Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[The Arundel Family series]
The Gabled Farm;
OR
YOUNG WORKERS FOR THE KING.
BY
CATHARINE SHAW
AUTHOR OF
"ONLY A COUSIN," "HILDA," "IN THE SUNLIGHT," "DICKIE'S ATTIC,"
"SOMETHING FOR SUNDAY," ETC.
"I ask Thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied,
And a mind to blend with outward life
While walking by Thy side;
Content to fill a little space,
If Thou be glorified."
New Edition.
LONDON:
JOHN F. SHAW AND CO.
48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
STORIES BY CATHARINE SHAW
Author of "CAUGHT BY THE TIDE."
Price Three Shillings and Sixpence each, with Illustrations.
THE STRANGE HOUSE; OR, A MOMENT'S MISTAKE.
LILIAN'S HOPE.
DICKIE'S SECRET.
DICKIE'S ATTIC.
ON THE CLIFF; OR, ALICK'S NEIGHBOURS.
FATHOMS DEEP; OR, COURTENAY'S CHOICE.
HILDA; OR, SEEKETH NOT HER OWN.
Price Half-a-Crown each, Large Crown 8vo, with Illustrations.
IN THE SUNLIGHT AND OUT OF IT.
NELLIE ARUNDEL: A TALE OF HOME LIFE.
ONLY A COUSIN.
ALICK'S HERO.
LONDON:
JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
DEDICATED
TO
My Mother
AND
Her Grandchildren.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
[XIX. "SHE WAS SENT ME BY GOD"]
[XXIII. "MOTHER'S EYES ARE VERY TIRED"]
BE brave, my brother!
He whom thou servest slights
Not even His weakest one;
No deed, tho' poor, shall be forgot,
However feebly done.
The prayer, the wish, the thought,
The faintly-spoken word,
The plan that seemed to come to nought,
Each has its own reward.
Be brave, my brother!
Enlarge thy heart and soul,
Spread out thy free, glad love;
Encompass earth, embrace the sea,
As does that sky above.
Let no man see thee stand
In slothful idleness,
As if there were no work for thee
In such a wilderness.
Be brave, my brother!
Stint not the liberal hand,
Give in the joy of love;
So shall thy crown be bright, and great
Thy recompense above;
Reward, not like the deed—
That poor weak deed of thine;
But like the God Himself who gives,
Eternal and divine.
H. BONAR.
THE GABLED FARM;
OR,
Young Workers for the King.
[CHAPTER I.]
A HOT DAY AT NO. 8.
A JULY sun was blazing down on a square in Bloomsbury, and seemed particularly to blaze on No. 8, with its wide windows and warm west aspect. At any rate the children thought so, who were listlessly playing in the drawing room. Since early morning the blinds had been down; since middle-day the sun-blinds had been unrolled; but nothing would keep out the burning rays, and the house seemed baked through and through.
"It is perfectly intolerable!" said a boy of fourteen, laying himself flat on the hearthrug, and stretching out both arms as far as they would go, with a long, low whistle, indicating extreme heat.
"If we only had something to look forward to!" said Ada, a girl of thirteen, who was pretending to read, but felt too hot to do anything in earnest.
"Yes," assented Arthur; "but the bother is we don't know that papa can get away; and it makes it ten times hotter to think we shall have to bear this for another six weeks."
"Perhaps the weather will change," suggested a quiet, pretty girl, who sat working in the darkest corner of the room.
"It won't, Nellie; you see if it does!" said Arthur scornfully. "Not if we're to stay in town!"
Nellie looked down for a moment at the face of her half-brother, as if she were going to speak; but she did not, and went on with her work.
"I cannot think how you can work, Nellie, when we are all dying of heat," said Ada, grumbling.
While Arthur raised his eyes to the gentle face, and said lazily, "Yes; why do you work, Nell?"
"I have tried both ways," said Nellie, "and I find I am less weary and miserable when I have something to do. And besides—"
"Well?" said Arthur lazily.
