Christina and the Boys, by Amy Le Feuvre │ Project Gutenberg

Christina's eyes were big with horror as she clasped her tiny hands round her knees, and stared into the fire in front of her.

She was in her father's library: a large dimly-lighted room with books lining the shelves on the walls from top to bottom. It was an afternoon in early autumn; the last rays of the setting sun were stealing in through a stained glass window and colouring the dingy writing-table with red and blue patches. It was a silent, unused room; but it seemed as if it wanted wise spectacled scholars in it, and not a small pale-faced child in a short frock and white frilled pinafore.

Yet she looked as if she were quite at home there, and indeed she was. The library was her ideal of bliss.

Christina's father had been abroad since her mother's death, which took place when she was born. She had been brought up entirely by her old nurse, and though Bracken Towers held innumerable rooms of every sort and size, Christina had been limited to her two nurseries. She lived in them entirely and it was only during the last year that she had made acquaintance with the library.

Mrs. Hallam, the housekeeper, had always seemed to Christina to be the real owner of the house. She was a tall, severe-looking woman, with sharp eyes, and a still sharper tongue. Nurse was the only privileged person who drank tea with her in her private sitting-room. Christina was never allowed in there. Mrs. Hallam made no secret of her dislike to children.

"They either are so forward and unmanageable that they'll be upsetting and spoiling all one's personal possessions, or else they'll sit by as dumb as a dog, and take in all you'll be remarking and repeat it to the first person they come across."

This was her verdict when Nurse one day wanted Christina to accompany her to tea, and she had never tried to take her again.

It was a happy day when Christina found herself in the library. It was the only room that nearly always had a fire, and she had been passing the door when the housemaid was going in to light it.

"Come in and see it. 'Tis your father's wish that it should always be kept well aired. He does set store on his books so! Mr. Tipton says 'tis most vallyble library, and 'tis to keep the books from getting damp we have so many fires."

So Christina had stolen shyly in, and looked with awe and wonder at the treasures it contained. And then from awe she passed to wistful longing, and when Nurse one day said lightly, "If you're a good girl and put every book back where you find it, you can read them," she had joyfully taken advantage of this permission, and had made the library her retreat whenever Nurse was "called away on business" from the nursery.

The books in the library proved an inexhaustible pleasure to the little maiden. There were old books and new books; books with pictures, books without. An illustrated series of Froissart's "Chronicles" kept her entranced for two months, and now, on this particular day, she had seized an old "History of France" and had been following, with breathless interest, the fortunes and fate of Jeanne d'Arc.

She shut her book up with a little shiver when she read of the heroine's shameful death. And there, upon the hearthrug, she was doing what she always did after reading about any heroine of fiction: transferring herself—Christina, aged eight—into the circumstances and position of the heroine.

Christina had a very big conception of what ought to be done, and a very tremulous and small opinion of her own courage.

Slaughter of any kind was abhorrent to her. The death of a fly on a window pane, a mouse in a trap, or a bird in the garden, was the occasion for a flood of tears and much lamentation. Now she murmured to herself:

"If I had heard the voice, I should have had to get a sword and go; I should have been obliged to lead the soldiers into battle and kill; I should have been wicked if I had said no; and oh, I couldn't, couldn't have done it! And it might have been me!"

Tears began to crowd into her eyes. She shook her curly head, and unclasping her hands, she knelt on the rug, and with closed eyes put up this passionate prayer:

"Please God, never send a voice to me to tell me to fight in battle. I shall be a coward, I shan't be able to do it. O God, never tell me to kill anybody! And oh, please, never turn me into a Joan of Arc!"

She did not turn again to her book. The tragic fate of the maid of France was too vivid and real to be easily effaced. It was almost a relief when she heard her nurse call her. She trotted upstairs and met her at the nursery door. That good woman had a perturbed look on her round good-tempered face.

"Come in, Miss Tina, and hear what I've got to tell you. Me and Mrs. Hallam have both been struck down by a letter—such news, and so little time to prepare; but we have had rumours, and I always said the master would never come home again till he got a lady to come with him. 'Tis eight years this coming Christmas that your sweet mother was taken, and 'tis not to be wondered at. And now you'll have to prepare yourself to meet your father and a stepmother all at once, and that not a day later than next Saturday. There will be change here at last. Me and Mrs. Hallam have lived so quiet that it has quite upset us; but 'tis only natural and right after all, and I'm not the kind of ignorant, uneducated person to be speaking to you against a second mother. She may be the very one to slip into your mother's shoes, and she may not, but we'll hope for the best."

"Yes, and he's bringing a new wife, and a room has got to be prepared for a young gentleman; but who or what he is, me and Mrs. Hallam can't make out. Now you be a good girl and stay quiet up here, for I've promised to help Mrs. Hallam in unpacking some of the glass and china, and getting the drawing-room put to rights."

"No. I can't spare any one to take you, and it is too damp and cold for you to be out to-day. Stay in the nursery like a good child."

Nurse was a picture of an old woman. Round and ruddy, with silver hair smoothed under her big cap, she looked the embodiment of health and content. Yet she suffered from many twinges of rheumatism, and had an old-fashioned horror of open air. The nursery was like a hothouse in the winter time, and Christina was consequently delicate, and peculiarly susceptible to cold.

The child stood at the large window when Nurse had left her, and looked out with some wistfulness across the park towards the goal of her desire. It was a tiny cottage, originally one of the park lodges, but owing to the alteration of the drive which once ran past it, was now let to a single lady, and stood in half an acre of ground, railed off from the surrounding park.

Christina heaved a sigh. She breathed hard on the panes of glass, and traced some letters with her finger.

"I'm afraid of fathers and mothers," she acknowledged to herself. "I don't know what they're like. Emily's father isn't kind to her, she says, and I've seen some mothers in the village who slap their little boys. I wish I could tell Miss Bertha."

"Here she is walking up the drive, and I do believe Dawn is with her! Oh, I hope, I hope they're coming to see me. And I forgot Dawn's father. He is kind; oh, I do hope my father will be like him!"

She was not long left in doubt. A very short time afterwards the nursery door opened, and a little old lady, accompanied by a rosy-cheeked, fair-haired boy; came forward.

"We thought we should find you in, dear," Miss Bertha said, "and as Dawn is spending the day with me, I brought him along."

Christina's pale cheeks became pink with excitement. She and Dawn rushed at each other, Dawn with such impetus that he brought her to the ground.

"Father is coming home with a mother," she announced, and if Miss Bertha showed no surprise, Dawn was stricken dumb.

Miss Bertha slipped off her tweed cloak, and drew up a chair to the fire. She then took Christina on her lap, and Dawn flung himself down on the hearthrug, rolling himself over on his back, and pillowing his curly head on his arms behind it.

"You haven't got a mother," he remarked with dancing eyes. "You and me are just the same."

"Yes," said Miss Bertha cheerily, "and a very happy thing it is to have a new mother. I heard the rumour, Childie, so I just ran along to tell you what a good thing it will be."

"Perhaps what I am doing now. She will talk to you and love you and take care of you."

"Ah! You wait and see!" said Miss Bertha, nodding her head. "Fathers and mothers are like nobody else! If I had mine alive now, how happy I should be!"

"My mother is alive though we can't see her. She takes care of dad and me. And my toad has lost himself, Tina; and Porky, the big black pig, was killed the day before we came from London. And Miss Bertha's given me some lily bulbs for my garden!"

"I wish Nurse would let me garden in winter. She says it's too cold. And oh, Miss Bertha, do you like Joan of Arc?"

The little maid's brain was too full of her heroine to forget her. For the next half-hour the old lady and the children talked of the past, with its superstitions and heroism, and then dark settled down, and Nurse came in, and Christina's friends departed. She watched them wistfully from the window, then she ate her tea, feeling a sense of importance and superiority over her boy friend.

"I'm not going to be alone any more. I shall have a father and mother too, and Dawn won't have so much as me!"

She was full of curiosity over the expected arrivals, but Nurse could give her very little information. When she was in bed, she lay awake picturing her new mother.

"She will be in black velvet with feathers, like the picture in the hall; and she will move very soft, and will speak like Miss Bertha when she reads the Bible; and I—oh, I shall be frightened of them both, and I wish they weren't coming!"

The unexpected and unknown always had terrors for Christina. It seemed to overwhelm her now. Two strange people coming to take possession of the great unused rooms downstairs, people who would have full control of her actions; who might be kind, but might equally be cruel; people who would pass her on the stairs, invade her nursery, inhabit the library, and might even forbid her to cross its threshold. At this thought Christina lifted up her voice and wept aloud.

She cried herself to sleep, and was astonished to wake the next morning and find herself looking forward with pleasure to what had been a dreadful nightmare to her the night before.

"Miss Bertha said she would like to have you over to lunch to-day as we are all so busy, so Connie will walk down with you soon after breakfast. Be a good child, and be ready to come back at three o'clock, for 'tis too cold for you to be out after that."

Christina's cheeks got rosy red. It was going to be a golden day indeed! Nurse so seldom let her out of her sight, and Connie, the nursery maid, could tell such lovely stories!

When she started down the drive—a little bundle of wraps and furs with a Shetland veil over her face to shield her from the wind—she felt as if she never wanted to go back to the nursery again. It was a frosty morning. Connie held her hands tight so that she might not slip, and talked without stopping of the master and mistress so soon returning. There were no stories to-day.

"Indeed, Miss Christina, my head is too full of what's coming. The house will be full of company. Lords and ladies and dooks and duchesses have visited here in times past, so Mrs. Hallam says, and I'm just longin' to catch sight of them. There will be dinner parties and balls, and company every day, and 'tis time this dull old house was shook up."

"Yes, you'll be dressed up in your best clothes and go down in the drawing-room, and you'll have to speak pretty to all of 'em; and I hope Nurse will let me go down and fetch you up a time or two, for I shall catch sight o' the dresses and the jools, and hear the music agoing!"

"I shall never be able to speak, never!" she ejaculated with a shake of her head.

They reached Miss Bertha's little cottage. She was out in her garden looking at her bed of violets, but greeted Christina warmly, and took her into her sitting-room.

Miss Bertha's sitting-room was a paradise to the lonely child. It was furnished with a bright old chintz, and was crowded with everything that could bring joy to a child's heart. There was a stuffed squirrel under a glass case, some queer china figures on a shelf, ivory chess-men, Indian books with coloured illustrations of natives and animals on rice paper. There was a small cabinet of curiosities from all parts of the world; for Miss Bertha had had a brother who was a sailor, and who used to bring her many a queer treasure. There was a model of a heathen temple, an Indian puzzle box, a Chinese doll, a stuffed snake, and some bottled scorpions. Christina was never tired of looking at them all.

Miss Bertha stirred the fire into a bright blaze, produced some knitting, and then prepared herself to listen. All children laved her because she let them talk, and though Christina was shy and silent as a rule, Miss Bertha enjoyed her full confidence.

"I haven't seen any signs of it, Childie. There are different kinds of cowardice and different kinds of courage. Tiny girls like you are naturally not so fearless as boys. I would rather be afraid of the dark myself than afraid to speak the truth. It is cowardly to tell a lie."

