"She is very sweet and gentle, and I think very shy; but as you know,
Lena, I do not dislike a little bit of shyness in children; it is far,
far better than being forward."
"But not too shy?"
"Milly is not that; and I feel sure that you will be great friends as
well as loving little sisters before long."
This conversation took place as they went down to the drawing-room, Lena
hanging on to her Aunt's arm, as she eagerly questioned her. Finding no
one in the drawing-room, Lena began again--
"Isn't she tall, Auntie, nearly as tall as I am?"--the "she" alluded to
being, of course, Milly.
"Quite as tall as you are, I think, though that is not such an enormous
height, for"----
"No, I know," burst in Lena; "I wish I was taller, because people will
never believe that I am so much older than she is."
Miss Somerville laughed as she answered, "I do not think that that need
cause you unhappiness, dear."
The entrance of Mrs. Graham and Milly put an end to their conversation;
then Colonel Graham came in, and they all went into the dining-room.
After dinner the two sisters went off together to Lena's room, to see
all her treasures. There had been a certain constraint and shyness
between them, as is so often the case with children in the presence of
their elders. When they were alone, this wore off very quickly, and
soon they were chatting away together, the best of friends; and although
Lena's tongue was going at a gallop, Milly managed to keep up a very
good second.
When Aunt Mary came to tell them it was time to go to bed, she found
them seated, side by side, on the floor, Milly clasping in her arms
"Millicent Lucy," while Lena held forth on the doings and sayings of
Aunt Mary and herself; and promising Milly all sorts of delights, in
both their names.
"O Auntie, we are having such a nice talk."
"Which I have come to put an end to."
"Already?"
"Yes, dears; it is prayer-time now."
At this both girls jumped up, and Dolly being put away carefully, the
two girls followed their Aunt downstairs, hand clasped in hand.
Later, Mama went up with her two girls to see Lucy. Such a pretty
picture she made, Lena thought, as she looked down on the chubby little
face, all flushed with sleep, one small arm thrown over her head, and
the fair curls all tossed about in confusion. As Mrs. Graham looked
down on her little one, her heart swelled with love and gratitude at
once more having all her children with her. Putting an arm round each of
the others, she said in a low voice, "I trust, darlings, that you both
thanked Him to-night for His great mercy to us all?"
"Yes, Mama," Milly whispered, shyly. "And for letting Lena be so nice
and kind, and Aunt Mary too."
"And, Mama, I have to thank Him for double as much as Milly has, for I
have four of you all at once, and you are all just as nice as I hoped
and expected."
"I am glad you are not disappointed in any of us, darling," answered her
mother with a smile; "but we must not talk any more beside Lucy or we
shall awake her."
"I may give her one kiss, please, Mama," said Lena; "she does look such
a sweet!"
"Only one, and try and not to awake her, dear," was the answer. Then
they left Milly, and Mama took Lena to her room, and said good-night.
Aunt Mary had been in and given her good-night kiss, and Lena was just
falling off to sleep, all sorts of pleasant happy thoughts passing
through her mind, in the confused sort of way that so often happens
after anything pleasant has occurred--thoughts half real, half dreams,
all jumbled up together in hopeless confusion, but very sweet
withal,--when the door of her room opened very gently, but still making
just noise enough to call forth the sleepy question, "Auntie, is that
you?"
"No, darling, it's Mama."
"Mama!" she exclaimed, raising her head and rubbing her sleepy eyes.
"I could not go to sleep without one more look at my newly restored
treasure."
Throwing her arms round her mother's neck, she said fervently, "I am so
glad to have you, Mama; and I will be a treasure to you and be so good,
indeed I will."
"God grant it, my darling," was Mama's answer to her as she laid the
sleepy little head on the pillow again. Then kneeling beside her
child's little bed she thanked Him, in a few heartfelt words, for having
watched over and guarded her little one, during those six long years of
separation.
