"STOCKINGS."
Chrissie Fortescue sat looking at her toes. They were pretty little
toes, pink and plump and even. But she was not looking at them in
admiration. And indeed this morning they were scarcely as pretty as
usual, for they were rapidly becoming blue and crimson, instead of
merely pink, and though blue and crimson are charming colours in
themselves, they are not seen to advantage on toes.
It was wintry weather, as you will already, I daresay, have guessed, and
very cold indeed, and as the unpleasant consciousness of this made
itself felt more and more plainly, Chrissie's face grew crosser and
crosser.
"Nurse," she called out, and it was the third or fourth time that she
had done so, "Nurse, _will_ you come and put on my stockings? I am
getting quite frozen."
There was no answer for a moment or two, then Nurse's face appeared at
the door leading from, the little girls' room into the large day
nursery, where the table was already neatly spread for breakfast and a
bright fire blazing.
"Miss Chrissie," said Nurse, remaining in the doorway, "it is no use--no
use whatever your going on calling to me like that. I have told you
ever so many times this morning that I won't and can't put on your
stockings for you. I promised your Mamma before she went away yesterday
that I would not, and I cannot break my promise."
"I can't either," was Chrissie's reply, "and I've promised myself that I
_won't_ put them on this morning, so there you see."
Nurse turned away with a sort of groan.
"Oh dear," she said, "it is really too bad of you. A young lady of ten
behaving like a baby. I'll come at once when you're ready for me to do
your hair, but not before. How can you behave so, and trouble in the
house, too? Breakfast will be up directly, and Master Jasper all ready,
and--" poor Nurse stopped short as she caught sight of another figure in
the room. "Miss Leila," she exclaimed, "what are you thinking of?
Reading again before you've finished dressing! I heard your Mamma--"
"Oh bother, Nurse," interrupted Leila, "I didn't promise anything, so
leave me alone, please. If I choose to read while I'm dressing, it's my
own business."
Apparently poor Nurse was at the end of her patience, for she
disappeared into the other room, repeating reproachfully, "and trouble
in the house, too."
"Rubbish," said Chrissie contemptuously.
"There's no trouble in _this_ house. I didn't care much for old Uncle
Percy. Did you, Leila? He's been ill such a long time, and last summer
at Fareham it was horrid having to be so quiet."
"I don't mind being quiet if people will leave me in peace," replied
Leila.
"No, I daresay not, with your everlasting books," Chrissie retorted;
"but for all that, you needn't think yourself any better than me. You
like books and I like playing, and we both like to do what we like and
not what we don't, and I suppose that's about all that can be said," and
she began swinging her feet defiantly.
Leila, who was getting to think that after all it would be more
comfortable to read beside the nursery fire, gave a little laugh, as she
hurried on with her own dressing.
"Tastes differ," she remarked; "I shouldn't like to sit there in the
cold with no shoes or stockings on. I'm going to coax Nurse to tie up
my hair in there by the fire. It _is_ cold this morning."
But Christabel sat on obstinately, though she was really beginning to
feel wretchedly frozen, and as Leila hurried past her with another word
of remonstrance, she only muttered something about "I can't break--"
which her sister did not clearly catch.
Leila was a year and a half older than Chrissie, but in appearance, and
in several other ways also, though different in character, they seemed
much about the same age. They really loved each other, but, I am sorry
to say, this did not prevent their quarrelling a great deal. There was
much truth in what Christabel had said--neither had learnt to think of
others before herself; neither was willing to do anything she did not
wish to do; neither had learnt to be obedient, or, still less,
unselfish. But a great deal, oh a great, great deal of all this sad
state of things came from utter thoughtlessness, and this their mother
was growing aware of, and beginning to blame herself for not having
realised it sooner.
"I have only wanted to make them happy," she said to herself. "Children
_should_ be happy," and so they should, but are selfish people ever
really happy?
The happiness that depends on outside things, on the circumstances of
our lives, on amusement and indulgence and having every wish gratified--
surely that is not the best and truest and most lasting?
