CHAPTER I.

Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Emmy and the Online

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[Illustration: PLANNING OUT THE GROUND.

_See page 14._]

HOLIDAY TALES.

BY FLORENCE WILFORD,

AUTHOR OF 'NIGEL BARTRAM'S IDEAL,' 'AN AUTHOR'S CHILDREN,' ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

[Illustration: Emblem]

GRIFFITH, FARRAN, OKEDEN & WELSH,

SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS,

WEST CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDON.

E. P. DUTTON & CO., NEW YORK.

_The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are reserved._

CONTENTS

SEVEN CAMPBELLS

I. MOTHER AND SONS 5

II. JOHNNIE'S PROTEGE 29

III. WHAT SEVEN CAMPBELLS CAN DO 56

CECIL'S MEMORABLE WEEK

I. CECIL'S MEMORABLE WEEK 73

II. A BACHELOR'S LUNCH 98

III. GOOD NEWS 123

IV. IT'S ALL RIGHT! 139

[Illustration]

SEVEN CAMPBELLS.

CHAPTER I.

MOTHER AND SONS.

'MAMMA, there's such a fine poem here about "seven lovely Campbells"

whose father's name was Archibald; it must mean us,--don't you think

so?' And a very pretty boy about ten years of age, who had been poring

for some time over Wordsworth's Poems, lifted his roguish face to his

mother's with a look of pretended conviction.

'Not exactly, Willie, seeing that the poem begins, "Seven _daughters_

had Lord Archibald!"'

'Ah, mamma, you are not to be caught. I do believe you have read

everything that ever was written! But now, mamma, which would you rather

have--seven daughters or seven sons?'

'I would rather have just what I've got, Willie.'

'Seven sons, then. Oh! mamma, I'm glad you said that; and you know we

shall be of much more use to you than a lot of girls. Why, if the French

were to come, you needn't be a bit afraid, with all of us to defend

you.'

'Baby at the head, armed _cap-a-pie_, I suppose,' smiled the mother,

dancing in her arms her youngest son, a little fellow of about two years

old; but she soon set him down in her lap again, for she had been ill,

and was still so weak that the least effort tired her.

'Mamma, I think you'd better let me ring for nurse to take Georgie, and

then you can lie upon your sofa again and have a nap; and I'll go and

ask my brothers to play in the rough ground, where you won't hear their

noise,' said thoughtful Willie.

The mother assented to all these proposals; but when, after ringing the

bell, the boy turned to go, she beckoned him back to her side. 'Tell my

darling Johnnie that I hope he'll come and sit with me this afternoon;

only he must be wise and quiet, and not get into one of his harum-scarum

moods, or papa won't let me have him.'

Willie nodded sagaciously. 'I'll keep guard over him, mamma, so that he

shall behave like a mouse all dinner-time, and then papa won't be afraid

to trust him. Now let me give Georgie one kiss.' His mother watched him

fondly as he caressed the little brother, whose baby mind took small

cognizance of such affectionate demonstrations, and then, drawing his

curly head down to her, she gave him a true mother's kiss, and

whispered, 'Mamma's own good boy.' Willie tripped lightly down the

stairs and into the garden, where three little boys, of the respective

ages of eight, six, and five, were playing at the well-known game which

Charles Dickens terms 'an invasion of the imaginary domains of Mr.

Thomas Tytler.'

'Here, Duncan, Seymour, Archie, I want you to come into the "desert"

with me and have a game there. Mamma's going to take a nap before

dinner, and she won't be able to sleep while you make this row under her

window. Come along, there's good fellows.' The two little ones left off

picking up gold and silver directly, and Duncan descended from the rank

of a landed proprietor with great good-humour;--not that Mr. Thomas

Tytler's domains were the only ground belonging to him: he had a neat

little flower-plot in one corner of the garden, as had all the elder

brothers except Johnnie, who had been deprived of his by his father for

having neglected to cultivate it, and who from that day forward had been

known in the family by the soubriquet of 'Jean-sans-terre,' otherwise

'Lackland.' Willie led the way out of the garden into a rough piece of

ground covered with weeds and stones, and called by the children the

'desert,' because nothing grew there but a few stunted shrubs. He left

the younger ones to play about there, while he passed on and walked

along the high road to meet his two elder brothers, Honorius and John,

who attended a day school in the neighbourhood, and always came home at

twelve and returned in the afternoon. Willie was of an age to go to

school too; but his father, who was not a rich man, could not afford to

send him just then, and therefore instructed him himself, together with

Duncan and Seymour, though rather in a desultory fashion, as he was a

doctor, and could not command much uninterrupted time.

The Doctor's seven sons were well known in the neighbourhood, and

acknowledged by every one to be 'nice, gentlemanly boys;' so Willie had

to receive and return some greetings both from high and low as he passed

along. But before he had gone far he descried an elder boy with some

lesson-books in his hand coming towards him, whereupon he shouted 'Is

that you, old fellow? What have you done with Johnnie?' and bounded to

his side.

Honorius was, like his name, grave and dignified,--at least as much so

as a boy of fourteen can be without affectation. He answered quietly

that Johnnie had taken the path through the fields in order to hunt for

sticklebats in Farmer Merryman's pond, and that he did not know when

they might expect to see him again. But at that very moment a bright,

mischievous face peered over the hedge at one side of the road, and

then, with a warning to them to stand clear, and 'a one, two, three, and

away,' Johnnie--for he it was--took a running leap, cleared the hedge,

and stood beside them. Willie explained his reason for coming to meet

them, and the three boys took their way to the desert, lamenting that

the ground was not smooth enough there to admit of their playing

cricket, as they did on the lawn.

'Do you know I've been thinking,' said Willie suddenly, 'that it would

be very jolly if we could dig up the desert, and make it a nice place

for mamma to walk in when she gets better? We might have paths this way

and that, and then flower-beds or turf between; though, to be sure, papa

_did_ say that when he could afford to have it cultivated, he would

plant some of it with potatoes.'

'Oh, plebeian notion!' said Johnnie, tossing his handsome head, 'he will

propose keeping pigs next! What do you say to it, my Emperor? is not

your royal mind duly horrified?' The Emperor, as his brother called him,

in allusion to his imperial namesake, by no means showed the disgust

expected of him: he turned up a bit of the soil with his pocket-knife,

and said reflectively,

'I should think it would grow potatoes very well, but it'll want a deal

in the way of preparation. I don't believe we could dig it up properly,

for there are none of us strong enough for the work but myself and you,

Johnnie; and you're such an idle fellow, you wouldn't work for more than

ten minutes together.'

'Oh yes, he will, if it's for mamma,' cried Willie; 'and papa would be

so pleased. Do let's begin, Honorius; I can dig quite well, and the

little ones might pull up some of the weeds.'

'We must mark the paths first if we're to do it at all,' said Honorius

in his deliberate way. 'Who's got a ball of string?'

'I have,' began Johnnie, putting his hand in his pocket; but he drew it

forth again empty, and jestingly continued, 'No, "it's gone from my gaze

like a beautiful dream." I have lost it, I suppose. We must advertise

for it; or, considering all things, perhaps it would be cheaper to buy

another.'

'You'll lose your head some day,' observed Honorius calmly. 'Run into

the house, Willie, and ask cook for some string; and you might fetch the

spades, Lackland,--they're in the arbour.'

The two boys darted off on their separate errands, and the Emperor

walked up and down, devising how the desert might be best improved.

'Rather stupid of us not to have thought of doing something to it

before,--it's more than four months since papa bought it; but, to be

sure, the weather has not been fit for out-of-door work, and papa always

talked as if it would take two or three men to put it in order. I don't

think he'll mind our having a try at it, for at any rate we can't do

much harm. I'm very glad he bought it: it would have been horrid to have

had it let on a building lease, and some great house run up that would

shut out the view from our windows, that mamma likes so much. It's nice

that her own room does not overlook this, or she'd see what we are

about, and I should like it to be a surprise to her. It's quite Willie's

idea; he's a capital chap for thinking of things to please her. I wish

that funny fellow Lackland had half as much sense.'

Willie came back very soon with the string, and assisted his brother in

fastening a stake in the ground where the path was to begin, and then,

tying the string to it, drew it along in a straight line to the place

where the path was to end, at which they stuck in another stake, and

again fastened the string.

Johnnie did not reappear for some time, and then wore an air of rather

droll vexation. 'Pity me,' he exclaimed as he gave the spades to

Honorius, 'I have fallen foul of my paternal relative. I found a lot of

birds in the arbour, and served them with a notice to quit by clapping

my hands and hooting to them, when who should appear but papa, asking

what the noise was about, and how I could be so inconsiderate as to

disturb mamma?'

'No wonder,' said Honorius.

'Oh, and I promised to keep you quiet!' exclaimed Willie in great

distress.

Jean-sans-terre laughed his merriest of laughs.

'Keep me quiet! you silly fellow. Did you really think it possible?'

