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Book Cover]
TWO LITTLE WAIFS
"Well, dears," she said, "and what are you playingat?"--Page 4.]
TWO LITTLE WAIFS
BYMRS. MOLESWORTH
AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS,' 'CUCKOO CLOCK,' 'TELL ME A STORY'
Two small figures, hurrying along hand-in-hand, caughtthe attention of several people.--Page 166.]
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE
LondonMACMILLAN 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 GERARD, 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 GERARD' 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 inventedmost of their plays, and Roger was even more ready to play at it than atany other, ready though he always was to do anything Gladys liked orwanted. Many children would have made it different--instead of "goingover the sea to Papa," they would have played at what they would do whenPapa should come over the sea to them. But that was not what they hadlearnt to look forward to, somehow--they were like two little swallows,always dreaming of a sunny fairyland they knew not where, only "over thesea," and in these dreams and plays they found the brightness andhappiness which they were still too young to feel should have been intheir 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 littlefrightening too; cold and white like the marble angels in church, whosewings looked so soft, till one day Roger touched them, and found them,to his strange surprise, hard and icy, which made him tell Gladys thathe thought hens much prettier than angels. Gladys looked a littleshocked at this, and whispered to remind him that he should not saythat: had he forgotten that the angels lived up in heaven, and werealways 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_ prettyand soft like Snowball, the little white hen, and he was sure he wouldnever like them as much. Gladys said no more to him, for she knew by thetone of his voice that it would not take very much to make him cry, andwhen Roger got "that way," as she called it, she used to try to make himforget what had troubled him.
"Let's play at going to Papa," she said; "I've thought of such a goodway of making a ship with the chairs, half of them upside down and halflong-ways--like that, see, Roger; and with our hoop-sticks tied on tothe top of Miss Susan's umbrella--I found it in the passage--we can makesuch a great high pole in the middle. What is it they call a pole in themiddle 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 Gladysto make it, and when it was made, sailing away, away to Papa, "over thesea, over the sea," as Gladys sang in her little soft thin voice, as sherocked Roger gently up and down, making believe it was the waves.
Some slight misgiving as to what Miss Susan would say to the borrowingof her umbrella was the only thing that interfered with their enjoyment,and made them jump up hastily with a "Oh, Miss Susan," as the beginningof an apology, ready on Gladys's lips when the door opened rathersuddenly.
But it was not Miss Susan who came in. A little to their relief and agood deal to their surprise it was Susan's aunt, old Mrs. Lacy, whoseldom--for she was lame and rheumatic--managed to get as far as thenursery. She was kind and gentle, though rather deaf, so that thechildren 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'swhat we're playing at, and we like it the best of all our games. This isthe ship, you see, and that's the big stick in the middle that all shipshave--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--youdon't think Miss Susan will mind, do you?" with an anxious glance of herbright 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 werewhen you came here first," and the old lady gave a sigh, which madeRoger 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 littlesad."
"And are you feeling a little sad, poor Mrs. Lacy?" said Gladys. "It'snot 'cos Miss Susan's going to be married, is it? _I_ think we shall bevery happy when Miss Susan's married, only p'raps it wouldn't be verypolite to say so to her, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't be kind, certainly," said the old lady, with a littleglance of alarm. Evidently Miss Susan kept her as well as the childrenin good order. "You must be careful never to say anything like that, foryou 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 notwant 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? HasPapa sent for us, Mrs. Lacy? Oh Roger, listen! Of course we should besorry to leave
you and--and Miss Susan. But is it true, can it be truethat Papa has sent for us?"
"Yes, dears, it is true; though I never thought you would have guessedit so quickly, Gladys. You are to go to him in a very few weeks. I willtell you all about it as soon as it is settled. There will be a greatdeal to do with Susan's marriage, too, so soon, and I wouldn't like youto go away without your things being in perfect order."
"I think they are in very nice order already," said Gladys. "I don'tthink there'll be much to do. I can tell you over all my frocks andRoger's coats if you like, and then you can think what new ones we'llneed. Our stockings are getting _rather_ bad, but Miss Susan thoughtthey'd do till we got our new winter ones, and Roger's second-best houseshoes are----"
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Lacy, smiling, though a little sadly, at thechild's business-like tone; "I must go over them all with Susan. But notto-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 theway to where he is?"
"No, dear. He is coming home, sooner than he expected, for he has notbeen well, and you are to meet him somewhere--he has not quite fixedwhere--in Italy perhaps, and to stay there through the winter. It is agood thing, as it had to be, that he can have you before Susan leavesme, for I am getting too old, dears, to take care of you as I shouldlike--as I took care of _him_ long ago."
For Mrs. Lacy was a very, very old friend of the children's father. Shehad taken care of him as a boy, and years after, when his children cameto be left much as he had been, without a mother, and their fatherobliged 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 tomake them happy. But she was old and feeble, sometimes for days togethertoo ill to see Gladys and Roger, and her niece Susan, who kept house forher, 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 theirhealth, and were always neatly dressed, and had a nice nursery and apleasant garden to play in, they were, though they were not old enoughto understand it, rather lonely and solitary little creatures. Poor oldMrs. Lacy saw that it was so, but felt that she could do no more; andjust when the unexpected letter from their father came, she was on thepoint of writing to tell him that she thought, especially as her niecewas going to be married, some new home must be found for his two littlewaifs, as he sometimes called them.