And sometimes this lesson has to be taught by rather severe teachers.
Silly Chrissie! She was already punishing herself by her obstinacy. I
really would be afraid to say how long she might have sat there, growing
colder and colder, if something had not happened.
The something was a tap at the door--not from the nursery side, you
understand, but at the other door, which opened on to the large landing
outside.
At first Chrissie took no notice of the tap.
"It's that tiresome Fanny, I suppose," she said to herself. Fanny was
the nursery-maid. "She's no business to come bothering till we've left
the room."
But the tap was repeated, and a voice, which was certainly not Fanny's,
a soft, coaxing little voice, made itself faintly heard.
"Chrissie, Chrissie, do let me come in."
"Come in, then," was the rather ungracious reply. "What do you want,
child? I'm not dressed."
The door opened and a small figure entered.
It was Jasper, the youngest of the family.
He was barely seven years old, and not tall or big for his age. Fair
and slight and rather delicate-looking, and though his face was sweet
and even pretty when you examined it closely, he was not the sort of
child that is noticed or admired, as were his handsome brother and
sisters.
"What do you want?" Christabel repeated. "Don't you see I'm not half
dressed?"
Jasper nodded.
"I know," he said calmly. "I'se come to help you."
In spite of her ill-humour, Chrissie began to laugh. She was a child of
very changeable moods.
"You must be so cold," continued Jasper.
"I should rather think I was," his sister agreed. "Frozen! But you see
it can't be helped. I've made a vow that I _won't_ put on my own
stockings this morning, and I can't break a vow."
Jasper looked up at her with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
"Bad vows is better broken nor kept," he said.
Then Chrissie laughed again, and more heartily. It was a relief to her,
for, to tell the truth, she was fast getting to a state in which if she
had not laughed she would have burst into tears--a sad downfall to her
pride and dignity.
"What awful grammar, Japs," she said. "You really should know better at
seven years old."
But Jasper took her merriment quite pleasantly: indeed he was glad of
it, and by this time he was down on his knees on the floor, softly
stroking his sister's cold feet.
"What are you after now?" she said sharply.
"I'se going to put on your stockin's for you," he replied, "and then you
needn't mind about vows, 'cept that you'd better not make any more, till
it gets warmer, any way."
Christabel said nothing. In her heart she was very thankful for this
unexpected release from the silly predicament she had got herself into,
and deeper down still--for in that wayward little heart of hers there
were better things than she allowed herself to be conscious of--she was
really touched by her small brother's kindness. So she said nothing,
but watched him with some amusement as he cleverly drew on the
stockings--toes first, then heels, sighing a little as he got to the
long legs, so that Chrissie at this stage condescended to give a pull or
two herself. And at last the task was triumphantly accomplished, and
she stood upright and slipped the now clothed toes into the shoes lying
in readiness.
"You'd better be a boy at a boot-shop, Japs," she remarked. "You're so
clever."
Jasper looked up with great gratification at this rather meagre
acknowledgment of his services. And then, somehow, the sight of his
flushed face and smiling eyes got hold of Chrissie--the naughty, foolish
fit of obstinacy left her--she stooped and kissed him.
"You've been very kind," she whispered, and Jasper threw his arms round
her and hugged her.
Thanks and kisses did not come in his way as often as they ought to have
done.
"I'll be very quick now," Christabel added. "I'll be ready for Nurse to
do my hair in five minutes. Run off, Japs, and tell her so. No--I'd
rather you didn't," and she hesitated.
Jasper stood still and looked at her, his legs rather wide apart, his
face solemn.
"I wasn't going to tell nobody," he replied.
"Well, run away then," Christabel repeated, and off he went.
She was a quick and clever child when she chose to give her mind to
anything, little more than the five minutes had passed when she opened
the door of communication and called out.
"I'm ready for my hair. Do you hear, Nurse?"
