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Book Cover]
THE CARVED LIONS.
OUR CONSULTATION TOOK A GOOD WHILE.--p.44.--_Frontispiece._]
THE CARVED LIONS
BYMRS. MOLESWORTH
ILLUSTRATED BY L. LESLIE BROOKE
1895LONDON MACMILLAN & CO
COPYRIGHT, 1895,BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
CONTENTS.
PAGE CHAPTER I. OLD DAYS 1 CHAPTER II. A HAPPY EVENING 17 CHAPTER III. COMING EVENTS 33 CHAPTER IV. ALL SETTLED 48 CHAPTER V. AN UNPROMISING BEGINNING 63 CHAPTER VI. A NEW WORLD 81 CHAPTER VII. GATHERING CLOUDS 98 CHAPTER VIII. "NOBODY--_NOBODY_" 113 CHAPTER IX. OUT IN THE RAIN 131 CHAPTER X. TAKING REFUGE 148 CHAPTER XI. KIND FRIENDS 163 CHAPTER XII. GOOD NEWS 182
ILLUSTRATIONS.
OUR CONSULTATION TOOK A GOOD WHILE _Frontispiece_ "GOOD-BYE!" _To face page_ 71 "LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT CONTRADICT, AND MUST NOT BE RUDE" 82 "MY POOR LITTLE GIRL, WHAT _IS_ THE MATTER?" 108 I CREPT DOWNSTAIRS, PAST ONE SCHOOLROOM WITH ITS CLOSED DOOR 141 THE BROTHER LIONS ROSE INTO THE AIR 154 MYRA CAME FORWARD GENTLY, HER SWEET FACE LOOKING RATHER GRAVE 174
CHAPTER I.
OLD DAYS.
It is already a long time since I was a little girl. Sometimes, when Ilook out upon the world and see how many changes have come about, howdifferent many things are from what I can remember them, I could believethat a still longer time had passed since my childhood than is reallythe case. Sometimes, on the contrary, the remembrance of things thatthen happened comes over me so very vividly, so very _real_-ly, that Ican scarcely believe myself to be as old as I am.
I can remember things in my little girlhood more clearly than many inlater years. This makes me hope that the story of some part of it mayinterest children of to-day, for I know I have not forgotten thefeelings I had as a child. And after all, I believe that in a great manyways children are very like each other in their hearts and minds, eventhough their lives may seem very different and very far apart.
The first years of my childhood were very happy, though there were somethings in my life which many children would not like at all. My parentswere not rich, and the place where we lived was not pretty or pleasant.It was a rather large town in an ugly part of the country, where greattall chimneys giving out black smoke, and streams--once clear sparklingbrooks, no doubt--whose water was nearly as black as the smoke, made itoften difficult to believe in bright blue sky or green grass, or any ofthe sweet pure country scenes that children love, though perhapschildren that have them do not love them as much as those who have notgot them do.
I think that was the way with me. The country was almost the same asfairyland to me--the peeps I had of it now and then were a delight Icould not find words to express.
But what matters most to children is not _where_ their home is, but_what_ it is. And our home was a very sweet and loving one, though itwas only a rather small and dull house in a dull street. Our father andmother did everything they possibly could to make us happy, and thetrial of living at Great Mexington must have been far worse for themthan for us. For they had both been accustomed to rich homes when theywere young, and father had never expected that he would have to work sohard or in the sort of way he had to do, after he lost nearly all hismoney.
When I say "us," I mean my brother Haddie and I. Haddie--whose real namewas Haddon--was two years older than I, and we two were the wholefamily. My name--_was_ I was going to say, for now there are so fewpeople to call me by my Christian name that it seems hardly mine--myname is Geraldine. Somehow I never had a "short" for it, though it is along name, and Haddie was always Haddie, and "Haddon" scarcely needsshortening. I think it was because he nearly always called me Sister or"Sis."
Haddie was between ten and eleven years old and I was nine when thegreat change that I am going to tell you about came over our lives. ButI must go back a little farther than that, otherwise you would notunderstand all about us, nor the meaning of the odd title I have chosenfor my story.