*CHAPTER III.*
*THE PETITION.*
The next few days passed away very happily. Having her sisters with her
as companions quite equalled Lena's fondest expectations. Not a jar or
a discord had broken the harmony of those days as yet. Milly was so
nice, and always ready to admire and enjoy everything that Lena did or
proposed; and as to giving up things,--certainly little Lucy did
sometimes want what her elder sisters were playing with, but it was very
easy to please and satisfy her, she was such a sweet little thing. Lena
often wondered how Auntie could have feared her not liking to do it.
It was the end of April when the Grahams came to West Meadenham, and now
May had arrived--bright warm sunshiny May, enabling them to spend most
of their time out of doors, either in the garden or the fields. And
nicest of all, many a happy hour was spent on the sands and among the
rocks, while their parents and Aunt walked up and down the Parade,
watching them, or would sit with books and work on the shingle, ready to
listen to all their doings when they rushed up breathless and eager to
recount them.
But these bright delightful days could not last for ever. The first
change was Colonel Graham's leaving them for a few days on a visit to
some relations; and Lena had a shrewd suspicion, from words that she had
heard fall from Aunt Mary, that other changes were in store for them
also; but at present she was too much occupied with her sisters to think
much about it.
The day after Colonel Graham left, Mama and Auntie announced that they
were going to be very busy, preparing Milly's and Lucy's summer-dresses,
and that they wanted Hester's assistance, so the three children might
play out in the garden together quietly.
"Not go to the beach to-day?"
"I am afraid not. You can be very happy without going there for one
afternoon."
"But, Mama," argued Lena, "it is such a pity not to go to-day, because
it's low tide in the afternoon, and we should be able to have such a
nice long time on the rocks--do let us go."
"Run away now and play in the garden, and we will see what can be done
about it after dinner."
"I do hope you will let us, Mama, Lena says."
"Never mind what Lena says, Milly. You must both do what you are told.
It is not the way to gain your wishes by being disobedient."
The two girls went slowly and reluctantly from the room, and taking
their hats, went into the garden.
What had come over them both I know not: perhaps it was that the last
few days had been too pleasant, and they were beginning to think that
things were always to be so for them; or perhaps it was that the first
hot weather made them both feel a little bit cross and languid--it has
that effect sometimes, I believe; but whatever the reason was, the fact
was what I have stated: they both were feeling rather cross, and
inclined to take a gloomy view of things. And their being told that
they might not be able to go to the beach that day was a ready-made
grievance for them.
They showed their feelings, however, in very different ways. While
Milly went and sat down quietly on a garden-seat, and gazed wistfully at
the object of her affections, the sea, Lena wandered about the garden in
a restless, disconsolate sort of way. Lucy was busy playing by herself
with a little cart and horse, and for a few minutes Lena played with
her; but seeing Milly leaning forward and looking quite interested, she
said hastily, "You must play by yourself now, Lucy; I want to go and
speak to Milly."
It is a curious fact that when one is idle and unsettled, one is apt to
get a feeling of being ill used at seeing any one else looking
interested and occupied. This was what Lena felt when she saw her
sister not looking dull and wistful as before, but with a bright and
animated expression on her face. Going up to her she said, "Milly, what
are you looking at?"
No answer. This was irritating, so she repeated her question in a
louder tone. Instead of speaking, Milly held up her hands, as if to
impose silence on her.
This was too much for Lena in her present mood. Giving her sister a
push, she exclaimed angrily, "How rude you are not to answer me! What
_are_ you looking at?"
"There now, Lena, you have spoilt it all."
"Spoilt all what? How tiresome you are, Milly!"
"I was counting the ships that passed, or that I could see, and I wanted
to count twenty, and I had only got to fourteen when you disturbed me.
Now I must begin again."
"Oh, that's silly. It's all very well when you are by yourself, but not
when you have any one to play with."