Poor Nurse required no second summons. She had really been growing
uneasy about Christabel, and almost afraid that she herself would be
obliged to give in, in spite of her promise to Mrs Fortescue. So the
sound of Chrissie's voice came as a welcome surprise. She was a kind
and good young woman, but not possessed of much tact, otherwise she
would not have greeted the little girl as she did on entering the room.
"That's right, Miss Chrissie," she exclaimed with a smile; "I was sure
you'd think better of it in a few minutes, and not force me to have to
complain to your dear Mamma, when there's trouble in the house, too."
Instantly Christabel's gentler feelings took flight, like a covey of
startled birds. She turned upon Nurse.
"That's not true," she said rudely. "You know you _weren't_ sure of
anything of the kind. You know me too well to think I'd go back from
what I said, and, as it happens, I didn't. I've _not_ put on my
stockings myself this morning, but I won't tell you anything more. And
I do wish you'd leave off talking rubbish about trouble in the house.
There's no trouble. We didn't care for Dad's old uncle, who was as deaf
as a post and whom we scarcely ever saw, and we can't be expected to."
Nurse was silent. She went on tying the ribbons round Chrissie's
abundant locks, without seeming to pay attention to this long tirade.
"Can't you speak?" said the little girl, irritated by her manner.
"Yes, Miss Chrissie," was the reply, "I can, but I would rather not. I
don't think what you say is at all pretty or nice."
Chrissie gave a little laugh.
"Thank you," she said. "Well, one thing's certain: it'll be ever so
much jollier at Fareham the next time we go--you'll see."
This was too much for Nurse.
"Oh, Miss Chrissie," she exclaimed, "and your poor aunt! She's getting
to be an old lady now, and lived all her life with Sir Percy such a
devoted sister. You should care for _her_."
Christabel's face softened.
"Well, yes, I do love Aunt Margaret," she said, "but I never thought
she'd mind so very much. I should think she'd be glad to be free. Why,
she can come and stay with us in London now as much as she likes, in
turns with us going to Fareham, though, of course, Fareham will be
Daddy's very own now."
Again Nurse was silent, but this time Chrissie took no notice of it, as
she was growing very hungry as well as cold, and very glad to escape
into the next room, where breakfast was now quite ready.
Leila and Jasper were already there, and as Chrissie ran in, Roland, the
eldest of the four children, made his appearance at the other door. He
was a tall, handsome boy of nearly fourteen--shortly to go to a public
school, but, for the present, working in preparation for this, under a
private tutor. He was dark, like Leila, Chrissie's reddish-brown hair
and eyes making the middle colouring between these two elder ones and
fair, blue-eyed little Jasper.
It was not often, as a rule, that the nursery was honoured by Roland's
presence at breakfast, but he preferred it to solitary state in the
dining-room just now, when the death of their old uncle had called away
his father and mother for some days. And, indeed, nobody could have
wished for a pleasanter room than this cheerful nursery, with its large,
old-fashioned bow-window facing the park, the pretty paper on the walls,
white-painted furniture, bright fire, and neatness; though, as regards
this last attraction, I fear first thing in the morning was the only
hour at which one could be sure of finding it!
Poor Nurse and Fanny! I should be sorry to say how many times a day
they were called upon to "tidy up."
"I've a letter from Mother," Roland announced, after Jasper, as the
youngest, had said grace for the party. "They got there all right."
"Is that all she says?" asked Chrissie, for Leila was already buried in
a book which she had propped against her breakfast-cup, only moving it
from time to time as she drank her tea. "When are they coming back?
She said she'd tell us as soon as she could."
"They'd only been there a few hours when she wrote. I don't know how
you could expect her to say--you're so babyish, Chrissie," said Roland.
"Babyish," she repeated scornfully, "_I_ know what Mummy said better
than you do. I'll write and ask her to tell me, not you."
Roland by this time had got out the letter and was reading it again.
"As it happens," he said, good-naturedly enough, though his tone was
decidedly "superior," "she does say something about it, and something
else that I don't understand," and the boy's face clouded a little.
"She seems very bothered," he replied doubtfully, still fingering the
sheet of paper. "I think both she and Dad were pretty worried before
they left."