"I haven't any courage," said Christina pitifully, with a quivering under-lip. "If I heard a voice like Joan of Arc did, I should put my fingers in my ears and not listen to it. I couldn't have ridden into battle as she did! I'm afraid of everything, Dawn says I am, and every day I get more things to be afraid of. I'm—I'm afraid of father and mother!"

Her voice faltered. She slipped down from her chair and buried her face in Miss Bertha's black merino gown.

"That fear won't last long. It is only because they are strangers. Don't think too much about your fears, they are mostly shadows."

Christina raised her head with big tearful eyes. "Oh, please, Miss Bertha, why did God make me a coward? I'm sure I've always been one ever since I was a tiny baby."

"No, darling, God never made you a coward; and if you think you are not as brave as you ought to be, ask Him to make you brave."

Christina dried her eyes, and jumping up clasped her arms round Miss Bertha's neck.

"It wouldn't be too difficult for God, would it?" she asked, hope dawning in her eyes.

"No, it would be quite easy. Shall we ask Him now to take away all fear of meeting your father and mother?"

Miss Bertha was the only person who talked to Christina about good things. She seemed to live so close to God herself that she brought every one she knew close to Him too. Christina's nurse often wondered at the knowledge her little charge seemed to have of God and of His love and power. She was not a religious person herself, but as a matter of duty heard Christina say her morning and evening prayers, and on Sunday afternoons would read her a chapter out of the Bible. Beyond this she never went, and Christina looked upon Miss Bertha as the only one who could solve her childish perplexities and religious difficulties. For the little girl was a thinker beyond her years, and her brain was far stronger than her body.

She was quite accustomed to Miss Bertha's custom of getting down upon her knees at any moment of the day to speak to the One whom she loved and followed; and now, as the grey and golden heads were bowed together, Christina's burden disappeared. She jumped up almost joyfully.

"And now, please, Miss Bertha, may I have your dear little Chinese doll to nurse?"

She was a child again for the time, and her merry chatter and laughter brought a corresponding light and gladness into the face of her old friend.

CHAPTER II

LUNCH was had in the tiny dining-room on the other side of the passage. Christina, accustomed to her simple nursery menage, always enjoyed her midday meal with Miss Bertha. She was peculiarly susceptible to pretty things. Miss Bertha's fine linen damask tablecloth, the quaint old sugar bowls and salt cellars in their crimson glass and cut silver mounts, the old-fashioned silver, and the pretty flowers that always graced her table, delighted Christina quite as much as the roast chicken and apple tart, and the ripe pears that followed afterwards.

"When I grow up," she announced, "I shall have just such a house as this, Miss Bertha, and I shall have Nurse for my maid like your Lucy."

"Ah, I shall wish you a fuller house than mine," said Miss Bertha; with a little laugh and shake of her head. "It is very quiet and monotonous to live by yourself. When I was a young thing, I remember thinking that I never could do it, and, as each one of my relations began to leave me, I always prayed that I might be the next to go."

"I am not so impatient now. This world is a nice place, Childie, and if you have no family or relations, you can have friends, and there are always some to be helped along the way."

"Ah, there is Dawn! I told him I should bring you to see him after lunch. His aunt Rachael has gone away for the day. So we will go at once."

Christina was wrapped up in her walking things, and very soon she was trotting along the road with the old lady. They did not go into the village with its square-towered church and thatched cottages, but turned up a lane with high banks on each side, and in at a white gate and up an untidy-looking drive.

"Ah," said Miss Bertha, shaking her head. "Here is work that would keep Dawn out of mischief; he could take up every one of these leaves, and sweep the paths."

It was a queer irregular house they came to, partly built of wood, partly stone. The wooden porch and low roof was covered with a leafless vine with long untidy tendrils and branches. It had evidently not been pruned for years. The front door stood partly open. Inside was a square hall with an open wood fire. In a big armchair drawn up before it lounged Dawn's father smoking. He was on his feet in an instant when he saw his visitors, and welcomed them with a bright smile and slow measured voice.

"Now, I'm sure you didn't come to see me, but my Will-o'-the-wisp; and where he is, I haven't the faintest conception!"

"We are disturbing you," said Miss Bertha; "let us go through the garden; he will be out, not in, I expect."

"I would come with you, but I've got a painting fit on, and am back to my studio after this pipe has been smoked. Ah! Here he is!"

Dawn came flying in with rumpled curls and rosy cheeks, but his face and hands were as black as a chimney-sweep's.

"Oh, Tina, come on! Such a lovely bonfire I've made at the bottom of the garden! Dad gave me three old canvases and I'm getting all the rubbish I can find. It's Hallowe'en, and Aunt Rachael told me what the Scotch people do, and if we're sweethearts, we must jump through the fire together; as you're Scotch you must do it. Come on and try, and don't mind the smoke, it only makes you dirty!"

Christina was divided between fascination and horror, and Miss Bertha took hold of her hand encouragingly.

"We will come and look on, but my jumping days are over, and I don't think yours have begun."

Out into the garden they went, and it was a scene of autumn desolation, for weeds and thorns seemed to be choking all else. Dawn's flying feet hardly touched the ground, and at the very end of the lawn, he pointed with triumph to the bonfire. He certainly was collecting rubbish: a three-legged chair, an old broom, a wooden bucket without a bottom, an old saddle, a piece of frayed carpet, and a variety of smaller articles were all waiting to be sacrificed.

Christina watched him dancing round, and her colour came and went. She squeezed Miss Bertha's hand.

"And Joan of Arc was in the middle. They burnt her!" she exclaimed under her breath.

"I'm not a coward," said Miss Bertha briskly, "but I can't jump across! Look here, Dawn, don't you know that at this time of year bonfires are made to burn leaves and dry sticks, and not chairs and tables! Get your wheelbarrow and spade and sweep up your garden paths; Christina will help you. Pile the leaves on your bonfire and all the weeds you can find. You will be tidying up your place, and having some fun into the bargain. I want to see a sick child in the cottage next to you. I shan't be gone long, and then I am going to take Christina home. Make the most of your time."

"Do try one little jump!" urged Dawn, when Miss Bertha had disappeared. "Just see me! It's quite easy."

"No," said Christina; "I know I should tumble down and be burnt up in the middle, and I couldn't be burnt!"

"You wouldn't be. What a pity it is that you are a girl! You're never up to any games. Let's come and get the leaves!"

"But I love to play games," asserted poor Christina: "I make up lovely ones in my own head, and wish you were with me to play with me; but jumping through a fire isn't the only game to play!"

"No," said Dawn, running to an old shed and bringing out a wheelbarrow; "we'll make up an end to the babes in the wood. You go and lie down on the path over there and cover yourself over with leaves. And I'll be the wicked uncle, and will come along to get some leaves for my—my pigs, and then I'll find your dead body, and will be very frightened, and then will take you along to burn you, and the heat of the fire will make you come alive, and then you must jump up and point your finger at me, and I'll be so frightened, that I shall tumble back into my own fire, and be burnt to a cinder myself."

"And then," added the more merciful Christina, "just before you burn, I'll drag you out, and you'll fall down on your knees and say you're sorry for all your sins, and then I'll forgive you, and we'll go and look for my brother, who isn't dead either!"

This game was carried out, and the paths did not receive much attention in consequence. But when it was over Dawn began to talk:

"Red and yellow leaves in a wood, and a little old man with sticks coming through it. I was the little man. I put on dad's greatcoat. I'm first-rate in the picture."

"He'll ride a horse and smoke a pipe and read a newspaper," said Dawn with serious conviction.

"She'll—I don't know about mothers. Aunt Rachael helps to cook the dinner and mends our clothes and makes jam. She made some apple jam out of our garden yesterday! Come in and taste some!"

To think was to act with Dawn. He dropped his broom and dashed away to the house. Christina followed him.

"Aunt Rachael gave me some skimmings in a saucer. I believe I left it in dad's room. Come on, and we'll find it."

Without any ceremony Dawn flung open the door of his father's studio. His father was standing before his big canvas, painting earnestly. He did not look round or speak till Dawn had seized hold of his saucer of jam. Then he turned and smiled at Christina.

"She says she couldn't have you stare at her, dad. Tina is very shy, like my black rabbit Loo was. Loo would shake all over when I took hold of her, and she never left off shaking till she died. Put your finger in, Tina, and lick it. I've got no spoon. It's just scrumptious!"

And Christina the next minute was sitting down on a rug with her small friend, sharing his delicious compound.

"So your father is coming back," Dawn's father, Mr. O'Flagherty, said after a pause.

"And Tina doesn't know what he's like, but we hope he'll be something like you," said Dawn eagerly.

"Fathers are always nice, aren't they, Jack-in-the-box? It's their children who are the tyrants and taskmasters; the poor fathers have a sad time of it, but they never complain; not even when a year's work is spoilt in one moment by a meddlesome imp applying the wrong varnish!"

Dawn put his saucer of jam down and flung himself upon his father with tearful eyes.

"I've told you thousands of times how sorry I was. I did mean to help you, dad; you know I did! I begged you to give me a thrashing; but I've helped you with some of your pictures, haven't I? Oh, I wish you wouldn't make me keep remembering that varnish! I wish you had had a girl like Tina instead of a boy like me!"

His father put his brush in his mouth, and for a minute rested his hand on the curly head that was burrowing itself into his coat pocket.

"You're my plague and joy, sonny, and as necessary to me as my paint is! Now be off with you. I hear Miss Bertha calling."

"I hope my father will speak to me like that," said Christina, as they left the room.

"Dad and I are very old friends," Dawn responded quaintly. "We've learnt to understand each other."

"If my father isn't old friends with me, we can be new ones perhaps. I hope, oh, I do hope he will like me!"

"I am going to give you a nice little verse, Childie, to think of when you get frightened of people and of things. It is this:

Christina repeated it over to herself as she climbed the nursery stairs. She met Nurse with a glad light in her eyes.

"I've had the most lovely day, Nurse, and I don't think I shall mind very much my father and mother coming home."

"Mind!" exclaimed Nurse aghast. "I should think you oughtn't to mind, indeed! A little girl ought to be full of happiness at the very thought!"

The eventful day came. Christina wandered up and down the house rejoicing in the blazing fires and cheerful rooms. To her, before, her home had been a puzzle and a mystery. There had been so many locked doors and darkened rooms; rooms that even in the light of day were shrouded with linen coverings. Now all was changed. Curtains were drawn aside; coverings taken away; the silver and china and pictures delighted and astonished the child. She watched the gardeners fill the big hall with flowering plants; she looked on whilst Mrs. Hallam arranged flowers in every room: flowers which had come from the greenhouses, into which Christina had never been allowed to go.

"Why, Nurse!" she exclaimed drawing a long breath. "We have more pretty things than Miss Bertha has!"

Dusk set in, and the travellers had not arrived. Christina had her tea, and sat expectantly at the nursery window; but when eight o'clock came, Nurse insisted upon putting her to bed.

"They'll not be here now till nearly ten o'clock. They must have missed the train."

And Christina did not know whether she was glad or sorry that the meeting was deferred. She was too tired with the excitement of the day to keep awake, and slept soundly till she was roused by Nurse the next morning.

