GETTING READY.
IT was a happy party that met at breakfast the next morning. "Going out
of town" to London children means a very delightful change from bricks
and mortar, glaring sunshine and hot pavements, to fresh meadows,
hedges and trees, or the exquisite delights of the sea-side. Then there
is the packing up; the bustle; the drive through London in a cab; the
anticipation; the journey; the intense expectation as to what the new
place will be like—these and a hundred more thoughts will be recognised
by London children as belonging to "going out of town."
Dr. Arundel sat at the bottom of the table, with Netta and Isabel on
either side of him, and he looked as pleased and smiling as all the
rest.
"Papa is always so unselfish," thought Nellie, as she glanced at his
peaceful face.
"When are we to go?" asked Ada, as soon as she could squeeze in the
question.
"On Saturday, if we can arrange it all," said her father.
"And to-day is Wednesday! Oh, Nellie, how delightful!" said Ada. "It
will be all bustle and packing from morning till night!"
"Delightful!" said her father, imitating her smilingly. "And poor mamma
thinks so too, I suppose? 'All bustle and packing!'"
"Don't you, mother?" asked Arthur wistfully.
"Not the bustle, dear; but the fact of going I do like very much."
"And where are we to go?" said Ada.
"Oh, to South Bay!" said their father. "And mamma and I are going down
to-day to look for lodgings."
"Are you? Why that is jolly; it is something like going!" exclaimed
Arthur.
"So all my dear children must try to carry out their own duties
faithfully," said Dr. Arundel. "For the heat will be very great, and
you will all be a little excited; and perhaps, dear children," he said
gravely, "just a little cross and inclined to quarrel in consequence;
so you must be watchful. We shall not be home to-night, Nellie; but I
hope by tea-time to-morrow to see you all again in peace."
When their father and mother were fairly gone after breakfast, and the
children had waved the last good-bye to them from the window, they
turned round to the unusually empty room, and Ada exclaimed, "Come
along, Nellie, now we'll begin to pack!"
"Oh, yes!" said Netta rapturously, "let us."
Nellie put her hand gently on Netta's shoulder, and was going to speak,
but the hubbub drowned her voice.
"Yes; I shall get all my doll's things together, and we can pack them
into the play-box, all ready," said Isabel turning to the door.
"I shall do nothing of the sort," said Arthur. "What's the good of
packing up so long before? I shall get my painting, and have a long
morning at it, that is if I am not too lazy."
At last Nellie's soft tones could be heard, and she spoke a little
entreatingly. "Netta dear, and Isabel, I am so sorry to disappoint you;
but mamma told me particularly she wished everything to go on as usual.
She wished you little ones to go for your early walk, and then to have
lessons."
"Lessons!" said Netta dolefully.
"Lessons! When we are going to the sea-side," added Isabel rather
crossly.
"Mamma said so," said Nellie; "and the time will pass all the more
quickly if we are industrious," she added cheerfully.
Ada stood frowning at the table. This was not at all her idea of
preparing for the sea-side, and she did not like it at all.
"But, Nellie, there is lots to do, and I'm sure the children would not
hurt for once."
"No; we would be so good," entreated the little girls, "and help you so
much, Nellie!"
"Yes; give them a holiday, Nellie, and let us get on with all sorts of
things," said Ada decidedly.
"I must not, Ada," answered Nellie, looking distressed; "mamma said
what it was to be, and it must be so."
"Well, I declare," said Ada, "it is too bad; you might if you liked,
Nellie, you know."
Nellie did not make any answer, but took her now pouting little sisters
by the hand, and went upstairs with them. They met the nurse on the
landing with the baby in her arms.
"We are all ready for a walk, Miss Nellie," she said.
"They will soon be ready, too," answered Nellie; "you go down, Mary,
with the others, and I will put on their things to-day."
Meanwhile Ada and Arthur had been left to themselves in the dining
room. Ada was twisting the tassel of her apron round and round
spitefully; and Arthur was leaning against the window with his hands in
his pockets.
"I hate you to vex Nellie," he said, suddenly turning to her.
"I don't vex her," answered Ada defiantly; "she vexes me."
"It can't be so pleasant grinding with those young ones that you need
set them all cross to begin with."
"I can't help it; she should have let them have a holiday."
"But mamma said—"
"Nonsense! Nellie has plenty of authority to alter if she pleased, and
you know she has."
"Oh, well," said Arthur, "it's of no use quarrelling; so I'll leave you
to your own reflections."
