Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.
[Illustration: "I WILL KNOCK. YOU ARE TO SAY, 'PLEASE IS MRS. ROBBINS
IN?'"--Page 171.]
THE LITTLE PRINCESS OF TOWER HILL.
BY L. T. MEADE,
_Author of "A Sweet Girl Graduate," "The Lady of the Forest," "A World of
Girls," "Polly", "The Palace Beautiful," etc._
SIX PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
NEW YORK
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
[Transcriber's note: This book contains the following stories as well:
"Tom, Pepper, and Trusty", "Billy Anderson and his Troubles", "The Old
Organ-Man". The table of contents is only for The Little Princess of Tower
Hill.]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Her Very Young Days 1
CHAPTER II.
Father's Short Visitor 12
CHAPTER III.
Snubbed 23
CHAPTER IV.
The Stable Clock 35
CHAPTER V.
The Empty Hutch 49
CHAPTER VI.
Jo's Room 63
CHAPTER VII.
In Violet 77
CHAPTER VIII.
Choosing Her Colors 103
CHAPTER IX.
A Jolly Plan 113
CHAPTER X.
A Great Fear 127
CHAPTER XI.
Going Home 142
CHAPTER XII.
In the Wood 151
CHAPTER XIII.
Thank God for All 165
THE LITTLE PRINCESS OF TOWER HILL
CHAPTER I.
HER VERY YOUNG DAYS.
All the other children who knew her thought Maggie a wonderfully fortunate
little girl. She was sometimes spoken about as the "Little Princess of
Tower Hill," for Tower Hill was the name of her father's place, and Maggie
was his only child. The children in the village close by spoke of her with
great respect, and looked at her with a good deal of longing and also no
slight degree of envy, for while they had to run about in darned and shabby
frocks, Maggie could wear the gayest and daintiest little dresses, and
while they had to trudge sometimes even on little bare feet, Maggie could
sit by her mother's side and be carried rapidly over the ground in a most
delicious and luxurious carriage, or, better still, she might ride on her
white pony Snowball, followed by a groom. The poor children envied Maggie,
and admired her vastly, and the children of those people who, compared to
Sir John Ascot, Maggie's father, might be considered neither rich nor poor,
also thought her one of the most fortunate little girls in existence.
Maggie was nearly eight years old, and from her very earliest days there
had been a great fuss made about her. At the time of her birth bonfires had
been lit, and oxen killed and roasted whole to be given away to the poor
people, and Sir John and Lady Ascot did not seem at all disappointed at
their baby being a girl instead of a son and heir to the old title and the
fine old place. There was a most extraordinary fuss made over Maggie while
she was a baby; her mother was never tired of visiting her grand nurseries
and watching her as she lay asleep, or smiling at her and kissing her when
she opened her big, bright blue eyes. The eyes in question were very
pretty, so also was the little face, and the father and mother quite
thought that there never was such a baby as their little Maggie. They had
christened her Margarita Henrietta Villiers; these were all old family
names, and very suitable to the child of proud old county folk. At least so
Sir John thought, and his pretty young wife agreed with him, and she gave
the servants strict directions that the baby was to be called Miss
Margarita, and that the name was on no account whatever to be abridged or
altered. This was very fine as long as the baby could only coo or make
little inarticulate sounds, but that will of her own, which from the
earliest minutes of her existence Maggie had manifested, came fully into
play as soon as she found the full use of her tongue. She would call
herself Mag-Mag, and would not answer to Margarita, or pay the smallest
heed to any summons which came to her in this guise, and so, simply because
they could not help themselves, Sir John and Lady Ascot had almost
virtually to rechristen their little daughter, and before she was two years
old Maggie was the only name by which she was known.
Years passed, and no other baby came to Tower Hill, and every year Maggie
became of a little more importance, and was made a little more fuss about,
and as a natural consequence was a little more spoiled. She was a very
pretty child; her hair was wavy and curly, and exquisitely fine; in its
darkest parts it was nut-brown, but round her temples, and wherever the
light fell on it, it was shaded off to the brightest gold; her eyes were
large, and blue, and well open; her cheeks were pink, her lips rosy, and
she had a saucy, never-me-care look, which her father and mother and the
visitors who saw her thought wonderfully charming, but which now and then
her nurse and her patient governess, Miss Grey, objected to. All things
that money could buy, and all things that love could devise, were lavished
at Maggie's feet. Her smallest wishes were instantly granted; the most
expensive toys were purchased for her; the most valuable presents were
given to her day by day. "Surely," said the village children, "there can be
no happier little girl in all the wide, wide world than our little
princess. If there is a child who lives always, every day, in a fairy-land,
it is Miss Maggie Ascot."
Maggie had two large nurseries to play in, and two nurses to wait upon her,
and when she was seven years old a certain gentle-faced, kind-hearted Miss
Grey arrived at Tower Hill to superintend the little girl's education. Then
a schoolroom was added to her suit of apartments, and then also the
troubles of her small life began. Hitherto everything had gone for Maggie
Ascot with such smoothness and regularity, with such an eager desire on the
part of every one around her not only to grant her wishes, but almost to
anticipate them, that although nurse, and especially Grace, the
under-nurse, strongly suspected that Miss Maggie had a temper of her own,
yet certainly Sir John and Lady Ascot only considered her a somewhat
daring, slightly self-willed, but altogether charming little girl.