'Yes, for mamma's sake,' said Willie stoutly. 'You can be quiet if you

choose; and I told you what she said about her wanting you to sit with

her this afternoon.'

'And you think paterfamilias will forbid it on account of my ill-timed

sparrow-hooting?'

'I think,' said Honorius, 'you had better speak of my father by his

right name, and endeavour to behave rather less like an idiot. Here,

take a spade, man, and come to work.'

Johnnie shrugged his shoulders, made an indescribable grimace, and began

digging vigorously, humming the Jacobite ditty,

'Wha is it noo we ha'e gotten for a king,

But a wee wee German lairdie?

And when we went to fetch him hame,

He was dibbling in his kail-yairdie.'

Honorius sketched in his pocket-book a sort of plan of what the desert

was to be like when its cultivation was completed. There was to be a

path crossing it each way exactly through the centre, and along each

side of these paths there was to be a broad flower-border, which would

partially conceal from view the potatoes and other useful vegetables

which were to occupy the chief part of the ground.

'It's not too late in the spring to plant potatoes, I suppose, Honorius,

is it?' said thoughtful Willie; 'and papa will give us those, I'm sure.

But where shall we get the flowers? I don't think papa will buy them for

us.'

'We can get some seeds of different annuals, such as nemophila and

candytuft, ourselves. That won't cost very much, and I've got three

shillings that I can spend on it; but then we shall want roots of other

things and rose-bushes, and they cost more. Have you got any money,

Johnnie?'

'No, not I. I am "sans argent" as well as "sans terre." I know one way

of getting some, though. Papa said if I would translate that favourite

piece of his in Caesar all through, _well_, he would give me

half-a-crown. But then, consider the labour! I have a strong suspicion

that it might prove fatal to my constitution.'

'Oh, humbug! you could do it easily if you chose,' said the elder

brother. 'Besides, I'll help you, if papa doesn't mind.'

'You'll do it, I know,' pleaded Willie softly; 'and I've got a shilling

that'll go towards buying some roots.'

'And Seymour and I have got sixpence between us,' cried Duncan. 'I say,

Honorius, haven't we pulled up a jolly lot of weeds already?'

'Oh, famous,' cried the Emperor approvingly. 'Work away; we shall have

to go in to dinner soon.'

He himself toiled with all his might, for the soil in some places was

very stiff, and resisted the incision of the spade. Whenever he came to

a part where it was looser, he turned that over to the younger ones; for

Honorius, though occasionally sharp in speech, was almost invariably

kind and considerate in his actions. 'Deeds, not words,' was his

favourite motto; but it would sometimes have been well if he had

remembered that we must give account for words as well as deeds, and

that the law of love should govern both.

The boys worked on for some time almost in silence. Johnnie was

expending his energies in hard digging, and dropped for the while his

usual character of 'merry-andrew.' He was considering with himself, too,

whether he should undertake the task his father had proposed to him.

'To be sure, I have a strong motive now for earning the half-crown,

which I hadn't before,' thought he; 'but papa's so awfully particular,

and I'm--yes, I must allow--I'm such an awful blockhead, that it's as

likely as not I shall not win the money after all. However, I can but

try; yes, and I will try too.'

Lackland's face was very bright when he took his place at dinner that

day, but his behaviour was more quiet and guarded than usual: he

conducted himself more like Willie's ideal mouse, than like the noisy,

rattling fellow he usually appeared. The brothers sat, three on each

side of the table; no one claimed the place at the top, where the mother

was accustomed to sit when well. Dr. Campbell looked tired, and was very

silent, but took care that his sons' vigorous appetites should be duly

satisfied, and was always ready with a kindly 'Willie, my boy, don't you

want some more?' 'Seymour, pass your plate to me,' whenever the silence

of one knife and fork told that its owner had finished the portion

allotted to him. Johnnie glanced at him sometimes, but did not address

him till after grace had been said and they had risen from table, when,

approaching him, he asked gently if he might be allowed to sit a little

while with his mother that afternoon.

'Can I trust you to be quiet, Johnnie?' said the Doctor doubtfully.

Lackland blushed, and fidgeted with his feet. 'I will try to be quiet

indeed, papa. I am sorry I made such a row in the arbour this morning.'

'Very well, you may go to mamma, then, as soon as I come down; but I

shall beg her to send you away if you get riotous.'

'Yes, papa; and, one thing more, may I do that bit of Caesar that you

offered the half-crown for? I didn't care about doing it the other day,

but I should like to, now.'

'You may do it, certainly. I am glad you wish to--without help,

mind--and I will look over it as soon as I have time. Well, Honorius,'

as his elder son drew near, 'have you something to ask too?'

Honorius's errand was to obtain his father's sanction for the changes

they were making in the desert. Dr. Campbell smiled as he heard their

plans. 'It would take two men's hard labour to put that place in order,'

he said; 'I don't think you'll be able to do it.'

'Papa, you don't know what seven Campbells can do!' said Willie in a

tone of triumphant heroism.

'Seven! What! have you pressed Georgie into the service? Well, good luck

to you all, it'll be a nice amusement for you; you can't do much harm,

at any rate.'

He left them and hastened up to his wife's room, but Willie ran after

him to beg that the plan might be kept a secret from her. Dr. Campbell

readily promised secrecy, but the boys were disappointed that he had not

seemed more delighted with their scheme.

'If papa thinks it's nonsense, there's no use going on with it,' said

Honorius moodily.

'Yes, there is,' said Willie; 'it'll show him what we can do. He thinks

it nonsense, because he doesn't know how hard we mean to work, and how

steadily we'll keep on at it. It'll be such fun when he sees we can do a

great deal more than he thinks!'

Honorius allowed himself to be convinced by this reasoning, and went

with Willie and Seymour to the desert to work away till it got near

three o'clock, at which time he had to return to school. Johnnie worked

steadily at Caesar till he heard his father go out, and then went

up-stairs softly and tapped at his mother's door. Her 'come in' was glad

and eager, and a soft pink colour flushed into her cheeks when she saw

it was really Johnnie. This good mother, so just and tender to all her

sons, kept a special corner of her heart for the merry scapegrace who

excelled the family cat in a talent for unintentional mischief, and

almost equalled that luckless animal in a facility for getting into

universal disgrace. In another minute Johnnie was squatted on a

footstool by the side of her sofa, holding her thin white hands in his

own, and sometimes kissing them with a pretty devotion, which,

mother-like, she thought very charming, though she pretended to call it

'silly.'

'And how is my Johnnie getting on at school?' she asked presently.

'Whereabouts in the class are you now? At the top, I hope!'

Johnnie screwed his mouth up, shook his head, groaned, and made all

manner of funny faces. 'I'm at the bottom, mother,' he said at last, in

a voice that might have been intended to be penitent, but did not sound

so.

'Oh, Johnnie! and I was hoping you would never do so badly again. What

_will_ papa say if this half-year's report is as bad as the last?'

'I don't know,' said Johnnie in a way that might almost have been taken

to mean, 'I don't care;' then, more softly, 'I am sorry you are vexed,

mother.'

'Yes, I am indeed, Johnnie. It is not as if you were really dull and

slow: then your low place in the school would not be your fault, and we

shouldn't mind so much; but you can learn very well if you like.'

'But I was born with a disposition _not_ to like it. I can't help being

idle, really, mother; "it's the natur of the baste!"'

'Then you must conquer your nature,' she said in the spirited tone of

one who had never sat down helplessly under her faults and talked about

'natural infirmity.' 'What should any of us be worth, Johnnie, if we

yielded to all our foolish inclinations?'

He had not an answer ready, so played with her rings, and glanced at her

deprecatingly and coaxingly from under his long, dark eyelashes.

'I didn't mean to scold,' she said relentingly, 'especially this day of

all days, when I may have you for one of the little talks we haven't had

for so long. But, Johnnie, you don't know how hard it makes it for me to

submit to be ill and helpless, when I think that because I am not able

to watch over you, you are running wild, neglecting your lessons, and

vexing poor papa, who has so much to trouble him.'

Jean-sans-terre's brown eyes looked odd in their expression of mingled

fun and sadness; he was trying to feel sorry and ashamed, as he knew he

ought, but penitence was so very difficult to him. 'Dear little mother,

don't fret; I'll do better for the future,' he said caressingly.

No experience of the fragile nature of his promises had availed to make

his mother distrust him. 'My darling, I'm sure you will,' she answered

with ready confidence.

He was so anxious to assure her of his good intentions, that he had

nearly revealed the secret of his intended labour at Caesar, and his

desire to obtain the half-crown to aid his plans for the desert, but he

remembered in time that it was his brothers' secret as well as his own;

and Lackland, if he lacked wisdom and steadiness and industry, was at

least not deficient in a sense of honour, so he was silent. But he could

almost have thought that she guessed at his scheme when she went on, 'If

you would only pursue one thing steadily, and _make_ yourself do it in

spite of disinclination, you don't know what good it would do you, and

how it would help you in everything else. Be a hero, Johnnie, and

conquer your idleness!'

