Boys and I: A Child's Story for Children Page 11

  CHAPTER XI.

  OUR TEA-PARTY.

  "Please to draw your chair-- The table's ready."

  "Going home! Oh! Miss Goldy-hair," we all called out, "oh! we thoughtyou were going to stay with us all day."

  Racey had come out of his corner and stood staring at Miss Goldy-hair.

  "Are you kite alone in the world?" he said gravely, "are you, MissDoldy-hair?"

  "Racey," I said, giving him a little shake, "how can you be so rude?"

  But Miss Goldy-hair didn't seem vexed, though her face got a little red.

  "Never mind, Audrey," she said. "Some one must have said somethingbefore him that he has remembered. But it doesn't matter--there's noharm in any one saying it, because it's true, at least, true in a way.What made you ask me that, Racey?" she added, turning to him.

  "I was sinking," said Racey, not at all put about. "I was just sinkingthat if you are really kite alone you'd better come and live with us. Orwe'll go and live with you--which would be best?"

  "I think a little of both would be best," said Miss Goldy-hair. "To-day,as Tom isn't well, you see I've come to see you. But afterwards, whenhe's all right again, you must all come to see me--often, very often."

  "But that isn't _living_, that's just seeing us sometimes," said Tom,who seemed to have taken up Racey's idea.

  "But you see, dear, people can't always do just as they would like,"said Miss Goldy-hair. "Even if they love each other dearly they can'talways live together, or even see each other as often as they wouldlike."

  "But you're alone in the world," repeated Racey.

  "Well, but I have my house to take care of, and to keep it all nice forthe friends who come to see me. And then I've my _poor_ children to goto see often, and letters to write about them sometimes. I've plenty todo at home," said Miss Goldy-hair, shaking her head gently at Racey.

  "You could do it all here," said Tom. "I don't see the good of peoplebeing as rich as rich--as rich as you are, Miss Goldy-hair--if theycan't do what they like."

  Miss Goldy-hairs face got a little red again, and she looked rathertroubled.

  "Who said I was 'as rich as rich,' my boy?" she said, putting her armround Tom, and looking into his honest eyes.

  "Sarah said so," answered Tom; "but you mustn't be vexed with her, MissGoldy-hair," he went on eagerly. "She didn't say it any not nice way.She said it was a good thing when rich people thought about poor ones,and that you were very good to poor people. You won't scold Sarah, MissGoldy-hair? Perhaps she didn't mean me to tell you. I'm so puzzled aboutnot telling things, 'cause at home it didn't matter, we might telleverything."

  He looked quite anxious and afraid, but Miss Goldy-hair soon made himhappy again.

  "No, of course I won't scold Sarah," she said. "And I like you muchbetter to tell me anything like that, and then I can explain. I cannotsee that it is anything to _praise_ rich people for, that they shouldthink of poor ones--the pleasure of thinking you have made somebody elsea little happier is so great that I think it is being kind to oneselfto be kind to others."

  "I'd like to be _vrezy_ rich," said Tom, "and then I'd be awfully kindto everybody. I'd have nobody poor at all."

  "Nobody could be rich enough for that," I said.

  "And being rich isn't the only way to being kind," said Miss Goldy-hair."Don't wait for that, Tom, to begin."

  "Of course not," I said. "Miss Goldy-hair's being kind to us has nothingto do with her being rich. You don't understand, Tom."

  Tom never liked when I said he didn't understand, and now I see that Imust have had rather a provoking way of saying it--like as if I wantedto put him down. I saw his face look vexed, and he answered rathercrossly--

  "It _has_ to do with it. Miss Goldy-hair couldn't have brought usoranges, and jelly and things, if she hadn't been rich."

  "And bikstwiks," added Racey.

  "But you like me a little bit for myself, besides for the oranges andbiscuits, don't you, Racey?--just a very little bit?"--said MissGoldy-hair, laughing.

  Racey, by way of answer, climbed up on her knee, and began hugging her.Miss Goldy-hair drew Tom to her and kissed him too, and then he lookedquite happy.

  "But I _must_ go now," she said.

  "And won't you come back again?" we asked.

  Miss Goldy-hair stopped to consider a little.

  "Let me see," she said. "Yes, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll come andhave tea with you if you'll invite me."

  We all clapped our hands at this.

  "And after tea," said Tom, "will you tell us a story? I am sure you mustknow stories, Miss Goldy-hair, for all your poor little children. Don'tyou tell them stories?"

  "There are so many of them," she said. "I generally _read_ stories tothem. And most likely you already know most of those I read. Butsometimes I tell stories to any of them who happen to be ill and stay inbed. I'll see if I can remember one."

  "About fairies, please," we all called out.

  "I'll do my best," said Miss Goldy-hair, who by this time was openingthe door to go away. She turned round and nodded to us as she said it,and then she shut the door and we three were alone again.

  But it didn't seem as if we were alone--it didn't seem the same dullnursery with nothing to amuse us or to look forward to--it didn't seemthe same _any way_.

  "Tom," I said, "doesn't everything seem different?"

  Tom was sitting on the rug close to the fire--his cold made him feelshivery--he was staring in at the red-hot coals. "Doesn't everythingseem different, Tom?" I repeated.

  "Yes," said Tom, "but, Audrey, I'm wondering what we can get nice fortea."

  My face fell-- I had not thought of that.

  "I have some money," I said, "I have three shillings, and two sixpences,and seven pennies, besides my gold pound."

  "And I have some too, and so has Racey," said Tom.

  "Yes, I have a s'illing, and a dear little fourpenny, and threehalfpennies," said Racey, running to fetch his purse.

  "I've more than that," said Tom in a melancholy tone of voice, "but it'sno good. How can we buy anything? It's like being in a ship, starving,with lots of money and no shops to buy at."