"Well," said Chrissie, "I suppose they had to be. I suppose they had to
care for Uncle Percy. P'raps he was nicer before he got so deaf. I
don't see that Mums need have gone, though."
"She's coming back as soon as she can," Roland went on. "On Monday,
most likely. Dad will have to stay there, and she has to come back to
do a lot of business things for him here, and then she says she'll
explain that Dad and she are very worried, and she hopes we'll all be
very good while they're away, and that we must help her to be very
brave. What can she mean?"
All except Leila looked rather grave and puzzled; all, that is to say,
except Nurse, whose face expressed distress, but not surprise.
"She knows something," thought Chrissie. Then she turned impatiently to
her elder sister.
"Leila," she exclaimed, "don't you hear? Leave off reading, you selfish
thing."
"Miss Leila," Nurse joined in, "you know your Mamma has forbidden you to
read at meals."
Leila looked up at last.
"What are you all chattering about?" she said, and she pushed her book
to one side, in so doing almost upsetting the milk jug, had not Jasper,
who was next her, just caught hold of it in time, and lifted away the
little volume.
"I'll put it down for you," he said, clambering off his chair as he
spoke, and Leila, who, to tell the truth, had got to the end of a
chapter, made no objection.
"What are you all chattering about?" she repeated, though without giving
any one; a chance of replying she turned to Nurse complaining that her
tea was quite cold.
"How could it be anything else," said Chrissie. "You let it stand while
you go on reading. I never did know anyone as selfish as you, Lell."
As regarded the cold tea there really was no possible defence, so Leila
contented herself with saying--
"I only ask to be left in peace. I don't call that half as selfish as
perpetually teasing and worrying everybody, as you do, Chrissie," and a
war of words was on the point of beginning had not her curiosity
suddenly changed her ideas. "What's the matter?" she went on, "I've
asked you twice. What are you _all_ so excited about?"
"It's poor little Mumsey," said Jasper softly.
"Shut up, Japs," said Roland. "You don't deserve to be told, Leila.
It's a letter from Mother. She seems in very low spirits and--"
"She says we must help her to be brave," interrupted Christabel, "and we
don't know what she means, and--"
"Chrissie," interrupted Roland in his turn, but certainly with more
right to do so, "be so good as to hold your tongue. The letter is to
_me_, not to you."
He glanced at it again. "Yes," he said, "it looks as if there was
something the matter."
"Is that all?" said Leila. "I daresay it's nothing much. P'raps she
said `brave' by mistake for `cheerful,' for I suppose Dads is rather cut
up about old uncle, though really we can't be expected to mind much."
In this sentiment apparently both Roland and Christabel agreed. Only
Jasper murmured half to himself--
"I don't like nobody to die. He used to pat my head, and he gave me
five shillin's on my birthday"; but to this modest tribute to poor old
Uncle Percy's memory there was no response.
"Oh, I daresay it's all rubbish," said Chrissie, having recourse to one
of her favourite words. "Any way, it's no good bothering beforehand.
If there's anything wrong we'll know it soon enough, when Mums comes
back on Monday."
"Monday," repeated Leila in surprise. "Is she coming as soon as that?"
"She says she has things to see to for Dads here," said Roland, "and
he's got to stay up there for a bit."
"Oh, that's of course," said Chrissie. "Fareham's all ours now, don't
you see? Dads will have to give lots of orders and settle everything.
I daresay Mummy is bothered about all she'll have to do now, with two
big houses--though I'm sure she needn't mind; it's easy to get plenty of
servants."
For the first time Nurse here ventured on a remark.
"Not so easy as you might think, my dear. Large possessions bring their
burdens. Still there are worse troubles than riches, 'specially to
those not used to small means." She sighed, and, in unconscious
sympathy, little Jasper murmured again, "Poor Mumsey."
"You're always so gloomy, Nurse," said Chrissie pertly, and though it
was far from true, Nurse said nothing in her own defence; she only
glanced across the table, saying gently, "Master Roland, won't you be
late?"