I had no governess and I did not go to school. My mother taught meherself, partly, I think, to save expense, and partly because she didnot like the idea of sending me to even a day-school at Great Mexington.For though many of the families there were very rich, and had largehouses and carriages and horses and beautiful gardens, they were notalways very refined. There were good and kind and unselfish people thereas there are everywhere, but there were some who thought more of beingrich than of anything else--the sort of people that are called "purseproud." And as children very often take after their parents, my fatherand mother did not like the idea of my having such children as mycompanions--children who would look down upon me for being poor, andperhaps treat me unkindly on that account.
"When Geraldine is older she must go to school," my father used to say,"unless by that time our ship comes in and we can afford a governess.But when she is older it will not matter so much, as she will havelearnt to value things at their just worth."
I did not then understand what he meant, but I have never forgotten thewords.
I was a very simple child. It never entered my head that there wasanything to be ashamed of in living in a small house and having only twoservants. I thought it would be _nice_ to have more money, so that mammawould not need to be so busy and could have more pretty dresses, andabove all that we could then live in the country, but I never mindedbeing poor in any sore or ashamed way. And I often envied Haddie, whodid go to school. I thought it would be nice to have lots of otherlittle girls to play with. I remember once saying so to mamma, but sheshook her head.
"I don't think you would like it as much as you fancy you would," shesaid. "Not at present at least. When you are a few years older I hope tosend you for some classes to Miss Ledbury's school, and by that time youwill enjoy the good teaching. But except for the lessons, I am quitesure it is better and happier for you to be at home, even though youfind it rather lonely sometimes."
And in his way Haddie said much the same. School was all very well forboys, he told me. If a fellow tried to bully you, you could bully himback. But girls weren't like that--they couldn't fight it out. And whenI said to him I didn't want to fight, he still shook his head, andrepeated that I wouldn't like school at all--some of his friends'sisters were at school and they hated it.
Still, though I did not often speak of it, the wish to go to school, andthe belief that I should find school-life very happy and interesting,remained in my mind. I often made up fancies about it, and picturedmyself doing lessons with other little girls and reading the samestory-books and playing duets together. I could not believe that Ishould not like it. The truth was, I suppose, that I was longing forcompanions of my own age.
It was since Haddie went to school that I had felt lonely. I was a greatdeal with mamma, but of course there were hours in the day when she wastaken up with other things and could not attend to me. I used to longt
hen for the holidays to come so that I should have Haddie again to playwith.
My happiest days were Wednesdays and Saturdays, for then he did not goto school in the afternoon. And mamma very often planned some littletreat for us on those days, such as staying up to have late tea with herand papa when he came in from his office, or reading aloud some newstory-book, or going a walk with her in the afternoon and buyingwhatever we liked for our own tea at the confectioner's.
Very simple treats--but then we were very simple children, as I havesaid already.
Our house, though in a street quite filled with houses, was some littleway from the centre of the town, where the best shops were--some yearsbefore, our street had, I suppose, been considered quite in the country.We were very fond of going to the shops with mamma. We thought them verygrand and beautiful, though they were not nearly as pretty as shops arenowadays, for they were much smaller and darker, so that the thingscould not be spread out in the attractive way they are now, nor were thethings themselves nearly as varied and tempting.
There was one shop which interested us very much. It belonged to theprincipal furniture-maker of Mexington. It scarcely looked like a shop,but was more like a rather gloomy private house very full of heavy darkcabinets and tables and wardrobes and chairs, mostly of mahogany, andall extremely good and well made. Yes, furniture, though ugly, reallywas very good in those days--I have one or two relics of my old homestill, in the shape of a leather-covered arm-chair and abeautifully-made chest of drawers. For mamma's godmother had helped tofurnish our house when we came to Mexington, and she was the sort of oldlady who when she _did_ give a present gave it really good of its kind.She had had furniture herself made by Cranston--that was thecabinet-maker's name--for her home was in the country only about threehours' journey from Mexington--and it had been first-rate, so sheordered what she gave mamma from him also.