  We all looked at each other with great concern. It quite went againstall our notions of hospitality to have any one, more especially MissGoldy-hair, at tea without anything nice to offer her. And we all felttoo, that it would be almost worse to make use of any of the things_she_ had brought _us_, for such an occasion. Children have their ownnotions on these subjects, I can assure you.

  Just then we heard distant sounds of Sarah's approach with thedinner-tray. The jelly and oranges were still standing on the table. Tomhad eaten one orange and we had all three had some biscuits, so any waythere wouldn't have been enough to make a nice tea with.

  "Suppose we ask Sarah to buy us something?" said Tom eagerly. But Ishook my head.

  "I don't want to do anything like that," I said. I had somehow a feelingthat it would hardly have been keeping my promise to Uncle Geoff. "Sarahmight get scolded for it," I said, and Tom seemed to understand.

  We ate our dinner very quietly. Miss Goldy-hair's jelly was certainlyvery nice, and poor Tom, who didn't feel much inclined for meat andpotatoes, and regular pudding, enjoyed it very much. And after dinner weeach had an orange--we sat round the fire peeling them, and thinkingwhat to do about tea.

  "We haven't even any flowers," I said. "We can't even dress up the tableand make it look pretty the way we used to on days mother came to havetea with us."

  "We couldn't make bread and butter look pretty," said Tom, rathergrumpily.

  I was sorry to see him so disappointed, just when I thought that ourhaving found Miss Goldy-hair was going to make everything nice.

  "I'd run out myself to buy things if I didn't know it would vex UncleGeoff," I said. And then suddenly an idea came into my head. The sayingUncle Geoff's name seemed to have brought it.

  "I'll tell you what I'll do," I said, "I'll ask Uncle Geoff himself."

  Tom looked am
azed at my boldness.

  "Won't he be vexed?" he said.

  "No, I don't think he will. Any way I'll ask him. I dare say he's in,for he said something about seeing how your cold was at dinner-time. ButI won't wait till he comes up. I'll go straight down and ask him."

  Tom and Racey looked at me with increased respect. I just waited to washmy hands and smooth my hair, and down I ran. I met nobody on the way,though when I got to the foot of the stair I heard Sarah and Benjamintalking in the pantry. But I did not feel inclined to ask them if UncleGeoff was in-- I liked better to go straight to his study myself. So Itapped at the door, not very loud, but distinctly. In spite of myboldness my heart was beating a little faster than usual, but insteadof that making me tap faintly, it made me wish the more to know at onceif Uncle Geoff _was_ in, so that I shouldn't stand there waiting fornothing. Almost at once came the answer "Come in." Uncle Geoff had veryquick ears.

  I went in. He was sitting writing rather hurriedly it seemed, at histable, but he could not have been in long, for his hat and great coatwere flung down carelessly, and unless he is in a great hurry, UncleGeoff always hangs them up carefully in the hall. He looked up however.

  "Well, Audrey," he said, "is that you? Wait a minute and then I'll speakto you."

  I didn't mind waiting, and this time of myself I went near the fire. Iwas counting over our money in my mind, and wondering how much of it itwould be right to spend on what we called our "tea-party." And in aminute or two Uncle Geoff left off writing, folded up his letter andaddressed the envelope and rang for Benjamin.

  "Take this at once," he said; and I couldn't help wondering a littlethat Benjamin didn't feel frightened when Uncle Geoff spoke so shortlyand sharply. But Benjamin didn't seem to mind a bit. "Yes, sir," he saidquite cheerfully, and somehow it made me think that after all UncleGeoff couldn't be really sharp or stern, for Benjamin must know him verywell, and when Benjamin had gone out of the room and Uncle Geoff turnedto me I didn't feel as if I minded speaking to him the least.

  "So, Audrey," he said, "you haven't forgotten our agreement, I see. Andwhat are you troubled about now, my little lady?-- Tom is no worse, bythe by?" he added hastily.

  "Oh no, Uncle Geoff, I think he's rather better. He didn't eat _much_ atdinner, but he liked Miss Goldy-hair's jelly _very_ much."

  Uncle Geoff smiled again at our funny name for the young lady, which Ihad got so used to that I said it without thinking.

  "It was very kind of Miss--perhaps you don't want to know her by herreal name?" he said smiling. "It was very kind of her to bring Tom somejelly. No doubt it tasted much better than if Partridge had made it."

  "Yes," I said, quite gravely. "I think it did," and I thought it wasrather funny of Uncle Geoff to smile at me for saying that. But yet Ididn't mind. I didn't even mind when he called me "my little lady." Iwas beginning to think he was really rather nice.

  "And what is the trouble then, Audrey?" said Uncle Geoff.

  "It isn't exactly a trouble," I said. "It's only that we haven'tanything nice for tea. We've plenty of _money_--it isn't that, but wedon't know how to buy anything, for of course we can't go out,"--I feltmyself get a little red when I said that,--"and we didn't like to askSarah without telling you."

  "Quite right," said Uncle Geoff, patting my head. "But what sort ofthings do you want? Is it to tempt Tom to eat, or what has put it intoyour heads to want something particularly nice to-day?"

  "Oh because--why I thought I had told you at the beginning," I said,"how stupid of me! Why it's because Miss Goldy-hair's coming to have teawith us, to make up for us not going to her, you know."

  Uncle Geoff raised his eyebrows.

  "Oh ho," he said, "I see! And what is it you want then?"

  Two muffins would be exquisite.]

  "We were thinking," I said gravely, "that six sponge cakes, and sixbath-buns, and some of those nice crispy biscuits mother used to have--Ithink they're German biscuits, they're awfully nice, with a chocolateytaste, mother always sent to London for them--we were thinking thatwould make a lovely tea. And we've quite enough to pay for that. Andoh, Uncle Geoff, if _you_ would tell Mrs. Partridge to toast and butterthem, two muffins would be exquisite."