"I was thinking just now of what papa told us this morning, and that helped me to—"
"Bear the heat patiently? It didn't me, I can tell you, Nell. To be shut up in a top attic, with the sun next door to you, and not a breath of air; and to be ill of fever, and no fruit, and no cool water; and no chance of country when you were better; and no friends to care whether you lived or died; and no work and no comfort; and no end to it all? No; I don't see that thinking of that, helps one to feel less hot and cross!"
Arthur turned his flushed face, which was more sympathizing than he knew, towards his sister, and kicked his foot impatiently on the rug.
"But there is an end to it, after all, Arthur, in this case; because papa says that this poor creature has a home preparing which will be—"
Arthur looked enquiringly.
"Joy for evermore," said Nellie reverently.
Arthur moved uneasily. "I don't see the good of it," he said. "Do you suppose this woman is willing to wait to have all her good things there?"
"Papa said she was. She told him that if she had had everything comfortable, as she used in the old days, she should never have been driven by despair, as she has been, to find that the love of Christ is worth more than everything else in the world!"
Arthur turned his head restlessly again, and after a moment's pause said, hesitating, "Walter thinks like that, doesn't he?"
"Indeed he does," answered Nellie; "and oh, it is such a comfort when one does."
Softly as the conversation had been carried on, it had disturbed Ada's reading. She pushed her book away, almost peevishly.
"Ada, lie down on the sofa, and I will read you both to sleep," said Nellie, looking at her kindly.
"Oh, no!" said Ada. "I'm not sleepy, and I can't do anything to-day; I feel I don't know how. I shall go and see how they are getting on upstairs."
"Worse still," groaned Arthur. But he did not do more to dissuade her; and they heard her ascend the many stairs till she reached the nursery, where her footsteps paused, and then there was a shout of, "Oh, Ada, Ada! Have you come to play with us?"
Five little ones, of various ages, were scattered about the large nursery. There were three wide, low windows, looking out on an expanse of sky, circumscribed by endless roofs and chimneys, giving the children also a good view of the pretty garden in the square.
Near one of these windows sat the nurse, a pleasant-looking young woman, and on her lap, untroubled by the intense heat, sat a chubby baby of about a year old. Close by, and just under the low windowsill, a little couch was arranged, and on it a boy of eight years lay, lying so that his weary little face could just peep through the bottom pane of glass.
Hearing Ada's step, he turned abruptly round and looked eagerly at her. "Is mamma come home yet?" he asked.
"No," said Ada. "Oh, Mary, isn't it awfully hot? I could not settle to anything down in the drawing room, and so I came to see how nearly roasted you all are."
"Oh, we are not roasted at all, Ada," said a grave little girl looking towards the empty grate, "'cause there's no fire!"
The others laughed, and Ada declared it made her hotter to think of it.
"Ada, do tell us a story, or read to us," said a little girl of about five years, who was playing in a corner with her constant companion, Netta, and their two dolls.
"Yes, do," added Netta, running to a little shelf, and taking down a book and eagerly turning over the leaves.
"Well—if I am not too hot," said Ada, looking persuadable, and taking the rocking-chair which the children invitingly pushed forward.
"Near to me, please," said poor little Tom.
And they accordingly moved nearer his window; while the nurse put the baby on the ground and began to prepare for tea.
"Once upon a time," began Ada, closing the book and looking straight before her.
"Oh, yes, that's it!" said Isabel, settling herself to listen with perfect contentment, her arm round Netta's shoulder, and their respective dolls on their laps.
"Once upon a time there was a cat, a very respectable, fat, well-fed cat. Not one of the cats that walk up and down our back garden wall; not one of the cats that live on the roofs of the houses near us; oh, no! A real comfortable country cat, who had a real barn to mouse in, and a real hay-loft to sleep in, and real grass to eat if she felt sick."
"Do cats eat grass?" said Dolly, the grave child.
"Hush!" said the others.
"One day when the gardener went into a nice warm shed, he thought he heard a rustle, and searching about for the cause, he found pussy in an old box with three of the sweetest kittens you ever saw beside her.
"'Now that's a fine thing,' said the gardener roughly; 'however did you get in here! But one thing is, it ain't much trouble to turn you out again.'
