Gertie's Birthday.
"MISS JAMESON," said Kate, the next morning, "do you know that Monday
will be Gertie's birthday?"
"Next Monday?" she returned. "Is it so near? Well, what of that?"
"May Florrie and I go into the town with Sarah this afternoon to buy
our presents? We must not let Gertie know why we have gone; but I
daresay she will guess."
"I daresay she will," said Miss Jameson, smiling; "yes, I think Sarah
will be able to take you this afternoon."
"Oh, thank you," cried Katie. "Now which do you think Gertie would like
best—a book or a skipping-rope?"
"I should like to be able to say a book," said Miss Jameson, shaking
her head; "but I am afraid Gertie would prefer a skipping-rope."
"Miss Jameson," suggested Florrie, gravely, "we have always had a
holiday on birthdays."
"Have you indeed?" she replied smiling; "then it will never do to make
Gertie's an exception to the rule."
"Oh, Miss Jameson," burst in Katie, "may we go to the Park on Gertie's
birthday? It would be so lovely to spend the day there."
"Well, we will see," said Miss Jameson, "it will depend on the weather.
It is getting almost too cold to spend many hours in the Park; but
perhaps we could take some luncheon with us, and get home to a late
dinner."
"Oh, how lovely!" cried the two girls; and as Gertie came running into
the breakfast-room they cried to her, "Gertie, Miss Jameson says that
we may go to the Park on your birthday."
"Oh, how splendid!" shouted Gertie, "how delightful! The nuts are just
getting ripe. I heard the gardener say so yesterday."
"So that is all you think about," said her governess, laughing, "Shall
we ask if your cousin Edith may go with us?" she inquired a minute
later.
Instantly the faces of all three fell.
"Oh!" they cried at once, and the exclamation was not now one of
delight, but of dismay and dissatisfaction.
"You see she has no one to play with at her Grandmamma's. It must be
rather lonely for her there, poor little girl," said Miss Jameson.
Still the three kept silence, and their faces were very expressive. At
last Florrie spoke: "I would not mind if she were pleasant," she said;
"but Edith is always so disagreeable."
"Yes," said Katie, slowly, "I suppose we ought to ask her. It would be
doing as we would be done by; but—it will spoil all our pleasure."
Katie had thought seriously of what her governess had said on the
previous night. She had tried to forgive Edith, and she hoped she had
forgiven her; but she could not feel that it would be pleasant to have
her company in the Park on Monday. Here was another proof that it was
hard to be good, for she felt sure that it would be the right thing to
ask Edith to join them.
"I think we must leave it for Gertie to decide, as it is her birthday,"
said Miss Jameson.
Gertie glanced anxiously at her sisters ere she spoke; but they said
nothing, wishing her to have entire freedom of choice. Then, after
hesitating for a few moments, she said timidly: "Miss Jameson, I would
like to ask Edith. It is what Jesus would have us do, is it not? And
perhaps she will not be so cross on Monday."
Miss Jameson smiled tenderly on the little girl. "Very well, dear," she
said; "you and I and Harry will walk to Grandmamma's this afternoon,
and ask if Edith can accompany us on Monday. Kate and Florrie are going
into the town with Sarah."
The two elder girls exchanged significant glances as their governess
said this; whilst Gertie coloured and smiled in a way that seemed to
show she understood the meaning of this arrangement.
"Now I have news for you," said Miss Jameson, as the children took
their places at the table; "guess from whom this letter comes?"
"From mamma!" cried Gertie.
"Right," said Miss Jameson; "and I am glad to tell your that your mamma
is already much better for the change, whilst the others are as well as
possible. See, here is a little book of views of Bournemouth for you to
look at."
The book was seized upon with delight, and that and their mother's
letter were eagerly discussed by the children as they took their
breakfast.
Later in the day, Florrie and Kate came back from their shopping
expedition in high spirits. Kate had bought a capital skipping-rope,
and Florrie a charming little work-basket fitted up with scissors and
thimble and bodkin which she was sure Gertie would like, for it would
be so handy for the dolls' needlework. These presents were smuggled
upstairs, and put safely away in a drawer in Miss Jameson's bedroom.
Then, having removed their hats and jackets, the two little girls came
down to the schoolroom, trying to look as if their visit to the town
had been a matter of small importance.
"Edith can't go with us on Monday," Gertie exclaimed, as soon as they
entered. "She is in bed, very poorly indeed."
"Oh, I am glad!" exclaimed Florrie, instantly.
"Florrie!" exclaimed her governess; "I am surprised at you."