"Have they come, Nurse; what are they like? Did they come to see me when I was asleep?"

"No," said Nurse a little reluctantly; "but your father asked if you were well. 'Twas just a bustle and confusion from the time they arrived. I was glad that you had not waited up."

"No, indeed. They'll sleep late themselves, and won't want to be disturbed. No, you must wait till you're sent for, my dearie."

Nurse was very silent through breakfast; but Christina's quick ears caught the unusual stir of feet and voices through the house. She was in a fever of unrest and of fear, and when breakfast was cleared away, and Nurse had left her alone, she sat down on a low chair by the fire, and with clenched hands repeated over and over to herself:

And then suddenly the door burst open, and like a small whirlwind a young girl swept in.

"There! I am right after all, and this is the nursery! Phew! What a heat! It's like a hothouse. Why there she is! Now, you small girl, let me look at you! They have so laughed at me for having a ready-made daughter. You aren't very big, that's one comfort! What is your name? How old are you? And what do you think of me? Can't you stand up? Come over to the window and let me have a look at you! But we'll have some air first, I can't breathe in such an atmosphere. No wonder you're such a white-faced creature!"

Talking without a pause, Christina's new stepmother flung open the nursery window, and Christina recoiled instinctively as the blast of cold air met her.

"Your nurse is one of the coddling sort, I can see! Now, I've been brought up in the fresh air, and I shall try if I can't make you as hardy as myself. I shall see that you're not kept in a glass case any longer. Now, aren't you pleased to see me? Dear me! I wish Puggy was here!"

Christina looked up into the laughing girlish face bent over her. Her stepmother was in a short tweed coat and skirt, and looked like an overgrown schoolgirl. Her hair, which was a pretty golden-brown, was drawn back from a decidedly fresh attractive face. Rosy cheeks, blue eyes and a mouth that was never anything but smiling, completed the picture. Christina's fears disappeared at once.

"You queer little soul! I can tell you I didn't like the idea of a stepdaughter at all, but I was told that I should have no bother, for your nurse had you entirely in her charge. And I love children if they're no bother—ah, here is your nurse!"

"No, don't shut it, Nurse; you have this room ever so much too warm. Look at this child's pale cheeks!"

"Miss Christina has a cold, and is very delicate ma'am. You must excuse me if I act contrary to your wishes!"

Then humming a song she sauntered out of the room, and Nurse sat down in her easy chair and began to cry.

"And if this is the beginning, what will be the end!" she sobbed. "And 'tis the same all over the house; but there, Miss Tina, don't you mind what a foolish old woman says. I'm not fit to have the charge of you."

Christina stood on the hearthrug not knowing what to say. She was relieved when Connie came in and asked Nurse to go to Mrs. Hallam, who wanted her.

"I think my mother won't be unkind," said Christina to herself with a wise little shake of her head, "but I should like to see my father."

She waited for some time in the empty nursery, and then, weary of her own company, determined to slip down to the library and read a book.

Very softly she crept downstairs, and was relieved to meet no one on the way; the library was empty. Christina climbed up on the steps, and took out the volume of French History that she was last reading. Then she sat down on the hearthrug, and in a few minutes had forgotten all about her father and mother. Outside surroundings had faded away; she was living inside her book.

She jumped up in fright, for there, standing before her, stood her father. Very tall, and very big he seemed to her. His dark eyes were fixed upon her, and though she could not see his mouth for the heavy moustache that concealed it, it seemed to her that he was looking displeased.

Her father drew her to him, and placing one hand under her chin raised her face to his, then he stooped and did what her stepmother had not done—he kissed her.

In a few minutes Christina was chatting unreservedly to him, asking him innumerable questions about things that had puzzled her.

"What do these words mean that are stamped across all your books? Nurse doesn't know, do you?"

"It is our family motto. Don't you know it? It means this in English: 'Fear dwells not here.' The Maclahans have neither been better or worse than most folks, but right back to the first annals of their history, no cowardly deed has been done by them. They have not known what fear is."

"Yes," said her father heartily, "and though you're not very grand yet, either in looks or size, you must grow up a brave courageous woman, or you will be the first to disgrace your family."

Christina drew a long breath, but said nothing for some minutes; then she asked:

"Let us come and look at some of them," said her father; and he led her to the long picture gallery that wound round the house.

Christina had sometimes been there with Nurse, and had vaguely wondered who all the grand ladies and gentlemen were. It had never entered her head that they were in any way connected with her. Now she looked up at them eagerly and curiously. Her father knew them all by name, he could remember their different histories. Christina looked at and admired the men, but it was the women about whom she asked most.

"And they were really little girls like me, and always brave, father? They never felt afraid of anything?"

"Do they look as if they feared anybody or anything?" her father returned, a little triumph in his tone.

"And that is the look of a Maclahan," said her father. "Hark, I hear your—your mother calling!"

He left her. Christina's little soul was perturbed and miserable. She went back to the nursery and did some thinking by the nursery fire, then she laboriously traced out in big pencil letters, on a sheet of white paper, "Fear dwells not here," and pinned it to the wall over the mantelpiece. After that, she walked up and down the room holding her head as high as she could, and practising with patience and care the kind of look she fancied was upon the faces of the ladies in the picture gallery.

"If only," she murmured; "if only that was not our motto! Oh, if father only knew, if he only guessed—what would he do with me!"

She shut her eyes, and pictured in the olden days a castle, and all the household gathered round the gates. Soldiers were marching out guarding a prisoner, one who had disgraced her family by an act of cowardice, one who was to be banished outside for ever, whose picture in the gallery was to be taken down and burnt: the coward herself, sent out into the cold strange world to perish with hunger, disowned, cast out by her family! Some Spartan tales that she had read helped her to picture this scene with great reality. Then she tried to adapt it to her own day. What would happen if one day she brought disgrace upon the whole family by her fears?

Poor little Christina! Her vivid imagination made her very miserable, and Nurse wondered when dinner time came that she seemed to have no appetite.

CHAPTER III

But as Christina went out on to the terrace an hour afterwards she came upon her father and mother just starting for a ride. Two beautiful horses were being held by the grooms in readiness, and their restless antics caused Christina to eye them nervously.

Mrs. Maclahan was making her husband fasten her glove for her, but directly she noticed Christina, she turned towards her.

"Now, Herbert, look at this child. Isn't she like a little old woman in all those wraps? Come here, Christina—it is a mouthful of a name! I shall call you Tina. Have you ever been on horseback? Never? Then the sooner you learn to ride the better. Hold Damon steady, Barker! There! Up you go! Now, how do you feel?"

Before Christina knew where she was, she found herself on the big chestnut. Her stepmother's strong arm had tossed her up as easily as if she had been a doll.

The little girl's heart beat hard and fast, and every vestige of colour left her cheeks. But catching sight of her father's pleased smile, she sat erect, and with determined lips murmured to herself Miss Bertha's verse.

"Afraid? Nonsense, she must learn to ride! Now, Barker, lead her down to the lodge; I will mount there. Take hold of the reins, Tina; that's right! Herbert, ride with her; I will walk."

Poor Christina in agony clutched hold of the reins. Her head swam, there was a buzzing noise in her ears. No one had any idea how the nervous child suffered, but not a word did she utter.

"Hold yourself up, little woman, or you will fall. I must get you a small pony, then there will be no fear. Are you enjoying it?"

Christina was absolutely mute. Every step was torture, but how could she confess that she was afraid? She was a Maclahan she kept assuring herself. It seemed years before the lodge was reached, and then Barker gently lifted her down.

There was confusion then. Her father carried her into the lodge, and Nurse rushed forward forgetting her respectful manner in the excitement of the moment.

"My poor child! Oh, 'tis a cruel shame, when she's afraid of as much as a fly—and as to horses—the very looks of them are a terror to her! I've known children made imbeciles for life for less than this, and her heart not strong! 'Tis enough to kill her; likely enough we shall never get her round!"

Mrs. Maclahan spoke sharply, for she was vexed at the result of her thoughtless, good-natured act. She pushed Nurse away, and was the first to speak to her little stepdaughter when the colour returned to her face and she opened her eyes.

"Let her go to her nurse," said her father quickly; "I fear she's very delicate."

"She is being made so. The sooner a change is made in the nursery the better. She'll be all right now. Come along, Herbert; we shall never get off. You won't be such a little goose again, will you, Tina?"

She mounted the chestnut and rode away; and Christina walked back to the house with Nurse, feeling shaky and still confused.

Nurse petted and comforted her, and when she saw that she was quite herself again, left her on the nursery sofa whilst she went to Mrs. Hallam's room to talk over the "new mistress."

That day seemed a long one to Christina. She felt as if she were in disgrace. Neither her father or mother came near her, but after the nursery tea was over, Nurse had a message brought to her that she was to go to Mrs. Maclahan. She came back with tears in her eyes, and informed the child that she was going to leave her.

"They say I'm coddling you, and you must be made hardy and strong. They think every child is cut out in the same pattern. Your stepmother is one for fresh air and sport, so she says, and she's going to take you in hand herself. Me, who has nursed you through your teething and vaccination and that terrible attack of whooping-cough, and been a mother and nurse rolled in one for eight years! Me to be turned away with a month's notice, like the kitchen-maid!"

Christina gazed at her in horrified wonder. Her little soul rose in protest against such a sentence. Without a thought of fear, with hot cheeks and flashing eyes, she dashed down the stairs into the room that she knew had been prepared for her stepmother. She found her there writing letters, and her father was dictating to her as she wrote.

Had a thunderbolt fallen out of a mild spring shower of rain, Mrs. Maclahan could not have been more astonished; but Christina was too excited to note anything.

"I can't have Nurse leave me! I would rather you left me," she passionately went on. "I will do anything if you let Nurse stop! She doesn't coddle me and make me afraid! I will ride that big horse every day, I will do sport if you teach me, I will do everything you want; but I love her, I love her, and she mustn't leave me!"

She stood there with crimson cheeks and heaving breast, then catching her father's eye, she flung herself upon him with a passion of tears:

"I will be a Maclahan! I'll never, never, never be afraid any more, father, if you let Nurse stay with me!"

"I have seen no signs of fear in you yet," said her father, laughing. "Why, Ena, did you think this white-cheeked, demure-faced baby carried such a tempestuous little heart within her? I think we must come to some arrangement with poor Nurse."

"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Maclahan with a short little laugh, as she went on writing her letters, and did not glance at Christina—"I am afraid that the child has expressed the case quite clearly. It is a question of Nurse's departure or mine! I am quite convinced that both of us will not be able to live in the same house."

"Come along with me to the library, Christina; I found a book to-day that I think you would like."

And before she could say another word, Christina found herself carried off by her father to her favourite room.

"Now," he said, placing before her an old red leather volume, "these are some old Norse legends, translated more than three hundred years ago, and the pictures are very quaint."

Christina was entranced at once. Sad to say, she forgot poor Nurse, and when her father saw her thoroughly engrossed in her book, he left her, and went back to discuss her nursery education with his wife.

When Christina met Nurse again that evening that good woman was calm and collected, and said with as much dignity as she ever showed towards her little charge:

"I was upset, dearie, but we'll say no more at present about my going. I shan't be off next week, nor the week after."