"He was just going to do it when a bright thought struck him, 'If I let you stay,' he said crossly, 'you must catch all the mice that eat my seeds!'
"Whether puss would have promised I do not know; but the gardener probably knew she would be willing to try, and so, with another sour look, he gave the box a push, and went out and slammed the door.
"Pussy felt very relieved, though a little shaken in her spirits. 'My dear kitties,' she said, 'you have had a narrow escape. Who would have thought he would have come in! He has not been in here, to my knowledge, for at least a month; but then certainly I am not always at his heels. However, here we are, and now to make the best of it. He has shut the door, too, so we must catch mice or starve.' Pussy raised her eyes to the roof, and to her relief perceived that there were apertures under the rafters where she could creep out if her prison got too strait for her.
"Some little time passed on. Pussy found plenty of mice, but she had not been accustomed to such close confinement. And one evening as it was getting dusk, she whispered to her kitties, 'Now, my dears, if you'll be very still and not quarrel, I'll take a turn up the garden, I think.'
"'Oh, mother,' said No. 1, who was affectionate, 'shall you be sure to come back!'
"'Oh, mother,' said No. 2, who was greedy, 'shall you be able to bring us something nice!'
"'Oh, mother,' said No. 3, who was daring, 'how I wish I could go with you!'
"'Yes, yes, my dears,' said pussy hurriedly; 'but if you ask so many questions, I shall never get away.'
"With these words she proceeded to jump on a sack of potatoes that stood near, and from thence to a shelf under the ceiling, where she came to a pause. Her kittens watched her anxiously with beating hearts. Where would she get next? She went peeping about at the different holes under the rafters, but did not seem to make up her mind to go through any of them.
"Now you must know—what I am not sure that the kittens yet knew—that cats have long whiskers, which in a wonderful way are made to grow out just as far as the widest part of their bodies, and pussy could feel if these were touched, and if they were, she did not venture to push her body into the hole.
"She found one to suit her at last, and before her kittens could wink, she had safely jumped to the ground outside, and was scampering along the wide garden path.
"Left to themselves for the first time, the kittens felt quite proud for a minute or two, and then they began to think of mischief.
"'Do you think we could get out of this box?' said No.3, the bold one.
"'We might get something nice to eat,' said No. 2, the greedy one.
"'I am afraid mother would not like it,' said No. 1, the affectionate one.
"'Nonsense,' said No. 3; 'I mean to try.' After several efforts, and tumbling back into the box, No. 3 did balance himself on the edge, and did jump to the ground.
"'Now, No. 2, where are you?' he mewed in rather a doleful tone; for though a brave kitten, he felt he would like a companion if this led him into a scrape.
"'I am getting up as fast as I can,' said No. 2; 'but did it hurt you to jump?'
"'Always take care of yourself,' sneered No. 3; 'but come along, or mother will be back.'
"No. 2 managed to scramble up, and jump down, and they both set off in search of pleasure, leaving No. 1 alone; for they knew from her character that it was useless to try to persuade her.
"'I shall clamber up this sack of potatoes as mother did,' said No. 3.
"'I do not care about that at all,' said No. 2. 'I fancy there is something good on that table.'
"With these words, he cautiously climbed up an old hamper, and then up a slanting board, and so with great care on to the table, over which he went with increasing disappointment; for there was nothing there fit for a kitten to eat, though a mouse might have had a feast. At last, either from vexation or because he was getting nervous, he missed his footing, and being but young yet, he stumbled, and fell to the ground with a blow which nearly stupified him. He lay quite still, and as it was so dark, No. 3 did not perceive the disaster, and went on with his explorations till a sudden fear came over him, and he hastened back to the box.
"Do what he would, however, the sides were too steep for him to climb; and in despair, after many fruitless efforts, he lay down at last, cold, and tired, and sleepy, and began to cry.
"He would have given anything to be inside instead of outside the box, when he heard his mother climbing up the ivy which covered the shed. But wishing was of no use; and with melancholy interest, he heard her lightly spring to the table, and then to the ground very near him, and then softly make her way, as so many times before, into their comfortable home.