'I mean to be a real hero some day, mamma,' he answered, smiling. 'You

know Uncle Gustavus has promised to use his interest to get me a

commission, and then you shall see how well I'll serve the Queen. Don't

you remember telling me how Bertrand du Guesclin was a great bother to

everybody when he was a boy, but yet he grew up so jolly brave that

people were glad to run to him for help when he was a man?'

'And his mother hadn't patience with him, and yet afterwards lived to be

proud of him: is that the inference you mean me to draw, Johnnie?'

'No, no, no! she was a cross old thing. Don't you remember how she was

going to have Bertrand beaten, when that kind old nun stopped her?

You're not a bit like her, dear little mamma,--not a scrap, not an atom!

But oh, mamma, when will you be able to read us all those famous stories

about heroes? They're the only things I ever remember, and I'm pining

for one of them.'

'You shall have one as soon as papa thinks I'm strong enough to read

aloud. But, my hero, I want you to consider that before you can get a

commission you must pass an examination, and knowing about Du Guesclin

won't make up for deficiency in arithmetic and French grammar.'

'Oh, I'll see about all that; I'll work night and day sooner than not

pass, for I _must_ be an officer. You know, mamma, we've settled it all.

Honorius is to be a doctor, like papa, and I'm to be a soldier, and

Willie is to be a clergyman, and Duncan a sailor, and Seymour a

merchant, and Archie a lawyer, and Georgie--somehow we never can settle

what Georgie is to be--but something, of course, you know; and then you

will have us all, mamma, your seven sons, "seven Campbells," as Willie

has taken a fit for saying, and we shall make you so proud of us!'

'I hope so; but, my Johnnie, we must not forget that if my seven are

spared to me, and I to them, it will be by GOD'S great mercy.'

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II.

JOHNNIE'S PROTEGE.

JOHNNIE completed his task in two or three days, labouring at it at

first very earnestly, then growing tired, getting careless, and finally

finishing it up in a hurry, with so little effort at accuracy of

rendering or clearness of style, that any one less sanguine than he

would have considered the attainment of the half-crown hopeless.

Honorius glanced over the translation, and shook his head ominously,

wishing that he might be allowed to make some improvements in it; but

his father's injunction to Johnnie to accept no help put this out of the

question, so it was delivered into Dr. Campbell's hands just as it was.

The first part was very satisfactory. 'Very good, very good indeed,

Johnnie!' he exclaimed as his eye ran rapidly down the neatly written

lines; but his face lengthened as he went on. 'Why, how you have begun

to scribble here, Johnnie!' he said as he reached the middle. 'And what

_do_ you mean by this? You have not even given the sense of this passage

correctly. Here, take the book and translate it to me word by word.'

Johnnie stumbled wofully in his rendering, not from confusion, but from

sheer ignorance; and both the written and verbal translation went on

getting worse and worse, till at last the Doctor, who was rather a hasty

man, lost all patience, and tossed the whole production into the fire,

exclaiming, 'Pshaw! far from deserving any reward, that translation is

the most wretched exhibition of carelessness and idleness that I ever

saw. I don't know what's to become of you, Johnnie, if you can't, or

rather _won't_, do better than that!'

The little boys glanced at poor Lackland in terror and dismay, and

Willie's eyes filled with tears; but Johnnie only coloured, and,

shutting up the volume of Caesar, put it in its place again, and resumed

the occupation of making a willow-wand into a bow, on which he had been

engaged when his father summoned him. If Honorius had met with such a

rebuff, he would have remained bitterly hurt and ashamed for the rest of

the day, and Willie in the same case would have been utterly humbled and

discouraged. Not so 'Jean-sans-terre.' What his cogitations were, his

brothers could not decide; but the result was, that when he had bidden

his father good-night, he paused a minute, and then added, 'May I have

another try at Caesar, papa?' The tone was bright and cheery, and Dr.

Campbell looked up in pleased surprise--

'Do you really mean it, Johnnie?' he said hopefully.

'Yes, I do indeed, papa; but perhaps you wouldn't like the trouble of

looking over another translation. I know that one was awful.'

'If you can take the trouble of writing it, I shall not begrudge the

trouble of looking over it; but mind, it must be well done. I'd rather

you took a month about it than brought me such a one as that of

to-night.'

'Oh, thank you, papa, but that wouldn't suit me at all; I want the

half-crown as quick as I can get it. I'll work night and day rather than

not have the translation done soon.'

'Then I am to understand it is merely for the sake of the half-crown you

are willing to do this bit of Caesar over again?' said Dr. Campbell

disappointedly: 'I had hoped that it was from a better motive--a real

desire to improve and conquer your carelessness, or a wish to please

and satisfy your mother and me.' He looked full at his son as he spoke,

and seemed to expect an answer. It came, bold and true: 'I was only

thinking of the half-crown, papa.' Yet if Dr. Campbell could have known

to what purpose the half-crown was to be devoted, he would have seen

that love to the mother was the primary motive, after all, and would not

have turned away so coldly as he did from this apparently mercenary

speech. Honorius thought so, and would have explained; but Johnnie

pulled his sleeve and whispered something, and meanwhile the Doctor left

the room.

'Oh, how could you answer like that, Johnnie?' remonstrated Willie when

the two boys were alone in the attic which they shared together. 'If you

had told papa what you wanted the half-crown for, he would have been

pleased, whereas now I don't know what he thinks of you.'

'I only gave a plain answer to a plain question,' said Johnnie. 'If he

had asked me what I wanted the money for, I might have told him.'

'But it appeared----'

'I don't care what it appeared,' interrupted Lackland, laughing; 'I only

wish papa hadn't burnt the whole of my translation: the beginning of it

was all right, and I might have copied it straight off, instead of

having to make it all out again.'

'Oh yes! that was dreadful,' replied Willie. 'And then what he said too!

I was so sorry, Johnnie; I knew you must be so ashamed.'

Jean-sans-terre's eyes seemed to be searching after penitence again, as

they had when his mother spoke to him.

'_Ought_ I to have been ashamed?' he asked with simplicity.

The question appeared to Willie so extraordinary, that he really didn't

know what to say in answer. He pondered over it seriously while he was

undressing, and added to his evening prayers this clause: 'Make Johnnie

more sorry when he has vexed papa.'

Dr. Campbell was certainly vexed and disappointed with his son, and

showed it a little in his manner, which was, however, quite useless as

far as Johnnie was concerned, for he never even remarked it. There are

children so sensitive, that the faintest shade of sadness or disapproval

in the manner of their elders towards them will suffice to make them

unhappy for days; there are others who, unless they are actually scolded

or punished, never perceive that anything is amiss: and Johnnie was one

of these last. He was just as pleasant and affectionate to his father as

usual, just as fearless in his remarks and questions, and showed up his

translation, when he had finished it, quite as unconcernedly as if no

previous one had ever existed. He got the half-crown this time, and a

fair meed of praise, which he received with undisguised satisfaction,

and the mental reflection that 'papa was very kind.'

Dr. Campbell did not inquire how he meant to spend the money, not

wishing to show a want of confidence in his son; and Johnnie tarried for

no explanation, but raced off to the nurseryman's, only pausing to tell

Honorius that he was no longer 'sans argent,' and to ask what plants he

should buy.

The boys, by constant labour, had managed already to dig up the proposed

flower-border and to level the part intended for the paths; but Honorius

was sadly at a loss as to where they should get gravel for the latter.

He could not help looking rather wistfully at a great heap of

it--beautiful golden gravel too--which lay in one corner of the garden

of an old lady to whom his father one day sent him with a message; and

Mrs. Western--as this old lady was called--noticed her young friend's

expression, and asked what he was thinking of. He told her of his plans

for the desert, and inquired where such gravel was to be bought, and if

it were very dear. She replied that it was rather so, but this had been

given her by her son-in-law, who had a gravel-pit on his estate, and

added very kindly, 'You are quite welcome to have what you see there,

for I have used as much as I shall want for the present; only you must

send some one for it, for I can't ask my maid to carry gravel.' Honorius

thanked her warmly, and joyfully accepted her offer, promising to send

some one for the gravel as soon as he possibly could.

The difficulty was to know whom to send, for the Campbells' in-door

servants were all maids; and when the boys begged the old man who took

care of their father's horse and drove his gig to go to Mrs. Western's

for them, he replied surlily that he had hard work enough as it was

('night and day both, sometimes, when master is sent for from a

distance'), and declined to assist them.

'I know,' said Johnnie. 'The next half-holiday Bob Middleton would do it

for sixpence or a shilling; he could take the wheelbarrow and get a load

at a time. I declare I wouldn't mind fetching it myself, if I thought

papa wouldn't object.'

'Oh, nonsense,' said Honorius. 'Work as hard as you like here, but don't

take to wheeling gravel through the village, pray. Bob Middleton might

do, only he's such an impudent fellow. I hate having anything to say to

him.'