Before Mrs. Lacy had time to tell them any more about the great newsMiss 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 rathersharply, though not unkindly. "And my umbrella--my best umbrella! Ideclare it's too bad--the moment one's back is turned."
"It's the mast, Miss Susan," said Gladys eagerly. "We thought youwouldn't mind. It's the mast of the ship that's going to take us overthe 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 putit back in its place when you've done with it. And now, aunt, comedownstairs 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 theywere alone.
"Yes, I told them a little," said the old lady. "Somehow I could nothelp it. I went upstairs and found them playing at the very thing--itseemed 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 betterfor them."
"It's quite natural you should feel it," said Susan in a not unkindlytone. "But still it is a very good thing it has happened just now. Foryou know, aunt, we have quite decided that you must live with us----"
"You are very good, I know," said Mrs. Lacy, who was really verydependent 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 fromsending 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 havehappened better, and the sooner the good-byings and all the bustle ofthe going are over, the better for you and for me, and for allconcerned, indeed. And this leads me to what I wanted to tell you.Things happen so strangely sometimes. This very morning I have heard ofsuch 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 amnot proposing to send them away to-day or to-morrow. The opportunity Ihave heard of will be about a fortnight hence. Plenty of time totelegraph, even to write, to Captain Bertram to ensure there being nomistake. But anyway we need not decide just yet. He says he will writeagain 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 afortnight. They start from here, as they are coming here on a visit thelast 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 certainlynot every day that we should find any one going to France from a littleplace like this." For Mrs. Lacy's home was in a rather remote andout-of-the-way part of the country. "It would save expense too, for, asthey have no longer a regular nurse, I have no one to send even as faras London with them."
"And young Mrs. ----, I forget her name--her maid would look after themon the journey. I asked about that," said Susan, who was certainly notthoughtless.
"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," saidSusan.
"Perhaps so; I daresay you are right," agreed Mrs. Lacy.
She hardly saw the children again that day. Susan, who seemed to be inan unusually gracious mood, took them out herself in the afternoon, andwas very kind. But they were so little used to talk to her, for she hadnever tried to gain their confidence, that it did not occur to eitherGladys or Roger to chatter about what nevertheless their little headsand hearts were full of. They had also, I think, a vague childish notionof loyalty to their old friend in not mentioning the subject, eventhough she had not told them not to do so. So they trotted alongdemurely, pleased at having their best things on, and proud of thehonour of a walk with Miss Susan, even while not a little afraid ofdoing anything to displease her.
"They are good little things after all," thought Susan, when she hadbrought them home without any misfortune of any kind having marred theharmony of the afternoon. And the colour rushed into Gladys's face whenMiss Susan sent them up to the nursery with the promise of strawberryjam for tea, as they had been very good.
"I don't mind so much about the strawberry jam," Gladys confided toRoger, "though it _is_ very nice. But I do like when any one says we'vebeen 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 Ireally think we must be so if _she_ says so, it will be very nice forPapa, won't it? It matters more now, you see, what we are, 'cos of goingto him. When people have people of their own they should be gooder eventhan 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 gettingold, you know. And sometimes--don't say so to anybody, Roger--sometimesI 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 centralidea 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 littleshiver. "Why can't God let them stay here, or go over the sea to whereit'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 followingthe next link in the chain, "_do_ you think we can take Snowball with uswhen we go?"
"I don't know," said Gladys; and just then Mrs. Lacy's housemaid, whohad taken care of them since their nurse had had to leave them somemonths before, happening to bring in their tea, the little girl turnedto her with some vague idea of taking her into their confidence. To haveno one but Roger to talk to about so absorbing a matter was almost toomuch. But Ellen was either quite ignorant of the great news, or toodiscreet 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 carriagewith one, she replied matter-of-factly that she believed there wereplaces on purpose for all sorts of live things on the railway, but thatMiss Gladys had better ask Miss Susan, who had travelled a great dealmore than she, Ellen.
"Yes," replied Gladys disappointedly, "perhaps she has; but most likelynot with hens. But have you stayed at home all your life, Ellen? Haveyou never left your father and mother till you came here?"
Whereupon Ellen, who was a kindly good girl, only a little too much inawe of Miss Susan to yield to her natural love of children, feelingherself on safe ground, launched out into a somewhat rose-coloureddescription of her home and belongings, and of her visits as a child tothe neighbouring market-town, which much amused and interested herlittle hearers, besides serving for the time to distract their thoughtsfrom the one idea, which was, I daresay, a good thing. For in this lifeit is not well to think too much or feel too sure of _any_ hoped-forhappiness. The doing so of itself leads to disappointment, for weunconsciously paint our pictures with colours impossibly bright, so thatthe _real_ cannot but fall short of the imaginary.
But baby Gladys--poor little girl!--at seven it is early days to learnthese 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 thatwent on between the two little cots that stood close together side byside. And still more the lovely confusion of happy dreams that flittedthat night through the two curly heads on the two little pillows.