Christina said no more, but when she was in bed her troubles, that always seemed very heavy then, returned to her.

"Oh," she sighed, "I wish I could see Miss Bertha! She would comfort me, I know she would." Then the remembrance of Miss Bertha's text came to her:

The very saying it over seemed to soothe her. She fell asleep with the words upon her lips.

The next day her mother came into the nursery at eleven o'clock, and told Nurse to get her little stepdaughter ready to go out with her.

Christina's eyes were big with fear, until she looked across to her paper over the mantelpiece.

The little girl heaved a sigh of relief. She met her mother in the hall, who laughed when she saw her.

"Take off that veil, child! This fresh, bright morning air won't get a chance of getting near those white cheeks! Now come along; we are going for a brisk walk."

They started down the avenue at a quick pace, and Christina had to trot to keep up with her stepmother's swinging strides. It did her good, for it prevented her from feeling the cold, and the colour slowly crept into her cheeks.

"Now tell me," said Mrs. Maclahan in that quick, imperious tone of hers, "Have you been shut up in this way all your life? Have you had no children to play with, no outdoor games or exercises?"

"There is Dawn!" said Christina eagerly. "Oh, I should like to play more with Dawn. He hardly ever comes to me, and it's too long a walk for Nurse to go to him."

"He's a boy; he's always called that because his father painted a picture of him and called it Dawn. He painted three pictures, and called them Dawn and Day and Dusk. Dawn's real name is Avril, but he hates being called that, and his father calls him by ever so many names: Will-o'-the-wisp and Jack-in-the-box, and lots of others."

"He sounds interesting. Tell me about the pictures. I love them. If he was Dawn, who was Day and Dusk? Did you ever see the pictures? Were they in the Academy?"

"Oh, yes. Dawn is always telling me they were. Day was the blacksmith; he is a young man and wants to marry Connie, only she says his face is too dirty. And Dusk was old Mr. Green, who used to be a cobbler, but he's nearly blind now, and Miss Bertha goes to read to him every Saturday."

"Take me to see Dawn now. It is a dear little name, and if he is a nice boy, he shall come to play with you every day. I have a small brother who is coming here for his holidays. In fact, I meant to have brought him here yesterday, for there is an outbreak of fever at his school, but he is staying in London for a few days with one of my sisters. He will soon shake you up and keep you lively!"

Christina was too shy to assure her stepmother that she did not want to be shaken up, but she quickened her steps joyfully in the direction of Dawn's home, and then suddenly, down the road in front of them, he came tearing along, his curly hair flying in the wind.

"I'm running away!" he cried out. "Running for my life. Dad has gone to London, and Aunt Rachael has a headache, and I've eaten all cook's mince pies for Sunday, and she's after me with a broom!"

"Ah," said Mrs. Maclahan, "this is a boy after my own heart! Come for a walk with us, and then you shall come back to tea with Tina!"

"You're Tina's new mother, aren't you? I like you awfully. If you will talk to that old Nurse and tell her Tina won't get into mischief, I'll come and spend every day with her. I don't go to school when we live in the country. Dad and I vegetate, and rest our brains, and then we go back to London, and I'm at lessons all day long. I'm awfully glad dad is doing a country picture that makes him come here. I'd like to stay here always!"

The walk that Christina dreaded turned out a very happy one. Dawn chattered on as freely to Mrs. Maclahan as he did to Christina alone. They went up as far as the breezy common, and here Christina shivered and caught her breath, and tried to shield herself behind her mother, for the wind was bitter, and seemed to be trying to get into her bones.

"I've been brought up hardily, and I shall bring you up so too! I should think cold water baths would be a good thing for you!"

Tears came into poor Christina's eyes. She felt tired and cold, and longed for Nurse's arms and the nursery fire. The thought of a cold bath seemed the last straw. Dawn looked at her comically. Then he turned his cheeky little face up to Mrs. Maclahan.

"You're a Spartan mother," he remarked. "Tina and me have played at being Spartans. We killed a doll of hers; we beat her and then we drowned her and then we burnt her; and Tina cried the whole time, but she had to do it, for the doll had told a lie and was a coward, and we wanted to teach her that she was to fear nothing!"

"You did it all," said Christina in a trembling voice. "You made out she was a coward, I didn't say so. And it was no good teaching her not to be a coward when she was dead!"

"Christina is always afraid that she's a coward herself," observed Dawn cheerfully; "but I don't know that she is. She's frightened, but she doesn't funk! As long as you don't funk, it doesn't matter about being frightened, does it?"

"I dare say we have walked far enough," she said. "I must profit by your experience, Dawn. I must remember that Tina won't funk, but I hope I shall cure her of being frightened."

They turned back, and when they reached the gates of Christina's home, Dawn held out his hand.

"I won't come in, after all, to-night," he said rather grandly. "I funk some persons sometimes. Christina's nurse and our cook are not quite my friends."

"Yes you would, if you were panting for a run! Any excuse would make you. And Aunt Rachael's head will be better and she'll be looking for me: and I promised dad I would be a good boy to her!"

Christina climbed the stairs to the nursery, feeling as if her legs would hardly move any more.

"Oh, Nurse," she exclaimed, pushing open the nursery door, "can't I go to bed? I think I'm too tired to stay up!"

Nurse fussed over her at once, but wisely persuaded the tired child to stay where she was and have some dinner. And when it was over, Christina began to feel refreshed and rested. She did not see either of her parents again that day. They dined very late, and did not come in from their ride till just before dinner.

In a few days' time, the house seemed to settle down into its new routine. Christina was visited in her nursery by her mother, but these visits were dreaded both by the nurse and child, for they heralded the opening of windows, and much advice about the advantages of fresh air and light clothing, which Nurse especially resented. Mr. Maclahan occasionally came across his little daughter in the library. He allowed her to wander in and out as she had been in the habit of doing; otherwise she never went downstairs, and was never summoned to go into the drawing-room at any time.

It was a happy day for the child when she saw Miss Bertha again. She met her out of doors one day, and upon the old lady offering to take her home for half an hour, Nurse had willingly consented, as she had some errands to do in the village.

Miss Bertha had noticed the wistful longing in Christina's eyes, and when they were alone the little girl poured out such a flood of talk that the old lady felt quite bewildered.

"Take your time, Childie; tell me everything from the beginning; I can wait to hear it. I shan't run away."

So Christina told her everything from the beginning, and Miss Bertha listened with interest.

"Oh yes, it has, Miss Bertha, ever so many times. I'm so glad it doesn't say I'm not to be frightened, because I am, and I can't help it, and when I was on mother's horse I was terribly frightened, but I said:

"and I asked God to hold me tight on and keep me from falling off, and He did it. I never fell, and I know I should have if I hadn't asked God. And, Miss Bertha, isn't it a dreadful thing that our motto should be 'Fear dwells not here'? Oh, Miss Bertha, what shall I do to make myself a proper Maclahan? I ought to be as brave as a lion, and when father finds out about me, I don't know what he'll say! And Nurse is going to leave me, and mother startles me. She smiles and she's never said anything cross, but she makes me shiver when she comes into the room, and she's going to make me hard, she says. She says I want plenty of cold water and fresh air, and she's going to get me a governess who will teach me 'nasticks: do you know what they are? I'm frightened of it all. The only thing I like is that I can play with Dawn as much as I like, but he hasn't come near me, though mother said he could!"

"Dawn has been in bed two days—nothing much the matter with him: he ate too many mince pies, and drank a bottle of vinegar in mistake for currant wine. He has been well punished for his greediness, I am glad to say; but he will be round to see you as soon as his aunt lets him out. Why, my dear Childie, most of your fears are groundless! Your mother will never be unkind to you. Nurse has brought you up in an old-fashioned way, and your mother wants to bring you up in the new-fashioned way. I met your mother yesterday for the first time, and she talked to me about you. She wants to see you stronger, and perhaps you will be all the better for some of her alterations. I am sorry that Nurse is going, but you are getting old enough to do regular lessons now, and a governess will be most kind and nice I expect. You have nothing to make yourself unhappy about."

Christina was silent; then she took hold of Miss Bertha's hand, and laid her soft little cheek upon it.

"I know you love me," she said; "and if you think it is best for me, I won't be afraid!"

Miss Bertha stopped. They were in her garden now, and for one minute she raised her face in silence to the open sky above her, then she bent down and kissed the earnest child by her side:

"Christina, my darling child, say those very words you have uttered to God in your morning and evening prayers. Say them over and over again to Him when troubles and doubts and fears crowd round you. Say to Him softly and reverently:

Christina was awed by the solemnity in Miss Bertha's tone, and when she looked up at her, she saw tears were in her eyes.

She did not speak, but she could not forget the lesson taught, and though she was long in learning it, she remembered it to the end of her life.

CHAPTER IV

"AND is he coming to-day? Really to-day? And will he be about as old as we are? How scrumptious!"

"How jolly! Has he been sent away from school? Why is he coming before the holidays?"

"His school has got scarlet fever. He is just as old as you Dawn, but mother says he's quite different to you."

"Should think so!" said Dawn in tones of scorn. "There's no one like me in the world, dad says so!"

"I wonder," said Christina meditatively, "if there's a little girl just like me anywhere."

"Dad says God never makes a duplicate anywhere; isn't that a lovely long word, and I learnt another yesterday. It was volatile: it means me, but it isn't very nice. Dad called me a volatile elf, so I pelted him with chestnut skins in the garden till he told me what it meant. Why is he called Puggy? It sounds like a pug-dog."

"I asked father, and he laughed. 'It suits him because he's pugnacious,' he said."

"I keep thinking of Blanche's words, 'a terror.' I expect he'll be a terror to me."

"Now," said Dawn, shaking his fist in her face, "you think of your motto, and don't you dare to talk of any one being a terror to you. And if he is, you bring him along to me, and I'll fight him!"

"Oh," said Christina, "you never would! That would be awful! I always thought it so wicked to fight, but mother does, so I suppose it's what she calls 'sport'!"

Dawn looked very puzzled. He was in the garden with Christina, and tired with running about, they were now taking a rest on the top of a low wall in the kitchen garden.

"Yes," said Christina with a grave nod; "mother and a lot of ladies all fought each other with sticks in a field at the bottom of the lawn over there. They were fighting for a ball, and they all tried to hit each other. I ran away, because I couldn't bear to look at them."

"Oh, you goose! That was a game of hockey. They weren't hitting each other, only the ball. You really ought to learn some games, Tina; you don't know anything at all!"

"It frightened me," pursued Christina. "I've never seen ladies play at games like that!"

"You wait till this boy comes, then we'll do an awful lot of things; oh, I wish I could stay to see him! Do you think I could run off to the station and see him arrive? What train does he come by?"

"Mother is going to meet him herself; she said she would. I think it's at four o'clock."

He was away like the wind, and Christina, feeling it very dull to be in the garden alone, went indoors. She was full of curiosity over the new arrival, but as usual her fears were uppermost.

"There are so many happenings!" she told herself gravely. "I never shall get to like them. And a strange boy is worse than a strange nurse, or a strange father and mother!"