  I clasped my hands in entreaty, and Uncle Geoff had such a funny look inhis eyes that I quite stared at him.

  "You're not vexed?" I said. "I'd promise only to let Tom and Racey eattwo bits each, for I know muffins are rather 'digestible."

  At this Uncle Geoff really burst out laughing--he quite roared.

  "Audrey, you'll kill me," he said, and I began to be a little offended."Don't _you_ be vexed," he said, as soon as he could speak. "I reallybeg your pardon, and I promise you to tell Mrs. Partridge myself. Yes,you shall have the muffins. But how are all these delicacies to beprocured? Will you come out with me now--my brougham will be at the doordirectly--and I'll take you to a confectioner and let you choose foryourself?"

  "Oh yes," I said eagerly, "that _would_ be nice--" but suddenly Istopped. "No," I said, "I don't think it would be very kind to the boysto go without them. For it's their money you know, Uncle Geoff, as wellas mine."

  "All right," said Uncle Geoff, and I could see he was pleased with me;"all right. You shall have all you want in half an hour at latest," andhe was turning to go, for while we were talking he had been putting onhis great coat, when I stopped him.

  "The money, Uncle Geoff," I cried, "you are forgetting the money. It'sall ready--see--this is one of my shillings, and a sixpence and threepennies of Tom's, and Racey's fourpenny and two of his halfpennies. Theway we planned it was a shilling for the sponge cakes and buns, and ashilling for biscuits, and two pennies for two muffins. It makes twoshillings and two pennies just--doesn't it? I know mother used to saythe chocolatey biscuits were dear, but I should think a shilling wouldget enough--a shilling's a good deal."

  "Yes, it's twelve whole pence," said Uncle Geoff very seriously, as hetook the money.

  "But if the biscuits cost more, you'll tell me, won't you, Uncle Geoff?"I said, and he nodded "yes" back to me as he went out, and I ranup-stairs to the nursery as happy as I could be.

  The boys were delighted with my news--Tom, who I must say had from thebeginning been inclined to like Uncle Geoff, was quite glad to find Itoo was beginning to think him nice, for Tom wouldn't have thought itquite fair to me to like him if I didn't. We got out some of theprettiest of my doll's dinner-service plates, for we thought it mightlook nice to put a few of them up and down the table with just two orthree biscuits on each; and we were very busy and happy, and it didn'tseem nearly half an hour when we heard some one coming up-stairs, and inanother moment Uncle Geoff called to us to open the door, as his handswere so full he couldn't.

  He came in with several tempting-looking parcels in his arms, and oh,best of all, the dearest and prettiest little flowery plant growing in apot! It was a heath--like some we had in the hothouse at home--and it_was_ so pretty. I nearly jumped for joy.

  "See here, Audrey," he said, "see what I have brought you for the centreof your table. You are very fond of flowers, I know."

  "Oh, Uncle Geoff!" I said. "Oh, I am so pleased. We were so wishing forsome flowers to make the table look pretty."

  Uncle Geoff looked as pleased as we did.

  "Now here are your commissions," he went on. "You'll like to unpack themyourselves I dare say. And I must be off."

  "And the money," I asked. "Was there enough?"

  Uncle Geoff put on a very counting face. "Let me see," he said; "yougave me in all two shillings and twopence. Well what did it all cometo--sponge-cakes so much, buns so much, biscuits," he went on murmuringto himself and touching his fingers to remind him--"yes, it is verycurious," he said, "it comes to just two shillings and three half-pence.I have one halfpenny change to give you, Audrey, and I hope you think Ihave done your marketing well."

  "Oh, Uncle Geoff," we said, "it's lovely. And," I added, "about themuffins. Did you tell Mrs. Partridge?"

  "Poor Mrs. Partridge is ill to-
day," said Uncle Geoff. "But you shallhave your muffins. Now good-bye," and he went away.

  We opened the parcels with the greatest interest. They were just what wehad asked for--six sponge-cakes, beautifully fresh and fluffy-looking;six bath-buns also fresh and crisp, and sugary at the top; and biscuitsmore charming than we had ever seen--white and pink and every shade oftempting brown.

  "They are German biscuits, I am sure," I said. "Mother has often told mewhat nice kinds there are in Germany;" and we set to work to arrangethem on the plates which I ran down to ask Sarah for, with the greatestpleasure. We were so happy that we felt able to be a little sorry forMrs. Partridge.

  "I wonder if she's got a sore t'roat," said Tom.

  "P'raps she's doin' to die," suggested Racey. "She's so vrezy hold."

  "H-old," said I. "Racey, how dreadfully vulgar you are."

  "You're vrezy vulgar to be so c'oss," said Racey.

  "I don't believe you know what 'vulgar' means," I said.

  "No," said Racey, calmly, "I doesn't," and in laughing at him I forgotmy c'ossness, though afterwards when I remembered it, I felt reallyashamed of having been so sharp upon poor Racey just when we had so manythings to be happy about.

  Almost immediately after we had got the table really arranged for thelast time--we had done it and undone it so often that it was nearly fouro'clock before it was quite ready--we heard a carriage stop at the doorand then the bell rang, and peeping over the bannisters we heardBenjamin open the front door. Then came a soft rustle of some one comingup-stairs.

  "It's _her_," I cried, rushing back into the nursery. And then we allflew out to the top of the staircase to welcome her. I should have likedto run down to the first landing but I daren't, for as sure as anythingTom and Racey would have been after me, and I was frightened as it wasof Tom's catching cold by even coming to the landing.

  But she saw our eager faces between the rails before she was half wayup. "Have you been waiting long for me, dears?" she said. "I came asquickly as I could."

