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[Illustration: Book Cover]
TWO LITTLE WAIFS
[Illustration: "Well, dears," she said, "and what are you playing
at?"--Page 4.]
TWO LITTLE WAIFS
BY
MRS. MOLESWORTH
AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS,' 'CUCKOO CLOCK,' 'TELL ME A STORY'
[Illustration: Two small figures, hurrying along hand-in-hand, caught
the attention of several people.--Page 166.]
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1883
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAPA HAS SENT FOR US 1
CHAPTER II. POOR MRS. LACY 17
CHAPTER III. A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH 33
CHAPTER IV. "WHAT IS TO BE DONE?" 52
CHAPTER V. IN THE RUE VERTE 72
CHAPTER VI. AMONG THE SOFAS AND CHAIRS 90
CHAPTER VII. THE KIND-LOOKING GENTLEMAN 109
CHAPTER VIII. A FALL DOWNSTAIRS 128
CHAPTER IX. FROM BAD TO WORSE 148
CHAPTER X. "AVENUE GÉRARD, NO. 9" 165
CHAPTER XI. WALTER'S TEA-PARTY 183
CHAPTER XII. PAPA AT LAST 200
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"WELL, DEARS," SHE SAID, "AND WHAT ARE YOU
PLAYING AT?" _Frontispiece_
IN ANOTHER MOMENT THE LITTLE PARTY WAS
MAKING ITS WAY THROUGH THE STATION _To face page_ 48
SHE PLACED THE WHOLE ON A LITTLE TABLE WHICH SHE
DREW CLOSE TO THE BED 82
"OH DON'T, DON'T CROSS THAT DREADFUL STREET," GLADYS EXCLAIMED 112
ANNA OPENED THE DOOR SHARPLY, AS SHE DID EVERYTHING, AND IN SO
DOING OVERTHREW THE SMALL PERSON OF ROGER 156
"GO ALONG THERE," SHE SAID, "AND THEN TURN TO THE LEFT, AND
YOU WILL SEE THE NAME 'AVENUE GÉRARD' AT THE CORNER" 170
WALTER WAS HAVING A TEA-PARTY! 185
"It would both have excited your pity, and have done your heart
good, to have seen how these two little ones were so fond of each
other, and how hand-in-hand they trotted along."
_The Renowned History of Goody Two-Shoes._
CHAPTER I.
PAPA HAS SENT FOR US.
"It's what comes in our heads when we
Play at 'Let's-make-believe,'
And when we play at 'Guessing.'"
CHARLES LAMB.
It was their favourite play. Gladys had invented it, as she invented
most of their plays, and Roger was even more ready to play at it than at
any other, ready though he always was to do anything Gladys liked or
wanted. Many children would have made it different--instead of "going
over the sea to Papa," they would have played at what they would do when
Papa should come over the sea to them. But that was not what they had
learnt to look forward to, somehow--they were like two little swallows,
always dreaming of a sunny fairyland they knew not where, only "over the
sea," and in these dreams and plays they found the brightness and
happiness which they were still too young to feel should have been in
their everyday baby life.
For "Mamma" was a word that had no real meaning to them. They thought of
_her_ as of a far-away beautiful angel--beautiful, but a little
frightening too; cold and white like the marble angels in church, whose
wings looked so soft, till one day Roger touched them, and found them,
to his strange surprise, hard and icy, which made him tell Gladys that
he thought hens much prettier than angels. Gladys looked a little
shocked at this, and whispered to remind him that he should not say
that: had he forgotten that the angels lived up in heaven, and were
always good, and that Mamma was an angel? No, Roger had not forgotten,
and that was what made him think about angels; but they _weren't_ pretty
and soft like Snowball, the little white hen, and he was sure he would
never like them as much. Gladys said no more to him, for she knew by the
tone of his voice that it would not take very much to make him cry, and
when Roger got "that way," as she called it, she used to try to make him
forget what had troubled him.
"Let's play at going to Papa," she said; "I've thought of such a good
way of making a ship with the chairs, half of them upside down and half
long-ways--like that, see, Roger; and with our hoop-sticks tied on to
the top of Miss Susan's umbrella--I found it in the passage--we can make
such a great high pole in the middle. What is it they call a pole in the
middle of a ship? I can't remember the name?"