She was sitting at her nursery tea when Puggy made his appearance. Her stepmother led him forward:

"This is my baby brother, Tina. He does not look a baby, does he? You must be very good friends. He will help you to eat up that plate of bread and butter very quickly. Now, Puggy, be on your best behaviour remember; and when you are in the nursery, do what Nurse tells you."

Puggy was a short, sturdy boy, only half a head taller than Christina herself. His hair was closely cropped, and it was of a reddish tinge. Blue eyes, a very round mouth and snub nose and freckled face, these belonged to Puggy, and his name seemed to suit him.

He sat down to the table in utter silence. Christina looked across the table at him very fearfully. Mrs. Maclahan had left the room, and Nurse began to pour out a cup of very weak tea.

The children's eyes met, then Puggy winked his eye knowingly at Christina. The colour flow into her cheeks, what was she to do? She could not wink back, and she was too shy to speak.

Christina's eyes became round with wonder. This astonishing statement made her forget her shyness.

"But you're not a proper uncle. You didn't belong to me when—when I was born."

There was not much more talk between them till after tea, and then somehow or other Christina's shyness melted away, and she found herself talking to Puggy as she talked to Dawn. She told him all about her little playfellow; she showed him her toys and games; and he in his turn waxed confidential.

"I'd like to know that fellow. I believe I saw him at the station; there was a boy with a mop of hair who stared at me as if I were a gorilla. I'll teach him manners when I see him! Look here, just come over the house with me. I want to know my way about."

"But," said Christina feebly, "I don't know my way properly. All the rooms have been locked up till father came home."

"Come on, and let's find them out now. We must do something. It's too slow in this old nursery!"

Christina looked round to ask permission of Nurse, but she had disappeared. So feeling as if she were going into a strange country, she followed the enterprising Puggy out on the landing, and they commenced their investigations. The corridors were long, and some rooms were still locked up, but they peeped into a good many, and at last found themselves before an old arched door at the very end of the upper corridor. One of the under housemaids appeared from the back stairs, and looked quite astonished when she saw the children. Christina spoke to her.

"Oh, lawks, Miss Tina! That's up to the turret room that has a ghost. I never goes by that door after dark if I can help it!"

Christina's cheeks blanched, she shrank back. Puggy danced up and down with delight.

Puggy had swung the door open, and a winding stone staircase disclosed itself to them.

"I'm sure we'd better not go," said Christina, looking at the dusky steps with horror.

"I dunno. It's just some one that walks about the room there and makes a noise. Mr. Tipton has heard it often. He sleeps in the room there, close to the staircase."

But Puggy was bent on going up the steps that moment, and would have dragged his shrinking little companion after him if a call from Mrs. Maclahan had not stopped him.

"A ghost! What nonsense! And Tina believes it from the look in her eyes! Come down to the library both of you. We're having tea there, and your father wants to see you, Tina. We'll ask him about the ghost. To-morrow you can explore the house as much as you like."

So down to the library they went, and the blazing fire and the cosy tea that Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan were enjoying did much to drive away Christina's fresh fears.

"No," said Mr. Maclahan, taking hold of his small daughter and perching her on his knee; "we have no ghosts in this house I am glad to say. I used to have the turret room at the top of those stairs as my den as a boy, and if you think well, Ena dear, we will turn it over to these children now."

"I think it would be a capital idea. I fancy Puggy is too much like me to care to be long in that ill-ventilated nursery."

Christina did not know whether to be glad or sorry that she was to be introduced to the unknown room; but Puggy was enthusiastic. He turned to her father with a comic look of perplexity on his face.

"No," his sister said sharply. "If we give you an inch you'll take an ell. You have no respect for anybody!"

"It isn't my fault!" he said. "You made him my brother, I didn't; and Tina ought to call me uncle! May I call him the 'Squire' like the porters did at the station?"

"Yes," said his sister; "and mind you're a good boy, and don't lead Tina into scrapes."

"You won't be such a reader now you have some one to play with," said Mr. Maclahan, addressing his little daughter.

Christina looked round the room thoughtfully. "I like books best," she said, "and Dawn will play with Puggy."

"No," said her stepmother quickly. "Games are better than books for you, Tina, and I shall see that you have them. But Dawn can come over here every day if he chooses. I like that boy!"

The very next morning being bright and sunny, Christina was turned out into the garden to play with Puggy, and they had not been out a quarter of an hour before Dawn made his appearance. He came with bulging pockets, and produced for Puggy's edification first a white mouse, then a mechanical motor-car, and then a bag of nuts.

"I know all about you," he said, shaking back his curls. "Tina has told me, and I've come to look round with you. Do you like mice? This one is a darling! When he isn't in my pocket, I carry him on my head inside my cap. Dad brought me such a jolly motor-car. You can light it with real oil and it goes like the wind. Like to see it? Here are some nuts for you, Tina."

They were good friends at once, and so full of fun and spirits that Christina's laugh rang out again and again, yet before very long, the first sign of dissent between them arose.

"Tina, go into the house and fetch me my knife. I left it on the nursery table."

It was Puggy who spoke, and his tone was peremptory. He added, as Christina obediently walked away: "That's the good of girls to fetch and carry. They're good for nothing else."

He wanted to impress Dawn with his manliness, but Dawn knew better. He flushed up at once.

"Dad says only cannibals and savages make girls work for them, gentlemen never do; at least Englishmen don't!"

"You don't call yourself an Englishman, do you? I heard my sister say this morning that your father was a poor Irish artist. You're a Paddy, that's what you are!"

"A Paddy can be a gentleman!" retorted Dawn, springing up from the ground where he had been playing with Nibble his mouse, and pocketing the little creature in furious haste.

"Paddies are always beggars. They live with pigs and chickens in bog cabins. I know all about them. We have two Paddies at my school. One tells lies, and the other never washes!"

Dawn's cheeks were scarlet, his eyes flashing fire. Puggy made a dash at him, and the next moment both boys were fighting. Jackets were tossed aside, sleeves tucked up, and if Puggy hit away with dogged persistence, Dawn perplexed him by his many sided onslaughts: dancing here and there, he was never in the same place for a second, and they were in the very thick of it when poor little Christina came back from her errand.

She was aghast at the sight. Both boys were bleeding, but neither gave way. After one despairing cry, she fled into the house, and burst in upon her father and stepmother, who were in the library.

"Fighting, I suppose," she said. "I knew Puggy would be at it. Leave them alone, Tina. It's only the first go off! They'll be the better friends after it."

"But!" gasped Christina. "They're hurting each other! It's so wicked to fight, oh, do stop them!"

"My dear, Christina has not your constitution, and I'm not fond of fights. Puggy must learn to control himself. Come along, Tina. Where are these young combatants?"

"Dawn has never fought any one before, I'm sure he hasn't, and oh! They're hurting each other so!"

When they arrived on the scene, the boys were rolling over on the ground; Dawn was undermost, but if his body was getting the worst of it, his spirit was unbroken; and when Mr. Maclahan's stern voice broke in upon them, and they both rose to their feet, he exclaimed, "We'll have another round!"

"That you won't! Puggy, is this the way you treat your visitor? Shake hands and be friends, and remember that I never allow fights in my house or grounds."

Neither of the boys was unwilling to make peace; but Christina stood beside them sobbing bitterly.

"Pooh!" said Puggy, marching off to the house with a black eye, a bleeding nose and bruised knuckles. "What sillies girls are to make such a fuss!"

Dawn looked up at Mr. Maclahan with his irrepressible twinkle. His face was damaged too, and a bump on his forehead stood out as big as a pigeon's egg.

"I've been fighting for my country," he said, "and for a girl. Dad will not scold me!"

Later on, when the boys had washed and anointed their wounds, Mrs. Maclahan came out to talk to them. She turned to her husband when he joined them, saying laughingly:

"Do you know this small trio represent the United Kingdom? Your small daughter is Scotch by birth, and may I say by her stern morality? Dawn is a veritable Paddy, and my pugnacious brother a thorough little John Bull. I hope they will do each other good."

From that day Mrs. Maclahan always alluded to the children as the "United Kingdom." They liked the idea and never lost sight of it in their games. After that first fight, Dawn and Puggy were the best of friends; Christina followed them everywhere, and though she admired Puggy's pluck and determination and his perseverance in carrying through anything he attempted, however hard it proved to be, her heart remained faithful to her sunny-tempered, easy-going boy friend, Dawn.

But Dawn and Christina attacked him with such violence for saying a slighting word of their best friend that he collapsed, and after one visit to the tiny house and a tea such as all boys love, he confided to them that Miss Bertha was a "proper brick," and her house was "ripping."

"And how are things going, Childie," Miss Bertha asked Christina, just before she left her.

"Oh, I like Puggy," the little girl responded brightly. "I'm never dull now, we do such a lot of things; but Nurse is soon going away, that's the most dreadful thing!"

"Your 'dreadful things' are not so dreadful when they come. Can't you trust God about that?"

"I am trying not to be afraid. I keep saying my text over and over, and it does help me."

CHAPTER V

IT was a wet afternoon. Dawn arrived in the nursery at three o'clock, and shook the rain off his curls and overcoat like a Newfoundland dog.

"I told dad I was coming along to cheer you two up. I thought it would be a good day for hide and seek indoors."

"No," said Puggy promptly, "we're going up to the turret room. It has been cleaned out for us, and we're going to take any furniture up that we like."

"I'll help you to pick and choose," he said. "Shall we have any pictures from this room?"

"Ah," said Christina, hurriedly going to her toy cupboard and producing a brown paper parcel. "You'll never guess what this is! Father gave it to me this morning. He had it framed for me, and it's our motto, and I'm going to hang it up on our wall up there. It means the same as that!"

She pointed to her piece of paper still pinned to the nursery wall with the words "Fear dwells not here!"

"Well," he said, thumping his chest vigorously. "I can say 'Fear dwells not here!' but you can't, Tina. You're such a one for being frightened!"

"No," said Christina humbly, "I shall always be frightened inside me, I'm afraid, but I'm trying not to be frightened outside and I'm getting better."

The stone stairs were steep and wound round and round. Dawn, who was ahead of the other two, suddenly sat down and had an inspiration.

"Listen!" he said. "This is just like the steps the pilgrims go up on their knees for their sins. Wasn't it Martin Luther who was crawling up one day when he was trying to be good? Some chap like that, I know, Aunt Rachael read to me about him. Let's try it. We're half-way up now, but it doesn't matter, we'll do the rest of the steps on our knees, it's so good to do penance sometimes!"

But he found it more awkward than he thought. In a few minutes Dawn gave up trying it.

"It's too slow!" he said. "Besides I haven't been wicked enough to-day to do penance! It's splendid for you, Tina. You ought to do penance whenever you feel in a funk, you'd soon cure yourself."

"I'm not going to give up once I'm started," said Puggy, puffing and panting as he struggled on. "You never do anything unless it's easy, Dawn!"

"It hurts me dreadfully. I wish I had on knickerbockers like you. I shall give up!"

"There!" he said. "I'm jolly glad that's done. And I shan't try it again. Now for our den!"

It was a dear little room with windows all round it. There was a cupboard, chair and table: on the wall hung a rusty sword.

