Dolly?'
"'Oh yes, sir,' said Dolly, catching a glimpse of my delightedexpression. 'Miss Lily has been wishing to take that walk ever since shecame; for she has never seen the sea, she tells me.'
"'Has never seen the sea!' said Uncle John, smiling, 'then there is agreat treat in store for you; so come away, my child, and we shall havea quiet half-hour before going to Mrs. Berkley's.'
"I don't think I shall ever forget that walk with Uncle John. Seeingthat I was interested in the birds and the butterflies, he told me allsorts of stories about them--how the former built their nests, and howthe latter was first a caterpillar before changing into a brightbutterfly. Then he pointed out many curious things about the flowers Iplucked on the way. He seemed to my mind to know about everything; and,in consequence, my respect increased for him more and more, and Isomehow became a little afraid of him.
"But when, from the top of the hill, we caught the first glimpse of theblue sea lying below, with the fishing-boats in the distance, I quiteforgot I was beginning to be shy of Uncle John, and screamed aloud,clapping my hands delightedly. He was so good to me, too. Fearing thatin my rapture I might lose my footing and slip down the face of therocks, Uncle John took me by the hand, and holding me fast, let me gazeupon the scene without interruption.
THE FIRST WALK BY THE SEA-SIDE.]
"'Now we must go, dear,' said Uncle John. 'Strange, that of all theworks of creation none make such a wonderful impression as the firstsight one gets of the sea.'
"'Do you ever walk this way, uncle?' I inquired, as we turned intoanother path that led to Mrs. Berkley's mansion.
"'Sometimes; indeed, it is a favourite walk of mine,' he replied. 'Ilike to come and sit just at that point where you stood. Your aunt usedto be very fond of that walk also.'
"'It will be such a nice place to see her in the clouds,' I said, but alittle timidly, for this was the first time he had ever mentioned hername, and he had sighed heavily when he did so.
"'Why, what do you mean, Lily?' he asked abruptly, and, as I fancied, alittle sternly.
"'When my sister Alice died, uncle, I was so sad and lonely withouther,' I replied. 'Mamma was so busy nursing my brother William, that Ihad to amuse myself the best way I could; and so I used to sit by thewindow gazing up into the sky; and when the clouds came sailing past, Iused to fancy I saw sister Alice in the very white ones. Nurse told meshe is now clothed in white, and I knew Alice would weary to see me too;and I used to think God, who is so good and kind, would perhaps let herhide in the white clouds.'
"Uncle John drew me closer to him, and instead of reproving me for myfancy, he kissed me, as he said, 'Poor child, poor little town-bredchild, if you had had flowers, and birds, and butterflies to chase, itwould have been better for you. I think we shall have to write and askmamma to send us Willie here also.'
"'Oh, that would be so nice!' I exclaimed. 'Willie would enjoy it somuch! But see, uncle, there are some children with a donkey coming thisway.'
"'These are some of the young people I told you were living with Mrs.Berkley.--Hollo!' cried uncle, signalling to the children, who camerunning down the path as fast as they could the moment they heard therector's voice. There was a little girl on the donkey's back, and twoboys by the side of it, with a stable-lad to see that she did not tumbleoff.
"'We were so glad when you called, sir,' said the oldest boy. 'AuntBerkley said we might go and meet you, but we thought you would come bythe highway.'
"'Yes; but this little niece of mine had never seen the sea, and Iwanted to let her have her first view from the Bluff Crag.'
VEA ON HER DONKEY.]
"'Then you have never been down to the beach?' said the little girl. 'Wemust get aunt to allow us to go there after dinner. It is such adelightful walk;--isn't it, sir? And you needn't be afraid to trust herwith us, for we take Natilie when we go, and she is so careful.'
"'And who is Natilie?' inquired Uncle John, lifting the little girl fromthe donkey at her request.
"'Oh, Natilie is our French maid, and she is so nice; even the boys likeNatilie.--But what is your name, please?' she continued, turning to me.'Mine is Vivian Berkley, but the boys and all my friends call me Vea.'
"'My name is Lilian, but I am called Lily at home--Lily Ashton,' Ireplied.
