BY
CECILIA SELBY LOWNDES
AUTHOR OF
"LINFORD GREEN," "NEW HONOURS," ETC
LONDON
FREDERICK WARNE & Co.
AND NEW YORK
(_All rights reserved_)
[Illustration: Title page]
*CONTENTS.*
I. AT AUNT MARY'S
II. THE ARRIVAL
III. THE PETITION
IV. ON THE ROCKS
V. AUNTIE'S LETTER
VI. LEAVING MEADENHAM
VII. THE NEW HOUSE
VIII. MILLY'S NEW HAT
IX. THE SPOILT FEATHER
X. AT SIDCOMBE
XI. CONCLUSION
*LENA GRAHAM.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*AT AUNT MARY'S.*
"It does seem so strange not to know one's own Papa and Mama and
sisters; does it not, Auntie?" remarked Lena Graham, leaning her arm on
the mantelpiece as she spoke, and gazing thoughtfully at a photograph
that stood there.
"You are not the only little girl in the world that has had, from one
cause or another, to be separated from her parents, Lena dear," said her
Aunt, looking up from her work to answer her little niece. "And I think
you have been very happy with me, my pet," she continued.
In a moment Lena was beside her, saying, "Happy! oh yes, there never was
such a good kind Auntie as you anywhere; but I cannot help wondering if
they will love me. And"----
"Love you, Lena, your parents!" interrupted her Aunt.
"Not exactly that either, Auntie, for I know they do from their letters,
but you know they have Milly and Lucy."
"And Aunt Mary has only her little Lena," said Miss Somerville, stroking
back her niece's hair, and looking fondly at the young face lifted to
hers. "You will be so happy altogether, dear, that you will wonder how
you ever got on without companions of your own age."
"I mean to be so kind to them, Auntie, and lend them all my things, and
help Milly with her lessons; for you know I am much older than she is."
"Only two years; and I fancy, from all I hear, that Milly is old for her
age. She has seen more than my little girl, so I don't think you will
find her so much younger in her ways than yourself."
"I am two years and five months older than she is," said Lena, who liked
to have what she considered the full advantage.
"We shall know all about it very soon, for, if I am not much mistaken,
there will be a letter to-night saying when they will arrive here."
Lena was too excited and impatient to settle down quietly that evening
to either books or work; even the doll was neglected, which was not
often the case, for Lena was devoted to this especial one, who was
called after her two unknown sisters, "Millicent Lucy," as a special
token of affection.
She wandered aimlessly about the room, now stopping to gaze at the
photograph on the mantel-piece, and ask, for the hundredth time, "if it
was really like," then to the window to peep out and wonder when the
"postman would come," and if, when he did come, he would bring a letter
from the expected travellers.
The photograph that engrossed so much of her thoughts and attention
consisted of a group of four persons. Mrs. Graham was seated, holding
little Lucy on her knee; at her feet, Milly was sitting on a stool;
while Colonel Graham stood, leaning one arm on his wife's chair, and
looking, Lena thought, very grave and a little bit stern. Perhaps,
thought Lena, "that was because he was accustomed to command his
soldiers, and had been in battle." She hoped he did not always look
like that, for if he did she might be a little bit afraid of him, though
Auntie did say, "there was no fear of such a thing happening."
Lena Graham had only a very dim, childish remembrance of her parents,
for it was fully six years since she had seen them. Just half her young
life had been passed under Aunt Mary's loving care.
Six years before our story commences, Colonel Graham's regiment was
ordered to India. At first both he and his wife had hoped to take their
little girls out with them, but just at that time Lena was taken ill;
and though better and stronger when the time came for their leaving
England, she was not strong enough, the doctor said, to stand a hot
climate. It was then that Miss Somerville, Mrs. Graham's sister, had
offered to take charge of the little Lena.
Millicent was a strong, healthy child, and well able to stand the
climate, at any rate for a year or two. About a year after their
leaving England, Colonel Graham was offered an appointment for five
years at one of the hill stations, which he gladly accepted, as the
climate was as cool and healthy as at home, and thus was able not only
to keep Millicent with them, but the baby sister that had been born
after their arrival in the far East.
The five years had now come to an end. And the day before we make the
acquaintance of their daughter Helena, or Lena as she was always called,
Colonel and Mrs. Graham had arrived in England.