'Oh, I'll transmit your royal commands to him, if that's all,' said

Johnnie; 'only say yes, and I'll look him up this afternoon: perhaps he

might go to Mrs. Western's for us at once.'

Honorius gave a reluctant consent, and accordingly Johnnie appeared in

the desert soon after three o'clock, accompanied by a youth of fifteen,

very raggedly attired, and with a face which was an extraordinary

compound of ugliness and roguery. Bob undertook for a shilling to fetch

all the gravel from Mrs. Western's, and set off at once for the first

load, with which he returned ere long. He came and went several times;

but at last such a long interval elapsed between his going and

returning, that the boys began to be alarmed.

'He's gone off with the wheelbarrow, I do believe,' said Honorius.

'"Body o' me!" as old King Jamie used to say, you don't suppose such a

thing,' cried Johnnie. 'Spite of his objections to soap and water and

the English grammar, I have a higher opinion of Bob than that.'

But as still time passed on and Bob did not return, Duncan and Seymour

were sent in search of him. They looked for him by the way, but saw

nothing of him, and at length arrived at Mrs. Western's house and rang

the bell.

'Has a boy been here for some gravel Mrs. Western promised us, or is he

here now?' inquired Duncan of the maid who came to the gate.

'He has been here, Master Campbell,' she replied, 'but he's gone off as

fast as his legs can carry him, and he's taken mistress's new

thermometer with him that hung on the south wall, and he's trampled over

all the beds, and Mrs. Western she saw him from the window; and your pa'

was passing, so she called him in; but the boy made off, and it'll be a

wonder if the police are not sent for. They're a bad set, those

Middletons.'

Duncan's eyes grew round with excitement, and Seymour, who was rather

timid, began to cry. He wanted to run home again, but Duncan considered

such a proceeding cowardly; and while they were debating the point, Dr.

Campbell saw them, and called to them to come in.

'Who sent Bob here for the gravel?' he inquired.

'Johnnie sent him; Honorius said he might,' replied Duncan.

'Of course they never thought how the boy would behave,' said kind old

Mrs. Western. 'I daresay they didn't know he wasn't a fit person to be

trusted.'

'They might have known,' said Dr. Campbell; 'Johnnie at least has heard

me say that Bob was ripe for any mischief, and he knows I refused to let

him take him out fishing with him. If Honorius had told me of your kind

present, I would have sent some proper person for the gravel.'

'Honorius did say Mrs. Western had promised us some gravel after dinner,

papa, but you were just going out, and I suppose you didn't hear him,'

said Duncan. 'He didn't like sending Bob much, but we didn't know who

else to get.'

'You should have asked,' began his father; but seeing that Seymour was

frightened, he checked himself, saying, 'It's no blame to you little

ones; I don't suppose you had anything to do with it. Run away home if

you like.'

'Oh, but let Sarah cut you a piece of cake first,' said Mrs. Western.

'My dear (to Seymour), don't fret; you shall have the gravel all the

same.'

Mrs. Western's maid brought them out two large slices of pound-cake,

which, after they had thanked their kind old friend, they took away with

them, Seymour beginning directly to munch at his slice, while Duncan put

his into his pocket.

'Papa didn't say we _must_ go home,' he observed,--'he only said we

_might_ if we liked; so you can go, and I'll try and find Bob, and tell

him I'll give him this piece of cake if he'll give back the thermometer.

I'm so afraid, if he doesn't, Johnnie'll get into trouble; and besides,

it's so wicked to steal.'

'Yes,' said Seymour with his mouth full of cake; 'and I'll tell you

what, Duncan,' reluctantly but firmly, 'you may take the rest of my

piece too.'

Duncan, however, declined this, and trudged away, resolutely resisting,

as he went along, the temptation to eat even a _crumb_ of his own

delicious-looking slice. He soon arrived at Mrs. Middleton's cottage,

but of course Bob was not there; and his mother, who was a widow, and

supported herself by washing, came to the door with her arms covered

with soap-suds, and after hastily answering that 'Bob was nowhere's

about, plunged them in the wash-tub again, and took no more heed of

Duncan. He hesitated whether to tell her about the thermometer or not,

but had been so impressed with the naughtiness of 'telling tales,' that

he could not make up his mind it could be right, even in this case, and

so turned away and ran back to the desert, where he found his father

speaking to Honorius and Johnnie.

'Didn't you remember, boys, what I said about Bob when you wanted to

take him out fishing with you?' he was asking.

'It was to me you said it; Honorius was not in the room,' Johnnie said

quickly.

'Very well, then, you at any rate knew my opinion of Bob Middleton, and

must have known that you were doing wrong in employing him without my

leave.'

'I didn't think,' said Lackland carelessly.

'Then I must teach you to think. Put down your spade and go into the

house, and up to your room.'

There was no mistaking Dr. Campbell's manner now; even Johnnie was

obliged to perceive the displeasure he had provoked: he stuck his spade

into the ground, and turned towards the house.

Duncan dashed after him. 'Here, Johnnie, take this piece of cake. Mrs.

Western gave it to me; it's so good--do have it, see!'

Lackland was by no means too miserable to appreciate this attempt at

consolation. 'It looks jolly,' he said, 'but I won't take it all; you

must have half yourself, Duncan,' and he broke it in two.

Duncan would rather his brother should have had the whole, but he was

glad to see him munching the half even so contentedly. 'Do you think I

may go up into your room with you?' he inquired.

'No, no; papa didn't mean that, I'm sure. Don't stop me, old fellow;

good-bye,' and Johnnie ran off and up to his room as fast as he could

go. He had not been there more than five minutes, when there was a sound

of little toddling steps along the passage, and two fat hands came

drumming on the door. 'What do you want, baby?' said Johnnie, rising and

opening it.

'I want to tiss 'oo,' answered the child, lifting up his chubby face.

Johnnie bent down and kissed him, asking, 'How did you know I was here,

Georgie?'

'Ma heard 'oo tome up 'tairs; ma say what matter wis 'oo?'

'Tell her papa sent me up,' faltered Johnnie; 'or stay, say----'

'I say 'oo naughty,' said Georgie, whose infantine mind had already

jumped to the right conclusion. He scampered off with this message, but

speedily returned: 'Ma say she vezy sorry; ma say I may tiss 'oo again.'

'I wish I might go to her,' thought Johnnie, and in his softened mood

the little brother's kisses were so sweet to him, that he could scarcely

make up his mind to let Georgie go. But he did, and stepped back

resolutely into his room, while the little one, announcing, 'I going to

tea now,' trotted off again down the passage. Meantime Honorius was

showing his father the scarlet geraniums that Johnnie had bought with

his half-crown, and expatiating on the quantity of digging he had got

through, although, being occupied with Caesar, he had not had so much

time to spend in the desert as the others.

'Poor fellow! Well, he has behaved much better than I thought,' said Dr.

Campbell relentingly. 'I'm afraid I was rather hard on him just now;

that's the worst of being too hasty.'

Of all things, Honorius could not bear that his father should reproach

himself. 'I'm sure Johnnie admits that he was in fault about Bob, papa,'

he said.

'And do you know I've got a bright idea about Bob and the thermometer,

papa,' said Willie. 'May I go as far as Farmer Merryman's field and

back? I won't be long.'

'Certainly you may, if it's necessary for the development of your bright

idea, Willie; but make haste home to tea. And you, boys, come in with

me; if you're not hungry, I am.'

In the strength of his bright idea Willie ran along like a greyhound;

moreover, it was pleasant to feel how completely his father trusted

him. He went across the fields till he came to Farmer Merryman's pond,

which was overhung by a willow-tree, whose branches were thick enough to

afford a tempting seat: it was a lonely place, and a favourite resort of

Bob's, as Willie well knew; and here he hoped to find him. Was he there?

Yes--no--yes! and Willie almost shouted with delight, but restrained

himself, and advanced cautiously to the foot of the tree. 'Bob,' he said

softly, 'Bob, I want to speak to you, please.'

Bob gave a violent start, and looked down rather savagely at the

adventurous child who had discovered his hiding-place. 'What d'ye come

prying here for?' he asked rudely.

'I came to ask you to give back Mrs. Western's thermometer,' said

Willie; 'and my brother Johnnie says he's _quite_ sure you didn't mean

to steal it.'

'No more I did; what's the worth of it to me? I'd only taken it down

just to look at it, like, when out came those maids a-storming and

a-scolding, and vowed they'd fetch the justice; so I made off, and took

the 'mometer with me, for I hadn't had half a look at it.'

'Oh, but you've done with it now, so do take it back,' pleaded Willie

urgently.

'Don't you wish you may get it? You'd like to see me make such a fool of

myself, wouldn't you?'