"When there, she made a great stir. Now pussy had come home in no mood 'to put up with nonsense,' as she said, and she proceeded to give the spoils of her expedition to No. 1, without a moment's hesitation. And while the little kitten tasted her first mouthful of a delicious piece of mutton-chop, her mother made many remarks as to the effects of obedience and disobedience, little dreaming that one at least of her darlings lay so near her in the sorest need of comfort. When the chop was finished between them—"
The children had been so absorbed in Ada's story that they had not heard the slight bustle of an arrival, and were extremely surprised at this moment to hear their mamma's step at the very door.
Amid exclamations and welcomes she came forward, and after a comprehensive glance at them all, from the baby upwards, she went straight to the little couch, and bent lovingly over her little invalid.
His arms clasped tightly round her neck, and he said ruefully, "You've been so long away, mamma!"
"So very long, darling? Only a few hours. And how is my little Tom, Mary? And baby?"
"Baby's all right ma'am," said Mary, holding him up for inspection with great pride; "but Master Tom has felt the heat a good deal, and your being away too."
The mother gave a little sigh, and then turned to the others, still, however, holding Tom's little frail fingers. "So you are all, I suppose, as hot as you can be, and much too hot for a piece of good news?"
"Oh, no, mamma! Is it—is it that we are really to go to South Bay?"
Their mother nodded, smiling; whereupon there were shouts and a great hubbub, and then the little ones found that Nellie and Arthur had come up to share in the rejoicings, and were looking as radiant as could be.
"Oh, it is too delightful!" said Ada, rapturously kissing her mamma over and over, till Nellie came behind and said gently,—
"Do you not think we had better all go down and leave the little ones to their tea?"
"Yes," said their mother. "They will all be glad to get to bed."
And so, with one kiss for her fat baby, she left the room, followed by Arthur, and Nellie, and Ada.
"Our tea is just ready, mamma," said Nellie, "and I will go and make it. I am sure you must be tired."
"I am, dear," answered Mrs. Arundel, "and I will soon be down."
Tea was spread this evening in the schoolroom at the back, which was as fresh and cool as the dining room was close and hot.
"What a good thought," said Mrs. Arundel with a sigh of relief as she took her seat at the tea-tray.
"Yes; that was Arthur," said Nellie. "He was saying, when we came down just now to put something away, how cool it would be, and so I told Simmons to bring it here. I thought you would not mind, mamma, even if you did not think it necessary."
"No, indeed, dear; and it is very pleasant."
The young people were too considerate to ask their tired mother any questions, though they were burning with curiosity as to the proposed trip, and as to how the change in their parents' plans had been brought about.
They had not, however, very long to wait; for after the first cup of tea had been swallowed, Mrs. Arundel began of her own accord.
"I have not told you, dears, a piece of the news which is quite a trial to me. We are to go; but your papa is afraid he will not be able to come at all this summer, or only for a few days at most."
"Oh, mamma!" they all exclaimed dolefully; and Mrs. Arundel did not speak for a minute. "Well," she said, trying to brighten up, "it is quite a trial, but we must all do the best we can. Perhaps, after all, papa may find he can get away, and it will be a great pleasure for you all to have such a nice change; and for dear little Tom."
"I am sorry," said Arthur; "for papa has been looking forward to it; and we were to have had some jolly boating too."
"It will be a disappointment to us all, my dear; but it does not seem as if it were possible just now; and papa will not have us wait, because of the heat."
"But he will have that to bear all alone," said Ada; "it's a wretched nuisance."
Mrs. Arundel looked up quickly. "Dear Ada, I do not quite like you to say 'nuisance;' when our Father points out a path for us, we must not call it that."
"Oh, mamma, I did not mean anything wrong, only it does seem so hard!"
"'We know that all things work together for good to them that love God,'" said her mother softly, as if speaking more to herself than them. And then she went up the long flights of stairs till she came into her own room over the drawing room, where were two little cots. One of these was empty, for baby was not in bed yet; but at the other one she knelt down, and laid her head op the pillow beside little Tom.
[CHAPTER II.]
GETTING READY.