"Oh, well, I don't mean that I am glad she is ill," explained Florrie;
"but I am glad that she cannot go with us on Monday. Now we shall have
a chance of enjoying ourselves."
Miss Jameson said no more; but Florrie felt uncomfortable as she saw
how grave a look her face wore.
The next day was Sunday. Nothing was heard of little Edith, and Miss
Jameson hoped that she was better. The children thought little about
their cousin. They were thinking too much of the morrow's pleasure, and
anxiously wondering as to the weather, to give any thought to her.
Happily the morrow proved as bright and warm as an autumn day could be.
Gertie was delighted with her sisters' presents and the book which Miss
Jameson gave her. But these were not all. Early in the morning a box
arrived from Bournemouth directed to her, which was found to contain a
lovely set of doll's tea things, a story book, and a packet of choice
bonbons. But what was best of all, Gertie thought, she received two
letters, written especially to her, one from her father and one from
her mother.
"I thought it would be dreadful to have a birthday without papa and
mamma," she said; "but now these letters have come I do not mind. It is
just as if they were speaking to me, although they are so far away."
Soon after ten the children and their governess set out on their walk
to the Park. They had some distance to walk ere they reached the Park
gates, but there was such a delightful freshness in the air, and the
sun was so bright, that no one complained of fatigue as they passed
through the town and climbed the steep hill to the Terrace. Here they
lingered for a few minutes, the children playing about, too excited to
think of resting; whilst Miss Jameson enjoyed the exquisite view of the
river, never more lovely than now when the foliage on either hand was
brilliant with the vivid yellows and warm russets of autumn, and the
sunshine gave to every touch of colour its full value.
But the children were impatient to reach the Park, so on they went, and
were soon plunging through the dead leaves beneath the chestnut trees,
and searching for nuts. Somewhat to the surprise of the rest, it was
Miss Jameson who found the most nuts. She was quick to see which of the
prickly burrs held fruit, and which had already been rifled of their
contents. But as she did not care for nuts, and divided all she found
amongst the children, her keen sightedness was no disadvantage to the
others.
The children would have remained beneath the chestnut trees all the
morning if she had let them; but presently Miss Jameson decided that
they had had nuts enough, and led the way in another direction. They
passed down a green slope to a little thicket of purplish brown
hawthorn bushes, beyond which they saw a herd of deer feeding. Gertie
was anxious to get a near view of these graceful creatures, but this
was not easy, for though the children pressed on as quietly and
cautiously as possible they were yet many yards from the deer, when
first one and then another tossed up its antlers and looked round
inquiringly. The next moment the whole troop was in motion, and running
across the slope one after another, they disappeared from sight amongst
the trees beyond.
Gertie would have liked to run after them, but her sisters soon
convinced her of the utter folly of such an attempt. They wandered on
till they reached a wilderness of red and yellow bracken growing so
tall as at once to suggest hide-and-seek to the children's minds. Miss
Jameson willingly joined in a game; and when all were tired, they sat
down in the warm sunshine and regaled themselves with the milk and
buns which they had brought with them. Then reluctantly they turned
to retrace their steps. They did not hurry home; and it was late in
the afternoon ere they reached the house, thoroughly tired, but all in
excellent spirits.
On the schoolroom table was spread a meal of a very mixed character,
which yet looked very inviting to the hungry eyes that surveyed it. In
the centre stood the tempting cake which cook had made in honour of
Gertie's birthday. There were "maids of honour" too, as the Richmond
cheese-cakes are called, and baked apples and custards, besides more
substantial edibles.
The children were just taking their places at the table, their faces
radiant with satisfaction, when Sarah appeared at the schoolroom door,
her face as long and grave as possible.
"Please, ma'am," she said, addressing Miss Jameson; "Mrs. Bartlett's
servant has been here to say that the young ladies are not to go there
on any account. The doctor has been to see Miss Edith, and he says that
she has got scarlet fever!"
"Dear me!" said Miss Jameson, looking troubled; "I am very sorry to
hear that."
The children were dismayed at the news. The girls looked at each other
in silence; but little Harry put their thoughts into words when he
said, half frightened at the grave faces around him: "But she won't
die, will she, Miss Jameson, because she has scarlet fever?"
"I hope not," said the governess, rather tremulously; "but she is such
a delicate child. We must all pray that God will spare her life."
"Oh," said Katie, under her breath, "I wish we had not been speaking so
unkindly of her."
Florrie could not speak. Her face had grown perfectly white under the
shock of painful fear. All the joy of Gertie's birthday was over for
her.