With the advent, however, of Miss Grey things were different. Maggie had
taken the greatest delight in the furnishing and arranging of her
schoolroom; she had laughed and clapped her hands with glee when she saw
the pretty book-shelves being put up, and the gayly bound books arranged on
them; and when Miss Grey herself arrived, Maggie had fallen quite in love
with her, and had sat on her knee, and listened to her charming stories,
and in fact for the first day or two would scarcely leave her new friend's
side; but when lessons commenced, Maggie began to alter her mind about Miss
Grey. That young lady was as firm as she was gentle, and she insisted not
only on her little pupil obeying her, but also on her staying still and
applying herself to her new duties for at least two hours out of every day.
Long before a quarter of the first two hours had expired, Maggie had
expressed herself tired of learning to read, and had announced, with her
usual charming frankness, that she now intended to run into the garden and
pick some roses.
[Illustration: "I WANT TO PICK THOSE WHITE ROSES."--Page 6.]
"I want to pick a great quantity of those nice white roses, and some of the
prettiest of the buds, and when they are picked, I'll give them all to you,
Miss Grey, darling," she continued, raising her fearless and saucy eyes to
her governess' face. "Here you go, you tiresome old book," and the new
reading-book was flung to the other side of the room, and Maggie had almost
reached the door before Miss Grey had time to say:
"Pick up your book and return to your seat, Maggie dear. You forget that
these are lesson hours."
"But I'm tired of lessons," said Maggie, "and I don't wish to do any more.
I don't mean to learn to read--I don't like reading--I like being read to.
I shan't ever read, I have quite made up my mind. How many roses would you
like, Miss Grey?"
"Not any, Maggie; you forget, dear, that Thompson, the gardener, told you
last night you were not to pick any more roses at present, for they are
very scarce just now."
"Well, what are they there for except for me to pick?" answered the
spoiled child, and from that moment Miss Grey's difficulties began.
Maggie's hitherto sunshiny little life became to her full of troubles--she
could not take pleasure in her lessons, and she failed to see any reason
for her small crosses. Miss Grey was kind, and conscientious, and
painstaking, but she certainly did not understand the spoiled but
warm-hearted little girl she was engaged to teach, and the two did not pull
well together. Nurse petted her darling and sympathized with her, and
remarked in a somewhat injudicious way to Grace that Miss Maggie's cheeks
were getting quite pale, and that she was certain, positive sure, that her
brain was being forced into over-ripeness.
"What's over-ripeness?" inquired Maggie as she submitted to her hair being
brushed and curled for dinner, and to nurse turning her about with many
jerks as she tied her pink sash into the most becoming bow--"what's
over-ripeness, nursey, and what has it to say to my brain? That's the part
of me what thinks, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss Maggie dear, and when it's forced unnatural it gets what I call
over-ripe. I had a nephew once whose brain went like that--he died eventual
of the same cause, for it filled with water."
Maggie's round blue eyes regarded her nurse with a certain gleam of horror
and satisfaction. Miss Grey had now been in the house for three months, and
certainly the progress Maggie had made in her studies was not sufficiently
remarkable to induce any one to dread evil consequences to her little
brain. She trotted down to dinner, and took her usual place opposite her
governess. In one of the pauses of the meal, her clear voice was heard
addressing Sir John Ascot.
"Father dear, did you ever hear nurse talk of her nephew?"
"No, Mag-Mag, I can't say I have. Nurse does not favor me with much news
about her domestic concerns, and she has doubtless many nephews."
"Oh, but this is the one who was over-ripe," answered Maggie, "so you'd be
sure to remember about him father."
"What an unpleasant description, little woman!" answered Sir John; "an
over-ripe nephew! Don't let's think of him. Have a peach, little one. Here
is one which I can promise you is not in that state of incipient decay."
Maggie received her peach with a little nod of thanks, but she was
presently heard to murmur to herself:
"I'm over-ripe, too. I quite 'spect I'll soon fill with water."
"What is the child muttering?" asked Sir John of his wife; but Lady Ascot
nodded to her husband to take no notice of Maggie, and presently she and
her governess left the room.
"My dear," said Lady Ascot to Sir John, when they were alone, "Miss Grey
says that our little girl is determined to grow up a dunce--she simply
won't learn, and she won't obey her; and I often see Maggie crying now, and
nurse is not at all happy about her."
"Miss Grey can't manage her; send her away," pronounced the baronet
shortly.
"But, my dear, she seems a very nice, good girl. I have really no reason
for giving her notice to leave us--and--and--John, even though Maggie is
our only little darling, I don't think we ought to spoil her."
"Spoil her! Bless me, I never saw a better child."
"Yes, my dear, she is all that is good and sweet to us, but she ought to be
taught to obey her governess; indeed, I think we must not allow her to have
the victory in this matter. If we sent Miss Grey away, Maggie would feel
she had won the victory, and she would behave still more badly with the
next governess."
"Tut! tut!" said Sir John. "What a worry the world is, to be sure! Of
course the little maid must be taught discipline; we'd none of us be
anywhere without it; eh, wife? I'll tell you what, Maggie is all alone; she
needs a companion. I'll send for Ralph."
"That is a good idea," replied Lady Ascot.
"Well, say nothing about it until I see if my sister can spare him. I'll go
up to town to-morrow, and call and see her. Ralph will mold Maggie into
shape better than twenty Miss Greys."