'Well, then, let me take it, and I'll tell Mrs. Western how it was, and

ask her not to be angry with you. If you give it me, I'll give you the

shilling that you were to have had when you fetched all the gravel: of

course you can't fetch any more of it for us now, but we would rather

you had the shilling. I'm so glad you didn't mean to steal.'

Bob calmly surveyed the flushed, eager face that was turned up to his.

'It's you that's to be the parson, ain't it?' he said mockingly.

Willie made no reply, but folded his arms and leant back against the

tree, looking such a perfect little gentleman, that some dim perception

of his own impertinence flashed upon Bob's eccentric mind.

'It worn't all on my account you comed along here, was it?' he inquired.

'No; partly on Mrs. Western's, and partly on my brother Johnnie's. Papa

is displeased with him for having sent you for the gravel; and, Bob, you

know Johnnie _trusted_ you.'

Bob grinned, and Willie felt that the appeal to his sense of honour had

failed; but, though very impertinent and mischievous, he was not a

thoroughly bad boy, and now swung himself down from the tree, bringing

the thermometer with him.

'If I give it to you, you must promise not to tell where you found me,'

he said; 'I won't have other folks prying after me here.'

'I won't tell Mrs. Western, if that's what you mean,' said Willie; 'and

I'll ask her to forgive you.'

[Illustration: 'CAN'T HELP THAT,--HERE GOES.'

_See page 52._]

'My! you may do as you like about that. I ain't in such a hurry to be

forgiven. But what I mean is, you ain't to tell your father nor nobody

where you found me.'

'I must tell papa if he _asks_ me,' said Willie.

'Then you shan't have the 'mometer; I'll pitch it into the pond.'

'That would be wicked,' said undaunted Willie, 'for it does not belong

to you.'

'Can't help that; here goes,' and he held it over the edge of the pond.

'It'll be in in another minute if you don't say you'll not tell your

father.'

'I shan't tell him if he doesn't say I am to; but if he does, I must.'

'Why must you?'

'Because I must obey him, even when I'd rather not; it's right.'

'That beats all,' said Bob in unbounded surprise; but he didn't throw

the thermometer into the pond. It was some time, however, before Willie

could persuade him to give it up, though at length he did, and received

the shilling, observing,

'I could ha' took this from you if I'd liked, and kep' the 'mometer too;

but I ain't a thief, let folks say what they please.'

'No, I know you're not,' said Willie. 'Oh, Bob, if you would only----'

'What?' said Bob; 'you hadn't no call to stop just then. I thought you

was a-going to make a fine speech.'

'No, I mustn't.'

'Mustn't what?'

'Mustn't lecture; mamma won't ever let me. There are other people to

teach you.'

'They did teach me a lot,--parson did, and schoolmaster did; but I got

tired of it, and now I'm too big to go to school. But I'm thinking of

looking out for a bit of work.'

'Oh do, do, _please_; we should be so glad.'

'If you ain't the funniest little gentleman!' said Bob with increasing

astonishment. 'But I kind o' like you too, I ha' been thinkin' o'

taking a turn for the better, as they say, lately; but bless you, not

even my mother would believe I was in earnest, so who is there to care

if I do?'

'Seven Campbells,' said Willie; and then, fearing this was not quite the

truth, he added, 'No, Georgie is too young to care, but all the rest of

us would be glad, Bob;' and when he had said this he ran home. His

arrival with the thermometer caused great delight to all his brothers,

and Dr. Campbell called Lackland down to hear the good news, saying

kindly, 'You have had opportunity for a little thought, Johnnie, my man,

and I hope will be more careful not to act contrary to my known wishes

another time; so now come and help us to rejoice over the recovery of

poor Mrs. Western's thermometer.' Johnnie came, nothing loth, pausing,

however, to ask, 'May I speak to mamma first? She heard me come

up-stairs.'

Permission was given, and after a preliminary tap the bonnie face

peeped into the sickroom. 'All right, dear little mother: I _was_ rather

in a scrape just now, but papa has forgiven me, and I'm going

down-stairs again. Good-night, dear mamma.' The white curtains of the

bed were drawn aside for one minute, and the sweet motherly eyes looked

out at him.

'Good-night, and thank you for coming to me, my darling boy; only

remember'--very gently--'a _pardoned_ fault needn't be a _forgotten_

one, Johnnie.'

'No, mamma.' There was a momentary quiver in the gay, ringing voice, and

it was quite enough for the mother. 'That will do; I can trust you not

to forget _this_ time, Johnnie,' she said, and with a happy smile she

lay down to sleep.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER III.

WHAT SEVEN CAMPBELLS CAN DO.

SPITE of obstacles, the labours of the 'Seven Campbells,' as Willie

grandly called them, did effect a great improvement in the desert, and

the seventh certainly took his share, so far as such a very small man

could; for he pulled up a great many weeds with his little fat hands,

and brushed down the gravel on the walks with a tooth-brush! The Doctor,

seeing his boys were in earnest, lent them his help whenever he could

spare time, sent for the remainder of the gravel for them, showed them

how to lay it, trimmed the borders, sowed some potatoes, and presented

them with four apple-trees, which he planted at four corners of the

ground, and called 'Gozmaringa, Geroldinga, Crevedella, and Spirauca,'

after the names of some apple-trees that belonged to King Charlemagne.

But, spite of his assistance, there was a great deal requiring the boys'

exertions; and they worked like Trojans, devoting nearly all their

play-hours and pocket-money to this object, and finding in it both

interest and amusement. Johnnie had learnt one or two lessons from this

undertaking: first, that in working for a good object, it is not only

necessary to have a right intention at starting, but that constant pains

and perseverance are requisite,--as in the matter of Caesar; secondly,

that a privilege earned is sweeter than one bestowed as a favour,--as in

the spending of the half-crown, which his own toil had procured;

thirdly, that even for a good object we must not use bad or doubtful

means,--as in the matter of the gravel; and fourthly, that hard

work--digging, or what not--from a right motive, becomes a much greater

pleasure than any that can be procured by idleness. And he had found

true, too, what his mother had said, that if he would pursue _one_ thing

steadily, and make himself do it in spite of disinclination, the

determination and energy thus acquired would help him in everything

else.

Midsummer came, and by that time the desert was a desert no longer: it

was a neat, trim-looking piece of ground with smooth walks, some small

but promising crops, and a flower-border gay with geraniums,

nasturtiums, sweet-peas, nemophila, and convolvulus. The mother was

rapidly regaining strength, and had been down-stairs several times, but

only into the drawing-room, which did not look towards the desert: from

the school-room and dining-room, which had a full view of it, she had

been jealously excluded. It is to be feared that this precaution had

caused her a little anxiety, and that she had a secret vision of broken

slates, torn pinafores, and blotted lesson-books, which she imagined

were being concealed from her in these forbidden chambers till she was

supposed to be strong enough to bear the sight of such calamities. But

the day was now come when her fears were to be dispersed, and a far

different and much pleasanter surprise was to dawn upon her.

She was to take her first walk, leaning on her husband's arm; and he had

been privately instructed by his sons to bring her in the direction of

the quondam desert. They had erected a triumphal arch over the little

entrance-gate, formed of bent osiers twined with flowers, and surmounted

with paper flags, on which were inscribed, in large coloured letters,

such mottoes as the Scotch 'Ye're gey welcome,' and the Irish 'Cead mile

failte.' Archie and Georgie, gaily bedizened, and with wands in their

hands, were stationed at each side of the gate to welcome her, and were

to marshal her up the centre walk, at the top of which her other sons

were to receive her, and conduct her to a seat which had been prepared

for her to rest upon. Such was the programme; but how could English boys

adhere to anything so formal? Directly Archie announced that 'mamma was

coming' Georgie pushed the gate open, and toddled to meet her, followed

by all the rest of the boys, leaping, shouting, and laughing, forgetting

all preconcerted speeches, and much too happy to be even coherent.

'Papa' was afraid such noisy glee would be too much for the invalid, but

'mamma' would have her way for once, and indulge the boys to the top of

their bent; so they led the way into the desert, all laughing and

talking at the same time, till Willie bethought himself that the noise

and excitement would really be too much for his mother, and first loudly

exhorted his brothers to be quiet, and then--which was much

better--became quiet himself, and thus set an example of

considerateness.

Mrs. Campbell's surprise and delight were great enough to satisfy her

sons, which is saying a good deal. She would not sit down till she had

made the tour of the garden (it would be an insult to say 'desert' any

longer); and she accepted a sprig of Johnnie's geranium, and a handful

of Duncan's sweet-peas; _tasted_ one of Archie's nasturtium flowers when

assured by him that it was 'so nice;' was duly edified by the sight of

the remains of the tooth-brush, worn to a stump by Georgie's sedulous

and novel use of it; allowed Honorius to pull up a potato root, that she

might see how healthy and free from disease it was; submitted patiently

to have her hair ornamented with some of Seymour's convolvuluses; and

only declined to taste the one hard green apple born by Geroldinga

(Gozmaringa, Crevedella, and Spirauca were as yet fruitless), from a

fear that the tender, careful guardian at her side would be

irrecoverably shocked at such imprudence. She sat down at last on the

chair of state that had been prepared for her, and owned herself a

little tired; but her interest and amusement never flagged, and she

listened with eager pleasure to the history of her sons' exertions.