He swung himself out of the room, and met the two little girls in the
hall coming down to join their nurse, who was already walking up and
down the pavement waiting for them.
They were still looking vexed and disappointed, so being a kind boy, he
wished he could do something, but hardly knew what.
"Look here, Isabel; will Mary let you get a pennyworth of sweets
somewhere?"
"Oh, yes, Arthur!" said Netta, brightening. "What sort? And shall we
bring them back to you?"
"Any sort you like for yourselves," said he, fumbling for the penny.
"And look here—" glancing under their hats—"be good girls to Nellie
when you come home, won't you? 'Cause it's so hot, and mamma did say
so."
"All right," said Netta, "we will." And away they bounded.
While Arthur felt one of those sudden bits of intense happiness which
will come some day in fulness when the Lord says, "Well done, good and
faithful servant."
But with the thought of having done the least thing to please Him came
a sudden pang that, a minute ago, perhaps he had displeased Him in
speaking hastily to Ada, and he turned again into the dining room.
Ada's "reflections" which Arthur had alluded to were not pleasant ones.
A heavy cloud brooded over her, and she got up directly she saw him,
and walked past him without speaking.
"I'm sorry if I vexed you," said Arthur, bolting into the subject for
fear of not getting it said.
"It does not matter, thank you," she answered proudly, and shut the
door on him without looking up.
Arthur felt angry in his turn; but he soon remembered that, however
much Ada was in fault, he had said something which had annoyed her,
and he determined to be as kind as possible when next they met, if he
could. He soon sought for Nellie, and found her in the nursery sitting
by little Tom, with her work in her hand.
Tom raised his eyes pleased. "Are you come, Arthur; I should like to
build some bricks."
"All right," said Arthur; "but why are you not out to-day, Tom?"
"It is too hot, and it makes my head ache."
"You'll like the sea and all the fun there?" said Arthur.
"I don't know," said Tom listlessly.
"But you will see all the ships, and the donkeys, and the great waves
tumbling in!"
"Yes," said Tom doubtfully; "but I shall not care about it, my back
will ache so."
"Poor little Tom!" said Nellie softly, stroking his thin hand.
Arthur paused in getting out the bricks, and looked at him silently.
What could he say? What pleasures were there in store for this helpless
child? He could not run, or dig, or ride on donkeys, or sail ships.
What could he say to enliven him? He did not think of anything just
then, so he turned again to the bricks, and placing a small invalid
table over the couch, he began to build a wonderful edifice, while Tom
grew interested in spite of himself.
"That is like the church you go to," said Tom. "Mary and Simmons
wheeled me as far as that one day, and I saw it; and I know it is like
that."
"Well, I think it is, now you say so, though I did not mean it for it.
But look here, I'll make it as much like as I can remember, and if you
think of anything, you must tell me."
They built on happily for nearly an hour, Arthur cleverly weaving
into his building a true history of a man named Black Tom, who was a
bricklayer at the works. And he brought in for his little brother's
benefit all the information he had himself picked up about building.
Also how Black Tom's boy was employed on the scaffolding, and how he
fell and was taken up very much hurt, and had to be conveyed to the
hospital. So an hour quickly slipped away, and the children would soon
be home.
"Will he ever be able to walk again, do you think?" asked Tom, when
Arthur paused.
"I don't know about that; but one thing I can tell you, he has no
mother or nurse like you, and lies now on his back in a little close
room, with nothing to see and nothing to do."
"Does he? Where is he? Does he never go out?"
"Never; because papa goes to see him, and he told me so. And they have
no easy perambulator like you, Tom, to lay him in. And he never gets
sight of the park as you do, or of trees, or even shops, and looks all
day long just upon the same old ceiling and ugly paper of his little
dull room!"
Tom glanced round his pleasant nursery, and at the bricks which Arthur
was replacing in their box.
"I never thought of that," he said, and sighed deeply.
"We have brought you some of our sweets, Tom," said Dolly, running in
and holding out a little paper.
"Oh, thank you!" said Tom. "And I have been having such a nice play
with Arthur."
Nellie's little girls had quite recovered their spirits when they came
to the schoolroom, and their lessons were got through without any
further difficulty.
Ada looked in once with a very black face; but no one spoke to her,
and she did not vouchsafe any remark, but, after looking at what they
were about, took herself off to her own room, where she turned out her
things on the floor, and sat down amongst the confusion to pick out
what she wanted to take with her to South Bay.