The child was naturally all eagerness to see them; not even the
knowledge that in a few days she would be separated from her Aunt could
cast a shadow over her, and, childlike, she was too much absorbed in her
own prospects of happiness, to note the shade of sadness that sometimes
crossed her Aunt's kind face, as she listened to her merry chatter, at
the thought that would intrude itself, of how sorely she would miss her
little niece's loving companionship, and how dull the house would be
when the sound of the bright young voice would be heard there no longer.
The last few years had been very happy ones to both aunt and niece, and
Lena warmly returned all the love and care that had been lavished on
her.
Miss Somerville was not strong, and both from this circumstance, and
also from inclination, her life had been a secluded one, and her whole
time and attention had been devoted to the education and bringing up of
her young charge.
It would be a different life, she knew, that her niece would lead after
this, for in the future she would have to share not only her lessons but
her pleasures with her sisters, and instead of being the first to be
considered, as had been the case hitherto, she would be one among
others, and would have to learn not only to take but give. (And as our
story goes on, we shall see what fruits she will show of the loving
training she had received.)
As these thoughts passed through Miss Somerville's mind, the postman's
knock was heard at their door. With one bound Lena was out of the room,
exclaiming, "There he is at last!" returning in a very short space of
time with a letter in her hand.
"It's from Papa; I know his handwriting. Do make haste, Auntie, and
read it. I wonder Mama did not write to me."
"They will be here to-morrow, darling. Poor Mama had a headache, from
all the bustle and noise of London, I should think. The black nurse she
brought home with her has already got an engagement to return with a
lady to her own country, so they will have to come without a nurse.
Hester will be able to look after Lucy until Mama finds one to suit
her."
"O Auntie, I will look after Lucy; I am sure I could do all she wants."
Auntie laughed as she answered, "I don't think you quite understand the
duties of a nurse, dear, but you can be of great use and comfort to
Mama, I am sure."
"Yes, I mean to be," was the confident answer.
"You mean, dear, you will try to be."
But Lena did not wait to answer. She left the room, saying, "I must go
and tell Hester that they are really coming to-morrow." And off she
went, only to return with some new question that she wanted Auntie to
answer.
Not until the bell rang for prayers did she quiet down, and when she
rose from her knees there was a very grave, subdued look on her face.
As soon as they were alone, she flung her arms round her Aunt's neck,
exclaiming, "Ah, I do wish you were coming too! It won't be perfectly
happy without you, Auntie, darling."
"Dear one, you must not expect perfect happiness anywhere in this
world," she answered, returning her embrace.
"But I shall miss you so."
"And I shall miss you sadly; but I cannot be so selfish, as to grudge
Mama the happiness of having her eldest daughter with her."
"I do so long to see her, my very own Mama, but I want you too."
"What a greedy little creature! Why, you will have Milly and Lucy, as
well as Papa and Mama, and not satisfied!"
"If I had you too, I should be perfectly satisfied. I should not want
anything else in the world."
"Ah, Lena dear, I fear that you would not find it so."
"Yes, I am sure I should."
Auntie shook her head. "Don't be too confident, dear; you must not
expect that in the future you will have everything you want. You will
have to share your pleasures with Milly."
"Oh, I shall like that."
"I am very glad to hear it, dear," was the quiet answer.
"Now, Auntie, don't look so grave; for you will see how well I shall
behave, and show that your child can be really good."
"Not my child, Lena dear. To be really good you must be the child of
God."
Auntie spoke so gravely that Lena, humbled and ashamed, whispered, "Yes
indeed, Auntie, I will try," as she gave and received her good-night
kiss.
Miss Somerville lived in a pretty sea-coast town called West Meadenham.
In truth, it was but a suburb of Meadenham proper, but that town had
grown so large of late years that the numerous streets, squares, and
terraces that had sprung up around it, considered themselves important
enough to have a name of their own; but as if to show to the world in
general, that they did not wish to throw off all allegiance from the
dear old town, that nestled so comfortably at the foot of the high cliff
that sheltered it from the cold east winds of spring, it modestly
christened itself, West Meadenham, instead of choosing a new name.
The next day arrived, fine as heart could wish, a bright sun shining
overhead, and a soft breeze blowing from the sea. No wonder that Lena
exclaimed, "How lovely!" as she came out of the house and gazed around
her as if drinking in the beauty of the morning.