But it was not because the furniture was so good that we liked going toCranston's. It was for quite another reason. A little way in from thefront entrance to the shop, where there were glass doors to swing open,stood a pair of huge lions carved in very dark, almost black, wood. Theywere nearly, if not quite, as large as life, and the first time I sawthem, when I was only four or five, I was really frightened of them.They guarded the entrance to the inner part of the shop, which was darkand gloomy and mysterious-looking, and I remember clutching fast hold ofmamma's hand as we passed them, not feeling at all sure that they wouldnot suddenly spring forward and catch us. But when mamma saw that I wasfrightened, she stopped and made me feel the lions and stroke them toshow me that they were only wooden and could not possibly hurt me. Andafter that I grew very fond of them, and was always asking her to takeme to the "lion shop."
Haddie liked them too--his great wish was to climb on one of their backsand play at going a ride.
I don't think I thought of that. What I liked was to stroke their heavymanes and fancy to myself what I would do if, all of a sudden, one ofthem "came alive," as I called it, and turned his head round and lookedat me. And as I grew older, almost without knowing it, I made up allsorts of fairy fancies about the lions--I sometimes thought they wereenchanted princes, sometimes that they were real lions who were onlycarved wood in the day-time, and at night walked about wherever theyliked.
So, for one reason or another, both Haddie and I were always verypleased when mamma had to look in at Cranston's.
This happened oftener than might have been expected, considering thatour house was small, and that my father and mother were not rich enoughoften to buy new furniture. For mamma's godmother seemed to be alwaysordering something or other at the cabinet-maker's, and as she knewmamma was very sensible and careful, she used to write to her to explainto Cranston about the things she wanted, or to look at them before hesent them home, to see that they were all right. And Cranston was alwaysvery polite indeed to mamma.
He himself was a stout, red-faced, little, elderly man, with graywhiskers, which he brushed up in a fierce kind of way that made him looklike a rather angry cat, though he really was a very gentle and kind oldman. I thought him much nicer than his partner, whose name was Berridge,a tall, thin man, who talked very fast, and made a great show ofscolding any of the clerks or workmen who happened to be about.
Mr. Cranston was very proud of the lions. They had belonged to hisgrandfather and then to his father, who had both been in the same sortof business as he was, and he told mamma they had been carved in "theEast." I didn't know what he meant by the East, and I don't now knowwhat country he was alluding to--India or China or Japan. And I am notsure that he knew himself. But "the East" sounded far away andmysterious--it might do for fairyland or brownieland, and I was quitesatisfied. No doubt, wherever they came from, the lions were verybeautifully carved.
Now I will go on to tell about the changes that came into our lives,closing the doors of these first happy childish years, when therescarcely seemed to be ever a cloud on our sky.
One day, when I was a month or two past nine years old, mamma said to mejust as I was finishing my practising--I used to practise half an hourevery other day, and have a music lesson from mamma the betweendays--that she was going out to do some shopping that afternoon, andthat, if I liked, I might go with her.
"I hope it will not rain," she added, "though it does look ratherthreatening. But perhaps it will hold off till evening."
"And I can take my umbrella in case it rains," I said. I was very proudof my umbrella. It had been one of my last birthday presents. "Yes,mamma, I should like to come very much. Will Haddie come too?"
For it was Wednesday--one of his half-holidays.
"To tell the truth," said mamma, "I forgot to ask him this morning if hewould like to come, but he will be home soon--it is nearly luncheontime. I daresay he will like to come, especially as I have to go toCranston's."
She smiled a little as she said this. Our love for the carved lionsamused her.
"Oh yes, I am sure he will like to come," I said. "And may we buysomething for tea at Miss Fryer's on our way home?"
Mamma smiled again.
"That will be two treats instead of one," she said, "but I daresay I canafford two or three pence."
