DAISY'S BIRTHDAY.
The next morning every one is on the _qui vive_ for the postman, for
is it not Daisy's birthday! and will there not be mysterious packets,
from the Horton's alone, enough to fill his bag!
The excitement of receiving the presents from her own family has now
subsided; and Daisy, having seen Bobby's offering, consisting of a
pair of black and white rabbits, duty installed in a separate hutch
improvised for the occasion, and on which is scrawled, in somewhat
doubtful caligraphy, Daisy's own name as proprietress, that young
lady betakes herself to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale is
installed (feeling a trifle stronger to-day), in honour of her little
daughter's birthday. At last the postman appears, and there is a
general rush to the door.
A packet from Mrs. Horton, one from each of the boys, one from Aunt
Sophia, and another from Miss Denison. There is also a letter for
Honor from the last named, and one for Jane. With these two Bobby is
despatched to the kitchen regions, where Honor and Doris are--the
former making a cake--and where Jane is also. Doris seizes on the
letter, and Honor's hands being floury, opens it and reads it to her,
Jane having retired into the scullery with her missive.
Miss Denison's letter is like herself--kindness throughout. Not one
little incident with which they have acquainted her is forgotten, and
the whole letter conveys with it such an air of her affectionate
manner that it almost seems to the girls as if she were standing
there and speaking to them in person. She sends good news about the
recovery of her _fiancé_; and in order that she may accompany him in
his prescribed sojourn to the south of France, they are about to be
married almost immediately. Doris and Honor are still chatting over
the contents of the letter, when Jane, deluged in tears, rushes into
the kitchen and startles them both with the announcement that she
must leave at once.
"Oh, if you please, Miss Honor, mother's been taken ill so sudden,
and my sister Sarah says I sha'n't never see her alive again very
like if I don't hurry off at once."
"Of course you shall go, Jane," says Honor, suspending the operation
of egg-beating and rubbing her hands upon a cloth. "Of course mother
will let you go by the first train there is. Poor girl!" she adds
kindly, putting her hand on her shoulder, for Jane with her apron to
her eyes has subsided into a chair,--"poor girl! it is indeed sudden;
but doesn't your sister give any hope, Jane? Perhaps your mother may
get over this attack; while there is life there is always hope, you
know."
"I don't know, I'm sure, miss," returns the girl with alternate sobs
and sniffs. "There's the letter, Miss Honor; perhaps you'd like to
read it."
Honor does so, and finding the case more serious than she had thought
it might be--being in fact the doctor's own report--she hands the
letter without speaking to Doris, and making her a sign to follow,
quietly leaves the kitchen.
A fearful thought has just struck Honor, and as Doris comes out to
her in the passage she stares at her blankly, saying:
"What in the _world_ shall we do for her wages, Doris? She _must_
have them before she goes."
"I have got the ten shillings aunt gave me when I left," says poor
Doris dolefully. "I must give that towards them, of course. And I
think mother has a little money by her. We must try and make it up
among us, Honor, and we must borrow again from the house-keeping
money, and dine off puddings and potatoes and such things a little
more often."
Here Molly comes bounding out into the passage.
"Why, what is the matter with you two?" she asks. "You look as if
you had discovered a dynamite plot or something."
Whereupon Honor tells her of the difficulty, and Molly, diving into
the recesses of her pocket, draws forth a jubilee half-crown, which
she has been hoarding up for future emergencies.
"Take it, Honor," she says, "it will have to go some time or other,
so it may as well go now!"
And with a sigh of resignation she is turning away again, but Honor
stops her.
"No, dear," she says, kissing her young sister, "it is like your
generosity to give up all you possess; but with a little management,
and perhaps a little help from mother, we shall be able to arrange, I
am sure; and Doris shall not give up hers either."
"Well, but _you_ are giving up every farthing of your own little
private income for the good of everybody," exclaims Doris. "And I'm
sure it is only fair that Molly and I should do the little we _can_
do."
"Well, you know, Doris, I am only thankful that I have that little
income to devote to us all. It would not give me the very slightest
pleasure to keep it to myself; and, after all, girls, it benefits me
as much as it does anyone. It's share and share alike with us all
now, I think, isn't it?"
"You're a good old soul, and that's a fact!" cries Molly impulsively,
"and the most unselfish creature that ever breathed."
"What nonsense, Molly!" says Honor, blushing at this burst of praise.
"She is quite right, of course," says Doris, "and I only wish I was
half as good."
"And now," remarks Molly, "after this digression, as the books say, I
suppose you mean to come and consult mother about Jane and all the
rest of it, don't you?"
"Of course. You run and get the time-table, Molly, and we will look
out a train."
It is with great difficulty that Jane can be persuaded to take all
the money that is due to her.