IT was a happy party that met at breakfast the next morning. "Going out of town" to London children means a very delightful change from bricks and mortar, glaring sunshine and hot pavements, to fresh meadows, hedges and trees, or the exquisite delights of the sea-side. Then there is the packing up; the bustle; the drive through London in a cab; the anticipation; the journey; the intense expectation as to what the new place will be like—these and a hundred more thoughts will be recognised by London children as belonging to "going out of town."
Dr. Arundel sat at the bottom of the table, with Netta and Isabel on either side of him, and he looked as pleased and smiling as all the rest.
"Papa is always so unselfish," thought Nellie, as she glanced at his peaceful face.
"When are we to go?" asked Ada, as soon as she could squeeze in the question.
"On Saturday, if we can arrange it all," said her father.
"And to-day is Wednesday! Oh, Nellie, how delightful!" said Ada. "It will be all bustle and packing from morning till night!"
"Delightful!" said her father, imitating her smilingly. "And poor mamma thinks so too, I suppose? 'All bustle and packing!'"
"Don't you, mother?" asked Arthur wistfully.
"Not the bustle, dear; but the fact of going I do like very much."
"And where are we to go?" said Ada.
"Oh, to South Bay!" said their father. "And mamma and I are going down to-day to look for lodgings."
"Are you? Why that is jolly; it is something like going!" exclaimed Arthur.
"So all my dear children must try to carry out their own duties faithfully," said Dr. Arundel. "For the heat will be very great, and you will all be a little excited; and perhaps, dear children," he said gravely, "just a little cross and inclined to quarrel in consequence; so you must be watchful. We shall not be home to-night, Nellie; but I hope by tea-time to-morrow to see you all again in peace."
When their father and mother were fairly gone after breakfast, and the children had waved the last good-bye to them from the window, they turned round to the unusually empty room, and Ada exclaimed, "Come along, Nellie, now we'll begin to pack!"
"Oh, yes!" said Netta rapturously, "let us."
Nellie put her hand gently on Netta's shoulder, and was going to speak, but the hubbub drowned her voice.
"Yes; I shall get all my doll's things together, and we can pack them into the play-box, all ready," said Isabel turning to the door.
"I shall do nothing of the sort," said Arthur. "What's the good of packing up so long before? I shall get my painting, and have a long morning at it, that is if I am not too lazy."
At last Nellie's soft tones could be heard, and she spoke a little entreatingly. "Netta dear, and Isabel, I am so sorry to disappoint you; but mamma told me particularly she wished everything to go on as usual. She wished you little ones to go for your early walk, and then to have lessons."
"Lessons!" said Netta dolefully.
"Lessons! When we are going to the sea-side," added Isabel rather crossly.
"Mamma said so," said Nellie; "and the time will pass all the more quickly if we are industrious," she added cheerfully.
Ada stood frowning at the table. This was not at all her idea of preparing for the sea-side, and she did not like it at all.
"But, Nellie, there is lots to do, and I'm sure the children would not hurt for once."
"No; we would be so good," entreated the little girls, "and help you so much, Nellie!"
"Yes; give them a holiday, Nellie, and let us get on with all sorts of things," said Ada decidedly.
"I must not, Ada," answered Nellie, looking distressed; "mamma said what it was to be, and it must be so."
"Well, I declare," said Ada, "it is too bad; you might if you liked, Nellie, you know."
Nellie did not make any answer, but took her now pouting little sisters by the hand, and went upstairs with them. They met the nurse on the landing with the baby in her arms.
"We are all ready for a walk, Miss Nellie," she said.
"They will soon be ready, too," answered Nellie; "you go down, Mary, with the others, and I will put on their things to-day."
Meanwhile Ada and Arthur had been left to themselves in the dining room. Ada was twisting the tassel of her apron round and round spitefully; and Arthur was leaning against the window with his hands in his pockets.
"I hate you to vex Nellie," he said, suddenly turning to her.
"I don't vex her," answered Ada defiantly; "she vexes me."
"It can't be so pleasant grinding with those young ones that you need set them all cross to begin with."
"I can't help it; she should have let them have a holiday."