Puggy took it down and brandished it in the air. "This will keep off robbers and spies, Tina! We'll cut their heads off directly they appear."

"You must have a password," suggested Dawn; "or one dark night you might out off a friend's head by mistake."

"We'll have 'Come if you dare.' We'll always keep the door locked, and only us three will know what it is, so no one else will ever be let in."

"Oh, they wouldn't come. We should have to be true to our rights. We couldn't let them in. Don't you go supposing things, that's so like a girl!"

"I can see Dawn's house," she remarked; "and such a long way! It looks so small. Come and look."

"Why!" said Dawn. "You'll be able to signal to me. We'll have three flags like the railway men have. If you hang out a red flag, it'll mean stop away. You must never put that out unless you're both out for the day and then I shan't come over. The green flag you must hang out when you're up here by yourself, Puggy, and the white when Tina is, and when you're both here you must hang out the two flags!"

"We'll have a fourth flag," asserted Puggy; "it must be blue, and it will mean a call to arms. You'll have to make the flags, Tina, and they must be ready to-morrow."

"But where shall I get the stuff? I shall ask Nurse to help me. Oh, I think I shall like this game very much!"

"What lovely things we can cook! Toffee and toast and roasted chestnuts. We'll give parties sometimes, and dad and Miss Bertha shall come!"

It was the beginning of a delightful time to Christina. Never in all her life had she had such freedom.

From being confined to the four walls of her nursery, she now had the run of the whole house and grounds. Nurse rarely saw her except at meal times and for occasional walks. Puggy was considered quite old enough to take her off with him anywhere.

And Christina began to feel that her stepmother's reign was on the whole a pleasant one.

But upon the day of her nurse's departure, all her old doubts and fears came bank.

Connie was promoted to be her maid, and on the following day, her governess was to arrive. Poor little Christina clung to her nurse as if she could never let her go.

"What shall I do when you're gone!" she cried again and again, and Nurse did not reassure her, for she felt aggrieved by her dismissal.

Puggy came into the nursery and found Christina sitting on the floor in floods of tears.

"A good riddance. She wouldn't let me bring my football in here. Now I shall do it. I say, dry up, Tina, and I tell you what we'll do, we'll dress up in sheets and go up to our den, and come down and pop out upon the maids like ghosts. They'll be awfully frightened."

"No," said Christina, drying her eyes. "I couldn't pretend to be a ghost. I'm too frightened of them. And I wouldn't like to frighten other people."

"Well, we'll have a game of cricket in the passage. Come on! And when your governess comes to-morrow, let me see her first. I'll tell her what sort we mean her to be."

"What sort?" asked Christina, cheering up. She had unbounded faith in Puggy's talent for managing. "What ought a governess to be like, Puggy?"

"Very short and quick at lessons, and then take herself off for the rest of the day and leave us alone. I'll tell her! What time is she coming to-morrow? I think I'll meet her at the station. I'll take Dawn with me. You keep quiet. I'll tell her she's not to bully you."

And accordingly the next day, having discovered that the brougham was going to the station at four o'clock, Puggy and Dawn laid their plans.

Miss Loder arrived punctually. She was quite young, and was looking forward to her stay at Bracken Towers. She had come from London, and though it was winter time, she rejoiced in every bit of the country through which she passed. As she settled herself back in the comfortable carriage and noted the mossy banked lanes and the wooded hills stretching up and down on either side she drew a long breath of relief.

The carriage rolled on rapidly. Suddenly the coachman pulled up. There was evidently a gate to be opened or some impediment in the way. Miss Loder heard some altercation going on.

"Is she inside? You're held up by highwaymen! We're loaded. You daren't touch us!"

The next moment a boy stood on either side of the carriage, and black paper masks were over their faces.

"Is it a question of 'money or your life'?" she asked quietly, as each boy held a toy pistol through the carriage window.

"We don't want your money," said one of them sternly, "but your word, and it must be your word of honour!"

"No," said the other boy excitedly, "you forget! It's her signature, we've put it down in writing. You have the paper."

Miss Loder took it out of his hand and read the following in round schoolboy's writing:

"I, the governess of Christina Douglas, do promise on my solemn word of honour that I shall not interfere with her in playtime. I promise to leave John Durward and Avril O'Flagherty entirely alone as they are not my pupils, but boys of spirit who will not be ruled by a woman. I promise to get the lessons over quickly and disappear directly they are done. I promise never to keep Christina indoors when lessons are over unless she wants to stay. And I sign myself here, and put my hand and seal to it."

"Master John, unlock this gate at once. It's a good five mile round. I'll report you to the Squire."

"I'll sign what I think will meet the case, and submit it for your approval," she said quietly.

The boys looked across at each other and waited. Then when the paper was handed to Puggy, he read it aloud.

"I promise to be a friend as well as a governess to Christina Maclahan and help her to enjoy her playtime, not hinder it. As Avril O'Flagherty and John Durward are not my pupils, I shall have nothing to say to them, unless they interfere with my pupil or with me. And hereto I set my hand.

"KATE LODER."

"Hum!" remarked Puggy, looking at her suspiciously. "This sounds well, but I don't think it is enough."

The paper was handed across to him, and the old coachman at the same time sent his whip round Puggy's legs. The boys saw their game was up. They retreated with dignity.

Then the gate was unlocked, and with a loud war-whoop they scampered off, and left Miss Loder to continue her drive in peace.

She sat in the nursery in her little rocking-chair by the fire, conjuring up visions of stern, spectacled, grey-haired women. She longed to fly to some one for comfort, but she felt that her stepmother would laugh at her, and was not sure about her father. She looked up at her paper on the wall:

And then she began wondering where the boys were, and whether they had really gone to the station to meet her governess.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not hear the door open until her stepmother's brisk voice made her start from her chair in trembling confusion.

"Here is your pupil, Miss Loder. She looks scared to death at the sight of us! Her nurse has ruined her by coddling. I want her turned into a healthy little romp, do you think you can do it?"

"You mustn't be frightened of me, dear. Why, I never expected to see such a tiny fragile mite. I daresay you have been picturing what I should be; shall I tell you what I thought you would be like?"

"I have had an adventure," she continued, trying to put the child at ease, for she was literally shaking from head to foot. "And after it was over, I said to myself, 'I know what Christina will be like! She is Scotch, so she will have red hair flying over her shoulders in wildest confusion; she will be a large fat girl, with long legs and short frocks: a perfect tomboy!' Wasn't that a funny picture I drew of you?"

"I don't wonder at my adventure now. Fancy! Two highwaymen with black masks and pistols stopped the carriage, and wouldn't let me come on until I had promised to be kind to you!"

"I tried not to be. I was just hoping that my small pupil would be kind to me, so it was funny, wasn't it?"

Christina's face was a study. Terror, amazement and interest were followed by a dawning smile of comprehension.

And then she and her small pupil laughed merrily, until Christina remembered to be shocked.

"Well," said Miss Loder; "now I have seen you, I understand. You are so little to be bullied. Shall we be good friends, Christina? Will you give me a kiss, dear, and believe that I mean to be kind to you?"

When tea was on the table half an hour later, Puggy marched in very independently.

"Good evening!" he said, as if he had never seen Miss Loder before. "I have tea with Christina, because I don't care for drawing-room tea. The bread and butter is too thin, and there's not enough jam, and grown-up people are so stupid!"

"Good evening," said Miss Loder politely. "I have been telling Christina of an adventure I had on the way here this afternoon. I am afraid you have some bad characters about."

"Have we?" he said, trying to speak unconcernedly, but getting rather red in the face.

"These were two little ragamuffins with blacked faces who pretended to be highwaymen. I'm afraid they got a whipping, but I couldn't help liking them, for they were evidently very fond of Christina. I suppose she has a great many friends? I eased their minds by promising to be good to her, but I am wondering who they were. Do you know?"

Miss Loder did not say any more. She chatted to Christina about all kinds of things, and Puggy ate his tea in silence. This new governess puzzled him greatly, he was almost—just a tiny bit—afraid of her.

CHAPTER VI

Puggy held aloof at first, not quite sure if he liked her. She had such a fund of games and good stories at her disposal that it seemed a pity to be out of it. Yet she never asked him to join, and seemed to ignore him. Dawn, a little ashamed of the part he had played, kept away; Christina was the one who profited most by Miss Loder's bright energy.

She enjoyed her lessons every morning. She had only an hour in the afternoon, and the rest of the time was spent in walks and play.

Puggy shut himself up in the turret room and waved the green flag, for Christina never seemed to want to play with him now. She was quite happy with Miss Loder. When Dawn came over they took counsel together, and finally they both marched to Christina's nursery, or schoolroom as it was now called.

Dawn was spokesman, and he addressed Miss Loder, who was sitting by the window with her needlework. Christina was on a stool at her feet, listening with rapt attention to a fairy tale; for lessons were over, and it was too wet for a walk.

"How do you do, Miss Loder? I'm Dawn." A queer little bow accompanied this introduction.

"I am sorry, but I gave my word of honour that I would have nothing to say to either John Durward or Avril O'Flagherty. I never break a promise."

"But it's all rot!" burst out Puggy. "That was only a kind of game, and we didn't know you were a good sort."

"Yes, we're sorry we held you up; and if you like, we'll tear up the paper you signed."

"That seems a pity," said Miss Loder slowly; "because really Tina and I are very happy together. I don't know that we want to have much to do with boys."

"But I'm an awfully nice boy," said Dawn enthusiastically; "dad says so, and Puggy is ripping! I'm sure you'd like to know us, and we'd have such fun. We've come over to invite you and Tina up to our den. We've just cooked some toffee."

"If you were to bring that paper here and burn it, I might forget my promise," she said.

Christina was delighted, and from that time the boys and Miss Loder were thorough good friends. She tried to teach her small pupil to play at hockey with them; but Christina never enjoyed a rough game. She was in terror the whole time. She fought hard with her many fears, and took to following Dawn's suggestion about climbing up the turret stairs on her knees as a kind of penance when she had been unnecessarily timid. She did not tell any one of this except Miss Bertha, and she confided it to her when she went in to take her some flowers one day.

"You see," she explained, "I do so want to be a proper Maclahan. I never shall, I'm afraid. But yesterday afternoon we went across a field, and a cow came after us. I—I screamed and ran behind Miss Loder, and Puggy laughed and called me a little coward. So in the afternoon when I had finished my lessons, I went up the turret stairs on my knees to punish myself. It hurts, you know; and as I went up I said your text over and over and over. I hope I shan't be frightened when I see a cow next time; do you think I shall? And you won't tell any one, will you? It's all my own secret."

"I should say it was bad for your stockings," said Miss Bertha with a kind smile; "but I love to hear of your fighting your fears, Childie, and I shan't say a word against it!"

"Do you think the day will ever come when I can point to my heart like Puggy and Dawn do and say, 'Fear dwells not here?'"

"I believe one day you will astonish us all," she said cheerfully, but she turned aside her head that Christina could not see the quick tears that had started to her eyes.