"I'm sure, Miss Honor, I never thought about such a thing as wages,"
says the girl with her apron to her eyes. "I would readily have
stayed with you young ladies and the mistress without thinking of
money, miss, except when you pleased to give me a little now and
again. And if you will just give me enough for my journey, Miss
Honor, and so as I have a shilling or two in my pocket when I gets
home, I would rather not take any more, if you please, miss."
But Honor and Doris together gently overrule the girl's generous
impulses, and insist on her taking what is due to her, Mrs. Merivale
adding a trifling present as a little return for the kindness of
heart which Jane has shown to them all in their days of adversity.
In little more than an hour's time Jane has departed with all her
belongings, and the girls and Dick are still standing at the door
watching her, as with handkerchief to her eyes she goes down the
road, when their attention is drawn to a novel kind of procession,
consisting of the Mr. Talboys' stable-boy, Joe, bearing something
resembling a pail, with elaborate care, the under-gardener with a
wheel-barrow containing some large and odd-looking packages, and
lastly Priscilla, holding in her arms with as much solicitude as if
it were a baby, a long, mysterious-looking parcel. The party enters
the gate with much gravity and makes for the side entrance.
"From the Mr. Talboys, Miss Merivale," says Priscilla, the man and
boy bashfully hanging back. "Put the pail inside the door, Joe," she
adds, and then she takes the packages from the barrow, and turning to
Honor says: "Shall I step inside with them, ma'am? The masters told
me I was to be sure and deliver them myself. Oh, and there's a
letter for Miss Daisy as well. And I was to give the masters'
compliments, and ask how Mrs. Merivale finds herself this morning."
Up to this point the girls have done nothing but stare with mute
astonishment at the oddly-laden trio. But at length, when the
parcels are actually laid down, and the maid stands waiting for her
answer, Honor finds her tongue:
"Tell your masters, please," she says, "that mother is feeling a
little stronger this morning."
And before Honor can say another word the maid is out of the house
and through the gate, where the man and the boy--both grinning from
ear to ear--are awaiting her.
"What _can_ it mean?" cries Doris, beginning to feel the parcels,
while Timothy, the cat, walks gravely up to the pail and commences a
deliberate inspection of the outside. "This is knobby!" Doris goes
on; "and this soft--O, my gracious! what's that?" as a sound like a
rather squeaky voice is heard to issue from the long parcel.
"Let us read the letter," says prompt Molly; "then we shall
understand it all. No, let Daisy open it--it's her letter. I quite
expect they are birthday presents from the old gentlemen. Now, let
us see!"
And they all crowd round the child while she carefully opens the
envelope and unfolds the letter.
"To Miss Margaret Merivale.
"My dear Miss Daisy,
"Brother Ben and I are sending some little presents for your
birthday, with our best love. The young lady herself is from Brother
Ben, whilst her carriage and luggage (including her bed) are from
myself. I believe the young lady is rather particular about her
sleeping arrangements, and has therefore thought it better to take
her own bed with her. White-star is most anxious that we should
deliver a very important message from her. She sends her love, and
hopes you will accept for a birthday present the can of new milk she
is sending you, and that you will let her send you some every day for
the future. White-star thinks it will fatten up your cheeks, and she
would far rather you had her milk than that the pig should.
"Wishing you many happy returns of the day,
"We are, dear little Miss Daisy,
"Your affectionate friends,
"EDWARD TALBOYS.
"BENJAMIN TALBOYS."
"There, didn't I say so!" exclaims Molly. "What dear old boys they
are, and how fond of Daisy! Come along, child, and let us undo the
parcels."
"O, what a _lovely_ doll!"
Daisy stands perfectly entranced, and, truth to tell, a little in awe
of the fashionable young lady which emerges from the many wrappings
of soft white paper in which she has been carefully enshrouded. A
young person of most eccentric character she proves to be, for on a
certain spring being touched she walks along for some yards with her
head in the air in a truly martial manner; and when (on her showing
deliberate intention of walking into the coal-scuttle) Honor snatches
her up from the ground, she gives vent to loud cries of "Papa!
Mamma!" which astonish her hearers not a little. Finally, on being
placed in a reclining position in her new owner's arms, she shows
symptoms of faintness, and closing her eyes in a melodramatic manner
lies back quite motionless. Daisy looks anxious at this catastrophe,
but is reassured on finding that the young lady opens her handsome
brown orbs again the moment she is made to sit up.
Honor and Doris presently suggest that all the presents shall be
taken into the room where Mrs. Merivale is sitting, and a good hour
or more is spent by Doris and the others in unpacking the handsome
perambulator which has arrived with her ladyship, and also her
beautiful bed. This last is completely fitted up, even to a little
eider-down quilt. But the unpacking of the wardrobe--that is the
thing! and Doris, at heart as great a baby over dolls and their
belongings as Daisy herself, sits on the floor surrounded with
walking costumes, dinner dresses, ball dresses, &c., and enjoys
herself with her little sister to her heart's content.