"But mamma said—"
"Nonsense! Nellie has plenty of authority to alter if she pleased, and you know she has."
"Oh, well," said Arthur, "it's of no use quarrelling; so I'll leave you to your own reflections."
He swung himself out of the room, and met the two little girls in the hall coming down to join their nurse, who was already walking up and down the pavement waiting for them.
They were still looking vexed and disappointed, so being a kind boy, he wished he could do something, but hardly knew what.
"Look here, Isabel; will Mary let you get a pennyworth of sweets somewhere?"
"Oh, yes, Arthur!" said Netta, brightening. "What sort? And shall we bring them back to you?"
"Any sort you like for yourselves," said he, fumbling for the penny. "And look here—" glancing under their hats—"be good girls to Nellie when you come home, won't you? 'Cause it's so hot, and mamma did say so."
"All right," said Netta, "we will." And away they bounded.
While Arthur felt one of those sudden bits of intense happiness which will come some day in fulness when the Lord says, "Well done, good and faithful servant."
But with the thought of having done the least thing to please Him came a sudden pang that, a minute ago, perhaps he had displeased Him in speaking hastily to Ada, and he turned again into the dining room.
Ada's "reflections" which Arthur had alluded to were not pleasant ones. A heavy cloud brooded over her, and she got up directly she saw him, and walked past him without speaking.
"I'm sorry if I vexed you," said Arthur, bolting into the subject for fear of not getting it said.
"It does not matter, thank you," she answered proudly, and shut the door on him without looking up.
Arthur felt angry in his turn; but he soon remembered that, however much Ada was in fault, he had said something which had annoyed her, and he determined to be as kind as possible when next they met, if he could. He soon sought for Nellie, and found her in the nursery sitting by little Tom, with her work in her hand.
Tom raised his eyes pleased. "Are you come, Arthur; I should like to build some bricks."
"All right," said Arthur; "but why are you not out to-day, Tom?"
"It is too hot, and it makes my head ache."
"You'll like the sea and all the fun there?" said Arthur.
"I don't know," said Tom listlessly.
"But you will see all the ships, and the donkeys, and the great waves tumbling in!"
"Yes," said Tom doubtfully; "but I shall not care about it, my back will ache so."
"Poor little Tom!" said Nellie softly, stroking his thin hand.
Arthur paused in getting out the bricks, and looked at him silently. What could he say? What pleasures were there in store for this helpless child? He could not run, or dig, or ride on donkeys, or sail ships. What could he say to enliven him? He did not think of anything just then, so he turned again to the bricks, and placing a small invalid table over the couch, he began to build a wonderful edifice, while Tom grew interested in spite of himself.
"That is like the church you go to," said Tom. "Mary and Simmons wheeled me as far as that one day, and I saw it; and I know it is like that."
"Well, I think it is, now you say so, though I did not mean it for it. But look here, I'll make it as much like as I can remember, and if you think of anything, you must tell me."
They built on happily for nearly an hour, Arthur cleverly weaving into his building a true history of a man named Black Tom, who was a bricklayer at the works. And he brought in for his little brother's benefit all the information he had himself picked up about building. Also how Black Tom's boy was employed on the scaffolding, and how he fell and was taken up very much hurt, and had to be conveyed to the hospital. So an hour quickly slipped away, and the children would soon be home.
"Will he ever be able to walk again, do you think?" asked Tom, when Arthur paused.
"I don't know about that; but one thing I can tell you, he has no mother or nurse like you, and lies now on his back in a little close room, with nothing to see and nothing to do."
"Does he? Where is he? Does he never go out?"
"Never; because papa goes to see him, and he told me so. And they have no easy perambulator like you, Tom, to lay him in. And he never gets sight of the park as you do, or of trees, or even shops, and looks all day long just upon the same old ceiling and ugly paper of his little dull room!"
Tom glanced round his pleasant nursery, and at the bricks which Arthur was replacing in their box.
"I never thought of that," he said, and sighed deeply.
"We have brought you some of our sweets, Tom," said Dolly, running in and holding out a little paper.