The trees were all decked in their first fresh young green, the air
scented with the sweet perfume of the spring flowers, that made the
garden of Scarsdale Villa look quite gay even in April. Their house was
the last of a row of villas almost in the country, and before and behind
them stretched green fields.
Let me describe Lena Graham to you, as she stands, sniffing up the fresh
air that brings the healthy roses into her cheeks, and gives her a
hearty appetite for the bread-and-butter that she is only waiting for
Aunt Mary's appearance to attack with good-will.
A sturdy little English girl, rather short for her age, with rosy cheeks
and bright intelligent brown eyes, that glance here, there, and
everywhere; long light-brown hair, tied back from her face with a blue
ribbon, that matches in colour the blue serge dress she wears. The face
has a bright, open expression, and the girl's whole appearance speaks of
the happy, peaceful life she leads. Shading her eyes with her hand from
the sun, she looks about attentively.
"Yes," she remarks to herself in a low voice, "I can get plenty for both
rooms without spoiling the garden. I think Mama shall have the violets,
and Milly the primroses; and I shall ask Auntie to let me run to the
fields and get some cowslips for Lucy; and Papa shall have some of all,
because he is the only man." Here her meditations were broken into by
hearing Auntie's voice calling--
"Lena, Lena, where are you, dear child?"
"Here; Auntie; it's such a lovely day, do come out just for one minute."
"It must be only for one minute then," said her Aunt as she joined her.
"Yes, it is a lovely day. We can welcome Papa and Mama with both
sunshine and smiles."
"Sunshine in doors and out," said Lena, with a beaming look as they
entered the house together.
Lena always did lessons with her Aunt, but to-day was to be a holiday,
for Miss Somerville saw that the child was too excited and nervous to
settle down quietly to work; and besides that, there was a good deal to
be done in the way of preparation for the expected travellers, for it
was not often that so large a party as four people came to visit their
quiet household.
They were not expected until five o'clock, so Lena had the whole day
before her to wonder and speculate in. The morning passed away quickly,
as time always does when one is busy and occupied, and in the afternoon
Lena was to arrange the flowers in the different rooms. Aunt Mary quite
approved of the arrangement Lena had made as to the ones each was to
have, though she asked why Lena had chosen those especial ones.
"Violets for Mama, because they are so sweet; and they are getting
scarce now, you know, Auntie: they are nearly over in the garden."
"I didn't know that."
"Why, Auntie, we have picked them all; I wish I had not now. And then
primroses for Milly, because they are my favourite flower, and I want
her to like all I do."
"Or you could like what she does?"
"But she must like primroses, she couldn't help it; then cowslips for
Lucy, they are nearly as nice as primroses; but I want Milly to have the
nicest, because she's to be my great friend; and I thought Papa ought to
have some of all." Here Lena stopped, and looked at her Aunt for
approval.
"Very well, dear; come out and get them."
"And may I arrange them?"
"Yes, and put them in the different rooms."
"Thank you, Auntie dear. And then may I put on my best dress? I do
want to look nice when they come."
"Yes, darling," said Miss Somerville with a smile. Then she went to the
window and watched the child as she gathered the flowers, flitting from
one place to another, as busy as a bee, looking up every now and then,
to nod smilingly to her Aunt, or to hold up her treasures to be admired.
No fear, she thought, of her parents or any one not thinking her nice,
as Lena had expressed it. She smiled to herself as she thought of the
happiness of the parents at getting back the child from whom they had so
long been parted; and much as she would miss the cheerful, loving little
companion who had brightened her lonely life, she felt it would be
better for Lena herself to take her place once more among young
companions. In the nursery or the school-room, where there are two or
three together, it is, as it were, a little world of its own. No one in
particular can have the entire care and thought of the whole household.
All must take their place and their share both in the duties and
pleasures of everyday life. This was exactly what had been wanting to
Lena, and hers was a character that especially required it. It is so
very easy for any one of us to accustom ourselves to be the first to be
considered, and Lena was no exception to this. She had a warm, loving
heart, but a proud, wilful temper; humility was a grace she sadly
lacked. A loving word from Auntie would bring the ready tears to Lena's
eyes, but what she considered a hard or disparaging word would make them
flash as quickly. How she and Millicent would get on together, was
rather an anxious thought to Miss Somerville, for dearly as she loved
her little niece, she was not blind to her faults; and if the sisters
were alike in character, there would not, she feared, be always peace.