Miss Fryer was our own pet confectioner, or pastry-cook, as we used tosay more frequently then. She was a Quakeress, and her shop was verynear our house, so near that mamma let me go there alone with Haddie.Miss Fryer was very grave and quiet, but we were not at all afraid ofher, for we knew that she was really very kind. She was always dressedin pale gray or fawn colour, with a white muslin shawl crossed over hershoulders, and a white net cap beautifully quilled and fitting tightlyround her face, so that only a very little of her soft gray hairshowed. She always spoke to us as "thou" and "thee," and she was veryparticular to give us exactly what we asked for, and also to take theexact money in payment. But now and then, after the business part hadbeen all correctly settled, she would choose out a nice bun orsponge-cake, or two or three biscuits, and would say "I give thee thisas a present." And she did not like us to say, "Thank you, Miss Fryer,"but "Thank you, friend Susan." I daresay she would have liked us to say,"Thank _thee_," but neither Haddie nor I had courage for that!
I ran upstairs in high spirits, and five minutes after when Haddie camein from school he was nearly as pleased as I to hear our plans.
"If only it does not rain," said mamma at luncheon.
Luncheon was, of course, our dinner, and it was often mamma's dinnerreally too. Our father was sometimes so late of getting home that heliked better to have tea than a regular dinner. But mamma always calledit luncheon because it seemed natural to her.
"I don't mind if it does rain," said Haddie, "because of my newmackintosh."
Haddie was very proud of his mackintosh, which father had got him forgoing to and from school in rainy weather. Mackintoshes were then a newinvention, and very expensive compared with what they are now. ButHaddie was rather given to catching cold, and at Great Mexington it didrain very often--much oftener than anywhere else,
I am quite sure.
"And Geraldine doesn't mind because of her new umbrella," said mamma."So we are proof against the weather, whatever happens."
It may seem strange that I can remember so much of a time now so verylong ago. But I really do--of that day and of those that followed itespecially, because, as I have already said, they were almost the closeof the first part of our childish life.
That afternoon was such a happy one. We set off with mamma, one on eachside of her, hanging on her arms, Haddie trying to keep step with her,and I skipping along on my tiptoes. When we got to the more crowdedstreets we had to separate--that is to say, Haddie had to let go ofmamma's arm, so that he could fall behind when we met more than oneperson. For the pavements at Mexington were in some parts narrow andold-fashioned.
Mamma had several messages to do, and at some of the shops Haddie and Iwaited outside because we did not think they were very interesting. Butat some we were only too ready to go in. One I remember very well. Itwas a large grocer's. We thought it a most beautiful shop, thoughnowadays it would be considered quite dull and gloomy, compared with thebrilliant places of the kind you see filled with biscuits and driedfruits and all kinds of groceries tied up with ribbons, or displayed inboxes of every colour of the rainbow. I must say I think the groceriesthemselves were quite as good as they are now, and in some cases better,but that may be partly my fancy, as I daresay I have a partiality forold-fashioned things.
Mamma did not buy all our groceries at this grand shop, for it wasconsidered dear. But certain things, such as tea--which cost fiveshillings a pound then--she always ordered there. And the grocer, likeCranston, was a very polite man. I think he understood that though shewas not rich, and never bought a great deal, mamma was different inherself from the grandly-dressed Mexington ladies who drove up to hisshop in their carriages, with a long list of all the things they wanted.And when mamma had finished giving her order, he used always to offerHaddie and me a gingerbread biscuit of a very particular and deliciouskind. They were large round biscuits, of a nice bright brown colour, andunderneath they had thin white wafer, which we called "eating paper."They were crisp without being hard. I never see gingerbreads like themnow.
"This is a lucky day, mamma," I said, when we came out of the grocer's."Mr. Simeon never forgets to give us gingerbreads when he is therehimself."
"No," said mamma, "he is a very kind man. Perhaps he has got Haddies andGeraldines of his own, and knows what they like."
"And now are we going to Cranston's?" asked my brother.
Mamma looked at the paper in her hand. She was very careful andmethodical in all her ways, and always wrote down what she had to dobefore she came out.
"Yes," she said, "I think I have done everything else. But I shall besome little time at Cranston's. Mrs. Selwood has asked me to settle everso many things with him--she is going abroad for the winter, and wantshim to do a good deal of work at Fernley while she is away."