"Oh, thank you!" said Tom. "And I have been having such a nice play with Arthur."
Nellie's little girls had quite recovered their spirits when they came to the schoolroom, and their lessons were got through without any further difficulty.
Ada looked in once with a very black face; but no one spoke to her, and she did not vouchsafe any remark, but, after looking at what they were about, took herself off to her own room, where she turned out her things on the floor, and sat down amongst the confusion to pick out what she wanted to take with her to South Bay.
Out of humour with everyone, and with herself above all, she soon grew tired and hot. The ribbons seemed endless; the gloves would not pair; unexpected holes and rents appeared in garments she had thought were quite ready for packing; and at length, thoroughly disheartened, she laid her head on the side of the bed near which she was seated and began to cry.
She was startled by a cheerful "Hulloa! Here's a mess!" And Arthur came striding across the forlorn room, and perched himself on the footboard of her bedstead.
"Well, Ada, so this is packing is it? I told you it was too soon to begin, and now you've proved it. The way to pack is, wait till the last moment, then seize a carpet bag, rush to your drawers, take out one of each sort of thing, stuff them in as quick as lightning, squeeze them in somehow, lock it up, rush down stairs, jump into a cab, and hope you've left nothing behind."
Ada laughed, in spite of her bad spirits, and would have cheered up had she not looked once more on the hopeless confusion.
"I am so dreadfully tired and hot," she said dolefully.
"I should think so; quite enough to give you the blues for a week. Shall I help you put 'em back?"
"Oh, do!" said Ada.
"Here goes then." And faster than they came out, Arthur stuffed them in—ribbons, neckties, gloves, handkerchiefs, collars, and clothes.
"Oh, that's my best dress!" said Ada, catching at him as he took a last armful.
"More shame to you," said Arthur, stopping short. "Whatever would mamma say? And if I might suggest, is not that your best hat?"
"Yes," said Ada; "I meant to put those in carefully."
"Then I'd have left them where they were till the last moment. Now, Ada, the room's clear again, and the children have done school, and I'm going down there to have a splendid painting go, till dinner; come along too."
"Very well," said Ada, sighing; "but I meant to have done so much this morning, and the time has all been wasted."
When they reached the schoolroom, Nellie was putting away the last few things belonging to lessons; and as Ada entered she turned round pleasantly, saying, "Now, Ada, I can see to things if you like."
"I was going to paint now," said Ada a little ungraciously; "and besides, I am dreadfully tired of packing."
Arthur laughed, and glanced quizzically at her.
"I was so sorry I could not help you, dear," said Nellie; "but you see how it was."
"Yes, I see," answered Ada, beginning to feel very much ashamed, but not willing to own it.
"But I can go now; what shall we begin upon? How much have you done?" asked Nellie.
Arthur wanted to speak very much, but he managed to run off for a glass of water for painting, and Ada contrived to say, "Why I got disheartened, and Arthur helped me make the room tidy again; but I am so tired now that I would rather not do any more before dinner, if you don't mind."
"I only thought perhaps we ought to get a few of our own clothes together, Ada, or there will be so much to see to at last."
"Very well," said Ada reluctantly; "but mine are in such a mess."
She followed her sister, however, to their room, and watched her in silence while she took out their clothes one by one and laid them in little heaps on the bed. No remark was made as to the disordered state of her drawers, though she knew how much forbearance it must need to avoid condemning.
"Now, Ada," said Nellie at last, "you can come and fold all this heap off this chair one by one, and lay them on the bed so, and when we have done all the large things we will look at the ribbon drawer."
Ada groaned at the thought, but she did manage to do her share pretty well; and then Nellie proceeded to sort out the "ribbon drawer."
"There is never so long a task but it gets finished, if we go at it patiently," she said, smiling. "Which ties do you want to take with you?"
"Oh, all of them! Never mind sorting them out; put them in wholesale."
"I daresay; to irritate your temper when you get there. No; tell me which. Come, I am helping you, so it is not so very hard just to decide."
So Nellie went through the things one by one till the drawer was empty; and Ada ran off with a little heap of odds and ends to decorate the dolls with.