  "Oh! no, Miss Goldy-hair," we cried, "we have been _so_ happy."

  Then we led her triumphantly into the nursery.

  "Look," said the little boys, "did you _ever_ see such a lovely tea?"

  "Muffins is coming," said Tom.

  "I gave my fourpenny-bit and two halfpennies, but Audrey gived me onehalfpenny back. Uncle Geoff buyed the things, but Audrey and Tom gavedhim lotses of money," said Racey.

  "Hush, Racey, it's _very_ rude to tell people what things cost likethat," I said reprovingly. But Miss Goldy-hair didn't seem to mind; shelooked as pleased as she possibly could; we felt quite sure that shemeant what she said when she kissed us her nice way--not a silly way asif we were just babies, you know--and thanked us for taking so muchtrouble to please her.

  What a happy tea we had! Tom's sore throat seemed to be getting muchbetter, for Miss Goldy-hair and I had really to stop his eating as muchas he wanted. We wouldn't have minded if he had been quite well, for hewasn't a greedy boy, but when people are even a little ill it's betterfor them not to eat much, though I must confess the muffins and thechocolatey biscuits were dreadfully tempting. And after tea, beforebeginning to tell us the story, Miss Goldy-hair and I had a nice littletalk. She had such a nice way of talking--she made you sorry withoutmaking you feel cross, if you know how I mean. She made me _quite_ seehow wrong it would have been of me to try to run away to Pierson withthe boys; that it would really have been disobeying papa and mother, andthat happiness never comes to people who go out of the right path tolook for it in.

  "But it does _sometimes_, Miss Goldy-hair," I said. "We found _you_ outof the right path, because it was naughty to have gone out to post theletter without any one knowing."

  And Miss Goldy-hair smiled at that, and said no, when we found her wewere on the right path of trying to run home again as fast as we could.And then she read to me a little letter she had written to Pierson,telling her all about us, and that Uncle Geoff was getting us a verynice kind nurse and that we were going to be quite happy, and Piersonmust not be anxious about us, and that some day perhaps in the summerwe should go to see her in her pretty cottage. And at the end of theletter I wrote down that I sent my love, so that Pierson would see theletter was like from me. Miss Goldy-hair asked very kindly for Pierson'spoor mother in the letter. It was really a very nice one. She hadwritten it for fear Pierson should be thinking we would really be comingto her; but, after all for _that_ it needn't have been written,as--wasn't it queer?--we found out afterwards that Pierson never got theletter that had cost us such trouble! It couldn't have been plainlydirected I suppose; and just fancy if I _had_ run away with the boys, weshould have got to that Copple-something station, perhaps late at night,five miles from Pierson's cottage, with nobody to meet us!--evensupposing we had got the right trains and all in London, and not had anyaccidents, all of which, as Miss Goldy-hair explained, was verydoubtful. Oh dear! it makes me shiver even now to think of what troubleswe might have got into, and Tom with a sore throat too! _MissGoldy-hair's_ letter was of course all nicely addressed--and Pierson gotit quite rightly, for in a few days we got a nice one from her, sayingshe was so glad of good news of us and so glad we had found a kindfriend, for though her poor mother was dead she couldn't very well havecome back to us, as Harding was most anxious to get married and settledat once.

  Now I will get back to the afternoon that Miss Goldy-hair came to havetea with us.

  When Sarah had taken away the tea-things and made the room look quiteneat, the boys began to think it was time that they got a little of MissGoldy-hair's attention.

  "Miss 'Doldy-hair," said Racey, clambering up on her knee, "zou promisedus a story."

  "Yes, please," said Tom, "and let me sit on a buffet and put my headagainst your knee. It makes my sore t'roat feel better."

  "What a little coaxer you are, Tom," said Miss Goldy-hair; but thoughTom peeped up for a moment to see if she was vexed, it was plain shewasn't, for she made a nice place for his little round head on her knee,managing somehow to find room for Racey too, and not forgetting eitherto draw close to her a chair for me.

  "Now," she said, "we're very comfortable. Shall I tell you my littlestory? It's not a long one, and I'm afraid it's not very interesting,but it's the only one I could think of to-day."

  "Oh! do tell it," we said, "do, do, dear Miss Goldy-hair."

  And so she began.

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE WHITE DOVE.

  "Oh! good is the sunlight that glances, And good are the buds and the birds; And so all the innocent fancies Our lips can express make good words."