Out of humour with everyone, and with herself above all, she soon grew
tired and hot. The ribbons seemed endless; the gloves would not pair;
unexpected holes and rents appeared in garments she had thought were
quite ready for packing; and at length, thoroughly disheartened, she
laid her head on the side of the bed near which she was seated and
began to cry.
She was startled by a cheerful "Hulloa! Here's a mess!" And Arthur came
striding across the forlorn room, and perched himself on the footboard
of her bedstead.
"Well, Ada, so this is packing is it? I told you it was too soon to
begin, and now you've proved it. The way to pack is, wait till the last
moment, then seize a carpet bag, rush to your drawers, take out one of
each sort of thing, stuff them in as quick as lightning, squeeze them
in somehow, lock it up, rush down stairs, jump into a cab, and hope
you've left nothing behind."
Ada laughed, in spite of her bad spirits, and would have cheered up had
she not looked once more on the hopeless confusion.
"I am so dreadfully tired and hot," she said dolefully.
"I should think so; quite enough to give you the blues for a week.
Shall I help you put 'em back?"
"Oh, do!" said Ada.
"Here goes then." And faster than they came out, Arthur stuffed them
in—ribbons, neckties, gloves, handkerchiefs, collars, and clothes.
"Oh, that's my best dress!" said Ada, catching at him as he took a last
armful.
"More shame to you," said Arthur, stopping short. "Whatever would mamma
say? And if I might suggest, is not that your best hat?"
"Yes," said Ada; "I meant to put those in carefully."
"Then I'd have left them where they were till the last moment. Now,
Ada, the room's clear again, and the children have done school, and
I'm going down there to have a splendid painting go, till dinner; come
along too."
"Very well," said Ada, sighing; "but I meant to have done so much this
morning, and the time has all been wasted."
When they reached the schoolroom, Nellie was putting away the last
few things belonging to lessons; and as Ada entered she turned round
pleasantly, saying, "Now, Ada, I can see to things if you like."
"I was going to paint now," said Ada a little ungraciously; "and
besides, I am dreadfully tired of packing."
Arthur laughed, and glanced quizzically at her.
"I was so sorry I could not help you, dear," said Nellie; "but you see
how it was."
"Yes, I see," answered Ada, beginning to feel very much ashamed, but
not willing to own it.
"But I can go now; what shall we begin upon? How much have you done?"
asked Nellie.
Arthur wanted to speak very much, but he managed to run off for a
glass of water for painting, and Ada contrived to say, "Why I got
disheartened, and Arthur helped me make the room tidy again; but I am
so tired now that I would rather not do any more before dinner, if you
don't mind."
"I only thought perhaps we ought to get a few of our own clothes
together, Ada, or there will be so much to see to at last."
"Very well," said Ada reluctantly; "but mine are in such a mess."
She followed her sister, however, to their room, and watched her in
silence while she took out their clothes one by one and laid them in
little heaps on the bed. No remark was made as to the disordered state
of her drawers, though she knew how much forbearance it must need to
avoid condemning.
"Now, Ada," said Nellie at last, "you can come and fold all this heap
off this chair one by one, and lay them on the bed so, and when we have
done all the large things we will look at the ribbon drawer."
Ada groaned at the thought, but she did manage to do her share pretty
well; and then Nellie proceeded to sort out the "ribbon drawer."
"There is never so long a task but it gets finished, if we go at it
patiently," she said, smiling. "Which ties do you want to take with
you?"
"Oh, all of them! Never mind sorting them out; put them in wholesale."
"I daresay; to irritate your temper when you get there. No; tell me
which. Come, I am helping you, so it is not so very hard just to
decide."
So Nellie went through the things one by one till the drawer was empty;
and Ada ran off with a little heap of odds and ends to decorate the
dolls with.
After dinner the sisters sat down to work, and Nellie coaxed Ada to get
a few stitches done to her clothes, so that before night they might be
placed in the box. And with the promise of locking the box and having
something to show for their pains, quite a nice heap of things were
finished off. And when Ada went to bed, she felt very well satisfied
with herself.
That night, as Nellie sat turning over the leaves of her Bible after
she had read her usual chapter, her eyes fell upon these words: "'I can
do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me;'" and she thought
how true they had been to her that day.
"What are you reading?" asked Ada sleepily from her comfortable bed.
"'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,'" answered
Nellie thoughtfully.
"Through Christ's strength?" thought Ada dreamily. "Not my strength—I
don't think I know anything about Christ's strength."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]