'They've all worked like horses,--even Georgie, I do believe,' said Dr.

Campbell, smiling.

'And Johnnie too!' said the mother delightedly.

'Yes, Johnnie has done his work manfully, and has found out that

industry is pleasure, after all. Haven't you, my boy?' and the father

laid his hand on his son's shoulder with a proud, pleased look, such as

Lackland had but seldom called up before.

The bright eyes, which never looked down in fear, looked down now.

Jean-sans-terre was not so unsensitive to _praise_ as he was to

_blame_.

'Ah, papa,' said Willie, 'you laughed at us when we began to dig up the

desert, but now you see seven Campbells can do more than you thought

they could.'

'And now, when we want anything done, we may look to our seven Campbells

for it, said Mrs. Campbell gaily. 'Honorius, you were the directing

genius, were you not?'

'Yes, I believe I planned how it was to be, but it was Willie who first

thought of it, and proposed that we should do it to please you. I am so

glad you are satisfied with our work, mother.'

'Satisfied! I am delighted, my Emperor. But now that the desert is _put_

in order, who is going to _keep_ it so? Are we to look to our seven sons

for that?'

'Yes, oh yes!' was chorused by six of the seven voices. Johnnie alone

was silent; but his dimples were all in play, and he had never looked

more roguish.

'Sans-terre means to steal a march on us, and do more than any of us, I

do believe, though he won't make promises,' said Honorius.

'Sans-terre shall be sans-terre no longer,' said Dr. Campbell; 'he has

earned back a right to his own plot of flower-garden, and may enter into

possession again to-night, if he pleases.'

But Lackland shrugged his shoulders, and declined the burden of

proprietorship.

'I don't care to have any garden of my own, thank you, papa,' he

answered; 'I'm happier without it than with it, and there's plenty of

work for me here. I never want to have anything belonging to me except a

sword.'

'And some clothes, Johnnie,' said Seymour, who was very matter-of-fact.

The boys laughed, and Johnnie replied, 'Oh, certainly, Seymour. I'm not

prepared to adopt the full dress of a Mexican general even--a cocked hat

and a pair of spurs; I must have a full suit of uniform, at any rate.

But I mean to say I'll never be bothered with a house or a wife, or

anything like that.'

'Ah, Johnnie,' said his father, 'I may say to you in the words of the

old song,

"Bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,

Ye dinna ken what'll betide ye yet."

For aught you know,

"A canty wee house and a cosie wee fire,

And a bonnie wee bodie to praise and admire,"

may be your destiny; and perhaps some day you will appreciate those

treasures as much as I do now.'

Johnnie looked incredulous. But the attention of all was diverted by the

sudden appearance of a sun-burnt, grinning face over the paling which

separated the kitchen garden (no longer desert) from the road.

'That's Bob Middleton, I declare!' said Honorius. 'Do you know, papa,

Farmer Jennings has taken him to work in his hay-field, and says if he

does well he may perhaps keep him as a farm-labourer?'

'And Mrs. Middleton told Mrs. Western that Bob was beginning to hold up

his head a bit, and that if he had only a decent jacket she really

thought he would go to church with her on Sundays,' said Willie.

'Honorius has an old jacket that is only fit for giving away,' said Mrs.

Campbell; 'don't you think we might make poor Bob a present of it, dear

Archibald?'

'Oh do, papa,' cried the boys unanimously.

Dr. Campbell had no objection; so Honorius ran into the house to fetch

the jacket, observing, 'I shall tell him to take himself off when I've

given it him; it's not manners to stare over at us in this way.' When he

returned, however, from his colloquy with the grinning Bob, he

explained, 'He doesn't mean to be rude, he says, but he's so pleased

that we've made the desert so trim, and that "madam," as he calls mamma,

is able to come out and see it. He's immensely pleased with the jacket,

but he doesn't want to go away till he's spoken to Johnnie and Willie.'

Willie ran off at once. Johnnie turned to go with equal haste, then

paused and glanced at his father: the forgiven fault had _not_ been

forgotten.

'Yes, go, my man,' said Dr. Campbell; 'and you may bring Bob in if you

like, just to take a turn round the garden; but don't encourage him to

stay.'

'Oh, and mayn't we give him Geroldinga's apple?' said Duncan; but the

Doctor answered, laughing, 'that that would be anything but a benevolent

present, and that Geroldinga's solitary fruit had better be allowed to

ripen.'

'I shan't take it,' said Archie, thus innocently revealing, what was

indeed the case, that he felt some temptation to do so.

'Nor baby won't,' said Georgie manfully.

'No, my little boys will not touch what is not their own,' said the

mother, glancing down tenderly at the two small faces; 'and some

summer, perhaps, we may find Gozmaringa and the rest covered with

apples, and then what apple dumplings we shall have!'

Archie's broad smile told that he relished the idea. Georgie, to whom

apple dumplings were as yet an unknown delicacy, looked grave and asked,

'Is appy dumpions nice?'

'Very,' said the laughing mamma. 'But see, here is Bob coming this way.

Well, Bob, what do you think of my sons' work?'

'It's fust-rate,' said Bob, pulling his rough forelock. 'I hopes you

finds yourself better, mum.'

'Much better, thank you, and very glad to be out again. I have been

watching the hay-making in Farmer Jennings' field from my window; I was

very glad to see _you_ at work there, Bob.'

Bob made an indescribable contortion of his figure, charitably supposed

to be intended for a bow, and passed on.

'Madam looks palish,' he observed to Johnnie, who was escorting him

about; 'I doubt she's not very hearty yet.'

'No, it'll be some time before she's quite strong. Has she ever spoken

to you before, Bob?'

'Oh my! yes. Why, she brought me some doctor's stuff and some sweet cold

drink when I was so bad with fever two winters ago, and she took and

spoke up to me last autumn when I was throwin' stones at parson's

chickens. Besides, I've seen her in the school when I was a little

chap.' He was evidently proud of his acquaintance with so sweet-spoken

and kind a lady, and when he left the garden with the jacket under his

arm, remarked, 'I'll make a bigger haycock than e'er a one else in the

field right under madam's window, that'll pleasure her, maybe, for it

smells fust-rate, it does.'

He fulfilled his intention, and pleased Farmer Jennings so much by his

cheerful industry in the hay-field, that he took him on trial for a

month as farm-lad, and finding him tolerably satisfactory in that

capacity, gave him permanent employment. His impudence was not at once

conquered, and brought him into some trouble; but when he found that the

farmer and his men would not put up with it as his mother had, he

learned to put a check on it, and others besides the seven Campbells

encouraged him in taking a turn for the better.

Johnnie still remained 'sans terre,' by his own desire, but worked away

in his father's garden as he never had done in the part that was called

his own. He began to get on better at school too; and Willie joined him

there after the summer vacation, and helped to keep him steady by his

example and admonitions. For Willie had certainly a little taste for

lecturing; and Lackland, the harum-scarum and good-humoured, was just

the boy both to provoke it and to bear it: if he was a Du Guesclin in

bravery, he was not in quarrelsomeness, and nothing that Willie could

say ever made him angry. The mother, too, became well and strong again,

able once more to exercise her sweet influence through all the

household; and between the father's firmness and the mother's

gentleness, those seven boys were well and wisely trained.

* * * * *

Many years have passed since then, and the seven Campbells are no longer

boys Honorius has been taken into partnership with his father, and is

known by the whole country-side as 'the young doctor;' Johnnie is

serving the Queen in a line regiment in India; and Willie has lately

been ordained, and is working hard as a curate in a large manufacturing

town. So three of the seven have had their wish. But Seymour has been

taken by one of his uncles, a rich banker, into his counting-house;

Duncan is not gone to sea,--he has just passed a competitive

examination for the Indian Civil Service; as for Archie, he is still

only a schoolboy, and he and Honorius live at home, while the others are

scattered far and wide.

But nowhere on earth could you find all those seven Campbells now, and

there has never been any need to decide on a profession for Georgie: the

youngest, the darling, the flower of the flock, has been called to rest

the first. Wide tracts of sea and land lie between the mother and her

darling Johnnie, and a wider distance still severs her from her little

George, yet to her the seven are but as one band, united for ever by a

common faith and mutual love. And so much is this the feeling of them

all, that if you should chance to meet one of those Campbells, and to

ask of their number, I think, like the child in the ballad, he would

answer, 'We are Seven.'

[Illustration]

CECIL'S MEMORABLE WEEK.

CHAPTER I.

THE SENTENCE.