  "There was once a little girl," said Miss Goldy-hair, "whose every-daylife was rather dull and hard. In some ways I think it was duller thanthe lives of quite poor children, and in some ways I am not sure butthat it was harder too. For though not really poor--that is to say, theyhad enough to eat in a plain way and clothes to wear of a plainkind--still her parents were what is called struggling people. And theyhad a great many children, little and big, of whom my little girl--Lettywas her name--was one of the middle ones. No, I should hardly say one ofthe middle ones, for there were two older and five younger, so she wasmore like a big one. But she was small and delicate and seemed youngerthan she really was. They lived in a town--in the very middle of it;they had to do so on account of the father's work--and it was one of theugliest towns you could imagine. Yet strange to say, the country roundabout this town was very--what people call picturesque, if you know whatthat means? There were hills, and valleys, and nice woods, andchattering streams at but a very few hours' journey off. But many of thepeople of the town hardly knew it; they were so hard-worked and so busyabout just gaining their daily bread, that they had no time for anythingelse. And of all the hard-worked people, I do not know that any weremore so than Letty's parents. If they had been much poorer than theywere, and living quite in the country, I do not think Letty would havebeen so much to be pitied--not in the summer time any way, for thenthere are so ve
ry many pleasures that even the poorest cannot bedeprived of. As it was she had almost _no_ pleasures; her mother waskind, but always busy, and, as is often the case, so much taken up withher very little children that she _could not_ think so very much aboutLetty. The big brother of fourteen was already at work, and the sisterof thirteen was strong and tall, and able to find pleasure in thingsthat were no pleasure to Letty. She, the big sister I mean, was stillat school, and clever at her lessons, so she got a good deal of praise;and she had already begun to learn dressmaking, and was what peoplecalled 'handy with her needle,' so she was thought a great deal of athome and was neither timid nor shy. Letty was not clever in any way, andvery timid--her pleasures were of a kind that her life made impossiblefor her. She liked beautiful things, she liked soft lovely colours, andgentle voices and tender music. Rough tones really hurt her, and uglythings caused her actual pain. Sometimes when her mother told her to goout and walk with the others, she just begged to stay at home, withoutbeing able to say why, for she could not have explained how the sight ofthe dark, grey streets of houses dulled her, how the smoke-dried grassthat had never had a chance of being green in the fields a little wayout of the town, and the dreadful black-looking river that some old, oldmen in the town still remembered a clear sparkling stream, made herperfectly miserable. It was strange, for she had never known anythingelse--she had never seen the real country--all her life she had lived, apoor stunted little plant, in the same dingy little house, with thesmall rooms and steep, narrow staircase, and with a sort of constantuntidiness about it, in spite of her poor mother's care and striving.But nobody thought much about poor Letty--she was humble andsweet-tempered and never put herself forward, and so it never enteredany one's head to wonder if she was happy or not.

  "One day her mother sent her a message--and as it was a message, ofcourse Letty never thought of saying she would rather not go--to a housefurther out of the town than Letty had ever been alone, and as it wasrather a fine day, that is to say, it was not raining, and up in the skyabout the place where the sun ought to be there was a faintly brightlook in the clouds, her mother told her if she liked she might take aturn before coming home. But Letty did not care to stay out--she leftthe message, and then turned to hurry home as fast as she could. She washastening along, when a faint sound caught her ears, and looking roundshe saw lying on the ground a few steps from her a beautiful white dove.It seemed in pain, for it tried to move, and after fluttering a fewsteps fell down again, and Letty saw that one wing was dragging in a wayit shouldn't, and she thought to herself it must be broken. Her kindheart was always quick to feel pity, and she gently lifted the bird, andsitting down on the ground tried to find out what was wrong. But she washalf afraid to touch the wing for fear of hurting the bird more, andwas quite at a loss what to do, when suddenly a very soft cooing voicereached her ears. It was so soft that it didn't startle her, still shefelt, as you can fancy, _very_ much surprised to hear a little dovetalking.

  "'Don't be afraid, Letty,' it said. 'Put your hand in your pocket andyou will find a white ribbon. With that you must bind up my wing.'

  "Letty put her hand in her pocket as if she couldn't help doing so,though she felt sure there was no ribbon in it. To her surprise she drewout a piece of the prettiest, softest ribbon she had ever seen--purewhite and satiny--softer than satin even. And too surprised, as it were,to speak, she carefully and tenderly bound it round the dove's body insuch a way as to support the wing. No sooner was it firmly tied, than toher increased surprise, the dove raised itself, gave a sort of flutter,and rose in the air. It hovered a few moments over her head, and Lettyheld her breath, in fear that it was going to fly away, when, assuddenly as it had left her, it fluttered back again, and perching onher knees, looked at her with its soft plaintive eyes.

  "'What can I do for you, little girl?' it said, 'for you have cured mywing,' and looking at it closely, Letty saw it was true. Both wings wereperfectly right, and the pretty white ribbon was now tied like anecklace two or three times loosely round its neck. And at last Lettyfound voice to reply--

  "'Oh, white dove,' she said, 'you are a fairy. I see you are. Oh, whitedove, take me with you to Fairyland.'

  "'Alas!' said the dove, 'that I cannot do. But see here, little girl,'and as he spoke he somehow managed to slip the ribbon off his neck. 'Igive you this. It will open the door if you are good and gentle and doyour work well.'

  "The ribbon fluttered to Letty's feet, for with his last words the dovehad again risen in the air. Letty eagerly seized it, for she sawsomething was fastened to it--to the ribbon I mean. Yes--a little keywas hanging on it--a tiny little silver key, and Letty would haveadmired it greatly but for her anxiety to get some explanation from thedove before it flew away.

  "'_What_ door does it open?' she said. 'Oh, white dove, how shall I knowwhat to do with it?'"

  "Wait for the first moonlight night and you will see,"said the dove, and then it flew off.]

  "'The door of the garden where I live. That is what it opens. Wait forthe first moonlight night and you will see,' said the dove, and then itflew off, higher and higher up into the sky, already growing dusk andgray, for the winter was not far off.

  "Letty looked again at her precious key. Then very carefully she foldedup the ribbon with the key in the centre of it and hid it in the frontof her dress, and feeling as if she were in a dream, she made her wayhome.

  "For some days nothing more happened. But Letty waited patiently tillthe time should come which the bird had spoken of. And the lookingforward to this made the days pass quickly and less dully, and often andoften she said over to herself, 'if you are good and gentle and do yourwork well,' and never had she tried more to be good and helpful, so thatone day her mother said, 'Why, Letty dear, you're getting as quick andclever as Hester.' Hester was the big sister--and Letty said to herselfthat the dove had made her happier already, and that night when she wentto sleep she had a sort of bright feeling that she never remembered tohave had before.

  "'I think it must be going to be moonlight,' she thought to herself. Butwhen she looked out of the window the dull little street was all wet,she could see the puddles glistening in the light of the lamps--it wasraining hard.

  "Letty gave a little sigh and went to bed. She had a little bed toherself, though there were two others in the room, for her elder sisterand two of the younger ones.