It was a bright sunny afternoon. Puggy had gone out hunting with his sister. Mr. Maclahan was away from home. Miss Loder was busy writing letters in the schoolroom, and Christina was amusing herself in the garden. She had been up to the turret room and waved the flag for Dawn to come over and see her, but he had not appeared. He had borrowed a rough pony from a farmer, and had ridden off to the meet, with the firm intention of proving to Puggy that he was as good a horseman as himself.

So Christina, feeling rather lonely, betook herself to a small plot of ground that was considered her own. It was a bit of field fenced in round an old summer house, and in the summer house, the boys and she kept their garden games. She was tidying it up, an undertaking that she loved, when she heard the baying of hounds and the shouts of the hunt. They were coming right across the paddock in front of her. She came outside the summer house, and there, toiling along, hardly able to drag one foot before the other, covered with mud and slime, was the fox.

In an instant the little girl's tender heart was throbbing with sympathy for him, and as the whole pack of hounds came up in full cry, she shut the door upon the fox, and stood outside it in a fever of excited protest.

"You shan't have him!" she cried with scarlet cheeks and flashing eyes. "You shan't have him! I won't have him killed!"

The hounds were upon her. She did not seem to hear or see them, and the huntsman, without a word, seized hold of her and lifted her up on his saddle. It was all the work of a moment: the hounds were through the open window, and poor Reynard met his fate, but Christina was struggling passionately in the huntsman's arms.

She did not heed the crowd of people round her. The fate of the poor fox was more to her than anything else.

"I hate you all!" she exclaimed when she was put down on the ground. "You are murderers!"

Miss Loder could not understand what had happened. It was a long time before the excited child could be soothed.

"Oh," she cried, "why does God let people be so cruel? Why can't they be punished? The poor tired little fox! Oh, Miss Loder, how could they let him be killed by those cruel dogs! I tried to save him, and I couldn't! They snatched me away!"

"You're a nice one!" he said to the tearful Christina. "The cheek of you, trying to spoil our sport! How dared you do it! You pretend you're so frightened of everything. Why, those hounds might have torn you in pieces, they were so wild to get past you!"

"Yes, Miss Loder, she stood up and stayed the whole hunt; she told them she hated them, and that they were murderers! She did make a silly of herself, I can tell you! My sister was awfully astonished. I expect you're in for a scolding, Tina!"

Christina was past minding moldings, but she did not get any; her stepmother never alluded to the incident. It was her father who called her to him with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, my little lassie, you are a staunch champion for the oppressed, I find. You have begun early. It is a pity you have not the corresponding power necessary, but a great many champions wish for that!"

"Don't talk nonsense," said his wife; "the child won't understand you. When she gets older she will think differently."

"It's dad's invitation, not mine, and it's a very special one, and Aunt Rachael has made a big cake and some little ones."

Miss Loder gave her consent. Dawn came to escort them there, and on the way he informed them that the tea was in Christina's honour.

"Dad's awfully pleased with Tina taking the fox's part the other day. I told him all about it. He's begun a fresh picture, and he's going to put her into it; at least, it's either her or me, I'm not sure which: but I've been standing like Christina did, and dad is painting me, and I have to wear a girl's frock. Just fancy! But you see dad is an artist, and the son of an artist has to do everything; it's like my wearing curls, it has to be, because we care more about pictures than what people say!"

Christina was by this time rather ashamed of her daring. Puggy was most emphatic in his condemnation of it, and yet as she assured Miss Loder:

"I feel I couldn't help trying to save the poor fox! If I saw him again, I'd do it again, I know I would!"

Dawn's father welcomed the children heartily, but he laid his hand on Christina's shoulder, and looked down upon her with a pleased look in his eyes.

"I wish I'd been there!" he said. "I have to thank you for an inspiration, Christina. I was wanting a subject badly, and you have given it to me. Do you know what my picture is going to be called? 'Defying the Hunt!'" He laughed as he spoke, then showed Christina a large canvas on which were the bare outlines of a few horses, a pack of hounds, and a very small child in the midst of the pack beating them back with her tiny hands, whilst her back was firmly set against an old wooden door.

"I want you to come and sit for me, will you? Dawn is such a flibberty-jibbet that I can't keep him still. And so you gave them a piece of your mind, did you? I'm not a sportsman, and I'm not sure that I'm not on your side."

"Oh, you couldn't be on Tina's side!" exclaimed Puggy. "I think she was an awful silly!"

Mr. O'Flagherty delighted in Mrs. Maclahan's fancy about the children. He always called them the "United Kingdom," and Puggy was never anything but "John Bull" with him.

Puggy looked slightly abashed. He had a great admiration for Dawn's father, and did not like his disapproval in any shape or form.

"We won't have any arguments to-day. We're going to enjoy ourselves, and Scotland is top and foremost. She shall have the seat of honour!"

He led them gaily into the dining-room, where Miss O'Flagherty was already making the tea. She was a tall, silent woman with a sweet smile, and Christina held up her face to be kissed with the assurance of being welcome.

"But I would rather not," said Christina, "it won't be a treat if I do, for I shall be afraid of doing it wrong!"

"You are never going to be afraid of anything or anybody any more!" said Mr. O'Flagherty.

And then Christina without a word sat down behind the big teapot, and, aided by Aunt Rachael, poured out the tea quite successfully.

It was a merry meal. Mr. O'Flagherty was like a boy himself; he told funny stories and asked riddles and cracked jokes, and Dawn was bubbling over with mirth and high spirits.

When tea was over, they had a game of hide and seek indoors. Mr. O'Flagherty hid in the kitchen copper, Dawn put himself inside a bolster case upon his aunt's bed, and Puggy nearly drowned himself in the cistern. When they were all tired out they came into Mr. O'Flagherty's studio; the boys lay down before the big wood fire, and Christina sat on the artist's knees. Then they began to talk about fear and what it was and who had it, and into the middle of their talk came Miss Bertha, who had been asked to tea, but had not been able to leave some visitor who had arrived.

"They say they are not," said Mr. O'Flagherty, "and they're a pretty plucky race as a rule, but they're too cock sure of themselves!"

"Not sure of ourselves," said Miss Bertha softly, "but sure of Some One better than ourselves."

"We're all afraid of something," said Mr. O'Flagherty. "Now we'll make our confessions. I'm afraid of fine ladies with a 'taste for art'!"

"I'm afraid of schoolmasters," admitted Dawn. "I don't like my master in London. He can't take a joke!"

Puggy knitted his brows hard in his endeavour to be strictly true. "I think I'm afraid of being laughed at," he confessed.

"I believe the thing I'm really afraid of most is being a coward. I'm always just going to be one, and I know I am one already, but I'm so frightened in case I shall really be an awful one, one day!"

"Ah!" said Mr. O'Flagherty, taking out his pipe after asking Miss Bertha's permission to smoke. "We're a bad lot with our fears. Now we'll make a bonfire of them. Write them on slips of paper, and we'll throw them on the fire."

"Now," he said, "shut your eyes, and I'll tell you what I see. There they go! Tall ladies, short ladies, spectacled ladies, young ladies, severe ladies in all their finery, and with all their art jargon on their lips. They make a glorious blaze. May they never come back to frighten and annoy me. Now, Miss Bertha, away with your fear!"

"Ah!" said Mr. O'Flagherty. "There he goes, the spirit of luxury and indulgence! He's nearly asleep, his fat cheeks tell of his good living; but he looks so jolly and good-tempered, that I'm quite sorry for him. Still, he must not be allowed back to frighten our self-denying little lady. Now, John Bull, into the fire with yours!"

"I see hundreds of merry little fellows flying up the chimney, and yet some of them have rather evil faces. I think you're well rid of them, Johnnie. Now, Will-o'-the-wisp, in with your schoolmasters! What a royal blaze they make with their lesson books and canes and long words of wisdom! We are having a grand clearance. Where is yours, lassie?"

"The fear of being afraid," said Mr. O'Flagherty thoughtfully; "that's a wonderful little spirit. You can't get hold of him properly, but he ought to be burnt, and he must be. There he goes! May he never come back to trouble you, for he is a perfect fraud, he's a shadow wrapped in a big black cloak, there's nothing in him!"

"True courage," said Miss Bertha quietly, "is losing sight of self in an emergency."

"And yet," said Mr. O'Flagherty, "I admire the man who is really full of fear, acting as if he had none."

"Yes," the little old lady said with a quick, bright nod at Christina. "It doesn't matter about feelings. Life is doing, not feeling."

Christina looked up. She was the only one of the three children that caught the idea, and the dawning intelligence in her eyes amused the artist. He pointed his finger at his small son.

"That bit of quicksilver will be ruled by his feelings all his life, I fear. That tough young Briton—yes, I'm speaking of you, John Bull—will be ruled by his head, not his heart."

"Neither your head nor your heart, but your conscience will be your master," Mr. O'Flagherty said, laughing.

"No," said Miss Bertha very gently and softly; "my prayer for Tina is, 'The love of Christ constraineth us.' He is a better guide than conscience."

The little party broke up then, but as Christina walked home between Puggy and the maid who had come to fetch them, she murmured to herself:

"So it doesn't matter if I feel a coward as long as I don't do like a coward. Oh, I hope I shall remember in time!"

CHAPTER VII

PUGGY was summoned back to school before the Christmas holidays, and Christina missed him more than she had thought possible. Dawn and his father were soon going back to London, and one Saturday morning Dawn appeared in Christina's schoolroom before she had finished her breakfast.

"Good-morning, Miss Loder. Please—we know it's a holiday, and may we borrow Tina for the day? It's going to be fine and dad is going to paint out of doors, and we're going to camp out and boil our kettle, and drive in a trap, and there's just room for Tina between dad's knees!"

"Are you going into a wood? Is your Aunt Rachael going? What have you got for dinner?"

And when her governess came back with the required permission, Christina dashed off to get into her hat and cloak with a radiant face.

"I will be good," she assured Miss Loder. "I do love going with Dawn and his father. They're so funny, and they're so happy."

She tore down the avenue breathlessly with Dawn, and came to his house as Mr. O'Flagherty was harnessing an old grey mare to a very shabby-looking trap, a loan from some neighbouring farmer.

"Ah!" he said, looking up. "It's a pity John Bull isn't here, the United Kingdom isn't complete without him, but we mean to enjoy ourselves."

"A winter picnic is much better fun than a summer one!" said Dawn. "Have you got the rabbit pie, dad? We're going to boil some eggs, Tina, and eat them scalding hot, and we'll roast some potatoes in the ashes. I'm going to look for a hedgehog and roast him, like the gipsies do. When he's cooked, his prickles come off, and he's like a little chicken!"

"I wish," she said, "nobody or nothing need ever be killed. It's so dreadful to think of!"

"Then don't think of it. Come on, climb up, Tina; and dad is going to let me drive part of the way; and won't I drive at a thundering pace!"

"What would your old nurse say to your spending a whole day out of doors at this time of year?" she said with a smile.

"I hope I'm not forgetting Nurse," she said. "I told her I never would, but I don't think of her quite so often as I ought!"

"Oh, you little Puritan with your 'oughts!'" said Mr. O'Flagherty. "Leave them alone to-day. We won't take one of them with us. We're going to be as free as the air, and do as we please!"

He got into the trap as he spoke, and they drove off, Christina wedged in between Dawn and his father and feeling very light-hearted.