"'Then I shall call you Lily too, may I not?' she said, looking up intomy face with a kindly smile, and taking my hand, while her beautifulblue eyes sparkled. 'I am so glad you have come, dear Lily,' shecontinued. 'I do want a companion like you so much!'
"'Do you find the boys unsocial, then, Miss Vea?' inquired Uncle John.
"'Oh no, sir,' she replied; 'but they are boys, and you know girls arenot allowed to do exactly what they do, so I am often alone.'
"'And what do you do when you are alone?' said Uncle John, evidentlyamused with the precise though sweet tone of voice of little Vea.
"'I play with my doll Edith, and I read my story-books, and I talk toNatilie. Do you know, sir,' she said, letting my hand loose and takingmy uncle's as we mounted up the steep slope to the road above, while thedonkey was led round by another way, followed by the boys, 'poorNatilie, when she came to stay with us, could not speak a word ofEnglish, and she was so sad. And the boys used to laugh at her, and sodid I sometimes, till Aunt Mary, in whose house we were living, told usthat if we only knew poor Natilie's sad story we would be so sorry forher, that, instead of laughing, we would be apt to cry.'
"'And what was the story?' inquired the rector.
"'Oh,' said Vea, laughing, 'Aunt Mary was so cunning about it, shewouldn't tell us a word, but said we must learn our French very fast,and that then Natilie would tell it for herself; and as Aunt Mary saidit was far more interesting than any we could read in our story-books,we did try to understand what she said to us very hard indeed. But wehaven't heard the story yet; only we never laugh at Natilie now, for wehave made out little bits of it, and we know the chief reason why she issad is this: her husband is a very bad man, and he ran away and lefther, and carried off her two little children, and she cannot findthem.--But will you please walk into the garden, sir?' she continued,opening a side gate. 'Aunt said we might show you the new rustic tableas we came along.'
THE NEW RUSTIC TABLE.]
"Patrick, the eldest boy, who had run on before, joined us just as wecame up to the arbour, where a neat round table stood, having curiousfeet made out of the rough branches of a tree; the top had beenpolished, and painted with varnish, and looked very splendid indeed. Butthe quick eyes of Vea soon detected an ugly scar on the bright surface,as if some boy had been attempting to cut out a letter upon it.
"'Oh dear, who has done this?' cried little Vea, while Patrick turnedaway with blushing face. 'Patrick, this is a wicked action; do you knowanything about it? Now be careful; think well before you answer.'
"Uncle John could scarcely keep from smiling at the way Vea spoke, andthe anxious manner shown towards her brother. 'O Patrick,' sheexclaimed, 'if you did this, it is very wicked; you must go and tellaunt about it at once.'
"Instead of answering, however, Patrick set off at a gallop, anddisappeared behind some bushes, leaving Vea standing looking after himwith glistening eyes. 'What is to be done now?' she said, as if toherself; 'it is so difficult to get Patrick to own a fault, and I fearhe will lead Alfred into more mischief. O mamma, mamma, I wish you hadnever left us! I do try to keep the boys right, but they are so wildsometimes.'
"'You cannot do more than your best, my child,' said my uncle, layinghis hand tenderly on her bowed head. 'Would you like me to speak toyour aunt for Patrick?'
"'Oh no, sir, thank you very kindly,' she said, drying her eyes hastily;'Patrick must confess the fault himself, if he has done it. Aunt Berkleyis so good-natured, that I am sure she would excuse him if you asked;but that would not be safe for Patrick,--he forgets so soon, and will beat some other mischief directly. Aunt Mary warned me about this verysort of thing.'
"'Well, I am sure he ought to be a good boy, having such a kind, goodlittle s
ister to look after him.'
"'Please, sir, don't say that,' said Vea, the tears coming to her eyesagain; 'I don't deserve such praise; for the reason why Aunt Mary toldme of Patrick's faults was, she wished to point out my own, and sheknows I am so lazy, and don't like to check the boys, lest they shouldcall me "Goody;" but Aunt Mary said I ought to look after them,--that agood word costs nothing; at anyrate, if I had only to