  "In the middle of the night Letty awoke--the rain was over evidently,for the room was filled with moonlight. Letty started up eagerly, andthe first thing that caught her sight was a door at the foot of her bed,a common cupboard door, it seemed, with a keyhole in it. It was thekeyhole I think which first caught her attention, and yet surely thedoor had always been there before?--at least--at least she thought ithad. It was very queer that she could not quite remember. But she jumpedout of bed--softly, not to wake her sisters, and though half laughing ather own silliness in imagining her tiny silver key could fit so large alock, she yet could not help trying it. She had the key and the ribbonalways with her, carefully wrapped up, and now she drew out the key andslipped it in, and, wonderful to tell, it fitted as if made for thelock. Letty, holding her breath with eagerness, turned it gently--thedoor yielded, opening inwards, and Letty, how, exactly, she never knew,found herself inside----what, do you think?"

  "The cupboard of course," said Tom.

  "Were there olanges and bistwicks in there?" said Racey.

  "Oh, Racey!" I exclaimed. "No, let _me_ guess, Miss Goldy hair. Shefound herself in the bird's garden."

  "Yes," said Miss Goldy-hair, "she found herself standing in the middleof a most lovely garden. Nothing that poor Letty had ever seen in herlife could have given her any idea--not the faintest--of anything sobeautiful, though for you, children, who have lived in the country andknow what grass _can_ be, and what trees, whose leaves have never knownsmoke, can look like, it is not so impossible as it would have been forher, to picture to yourselves this delicious garden. There were flowersof every shape and hue; there were little silver
y brooks winding in andout, sometimes lost to view among the trees, then suddenly dancing outagain with a merry rush; there were banks to run down and grottos tolose your way in--there was just everything to make a garden delightful.And yet, after all, the word 'garden' scarcely describes it--it was morelike a home for honeysuckle and eglantine than like what _we_ generallycall a garden, with trimly-cut beds and parterres of brilliant roses.There was a beautiful wildness about it and yet it was _perfectly_ inorder--there was no sign of withering or decay, no dead leaves lyingabout, no broken or dried-up branches on the trees, though they werehigh and massive and covered with foliage--it was all fresh and bloomingas if nothing hurtful or troubling had ever entered it. The water ofthe streams was pure and clear as crystal, the scent of the flowers wasrefreshing as well as sweet.

  "Letty looked about her in a happiness too great for words--the sightand feeling of this lovely garden were for the poor tired and dulledlittle girl, ecstasy past telling. She did not care to go running aboutto find where the streams came from or to pluck the flowers, as somechildren would have done. She just sat down on the delicious grass andrested her tired little head on a bank and felt _quite_ happy.

  "'Oh, thank you, white dove,' she said aloud, 'for bringing me here. Hesaid he could not take me to Fairyland,' she added to herself, 'but noFairyland could be more beautiful than this,' and she sat there with thesoft warm sunlight falling on her--such sunlight as never in her lifeshe had seen before--the brooks dancing along at her feet, the gentlelittle breezes kissing her face, in, as I said, complete content.Suddenly from the groves here and there about the garden, there came thesound of warbling birds. There were many different notes, even Lettycould distinguish that--there was the clear song of the lark, thethrilling melody of the nightingale--even, most welcome of all to Letty,the soft coo of the dove--there were these and a hundred others--but allin perfect tune together. And as she listened, the music seemed to comenearer and nearer, till looking up, Letty saw the whole band ofsongsters approaching her--hundreds and hundreds of birds all slowlyflying together till they lighted on a low-growing band of trees not farfrom where she sat. And now Letty understood that this beautiful gardenwas the home of the birds as the dove had said. And when the concert wasover she saw, to her delight, a single white dove separate himself fromthe rest and fly to where she sat. She knew him again--she felt sure itwas her dove and no other.

  "'Are you pleased, little Letty?' he said, in his soft cooing voice.

  "'Oh! dear white dove, how can I thank you?' she answered.

  "'You need not thank me,' he said. 'I have done only what I was meant todo. Now listen, Letty; the pleasures of this garden are endless, never,if you lived to a thousand, could you see all its beauties. And to thosewho have found the way here, it will never be closed again but by theirown fault. You may come here often for rest and refreshment--inchildhood and womanhood and even in quite old age, and you will alwaysbe welcome. You may perhaps never see me again, but that will notmatter. I am only a messenger. Remember all I say, be gentle and goodand do your work well, and whenever the moonlight shows you the door,you will find entrance here.'

  "He gently raised his wings and flew away--to join the other birds whowere already almost out of sight. And a pleasant sleepy feeling cameover Letty. She closed her eyes, and when she woke it was morning--shewas in her own little bed in the dull room she shared with her sisters,and Hester was already up and dressed and calling to her to make haste.But it was not a dream, for firmly clasped in her hand was the silverkey and the white ribbon.

  "'How did it get there?' said Letty to herself, for she could notremember having taken it out of the lock. 'The white dove must havebrought it back to me,' she thought."

  "And was the cupboard door still in the wall?" I asked eagerly.

  "Yes," said Miss Goldy-hair; "and when Letty, still hardly awake, saidsomething to Hester about whether it had always been there, Hesterlaughed at her and said, 'Yes, of course; had Letty never seen insideit?--it was where mother kept the best linen.' And so Letty said no moreabout it--she knew she would only have been laughed at and perhapsscolded, and yet she knew there was nothing wrong in her beautifulsecret, so she just kept it in her own little heart.

