Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
Little Dot Series.
A
TALE OF THREE WEEKS
BY
EGLANTON THORNE,
AUTHOR OF
"Kate and her Sister Daisy," "Caleb Gaye's Success," etc.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD;
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. LEFT BEHIND
II. MISS JAMESON'S GRAND IDEA
III. THE DOLLS
IV. THE VISIT TO GRANDMAMMA
V. GERTIE'S BIRTHDAY
VI. LESSONS NOT LEARNED FROM BOOKS
A TALE OF THREE WEEKS.
CHAPTER I.
Left Behind.
"WHAT do you think?" exclaimed Katie Bartlett, as she came slowly into
the schoolroom, where her two younger sisters were engaged in preparing
the tables for school; "what do you think is going to happen?"
"Is it something nice?" asked Gertie, bright-looking child of eight.
She spoke in a doubtful tone, for Kate did not look like the bearer of
cheering news.
"Nice! I should think not, indeed," returned Katie, dolefully; "papa
and mamma have made up their minds to go away; they are going to the
seaside."
"Oh, you don't mean it!" cried Gertie and Florrie together, as they
clapped their hands; "why, that is splendid news, Katie! How could you
say it was not?"
"Well! you are sillies!" exclaimed Kate, in a tone of sisterly
contempt; "do you suppose that we are going too? I never said so."
The faces of her sisters fell considerably.
"But are we not going?" they asked.
"No, indeed! Nurse and baby and little Winnie are to go with papa and
mamma; but we three and Harry are to be left at home with Miss Jameson."
"Oh, how horrid! what a shame!" cried the children, and tears came into
Florrie's blue eyes as she added: "We have not been to the seaside at
all this year."
"Papa says that we must not expect to go every year," said Kate,
speaking in an injured tone. "He says we had holidays enough before
Miss Jameson came to us, and now we must work hard to make up for lost
time."
"And are we to have school every day whilst they are away?" asked
Gertie, looking troubled.
"Certainly; I don't believe Miss Jameson will let us off a single
hour," said Kate, gloomily.
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Florrie, who delighted in strong language.
At this moment, their governess entered the room. She was a
pleasant-looking young lady, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a
resolute but cheerful expression.
"Come, children, what are you chattering about, and the table not yet
ready?" she said, briskly; "what is the meaning of this?"
"Oh, Miss Jameson! have you heard?" asked Florrie. "Papa and mamma are
going away, and we are to be left at home! Is it not a shame?"
"Hush, hush!" exclaimed Miss Jameson, "you know I never allow little
girls to speak in that way of anything their elders may do. And I can't
think why you should make a grievance of this. You ought to be glad
that your dear mamma is going away. You know that she is very far from
well, and the doctor has insisted upon her having a change."
"Of course I am glad that mamma should go," said Kate; "but why can't
she take us too? We have not been to the seaside this summer."
"How much quiet and rest would your poor mother get, I wonder, if she
took you all with her," said Miss Jameson, smiling.
"It will be horrid without her," said Florrie, impatiently. "With baby
and Winnie and papa gone too, the house will seem wretched. We shall be
perfectly miserable all the time they are away."
"Poor things!" said Miss Jameson, still smiling, "what a dreadful
prospect! Are we all so disagreeable to each other that it will be
impossible to find any pleasant way of passing the time together?"
"Oh no; oh no!" cried little Gertie, as she took her usual place at the
table beside her governess, and contrived in so doing to get possession
of Miss Jameson's hand and give it a kiss. "You will be with us, and
you are always so kind. You will tell us stories sometimes of an
evening, and let us hear your musical box, won't you?"
"We'll see, if you're good children," said the governess. "Now, Katie
and Florrie, take your places."
But the two elder girls did not consider that Miss Jameson's stories or
the performance of her musical box could make up for their losing the
pleasure of a visit to the seaside. They were inclined to nurse their
grievance, and they took their seats at the table with gloomy looks
and pouting lips. They tried their governess's patience that morning,
which was very unfair, since she was in no way responsible for the
arrangement their parents had made.
It was a lovely autumn morning early in October. The schoolroom windows
looked into the large garden lying at the back of the house—a roomy
old-fashioned house in the neighbourhood of Richmond. Few children
have a happier home than the little Bartletts enjoyed. Their father
was a well-to-do man of business, able to provide for his family every
comfort and advantage that could be reasonably desired. They had a
tender mother, who anxiously studied the welfare of her children,
though her delicate health made it impossible for her to do as much for
them herself as she wished. The children were surrounded by all that is
pleasant and stimulating to childhood; though, like many children, they
little knew how happy they were, but were ready to grumble and get out
of temper directly anything occurred that was not to their liking.
Two days later, Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett left home for Bournemouth, where
they proposed staying for a fortnight or three weeks. Their departure
caused no small stir in the household. Miss Jameson's help was needed
in various directions that morning; and her pupils, freed from her
control, rushed hither and thither watching all that went on, and
distracting their elders by the innumerable questions they put. Little
Winnie was in a high state of delight at the thought of going away
with papa and mamma; but baby was not aware the event was matter for
self-congratulation, and screamed and struggled tremendously whilst
being dressed for the journey. At last everything was done, and the
carriage waiting at the door. Mr. Bartlett turned to say good-bye to the
sad-faced group of children gathered in the hall.
"I hope they'll be very good whilst we are away, Miss Jameson," he
observed; "I shall look to you for a report of their conduct when we
return. I daresay you won't keep them closely to their lessons. A
little more time in the open air occasionally will do them no harm."
At these words the gloom on the girls' faces gave place to a gleam of
satisfaction. They gave quick glances at each other, and there was the
fervour of gratitude in the warmth with which they kissed their father.
Tears stood in Mrs. Bartlett's eyes as she said good-bye to her
little girls. She was leaving home reluctantly in deference to her
husband's wish. She could not believe that the change would effect much
improvement in her health. She lingered on the doorstep to whisper to
Miss Jameson, as she pressed some money into her hand: "It does seem
hard that they cannot go with us, poor dears; but I know you won't let
them be dull. Take this and spend it for them on new dolls or books—on
anything you think they will most enjoy."
"You need not fear that the 'poor dears' will fret long," said the
governess, brightly. "If you could look in upon them unseen this
evening, you would not find any trace of dulness, I dare promise you."
And thus cheered, Mrs. Bartlett stepped into the carriage, and in a few
moments they drove away.
The spirits of the children quickly revived as the noise of the
carriage wheels died away.
"Did you hear what papa said? Wasn't it lovely of him? You will have to
give us some holidays now, Miss Jameson. Oh, may we have a picnic in
the park some day when the nuts are ripe? We must have a whole holiday
on Gertie's birthday; we always do on birthdays."
But Miss Jameson only laughed and shook her head as she listened to
these exclamations. She was not going to promise anything, she said.
All would depend on how they behaved themselves.