IT would be hard to find a pleasanter family group than that which had

gathered round the tea-table at Wilbourne Rectory one hot bright evening

in the end of July: a kindly-looking mother, with a dark, sweet,

brunette face, that _would_ not be careworn spite of forty years of

life, seven children, and a slender purse; a tall, slight, brown-bearded

father, a little bald, and with deep lines of thought on the broad

forehead and around the rather sunken blue eyes; a fair, round-faced

girl of fifteen, sitting next him; two smaller lasses, with long black

hair almost straight, clear brown complexions, and a bit of bright

scarlet bloom on each cheek, that was just like the mother's, only

fresher and less fixed; a little curly-haired lad of eight, that was

like nobody in particular; and last, but not least, a Sandhurst cadet, a

well-grown youth of seventeen, with dark hair, cut very short in

military style, and a little dark down on cheek and lip, which _he_

called whiskers and moustaches. He sat on one side of his mother, and on

the other sat a person who was _not_ a member of the family--Mr.

Cunningham's curate, a great big broad-shouldered young man, six feet

three at least in height, with a pleasant, open face, rather sun-burnt,

and the most good-tempered smile that you can possibly conceive.

Two of the children of the house were absent--the second son, a

midshipman in the Queen's service, who was now on his way to Japan; and

the third, who was expected home this very evening from school.

A little talk sprang up about him among his brothers and sisters, begun

by a 'wonder' from one of the little girls as to when he would arrive;

and strange to say, at the mention of his name, the lines on the

father's brow deepened a little, and Mrs. Cunningham's face took for a

moment quite a sorrowful expression.

'I almost hope he will not come till tea is over,' she said.

It did not sound like a motherly sentiment, but it was spoken out of the

depths of a true motherly feeling.

Cecil Cunningham was coming home in a kind of disgrace. He had been

placed at a good grammar school in the county town, some fourteen miles

from Wilbourne, had won for himself an 'exhibition,' as it was called,

by which the greater part of his school expenses were defrayed, and

would have been allowed to keep it till he went to college had his

progress during the first year been sufficiently good. But, alas! it had

just been discovered that the marks he had gained for his various

studies throughout this time did not, when counted up, amount to the

rather high total which the founder's will required; and so it had been

announced to him and his parents that he had forfeited the 'exhibition,'

and could not be received at the school again unless his father were

prepared to pay the full terms, which, though not very high, happened to

be more than Mr. Cunningham could justly afford. The middy had lately

been fitted out for sea. The son at Sandhurst was a considerable

expense; and though it was hoped that after another six months he would

succeed in getting a commission without purchase, there would be his

outfit and yearly allowance to provide; and altogether, Mr. Cunningham

did not see his way to giving Cecil such advantages as he could wish,

without the help of that 'exhibition' which the boy had just lost by

his own fault.

Cecil was very clever, and, though rather idle by nature, had promised

to work hard at school, and had been supposed to be conscientious enough

to be sure to keep his word. He greatly wished to be a clergyman; and

this desire of his had been an intense joy to his father, who, though a

good deal disappointed at his two elder sons choosing army and navy, had

consoled himself with the thought that _one_ at least of his children

had a real desire for the priesthood, and this the very one whose

talents best fitted him for a university education. From school he was

to have gone to Oxford; and his whole prospects had seemed fair enough

till now, so that it was not wonderful that the unexpected news of his

failure had occasioned great disappointment at the Rectory. His father

was much displeased with him, and meant that he should feel how great a

fault his idleness had been; and his mother, who knew this, and believed

that her boy was _already_ feeling it, was anxious that the first

meeting should be got over without the presence of spectators.

But just as she spoke, Cecil, followed by the gardener wheeling his

luggage in a barrow, was seen coming up the gravel walk towards the

house.

The little curly-haired boy rushed off at once to meet him,--not to open

the hall door, for that stood wide open already,--but a restraining look

from the mother stopped the girls, who were rising also; and when Cecil

came in, the greetings were very quiet, though not in the least cold,

except perhaps on Mr. Cunningham's part. Cecil had his mother's face, at

once dark and bright, with brown clear eyes that looked full of

intelligence, and, alas! seemed to say that their owner might have kept

his place in the school with ease had he but so chosen. He did not seem

very conscious or very miserable: he had the true boyish instinct of

hiding feelings, and looked much as usual, though there was nothing like

bravado or nonchalance in his manner. When his father shook hands with

him gravely, and merely said, 'Well, Cecil,' in a short dry way, a

sudden flush mounted up in his brown cheek; and there was a little

anxiety in his face when he turned to kiss his mother, as if a sudden

fear had come over him that she might refuse the caress. But she did

not; and he sat down calmly enough to his bread and butter, showing a

very tolerable schoolboy appetite, and munching away rather quickly when

he found that the others were near the end of their meal. His sisters

and his little brother volunteered some information about his rabbits,

and so on; but when they began to ask questions concerning his

schoolfellows, their father said quietly, 'Let Cecil have his tea,' and

began a conversation about politics with the curate, in which none of

the juniors ventured to join except the cadet.

When they rose from the table, the two gentlemen went off to the study;

and with a sigh of relief one of the little girls exclaimed, 'Oh, now

you _can_ come and see the rabbits, Cecil; father won't want you!'

Cecil glanced at his mother; but though she was longing for a good hug

and a little private talk, she thought it better to refrain just then,

and said gently, 'Yes, you can go with Jessie, but don't go out of

earshot;' after which she turned away and went up-stairs.

Jessie, who was just a year younger than Cecil, was his special friend

and ally, and the other long-haired lassie considerately left them

together, and went off to do some gardening; while little Lewis followed

at a respectful distance, not able to tear himself quite away from

Cecil, and yet not presuming to interrupt the confidential talk between

him and his sister.

The rabbit hutch was in a little yard not far from the house, and within

view, as it happened, of the study window. Cecil stroked the soft

creatures' ears, and fondled them a little, and fed them with some

cabbage leaves with which Jessie supplied him; but his manner was rather

absent, and presently he said abruptly, 'I say, Jessie, isn't it an

awful shame?'

Jessie was not prepared for this view of the question.

'I am so sorry,' she said doubtfully. 'I never once thought of its

happening till Dr. Lomax's letter came; for you know, Cecil, you told me

you meant to work. Oh! don't you remember saying it here, in this very

place, when you were making the new bars to Lop-ear's hutch?'

'Well, and I did,' said Cecil gruffly.

'Yes, I know you did; and that made me think you would do it.'

'Well, so I did do it--that's what I mean' said he more gruffly still.

'Did work!' exclaimed she gladly, and quite ready of belief, with the

tender trustfulness of a true sister. 'But oh, then, Cecil how was it

that they didn't give you marks enough? I thought you would have lots to

spare--I did indeed!'

'Humbug!' said Cecil, but not gruffly now; 'it's not so easy to get

marks as all that. I was quite sure of having enough, though--so sure

that I hadn't a second thought about it; and I can't tell to this moment

how it was I didn't, except that Lomax is such a brute!'

'The Doctor!'

'No--his son, the junior master; it was he who counted up the marks.'

'Do you mean the marks you got at the examination?'

'No, the weekly marks I had got in all my studies during the half-year;

that's the way they calculate to see whether one may keep the

"exhibition."'

'Do you think he can have made any mistake?'

'He might, perhaps, to spite me; it's not likely otherwise, for he's a

dab at arithmetic. I asked the Doctor to let me see the book, but he

wouldn't; and of course I couldn't tell him what I thought, and it would

have been no use if I had.'

'And you did really work all the time?' said Jessie, looking at him

tenderly and seriously out of her big black eyes.

'Well, almost all--not quite the last week or two, perhaps: it was

awfully hot weather, and being so sure, I thought I might take it easy;

but that couldn't have made the difference.'

'I wish you had been able to say you worked quite all the time,' said

Jessie gravely, with a little sigh, 'for then father couldn't have been

angry.'

'I'm afraid he's awfully vexed, isn't he?' said Cecil, with rather an

anxious glance towards the study.

'I think so; and Percy says' (Percy was the cadet) 'that he doesn't know

how to manage about your education. Francie and I have been so anxious

about it: it would be too dreadful if you were not to be a clergyman,

wouldn't it, Cecil?'

Cecil said nothing, but absently doled out the last cabbage leaf to the

rabbits in such small morsels, that they nibbled at his fingers as if

they thought those part of the provender. Jessie was lost in a

calculation of whether if Frances and she were to have no new frocks for

a twelvemonth, and to save up all their pocket-money, that would make it

possible for Cecil to go back to the grammar school, when Mr. Cunningham

leaned out of the study window and called him.

Though he had been expecting the summons, he started and coloured

violently, but ran off at once, going in by the back door, which was the

nearest way.