  "The days went on, and life seemed now quite a different thing to Letty;through all the tiredness and dulness the thought of the fairy gardenwhich she was free to enter cheered and strengthened her. She did not go_very_ often--it would not perhaps have been good for her to go tooconstantly--but every moonlight night she was sure to wake at the rightmoment, and if I had time I could tell you many things of the newbeauties she found at each visit. But there came a time--it wasmiserable, cold, rainy winter weather, and the sky was so covered withclouds that neither sunlight nor moonlight could get through--when forseveral weeks Letty had no chance of getting to the garden--the moonnever shone, and do what she would she never woke up. She grew impatientand discontented; she did her work less willingly, and answered crosslywhen her mother reproved her. And one night she went to bed in a verybad humour, saying to herself the dove had deceived her, or somenonsense like that. Two or three hours later she woke suddenly--to herdelight the moon was shining brightly. Up jumped Letty and got her keyready. It slipped as usual into the lock, but, alas! do what she wouldshe could not turn it. She pulled and pushed, she twisted about andtried to turn it by main force. Fortunately it was a fairy key,otherwise it certainly would have been broken. And at last in despairshe sat down on the edge of her bed and cried. Suddenly the words cameinto her mind--'Be good and gentle and do your work well--if the door isever closed to you it will be by your own fault,' and Letty's consciencewhispered to her that it _was_ by her own fault."

  Miss Goldy-hair paused a minute as if she wanted to hear what we had tosay.

  "And did she never get in again?" said Tom. "Oh, poor Letty!"

  "Oh yes," said Miss Goldy-hair, "she took her punishment well, andthough a good while passed before she had another chance of visiting thegarden, she was very patient and did her best. And when a moonlightnight did come again it was all right--the key turned without the leastdifficulty. And never had the garden seemed to her more beautiful thanthis time, and never had Letty felt more cheered and refreshed by itssweet air and sunshine and all its lovely sights and sounds. And now,dears, I must leave off, for it is almost time for me to go home; andindeed if I went on talking all night I could never tell you a half nora quarter of the pleasures of Letty's wonderful garden."

  Miss Goldy-hair stopped.

  "Didn't her never have nussing to eat in that garden?" said Racey.

  Miss Goldy-hair smiled.

  "I dare say she did," she said. "You may fancy she did. If you fancy allthe nicest and prettiest things you know, you will not be wrong."

  "Oh," said Tom, "that's very nice. We can make plays to ourselves aboutLetty's garden. Did she keep going till she was big? Did she never losethe key?"

  "Never," said Miss Goldy-hair. "She never lost the key. And she went notonly when she was big, but when she was old, quite old. Indeed she gotfonder and fonder of it the longer she lived, and it helped her througha hard and often suffering life. And I don't know but what in quite oldage her visits to the garden were the happiest of all."

  "Miss Goldy-hair," I said, "isn't there something to find out like inthe story of Letty?"

  Miss Goldy-hair smiled.

  "Think about it," she said. "I suspect you will be able to tell mesomething if you do."

  But the boys didn't care to find out anything else. They thought it wasgreat fun to play at Letty and the dove, and they pretended to get intothe garden through the door of the cupboard where our cloaks hung. Andthe play lasted them for a good while without their getting tired ofit, and Miss Goldy-hair was quite pleased, and said that was one way ofturning the key in the lock, and not a bad way either for such littleboys. Her saying that puzzled me a little at first, but then it cameclearer to me that by the beautiful garden she meant all sweet andpretty fancies and thoughts which h
elp to brighten our lives, and thatthese will come to children and big people too whose hearts and mindsare good and gentle and kind.

  The next day Tom was better, and two or three days after that we went atlast to dinner and tea at Miss Goldy-hair's. If I were to tell you allwe did, and what pretty things she showed us, and how delighted Raceywas with the _inside_ of her air-garden, it would take a whole otherbook. For just fancy, we have counted over the lines and the pages Ihave written, and there is actually enough to make a whole little book,and just in _case_, you know, of its ever coming to be printed, it'sbetter for me to leave it the right size. And besides that, I don't knowthat I have very much more to tell that would be interesting, for thehappy days that now began for us passed very much like each other inmany ways. Our new nurse came and she turned out very kind, and I thinkshe was more sensible than poor Pierson in some ways, for she managedto get on better with Mrs. Partridge. But as for poor Mrs. Partridge,she didn't trouble us much, for her rheumatism got so very bad that allthat winter she couldn't walk up-stairs though she managed to fiddleabout down-stairs in her own rooms and to keep on the housekeeping. Andthis, by the by, brings me to the one big thing that happened, which youwill see all came from something that I told you about almost at thebeginning of this little story.

  All through this winter, as you will have known without my telling you,of course our happiness came mostly from Miss Goldy-hair. She didn'toften come to see us after Tom got better, but at least twice a week_we_ went to see _her_. And what happy days those were! It was she thathelped us with everything--she held Racey's hand for him to write aletter "his own self," to mother; she showed me how to make, oh! _such_a pretty handkerchief-case to send mother for her birthday; and taughtTom how to plait a lovely little mat with bright-coloured papers. Shehelped me with my music, which I found very tiresome and difficult atfirst, and she was so dear and good to us that when at last as we got tounderstand things better, it had to be explained to us that not threemonths but three _years_ must pass before we could hope to see papa andmother again, it did not seem nearly so terrible as it would have donebut for having her. She put it such a nice way.

  "You can learn so much in three years," she said. "Think how much youcan do to please your mother in that time." And it made us feel a newinterest in our lessons and in everything we had to learn.

  Well, one day in the spring Uncle Geoff told me that he had a plan forus he wanted to consult me about. He smiled a little when he said"consult," but I had learned not to take offence at Uncle Geoff'ssmiles.

  "Poor old Partridge is going to leave us, Audrey," he said. "She feelsshe is no longer fit for the work, and indeed it would have been betterif she had said so before. I think her feeling it and not liking to sayso had to do with the troubles when you first came."