Nor could Roger; but he was greatly delighted with the new kind of ship,
and forgot all about the disappointment of the angels in helping Gladys
to make it, and when it was made, sailing away, away to Papa, "over the
sea, over the sea," as Gladys sang in her little soft thin voice, as she
rocked Roger gently up and down, making believe it was the waves.
Some slight misgiving as to what Miss Susan would say to the borrowing
of her umbrella was the only thing that interfered with their enjoyment,
and made them jump up hastily with a "Oh, Miss Susan," as the beginning
of an apology, ready on Gladys's lips when the door opened rather
suddenly.
But it was not Miss Susan who came in. A little to their relief and a
good deal to their surprise it was Susan's aunt, old Mrs. Lacy, who
seldom--for she was lame and rheumatic--managed to get as far as the
nursery. She was kind and gentle, though rather deaf, so that the
children were in no way afraid of her.
"Well, dears," she said, "and what are you playing at?"
"Over the sea, Mrs. Lacy," said Gladys. "Over the sea," repeated Roger,
who spoke very plainly for his age. "Going over the sea to Papa; that's
what we're playing at, and we like it the best of all our games. This is
the ship, you see, and that's the big stick in the middle that all ships
have--what is it they call it? I can't remember?"
"The mast," suggested Mrs. Lacy.
"Oh yes, the mast," said Gladys in a satisfied tone; "well, you see,
we've made the mast with our hoop-sticks and Miss Susan's umbrella--you
don't think Miss Susan will mind, do you?" with an anxious glance of her
bright brown eyes; "_isn't_ it high, the--the mart?"
"Mast," corrected Mrs. Lacy; "yes, it's taller than you, little Gladys,
though you are beginning to grow very fast! What a little body you were
when you came here first," and the old lady gave a sigh, which made
Roger look up at her.
"Has you got a sore troat?" he inquired.
"No, my dear; what makes you think so?"
"'Cos, when my troat was sore I was always breaving out loud like that,"
said Roger sympathisingly.
"No, my throat's not sore, dear, thank you," said the old lady.
"Sometimes people 'breathe' like that when they're feeling a little
sad."
"And are you feeling a little sad, poor Mrs. Lacy?" said Gladys. "It's
not 'cos Miss Susan's going to be married, is it? _I_ think we shall be
very happy when Miss Susan's married, only p'raps it wouldn't be very
polite to say so to her, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't be kind, certainly," said the old lady, with a little
glance of alarm. Evidently Miss Susan kept her as well as the children
in good order. "You must be careful never to say anything like that, for
you know Susan has been very good to you and taken great care of you."
"I know," said Gladys; "but still I like you best, Mrs. Lacy."
"And you would be sorry to leave me, just a little sorry; I should not
want you to be _very_ sorry," said the gentle old lady.
Gladys glanced up with a curious expression in her eyes.
"Do you mean--is it that you are sad about?--_has_ it come at last? Has
Papa sent for us, Mrs. Lacy? Oh Roger, listen! Of course we should be
sorry to leave you and--and Miss Susan. But is it true, can it be true
that Papa has sent for us?"
"Yes, dears, it is true; though I never thought you would have guessed
it so quickly, Gladys. You are to go to him in a very few weeks. I will
tell you all about it as soon as it is settled. There will be a great
deal to do with Susan's marriage, too, so soon, and I wouldn't like you
to go away without your things being in perfect order."
"I think they are in very nice order already," said Gladys. "I don't
think there'll be much to do. I can tell you over all my frocks and
Roger's coats if you like, and then you can think what new ones we'll
need. Our stockings are getting _rather_ bad, but Miss Susan thought
they'd do till we got our new winter ones, and Roger's second-best house
shoes are----"
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Lacy, smiling, though a little sadly, at the
child's business-like tone; "I must go over them all with Susan. But not
to-day. I am tired and rather upset by this news."
"Poor Mrs. Lacy," said Gladys again. "But can't you tell us just a
_very_ little? What does Papa say? Where are we to go to? Not all the
way to where he is?"
"No, dear. He is coming home, sooner than he expected, for he has not
been well, and you are to meet him somewhere--he has not quite fixed
where--in Italy perhaps, and to stay there through the winter. It is a
good thing, as it had to be, that he can have you before Susan leaves
me, for I am getting too old, dears, to take care of you as I should
like--as I took care of _him_ long ago."