Jessie went into a little tool-shed, which was close to the rabbits'

dwelling-place. She did not like to watch the window, but was too

anxious to be able to go and help Francie with her gardening, or to play

with Lewis, who was wandering aimlessly about. 'Father,' who was so

tender to his little girls, who was the very very best man, as Jessie

believed, in the whole world, could nevertheless be very severe when he

saw occasion--could reprove in a way which an offender was not likely to

forget. He had wonderful patience for the blunders of little Lewis, who

was rather dull, and found lessons a daily difficulty; but he had always

expected much more of Cecil, who was really full of ability, and had

sometimes dealt seriously with his fits of idleness in the days of his

home teaching. And _now_--now when the boy had failed just when every

principle of duty should have made him exert himself to the utmost--what

could be looked for? Oh, what a bitter half-hour this must be to Cecil!

Yes, for half an hour passed, and still Cecil did not come back.

Jessie's fright and agitation were growing very hard to bear. 'Oh I know

it is right!' she said, clasping her hands together; 'I know we _must_

be scolded and punished for our faults; only I wish it was me, and not

Cecil. And, after all, I think there must have been some mistake, for he

says he _did_ work; and if father could only believe it, I am sure he

wouldn't be angry, even though Cecil _has_ lost his place in school! Oh,

I wish it could be made clear somehow! I know! I will ask God to make it

clear.' And then the little girl prayed to the heavenly Father, whom the

earthly father had taught her to seek in all her troubles.

Eight o'clock struck, and she started to her feet.

'Oh! I must go in and do my work--I shall only just be able to finish it

before bed-time. Father must have gone to the choir practice. I wonder

if he has taken Cecil with him, and if _that_ is the reason why he

hasn't come back?'

With a deep-drawn breath of relief at this possibility, she ran into the

house, and meeting her eldest brother in the hall, hastily inquired if

he knew what had become of Cecil.

'He's in his room, I think,' was the answer. 'Poor little beggar! I

fancied I heard him sobbing, and wanted to go in, but he wouldn't let

me. I've just been telling Mary, that if I don't succeed in getting my

commission without purchase I shall enlist as a private, and never come

home at all. I couldn't stand seeing you all look as glum about me as

you do about Cecil.'

'Oh, but, Percy, would that be--' began little Jessie in consternation;

and then he laughed, and she saw that he was joking.

'Mother's been looking for you,' he said as she turned towards the

staircase; 'she wants you to do some work.'

'Where's father?'

'Gone to the choir practice a quarter of an hour ago. Good-bye; I'm

going out for a stroll. Try and cheer up that poor little chap; perhaps

he'll let you in, as you're his chum.'

Jessie longed to try that moment, but she knew she was due at her

needle-work, and very unwillingly went into the drawing-room, where her

mother and sisters were sitting round a lamp-lit table, stitching away

very busily at a new set of shirts for Percy.

'I was looking for you, Jessie,' said the mother in her pleasant voice;

'come and work at double speed, to make up for lost time.'

Jessie had never felt less disposed to work; but when Mrs. Cunningham

made room for her, and gave her the seam she was to do, with a kindly

sympathy in tone and glance that seemed to say she knew just what the

little girl was feeling, though she wasn't going to talk about it, all

her unwillingness melted away. 'Mother is sad too,' she thought. 'I

won't do anything to vex her;' and so she worked away as neatly and

diligently as she could till nine o'clock, which was her bed-time.

'I may go to Cecil before I go to bed, mother, mayn't I?' she whispered

as she was bidding good-night.

Mrs. Cunningham gave permission, and Jessie rushed up-stairs two steps

at a time, but controlled herself to give a very gentle tap at Cecil's

door. It must have been too gentle, for he took no notice of it; but in

answer to another, rather louder, came the question, 'Is it you,

Jessie?' And when he found it was, he opened the door, which was locked,

and let her in.

He seemed to have been unpacking, for his little portmanteau was open on

the floor, and some of his clothes and other possessions were strewn

upon the bed and the one chair, which was the only seat that the little

attic could boast; but he was flushed, and his eyes were red, as if he

had been crying, and he turned away abruptly from his sister when he had

let her in, and began to dive into the portmanteau again.

'Can't I help you?' said she, not knowing well how to begin her task of

comfort. 'I'll fold up the clothes and put them in the drawers, while

you take out the books. Oh! perhaps you meant to leave them in, though.

You won't want them for the holidays?'

'Pretty holidays!' said Cecil passionately, more to himself than to her.

'A single week!'

'I don't understand,' she rejoined in consternation. 'You're not going

back to school in a week, surely?'

'I'm not going back to Eastwood at all, but I'm going to a horrid,

odious, beastly little day school in Fairview;' and Cecil flung out some

books upon the floor, in a manner which did not bespeak very exemplary

submission to his father's decrees.

[Illustration: 'JESSIE CAME OVER TO HIM AND HUGGED HIM.'

_See page 92._]

The information itself, and Cecil's terrible adjectives, both dismayed

Jessie, and for a minute or two she did not speak. Then she said, 'But

surely there must be holidays at the day school too?'

'They're just over--they began in June. Of course those sort of places

don't break up at the same time as the public schools, like _we_ do,'

said Cecil with wrathful contempt.

'And must you begin when the school does?'

'I've got to--that's all; it's to be my punishment, father says,--just

as if losing the exhibition were not punishment enough!' And he buried

his face in the portmanteau to hide his tears.

Jessie came over to him and hugged him; and he didn't seem to mind,

though she could only kiss the side of his cheek and his shirt collar,

for the greater part of his face was hidden among the books.

'Did you tell him you worked nearly all the time?' she faltered in an

unsteady voice.

'I began to say something, and he asked me if I could honestly say I had

done my very best, and I couldn't quite say that, you know, and then he

wouldn't hear any more. And oh, I'm sure he thinks I did nothing but

idle my time away!'

'Did you tell him you thought there must be some mistake?'

'I said something about Lomax spiting me, but he wouldn't listen to

that.'

'Oh no,' said Jessie, who readily understood that her father would never

admit _that_ explanation of the affair. 'Oh, Cecil, I am so sorry, so

_very_ sorry!'

'If I had really been idle,' said Cecil, raising up his tear-wet face,

more crimson than ever from its sojourn in the box, 'then I shouldn't

care--I mean, it would only be fair that I should be served out for it;

but when I haven't--when I have tried all this year--oh!----' and he was

nearly choked by the sobs which, in his desire to be manly, he was

struggling to repress.

Jessie believed him entirely, and was grieved to the very heart. 'I am

so sorry,' she repeated. 'But, dear Cecil, _God_ knows; He sees you have

been trying; _He_ isn't angry with you.'

'Then why does He let this happen?' said Cecil fiercely.

Jessie was startled and shocked, and had no answer ready. 'I don't

know,' she said at last, through her tears; 'I can't tell why, but He is

so good--oh, He is _so_ good!--perhaps it will all come right still. I

will ask Him; and you will, won't you, Cecil? Isn't there something in

the Bible about its being acceptable with God, if we do well and suffer

for it?'

'Yes; but I'm not suffering because I've done well, but because I'm

supposed to have done ill,' said Cecil gloomily. 'There's no good

talking, Jessie; you'd better go to bed.'

'Perhaps I had,' said Jessie, a sudden thought striking her as she heard

her father's voice in the passage below; 'but I can't bear to leave you,

Cecil. I am so sorry, and I do love you so!'

He half returned her tender, sorrowful hug; and then she ran away, but

not straight to her own room. She darted down one flight of stairs, and

caught hold of her father, who had come in from the practice, and had

been washing his hands before going to supper.

'Father,' she said breathlessly, 'please let me say it: Cecil _has_ been

working--he has indeed. Oh, I am sure you would believe it if you had

heard what he said to me just now!'

Mr. Cunningham did not draw himself away from the detaining clasp, but

he said gravely, 'I quite believe that Cecil does not think he has been

so very idle, but he admits that he has not done his best, and I hope

in a little while he will see all his fault, and be sorry for it. Don't

let him talk to you any more to-night.'

'But don't you think there may have been some mistake?'

'No, indeed,' he answered in a surprised tone, which showed that no such

supposition had ever entered his head.

Then, as she still lingered, he stooped to kiss her, and said kindly,

'Don't try to comfort Cecil with such an idea as that, my child, but see

if you can encourage him to do his best for the future.'

'And--father,' she said timidly, 'is he really only to have a week's

holiday?'

'Yes,' said Mr. Cunningham in his most decided tone; then more gently he

added, 'I am afraid that is punishing you as well as him, but it can't

be helped; and as he is only going to a day school, you will not lose

him entirely.'

Remembering the adjectives Cecil had heaped upon the day school, Jessie

could not feel this to be quite consolatory; but she only said

'Good-night, father,' and held up her face for another kiss, which was

given very tenderly.

Poor little girl! there was a great deal of grief and perplexity in her

heart that night; but the comfort was, that though she so pitied Cecil,

she did not distrust the goodness of either the heavenly or the earthly

father. She could not see the why and wherefore of it all; but when she

had said her prayers, she laid herself down to sleep trustfully and

patiently, while Cecil was tossing and tumbling about, feeling as if

everybody except Jessie were against him.

[Illustration]