After dinner the sisters sat down to work, and Nellie coaxed Ada to get a few stitches done to her clothes, so that before night they might be placed in the box. And with the promise of locking the box and having something to show for their pains, quite a nice heap of things were finished off. And when Ada went to bed, she felt very well satisfied with herself.
That night, as Nellie sat turning over the leaves of her Bible after she had read her usual chapter, her eyes fell upon these words: "'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me;'" and she thought how true they had been to her that day.
"What are you reading?" asked Ada sleepily from her comfortable bed.
"'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,'" answered Nellie thoughtfully.
"Through Christ's strength?" thought Ada dreamily. "Not my strength—I don't think I know anything about Christ's strength."
[CHAPTER III.]
SOUTH BAY.
"I SUPPOSE you all want to hear everything," said Dr. Arundel cheerfully, as he looked round on the expectant faces of the party who sat at tea the following evening.
"Yes, everything," answered Ada; and the others certainly did not say no.
"Well, we went to South Bay, and, as you know, it takes nearly three hours in the train. When we arrived there, we were hurried into a little shaky omnibus, and were driven into the town, and set down, according to our wish, in the very middle of all the lodgings."
"I suppose you do not care to know how many houses we went over? Nor how many disappointments we had before we found the right place?"
"Did you find the right place?" asked Arthur.
"I think we did. After wandering about till we were nearly footsore, we caught sight of a little settlement on the cliff about ten minutes' walk from the sea.
"'What is that, I wonder?' said mamma, quite brightening up.
"And we turned our steps that way, though I will confess to you, children, that I had not much hope it would turn out anything after all. But it was something, and just the very something we had been longing for. It was a small farm, with high, pointed gables; and, to our great joy, up in one of the windows close to the lane was the welcome word 'lodgings.'
"A pleasant middle-aged woman came to the door, and asked us to enter. I assure you we were not loath to do so. The glaring sun and the unusual fatigue made us glad to sit down, and the woman seemed to understand this; for she did not offer any remark for a moment, but turned to a little toddling child who hung to her skirts, and said coaxingly,—
"'Now, Alfy, granny wants you to go in the garden; run away, there's a good little boy.'
"Master Alfy, however, preferred to stare at us, and his grandmother again tried to coax him, 'See, Alfy, here's a bit of cake; now, darling, run into the garden, do deary.'
"Alfy took the cake and ate it, but remained where he was; and as mamma had by this time got a little rested, we proceeded to look at the lodgings."
The children made sundry exclamations, but their papa soon went on with his story.
"Downstairs, looking into the lane and across to the orchard, was the sitting room, which we shall take our meals in, and the kitchen belonging to the farm; then on the other side of the house, and looking over a sweet-smelling old-fashioned garden, are two rooms, which we shall use for our drawing room and nursery. From these, you can see the sea very well, and the garden and meadow slope away down to South Bay, and the fringe of houses close by the sea. These, however, are nearly hidden from the farm by some few trees at the bottom of their first field."
"How delightful!" burst from many lips.
"Then," resumed Dr. Arundel, "upstairs there are endless rooms, enough for all of you to be as comfortable as possible. The only difficulty will be for you to find your way about; for you go up three stairs, and down three stairs, and up three stairs again in the most fascinating manner."
The children all understood this, and it raised their hopes beyond everything.
Suddenly Netta laid her head on her father's arm, "But you won't be there, papa. What shall we do without you? And how dull you will be! I am so very, very sorry."
All the faces were turned full of feeling towards him. "We all are," said Ada, "only it is of no use keeping on saying so."
"Yes, my dears, so we are," he answered, looking at them all, "but it has seemed to me that I have been called to stay in London this summer. You know the physician who had undertaken my work has been suddenly taken ill; and at this time of year, everyone has made arrangements, and it was too late to find anyone else. There are a good many sick ones round us, and I cannot leave them. No; we must be patient. Perhaps further on in the autumn, I may get away; and I hope even now to come down and look in on you once or twice during your stay."
The children sighed; it was a great disappointment to them; and they felt almost guilty to be so delighted when their dear father could not share it.