Lena had a very decided opinion on the subject of elder sisters, and
that she was the eldest of the family, she always made a point of
dwelling upon.
Neither a cloud nor a doubt crossed the child's own mind as to the
future. Of course Millicent and Lucy would love her as much as she was
prepared to love them, and they would all be so happy together, she
knew. The only shadow was the thought that she would have to part with
dear Aunt Mary; but as that parting was not to be at once, she cast the
thought away with the happy ease of childhood.
*CHAPTER II.*
*THE ARRIVAL.*
As it struck five by the drawing-room clock, Lena threw open the
hall-door and ran to the gate; and opening it, she went out and gazed
eagerly down the road.
Scarsdale Villa, as Aunt Mary's house was called, was built on the top
of a long hill that ran straight down into the town. As Lena now stood,
the town itself seemed to be at her feet, and beyond the houses lay the
sea, stretching away into the distance, far as the eye could reach, and
now sparkling in the bright spring sunshine. But its beauty was quite
thrown away upon Lena; her eager gaze was fixed on one particular spot
on the road--the turning to the station.
She had not long to wait, for in a very few minutes she was gladdened by
the sight of a cab, well covered with luggage, coming round the corner,
and commencing the ascent of the hill.
At this sight, she turned and darted back into the house, calling loudly
for "Auntie."
"Do you see them, dear?" Miss Somerville asked.
"There's a cab coming this way, and it has luggage; it must be them, I
am sure. Do come out and look." Taking her Aunt's hand, they went out
together and watched the well-laden cab as it came slowly up the hill.
Often and often had Lena grumbled at that weary hill, when she came
home, tired-out after a long afternoon's ramble on the sands, or a walk
into Meadenham, but never before had she thought it so long and tedious
as that day. She watched the cab come "creeping along," as she called
it.
Then as it drew very near, a new fit came over her--a fit of shyness.
Clasping Auntie's hand very tight, she crept very close to her,
whispering, "I do hope;" but she had no time to say more, for at that
moment a gentleman's head was put out of the cab window, that Lena
instantly recognised as the same face whose photograph she had looked at
so often. "Papa!" she almost gasped in her excitement.
"Here they are, waiting to welcome us home," called out Colonel Graham
in a loud, cheery voice, and then the cab stopped, and there came warm,
loving greetings. Lena had no very distinct recollection of all that
was done or said for the next few minutes, but among all the greetings
and fuss of arrival was one remembrance, that Lena thought would never
leave her.
It was Mama's soft voice, that said, "My darling child; thank God for
giving you back to me," so loving and tender, that Lena knew then how
dear she was to Mama.
Not till they were all seated quietly in the drawing-room had Lena time
to take a good look at these dear ones.
Ah, she would have known Mama anywhere, she was sure, for there was the
same sweet gentle face, that had looked at her from her picture, day
after day. And Papa did not look one bit stern, or grave, but was just
the sort of papa she approved of; and dear, fat, chubby Lucy, with her
fair curls and blue eyes--"a perfect pet" was Lena's verdict of her
little sister; but Millicent, who was to be her own particular sister
and companion, she was not quite what she expected her to be.
As she sat on the sofa beside Mama, her hand clasped in hers, she heard
Aunt Mary say--
"They are very like, really; the same eyes and hair, and the likeness
will be more apparent when Milly gets some of Lena's roses and
plumpness." What Lena saw was a tall slight girl, as tall as herself,
though she had two years and five months the advantage in age, with
large serious brown eyes, and a pale face.
"No." Lena thought Auntie mistaken in this matter; surely she and Milly
were not alike. As she gazed, or, I might say, stared at her sister,
their eyes met, and Milly smiled such a sweet loving smile that lighted
up her whole face, and that so altered and improved it, that Lena was
not so much disposed to disagree with her Aunt's opinion as before.
Tea was brought in, and Lena was too busy waiting upon the travellers to
think more about the likeness. Milly was shy and quiet; but that Lena
did not so much object to, as it would enable her to show her all the
more kindness and attention, for of course she was at home here, and the
truth must be told, liked doing the honours of the house. Her sudden
fit of nervousness soon passed off, and she was giving Mama her tea, and
chatting away quite at her ease before very long.