For Mrs. Lacy was a very, very old friend of the children's father. She
had taken care of him as a boy, and years after, when his children came
to be left much as he had been, without a mother, and their father
obliged to be far away from them, she had, for love of her adopted son,
as she sometimes called him, taken his children and done her best to
make them happy. But she was old and feeble, sometimes for days together
too ill to see Gladys and Roger, and her niece Susan, who kept house for
her, though a very active and clever young lady, did not like children.
So, though the children were well taken care of as far as regarded their
health, and were always neatly dressed, and had a nice nursery and a
pleasant garden to play in, they were, though they were not old enough
to understand it, rather lonely and solitary little creatures. Poor old
Mrs. Lacy saw that it was so, but felt that she could do no more; and
just when the unexpected letter from their father came, she was on the
point of writing to tell him that she thought, especially as her niece
was going to be married, some new home must be found for his two little
waifs, as he sometimes called them.
Before Mrs. Lacy had time to tell them any more about the great news
Miss Susan came in. She looked surprised to see her aunt in the nursery.
"You will knock yourself up if you don't take care," she said rather
sharply, though not unkindly. "And my umbrella--my best umbrella! I
declare it's too bad--the moment one's back is turned."
"It's the mast, Miss Susan," said Gladys eagerly. "We thought you
wouldn't mind. It's the mast of the ship that's going to take us over
the sea to Papa."
Some softer feeling came over Susan as she glanced at Gladys's flushed,
half-frightened face.
"Poor little things!" she said to herself gently. "Well, be sure to put
it back in its place when you've done with it. And now, aunt, come
downstairs with me, I have ever so many things to say to you."
Mrs. Lacy obeyed meekly.
"You haven't told them yet, have you, aunt?" said Susan, as soon as they
were alone.
"Yes, I told them a little," said the old lady. "Somehow I could not
help it. I went upstairs and found them playing at the very thing--it
seemed to come so naturally. I know you will think it foolish of me,
Susan, but I can't help feeling their going, even though it is better
for them."
"It's quite natural you should feel it," said Susan in a not unkindly
tone. "But still it is a very good thing it has happened just now. For
you know, aunt, we have quite decided that you must live with us----"
"You are very good, I know," said Mrs. Lacy, who was really very
dependent on her niece's care.
"And yet I could not have asked Mr. Rexford to have taken the children,
who, after all, are no _relations_, you know."
"No," said Mrs. Lacy.
"And then to give them up to their own father is quite different from
sending them away to strangers."
"Yes, of course," said the old lady, more briskly this time.
"On the whole," Miss Susan proceeded to sum up, "it could not have
happened better, and the sooner the good-byings and all the bustle of
the going are over, the better for you and for me, and for all
concerned, indeed. And this leads me to what I wanted to tell you.
Things happen so strangely sometimes. This very morning I have heard of
such a capital escort for them."
Mrs. Lacy looked up with startled eyes.
"An escort," she repeated. "But not yet, Susan. They are not going yet.
Wilfred speaks of 'some weeks hence' in his letter."
"Yes; but his letter was written three weeks ago, and, of course, I am
not proposing to send them away to-day or to-morrow. The opportunity I
have heard of will be about a fortnight hence. Plenty of time to
telegraph, even to write, to Captain Bertram to ensure there being no
mistake. But anyway we need not decide just yet. He says he will write
again by the next mail, so we shall have another letter by Saturday."
"And what is the escort you have heard of?" asked Mrs. Lacy.
"It is a married niece of the Murrays, who is going to India in about a
fortnight. They start from here, as they are coming here on a visit the
last thing. They go straight to Marseilles."
"But would they like to be troubled with children?"
"They know Captain Bertram, that is how we came to speak of it. And Mrs.
Murray is sure they would be glad to do anything to oblige him."
"Ah, well," said Mrs. Lacy. "It sounds very nice. And it is certainly
not every day that we should find any one going to France from a little
place like this." For Mrs. Lacy's home was in a rather remote and
out-of-the-way part of the country. "It would save expense too, for, as
they have no longer a regular nurse, I have no one to send even as far
as London with them."
"And young Mrs. ----, I forget her name--her maid would look after them
on the journey. I asked about that," said Susan, who was certainly not
thoughtless.
"Well, well, we must just wait for Saturday's letter," said Mrs. Lacy.
"And in the meantime the less said about it the better, _I_ think," said
Susan.