"What shall we do then?" asked Milly, who was now getting over her
disappointment; and as she was more accustomed to give up her own wishes
than Lena was, she was naturally of a far happier disposition. Little
Lucy had been her constant companion; and Milly was so fond of her
little sister, that she never thought it hard or disagreeable to put
aside her own pleasures and wishes to please Lucy. So now she found it
easy to give in to Lena also. Lena had not found out how much
pleasanter and happier life is when one studies the happiness of others.
Her happiness had been so studied by Aunt Mary that she took Milly's
good-natured assent as a matter of course.
"There is nothing nice to do here, the garden is so small; and Milly,
don't you think that Mama might let us go to the beach? Aunt Mary
would, I know."
"Mama will if she can; she always is good to us," and she gave Lena a
reproachful look for her last words.
Lena noticed the reproach in both words and look, but she answered,
without remarking upon it, "She would not even let us stay and ask about
it. I always coax and coax Aunt Mary till she says 'Yes.'"
"Does she always say yes when you coax?" was the surprised remark
elicited from Milly.
"Not always," Lena had to confess, "but sometimes."
There was a pause for a minute or two, and then Lena exclaimed eagerly,
"Do you remember that man coming with a paper for Auntie to sign, and
she told us it was a petition, and the man said the more people that
signed it, the more likely it would be to succeed."
"Yes; what of that?" answered Milly in an independent tone. She had
gone back to her occupation of counting the vessels in sight and was
once more absorbed in it.
"I don't believe you listened to what I was saying; I do think it unkind
of you."
At this accusation Milly started, and turning round, said gently, "I
didn't mean to be unkind, but what has the petition to do with us?"
"O Milly, you are stupid. Don't you see what I mean? Wouldn't it be
fine to write a petition to Mama to let us go to the beach?"
"Yes, let us: it would be something to do."
"I will go in and get a sheet of paper and a pencil, and then we will
all sign it. Do you remember how it began?"
"Let me try and remember," said Milly with an air of wisdom, covering
her face with her hands, as if to prevent any outside object from
attracting her attention, only looking up, as Lena ran off to the house,
to call out, "Mind and bring a pretty piece, Lena."
"All right," was the cheerful answer.
A few minutes after she returned with a packet of paper in her hand.
"Look, I have brought 'terra cotta;' it's a very fashionable colour,"
was her announcement, as she held it out for her sister to see.
"It is not a very pretty colour though?"
"No, but the woman in the shop said it was very fashionable." This was
said in a tone that admitted of no reply.
Laying the paper on the seat they both knelt down upon the ground, and
each began to write. They decided on writing a rough copy first, and
then, as Lena said, "she, as the eldest, would copy it out tidily."
"I took a look into the dictionary, to see that we were spelling it all
right, for we mustn't make mistakes in that, or Mama and Auntie would
laugh at us."
There was silence for a little while, as both heads were bent over their
work: it was more difficult than they expected. At last Milly gave a
great sigh, "I can't think where humble came; it did somewhere, I know."
"Yes, so it did. Now I remember; of course it ought to be at the end.
We must put 'Your humble children.' Let me have a look at your paper.
Why, I've got much more scratched out than you have. I've begun six
times already."
"It's the beginning that is so difficult; but, Lena, I feel sure
'humble' was at the top somewhere."
"Who was that petition to, I wonder?" said Lena.
"I am sure I don't know." And they both burst out laughing. Their
ill-humour had all vanished by this time and they were in high spirits.
"It must have been to the 'Queen.'"
"Then they would not have put 'humble Queen.'"
At this there came another explosion of laughter.
"To our humble Mother and Aunt." That certainly sounded quite wrong.
They remembered that the words "Most Gracious" were what they had seen
oftenest written before their Sovereign's name.
At last they decided to write one together; it was more amusing in
doing, and also more likely to be successful. Their continual peals of
laughter soon attracted Lucy's attention, and she hovered about them,
quite ready and anxious to assist, and growing impatient at the long
delay before she was allowed to sign her name.