  "But she's never vexed with us now," I said eagerly. "Nurse is very niceto her, and then Miss Goldy-hair told us about Mrs. Partridge being soold, and that we should be res--respecting and all that way to her."

  "'Respectful,' you mean, my dear," said Uncle Geoff smiling a little,for I had stumbled over the word. "Ah yes--I think Miss Goldy-hair hasbeen a sort of good fairy to us all;" and then he went on to tell me hisplan. He was going to make some changes in the house, he said. Severalof the rooms were to be painted and done up new, and it would be betterfor us to be away for two or three weeks. So what do you think he hadthought of--wasn't it a good idea?--he had written to Pierson to ask ifshe could find rooms for us in her village, and she had written back tosay she had two very nice rooms in her own house which she was meaningto let to visitors in the summer time, and oh! she would be so pleasedto have us! So it was settled, and in a week or two we went--Tom, Racey,and I, with our kind nurse. Uncle Geoff himself took us to the station,and though we were in high spirits we really felt sorry to leave him;and I felt quite pleased when he said, "It will be nice to have you backagain, looking very strong and rosy."

  We had said good-bye to Miss Goldy-hair the night before, and eventhough it was only for a little while we really nearly cried.

  "You'll come to see us as soon as ever we come back, Miss Goldy-hair,won't you?" said Tom.

  "Yes," said Miss Goldy-hair, "you may be sure of that."

  "The first evening," persisted Tom, "the very first evening?" and ratherto my surprise--for generally when the boys teased like that aboutsettling anything _exactly_, Miss Goldy-hair would reply, "I can't_promise_," or "We'll see nearer the time "--she answered again,"Yes, Tom dear. I'll be here the very first evening."

  Racey was really rather frightened of him, he looked soblack and queer.]

  So we went, and we stayed a month--four whole weeks. And we were veryhappy, for the weather was fine and we were out nearly all day gatheringprimroses and daffodils; and Pierson was very kind indeed, and herhusband was very polite, though the first time Racey saw him in thesmithy he was really rather frightened of him, he looked so black andqueer. And Cray was really a very pretty village, just as Pierson hadsaid, and we had no lessons and lots of fresh eggs and new milk. Soaltogether it was very nice. But yet when the last evening came wecouldn't help saying to each other--though of course we were sorry toleave Pierson--that for _always_, you know, counting rainy days and all,we'd rather be in London with Uncle Geoff, and with dear Miss Goldy-haircoming to see us. And we thought--Tom and I at least--_what_ a goodthing it was we had lost our way that night and had found MissGoldy-hair, instead of running away to Pierson. And all the way home inthe train we kept thinking how nice it would be to see her--MissGoldy-hair--again, and wondering if she'd be at the house when we gotout of the cab. Uncle Geoff we knew we'd see at the station, for he hadsent us a letter to Cray to say he'd be there, and so he was.

  He looked so merry and nice we somehow were surprised.

  "Uncle Geoff," I said to him, "you must have enjoyed yourself very muchwhen you were away. You look so very merry."

  "Yes," he said smiling, "I enjoyed my holiday very much."

  We knew he had been away, for he had written to tell us.

  "Do you think Miss Goldy-hair will be at the house to see us when we getthere?" I asked. "Have you seen her while we were away?"

  "Yes," said Uncle Geoff. "I have, and I think she will be there."

  The cab stopped. Out we all jumped. What a different coming from thelast time!--for there in the hall, looking as if she would have liked torun out into the street to see us, stood dear Miss Goldy-hair.

  We all flew into her arms. Then we all looked at her. She seemed alittle different. She had a grey dress--a very pretty one--instead ofher black one. She had put it on, she told us afterwards, on purpose forthis evening, though she had still to wear black for a good while.

  "Miss Doldy-hair," said Racey, "is you doin' to stay to tea? You has nobonnet on."

  By this time we were all in the dining-room, where the table was spreadout for a most beautiful tea.

  "Yes, Racey, if you'll have me, I'll stay to tea," she said. And thenshe looked up at Uncle Geoff.

  "Children," he said, "you'll have to find a new name for MissGoldy-hair, or rather I've found one for you. How would 'Auntie' do?"

  Tom and Racey stared, but I, being so much older, of course understood.To Uncle Geoff's surprise I jumped up into his arms and kissed him.

  "Oh, Uncle Geoff," I cried, "oh, _what_ a good plan! Is she really ourauntie now?"

  "_Really_," said Uncle Geoff, "that's to say, she's been your stupid olduncle's wife for a fortnight."

  Then the boys understood too. But Racey looked rather disconsolate. "Ithought," he said, "Miss Doldy-hair was doin' to mally _me_."

  But in the end he too thought it a very good plan, when he found thatour new auntie was really going to live with us always. And I think oneof the things that helped to please him _quite_ was the discovery of abeautiful air-garden, which Uncle Geoff had had built out of one of thedrawing-room windows for Miss Goldy-hair's pet plants.

  * * * * *

  Papa and mo
ther have come home since then, for, as I told you, all thesethings happened a very long time ago--five whole years ago.

  And we are, I think, the happiest children in the whole world, for wehave not only our own dear mother, but our own dear auntie too--theauntie who was so good and kind to us when we were forlorn andmisunderstood, and might so easily have got into naughty ways; and whotaught us to be--or at least to try to be--all our dear mother hoped. Welive very near Uncle Geoff's, for papa got to be something more cleverstill when he came back from China, and had to give up living in thecountry. We were rather sorry for that, but still perhaps we enjoy itall the more when we go there in the summer. And I have an air-garden ofmy own, which would be very nice if the boys wouldn't try experiments onthe plants in the holidays.

  And you have _no idea_ how fond mother and auntie are of each other, andhow often we all talk over how the boys and I found our dear MissGoldy-hair that rainy evening when we lost our way in the Londonstreets.

  THE END.