"Perhaps so; I daresay you are right," agreed Mrs. Lacy.
She hardly saw the children again that day. Susan, who seemed to be in
an unusually gracious mood, took them out herself in the afternoon, and
was very kind. But they were so little used to talk to her, for she had
never tried to gain their confidence, that it did not occur to either
Gladys or Roger to chatter about what nevertheless their little heads
and hearts were full of. They had also, I think, a vague childish notion
of loyalty to their old friend in not mentioning the subject, even
though she had not told them not to do so. So they trotted along
demurely, pleased at having their best things on, and proud of the
honour of a walk with Miss Susan, even while not a little afraid of
doing anything to displease her.
"They are good little things after all," thought Susan, when she had
brought them home without any misfortune of any kind having marred the
harmony of the afternoon. And the colour rushed into Gladys's face when
Miss Susan sent them up to the nursery with the promise of strawberry
jam for tea, as they had been very good.
"I don't mind so much about the strawberry jam," Gladys confided to
Roger, "though it _is_ very nice. But I do like when any one says we've
been very good, don't you?"
"Yes," said Roger; adding, however, with his usual honesty: "I like
_bofe_, being praised _and_ jam, you know, Gladdie."
"'Cos," Gladys continued, "if we _are_ good, you see, Roger, and I
really think we must be so if _she_ says so, it will be very nice for
Papa, won't it? It matters more now, you see, what we are, 'cos of going
to him. When people have people of their own they should be gooder even
than when they haven't any one that cares much."
"Should they?" said Roger, a little bewildered. "But Mrs. Lacy cares,"
he added. Roger was great at second thoughts.
"Ye--s," said Gladys, "she cares, but not dreadfully much. She's getting
old, you know. And sometimes--don't say so to anybody, Roger--sometimes
I think p'raps she'll soon have to be going to heaven. I think _she_
thinks so. That's another reason, you see," reverting to the central
idea round which her busy brain had done nothing but revolve all day,
"why it's _such_ a good thing Papa's sent for us now."
"I don't like about people going to heaven," said Roger, with a little
shiver. "Why can't God let them stay here, or go over the sea to where
it's so pretty. _I_ don't want ever to go to heaven."
"Oh, Roger!" said Gladys, shocked. "Papa wouldn't like you to say that."
"Wouldn't he?" said Roger; "then I won't. It's because of the angels,
you know, Gladdie. Oh, do you think," he went on, his ideas following
the next link in the chain, "_do_ you think we can take Snowball with us
when we go?"
"I don't know," said Gladys; and just then Mrs. Lacy's housemaid, who
had taken care of them since their nurse had had to leave them some
months before, happening to bring in their tea, the little girl turned
to her with some vague idea of taking her into their confidence. To have
no one but Roger to talk to about so absorbing a matter was almost too
much. But Ellen was either quite ignorant of the great news, or too
discreet to allow that she had heard it. In answer to Gladys's "feeler"
as to how hens travelled, and if one might take them in the carriage
with one, she replied matter-of-factly that she believed there were
places on purpose for all sorts of live things on the railway, but that
Miss Gladys had better ask Miss Susan, who had travelled a great deal
more than she, Ellen.
"Yes," replied Gladys disappointedly, "perhaps she has; but most likely
not with hens. But have you stayed at home all your life, Ellen? Have
you never left your father and mother till you came here?"
Whereupon Ellen, who was a kindly good girl, only a little too much in
awe of Miss Susan to yield to her natural love of children, feeling
herself on safe ground, launched out into a somewhat rose-coloured
description of her home and belongings, and of her visits as a child to
the neighbouring market-town, which much amused and interested her
little hearers, besides serving for the time to distract their thoughts
from the one idea, which was, I daresay, a good thing. For in this life
it is not well to think too much or feel too sure of _any_ hoped-for
happiness. The doing so of itself leads to disappointment, for we
unconsciously paint our pictures with colours impossibly bright, so that
the _real_ cannot but fall short of the imaginary.
But baby Gladys--poor little girl!--at seven it is early days to learn
these useful but hard lessons.
She and Roger made up for their silence when they went to bed, and you,
children, can better imagine than I can tell the whispered chatter that
went on between the two little cots that stood close together side by
side. And still more the lovely confusion of happy dreams that flitted
that night through the two curly heads on the two little pillows.