
“But, papa, where are Uncle Harry and—and their mother?” asked Minnie,
more than half regretting her query as she saw the tears gathering in
Ethel’s eyes.
“In heaven, I trust,” her father replied in low and not unmoved tones.
“There, my dears, do what you can to make your cousins comfortable and
happy, I must go and speak to your mamma.” So saying he left the room.
Mrs. Eldon, lying on the sofa in her dressing room, looked up in mild
surprise as her husband entered.
“Why, Albert,” she said, closing her book with a yawn, “what fortunate
circumstance brings you home at this unusual hour?” Then as he drew
nearer: “What is it, my dear? Why, actually, there are tears in your
eyes. Oh,” half starting up, “is there anything wrong with Albert or——”
“No,” he said huskily, “but bad news from England reached us this
morning. My brother Henry is no more; he and his wife died within a few
minutes of each other. She had heart disease, we are told, was strongly
attached to him, worn out with long and arduous nursing, and the shock
of his decease was more than her enfeebled frame could bear.”
“How very sad! I am really sorry for you, my dear. And they left some
children, did they not?”
“Yes, four little ones—a boy and three girls, the eldest only about
eight years of age. They have grandparents, probably very well to do,
somewhere in the West Indies, but no one knows their name or address. So
the little orphans have been sent to us. The steamship came in this
morning, only a few hours after the letter was received telling us all
this, and which was forwarded by a vessel bound to a Canadian port but
delayed somewhat in her voyage, so that, starting some days before the
other, she reached port only a day or two ahead of her.”
“And you are going down to the vessel to get the children?”
“No; we went down—George and I—at once on learning that she was in,
found the little folks there all right, and I have just brought them
home with me.”
“But surely we are not to be expected to keep the whole four? Surely
George and his wife will take two, as they have the same right as we to
be at the expense and trouble.”
“I think so, eventually; but just at present, while the poor little
things feel themselves strangers in a strange place, it would be hard
for them to be separated; so I have engaged to keep the whole for a few
days,” he replied; then seeing that she looked ill-pleased with the
arrangement:
“But, I do not intend they shall be any trouble to you, my dear,” he
added hastily. “The woman who had charge of them on the voyage will
remain with them for a few days, and except when they are taken out for
air and exercise, they can be kept in the nursery and adjoining rooms.”
“Well,” she sighed, returning to her book, “I suppose I may as well
resign myself to the inevitable.”
“Do you think it more than their nearest relatives should do for our
children, were they so sorely bereaved?” he asked.
“No, I suppose not; but I have given my consent and what more would you
ask?”
“Nothing more, Augusta, except that you will encourage our children to
be kind and considerate toward their orphan cousins.”
“Really I know of no one but their father who would expect them to be
anything else,” she returned in a not particularly pleasant tone.
“I do not expect it,” he said; “yet think it might be as well to call
their attention to the fact that the little orphans are entitled to
their kindly sympathy. But I am needed at my place of business and must
return at once. Good-by till dinner time, my dear;” and with the last
word he left the room.
“Dear me! as if we hadn’t children enough of our own!” exclaimed Mrs.
Eldon in a petulant tone, and impatiently tossing aside her book as the
sound of her husband’s footsteps died away in the distance. “Albert
needn’t talk as if they were to be no trouble to me. Who else is to do
the shopping for their clothes, decide how they are to be made and find
somebody to do the work? for of course if they don’t look all right,
people will talk and say we don’t treat them as well as we do our own.”
At that moment the patter of little feet was heard in the hall without,
the door opened and her youngest two came rushing in.
“Oh, mamma,” they exclaimed half breathlessly, “papa has brought us some
cousins, nice little things, and we like ’em and want you to see them
too. Mayn’t we bring ’em in here?”
“Oh, yes, if you will only be quiet. Will you never learn not to be so
noisy?”
“Maybe some day when we’re growed up like you and papa,” said Nora.
“Come, Gus, let’s go and bring ’em,” and away they ran, to return in a
few moments leading Blanche and Harry and followed by the nurse carrying
Nannette; Ethel keeping close at her side.
They were pretty, winsome looking children, and Mrs. Eldon was roused to
something like interest. She sat up and took Nannette on her lap for a
few minutes, spoke kindly to the others, and asked some questions in
regard to their former homes and the voyage across the ocean.
Most of the replies came from Ethel, and her timid, retiring, yet
ladylike manner found favor with her interrogator.
“You are a nice little girl,” she said at length, smoothing her hair
caressingly and giving her a kiss, “and so are your sisters. I am
pleased with Harry, also, for he seems a manly little fellow, and I hope
you and my little folks will get along happily together while you stay.
There, run back to the nursery now, all of you, for it is time for me to
dress.”
They all started to obey, but as they reached the door, “Oh, mamma,”
cried Charles Augustus, turning toward her again, “mayn’t we go down to
the yard? ’cause I want to show cousins the pups and rabbits.”
“Yes, yes! anything if you will go and leave me in peace,” she replied
with some impatience.
“Come along then, Ethel and the rest of you,” cried Charlie, leading the
way.