"Milly and I are to stay up and have dinner with you to-night, Mama,"
said Lena. "Auntie thought Lucy would go to bed then, for it is not
till seven."
"I hope you have not altered your hours for us, Mary?" said Colonel
Graham.
"Now Papa, please," began Lena.
"No, no, my little girl," he said very decidedly, "we cannot allow your
Aunt to alter her hours; it is very kind of her to have such a large
party of us, as it is."
"We will talk about that to-morrow," said Miss Somerville with a smile.
"Now I think it is time for you all to come and see your rooms; one
little pair of eyes is looking very sleepy."
Lucy, who was alluded to, was sitting by the table, her little head
nodding and her eyes half-closed; but at the mere suggestion of bed she
protested crossly, "that she did not want to go to bed."
"We are all going upstairs, darling; you don't want to stay down here by
yourself, do you?"
No, Lucy didn't want that, so she consented to go up with the others.
"Let me carry you," proposed Lena, lovingly.
Now Lucy was tired and sleepy, and, as very often happens in these
cases, very cross, so instead of responding to Lena's kindly offer, she
pushed her away with, "No, don't want you; Milly must."
A shade came over Lena's face, she had meant so kindly. "O Lucy, what a
cross little thing you are," said Milly. "She doesn't mean it, Lena,
only she is accustomed to me; and last night I had to do it because Nana
was gone, and Mama had such a bad headache," she went on to say, as she
followed Lena upstairs with Lucy in her arms.
"I will send Hester to help you, Milly," said her Aunt; "you must be
tired too."
"And Mama wants Lena to help her this first evening," said Mrs. Graham,
drawing the girl to her side lovingly, for she had seen the shadow that
had come to the child's face at Lucy's cross words. "You must not mind
Lucy being cross, dear, for the child has been excited and wearied with
all the changes and strangeness of her life the last few days, and I am
sorry to say has been rather spoilt on board ship. It is very difficult
to avoid it there."
"And has not Milly?"
"Ah, Milly is such a quiet, staid little mortal, she is not easily
spoiled; she has been the greatest comfort to me during the voyage, and
now I have you too, my little one," was Mrs. Graham's answer, as she
took Lena's face in both hands and kissed it, then, looking at her
lovingly, said, "I think I should hardly have known you for the same
white, delicate little thing that I left with such a sad heart all these
years ago."
"Dear Mama," was Lena's only answer.
As they entered the bedroom, Mrs. Graham exclaimed, "Ah what sweet
violets, my favourite flower! I think I can guess who placed them
here."
"I did not know they were your favourites, but they are so sweet I
thought you must like them."
"Such a pretty, homelike room," said Mama, looking round. "I often used
to try and picture to myself what my little girl was doing, and what her
surroundings were like."
"Wasn't Aunt Mary living here when you went away?"
"No, dear; she came here in hopes that the sea air would make you strong
and rosy again, as it has."
"O Mama, you can see the sea from the windows in Papa's dressing-room;
do come and look at it."
Taking her mother's hand, they went into the dressing-room, the window
of which looked over the garden and towards the sea. Here they were
joined by Colonel Graham, and as Lena stood between them, a hand clasped
in each of theirs, she thought that there was not a happier little girl
in the world than herself, and I think she was right. Silence fell upon
them as they looked; so long it lasted that Lena looked up at her
mother, and seeing her eyes full of tears, asked anxiously--
"Mama, what is it; what are you thinking of; aren't you happy?"
"Very happy, darling," said Mama, smiling down on her through her tears.
"I was thinking how good and grateful we ought to be to Him, who has
guarded us all these long years, and now brought us together again.
"Safely and well," added Papa.
"And, my Lena, we all must try to show our love and thankfulness not
only in words, but in very deed and truth."
At that moment a knock was heard at the door, and Milly looked in. "As
you were not in your room, Mama, I thought you must be in here," she
said.
"Looking at your beloved sea," said Papa, holding out his hand to her to
come and join them.
"Is Milly so fond of it?" asked Lena.
"Yes, so fond that we were thinking of making a present of her to the
captain of our ship," said Papa, laughing.
"I have the sea here, and you as well, and," she added shyly, "Lena
too."
"True, most sensible of little women; but, Lena, you must not think she
is always so alarmingly sensible, for alas!"--and here Papa shook his
head with affected sadness,--"she does love fun and romping sometimes."