It was a bright sunny morning, and wonderfully soft and mild for a December day.

Through the village, up and down rather muddy lanes, and at last they came upon a long stretch of pine woods by the side of a grey rushing river.

This was their goal. Mr. O'Flagherty wanted to complete a picture of his which he had painted from the interior of these woods, with just a glimpse of hills and farmsteads between the tall slender pines.

They drove through a soft track covered with brown pine needles and cones, and at last came to a small clearing, where they stopped. Mr. O'Flagherty unharnessed the mare, produced a feed for her, then promptly put up his easel and set to work.

"I shall have one clear hour before dinner," he said; "and don't you dare to disturb me. Make your fire, boil the kettle and cook the 'taties, and get some water from the river without tumbling in."

All this Dawn and Christina did. Their tongues never stopped, though they kept a considerable distance from the artist, so that they should not disturb him.

"It is so nice," said Christina, as she and Dawn having made a fire and put the kettle on began to unpack the basket and arrange the luncheon, "not to have grown-up people telling us how to do things."

"They never tell me!" said Dawn, tossing back his curls. "Dad says every young thing ought to be as free as air. He won't have our puppy chained up; he says a bottled-up boy or dog explodes and does more harm when they're big than if they'd been allowed to do mischief when they're small. Dad is first-rate to live with, I can tell you!"

When Dawn deluged her with water as he was filling the kettle from the river, she was thankful that no grown-up person was there to see it. Later on she knelt on a burning stick that flew out from the fire, and burnt a hole in the front of her woollen frock. It seemed delightful to her to have no one to scold her for having done it. The potatoes were burnt, the eggs smashed in their shells, and the tea that was brewed tasted smoky; but never had Christina enjoyed such a meal. Mr. O'Flagherty laughed at her shining eyes.

"Ah!" he said. "Your stepmother is a wise woman; she has altered your nursery regime to success, but you want more of this sort of thing to keep you in health! If I was to shut up my bit of quicksilver in the way that good nurse of yours did you, he'd be as flabby and useless as a limpet at the end of a week!"

They all made a hearty meal; then Mr. O'Flagherty hurried back to work, and Dawn and Christina carried down the plates and cups to the river to wash them.

"I don't like water," said Christina reflectively, as she stood on the edge of a strip of gravel and took the wet plates from Dawn and dried them with her cloth. "I think it's because I'm frightened of it. Do you remember in the Pilgrim's Progress, Dawn, where Christian has to go through the river? It makes me shiver to think of it! I should die of fright if I had to go through this river!"

Dawn leant across to her mysteriously, and his blue eyes flashed with eagerness.

"I'll tell you something. When we've done this, we won't go through the river, but we'll go over it. I've found out something! It'll be scrumptious!"

"There's a boat tied to the bushes here. It's only a few yards away. I rowed dad across one day when he was fishing. It's always much nicer the other side of a thing! Make haste, Tina, there! That's the last plate, and we'll put them in a heap here and take them up to the trap later on. Now, you follow me, and we'll be Red Indians in a canoe, and go sailing down the river, and then land in a strange country. Come on!"

He danced off, and Christina, feeling a sinking of heart, followed him. When she saw the boat she protested:

"I'm sure we oughtn't to, Dawn; it isn't ours. Don't touch it, you'll be drowned."

"It doesn't matter whose it is, we shan't hurt it, and we'll put it back. It's kept here to use, I know it is."

He was busy untying the rope as he spoke. Christina was suddenly beset by an agony of fear.

"Dad said you were to leave your oughts behind to-day, and we're to do as we like. I believe you're funking it!"

"I've never been in a boat," she confessed hurriedly; "but it isn't only that, Dawn, I feel we oughtn't to do it. Shall I go and ask your dad?"

"No, he said we weren't to come near him till he whistled for us. Don't be a coward, Tina. I shall write and tell Puggy if you are. Give me your hand, I'll help you in."

Dawn's will always had sway over Christina. She stepped into the boat without another word, and sat where she was told, with heaving breath and terror-stricken eyes.

"There are fishes," he said. "Do play up, Tina, and don't spoil it all by staring at me so!"

Christina hastily shut her eyes. The time on the strange horse's back seemed comfortable and safe compared with this. The boat she thought was too thin, too frail to keep her from the angry water. A hole might come in it, then they would sink at once; it would most likely upset; what would it feel like to be plunged into the cold rushing water? Oh, if only what was going to happen, would happen quickly! It was the waiting for it that was so dreadful.

The little girl thought of her brave ancestors; she repeated the family motto, but it was all in vain. Then she said her text.

"But I'm sure we're being naughty, and if we are, God won't have anything to do with me."

Suddenly there was a bump, Christina gave a little scream and opened her eyes. She found that they had arrived at the opposite bank and Dawn was already on shore tugging at the rope.

"You're such a silly!" he said contemptuously. "If you'd been game, we would have gone for a long row. Now, come on out! Here, I'll catch hold of you!"

Poor Christina could hardly believe she was safe on land again. Her cheeks were white, and she was trembling from head to foot. Dawn looked at her curiously.

"I believe you've been seasick," he said. "That's how Aunt Rachael looks when she goes on the sea."

They found the other shore not so pleasant as it looked in the distance. The ground was marshy and covered with bramble bushes. It looked like a rough common and stretched away out of sight, with no house or building to break its monotony.

"I think," said Dawn meditatively, "if we go up to that signpost, we shall find which is the nearest village. We could go and buy some sweets in a shop. That would be first-rate!"

They set off across the common, and Christina began to cheer up. By the time they reached the signpost she was quite ready for any adventure that might befall them, and Dawn's fertile brain was inventing rapidly a hundred possibilities.

"Here is the first one!" said Dawn, waving his hand impressively. "A gipsy, who has run away with a little girl! He is asleep, and it is our duty to deliver her."

For a moment Christina thought it might be truth. There, lying face downwards on the grass, was the figure of a burly man. A little girl was sitting by his side, and a few yards off an old horse was grazing. He had been unharnessed from a small cart, which seemed full of tinware and crockery.

Christina looked at the little girl with the deepest interest. She had a clean face, and her hair was plaited in two tails down her back, but a red handkerchief was tied round her head instead of a hat, and her dress was very patched and ragged.

"I expect you're having a picnic like us. My dad has got a horse and cart over in those woods. Have you had your dinner?"

The little girl's face changed. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she sprang to her feet.

"I be mortal hungry, but I can't move dad; he be taken bad, and he have laid there for hours. Do 'ee try and wake of him up, will yer?"

Dawn willingly agreed to try. He took hold of him by the shoulder and shouted in his ear; the man groaned and moved his head, but he did not seem able to raise himself.

"No," said the little girl quickly; "he don't want no doctors nor gents, 'tis his drink: he will have it, and 'tis no good my tryin' to keep him off it. Mother didn't know as 'twould be so awful hard!"

Such a sad look came into her dark eyes that Christina moved nearer her. In a few moments both little girls were talking confidentially together. The child's name was Susy, she told Christina, her father was a hawker, and her mother had died only a few months before, from a blow her husband gave her when he was the worse for drink.

"We has no home," Susy said; "we goes all over the country. Dad is very rough at times, but when he's off the drink he's awful kind. It's a deal better to have him stupid like this than when he knocks me about. I s'pect I shall go like mother did. I've been to 'ospital twice, but 'e don't mean nothin' by it!"

"I think dad be real bad too this time, for he pitched out o' the cart on his 'ead; but he never wants no doctors!"

"Frightened o' dad? Sakes, no! But I be mortal hungry, an' we ought to be movin' on."

Dawn at this moment caught sight of a man in the distance. He shouted to him, and when he came up, he soon got Susy's father in a sitting position.

"Dead drunk!" he remarked. "Not much else the matter with him. Here, my lass, I can lift him in the cart if you can drive him on to the next town. Can you do it?"

The man called to a mate of his who was approaching, and together they hoisted the hawker into his cart. The old pony was put in, and Susy clambered up.

Dawn and Christina watched the proceedings with the greatest interest. Then Christina went up to the cart.

"Susy, if you ever come to Hatherbrook village, you must come and see me, will you? I'm sure father or mother would buy some of your things."

"I knows yer name, an' I won't forget. We went to Hatherbrook las' year, and I s'pect we'll be comin' around there soon."

Christina looked upon her with the greatest admiration as she drove away, and Dawn exclaimed ecstatically:

"She's a very brave girl," said Christina, with a little sigh, "and she's only one year older than I am! She would have made a better Maclahan than I do!"

Christina followed him silently down to the river again. Her fears returned, and when Dawn excitedly pointed out to her a man rowing along in the very boat in which they had come over, she was more glad than sorry. Dawn hailed the man, but he only turned and shook his fist at him, and rowed on faster than ever.

"I'm afraid it belongs to him, Tina. Whatever shall we do? How can we get across?"

"There mayn't be a bridge for miles. Well, this fun; I shall have to swim across."

"Can't you swim? What a pity. I know! There's sure to be a ford somewhere: we'll wade across. It won't be very deep."

This was worse than a boat to poor Christina. She felt inclined to cry, and had to battle with her tears.

"It's all coming like the 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" she thought miserably to herself; "and if I have to go through the water, I know I shall die!"

Her little face was the picture of woe, as she stumbled through the long grass after Dawn.

"I believe it is. It gets dark at four o'clock now, and dad will be waiting for us. I wish those men hadn't gone off. Look there, Tina! Isn't that a cottage? We'll go over to it and ask how we can get across."

Dawn spoke gravely, and when he was grave, Christina knew the case must be bad indeed.

"Oh," she said to herself, "I must ask God to help us; Miss Bertha would tell me to. He will keep us safe, I'm sure He will."

So when they finally arrived at the cottage, Christina let Dawn go inside, whilst she knelt down by a hedge, and asked God to forgive them for having used a boat that was not theirs, and help them to find a bridge close by.

"For, please God, I'm so frightened of a boat," she added; "and if you could make a bridge, it would be so nice; and help me to be brave, and don't let me have to go through the river like Christian did!"

Then she repeated her text, and found comfort at once from it, as she generally did.

CHAPTER VIII

MR. O'FLAGHERTY did not miss the children till the light began to fade. He was quite wrapped up in his picture, and when he whistled to them, he expected that they would be close at hand.

"Dear me!" he ejaculated. "What a fellow I am for losing sight of time; we ought to have started for home an hour ago! Now where can those imps have gone!"

He tramped through the wood and down to the river. There he found the little pile of washed plates and cups. But there was no sign or sound of the children, and Mr. O'Flagherty began to lose his patience. He packed up the cart, harnessed the pony, then shouted till he was hoarse, and said to himself that he would never take two children on a painting expedition again. Finally, having faith in his small son being able to extricate himself from any scrape into which he might have fallen, he pulled out his pipe, made up the fire afresh, and lay down beside it, determining to give them an hour's grace.

The sun went down and darkness came on, and still Mr. O'Flagherty lay under the pines and waited. Sleep overtook him eventually; the fire flickered fitfully before dying out; and the silence in the pine woods was only disturbed by the restless movements of the mare, who could not understand why she was not allowed to go home and find comfort and rest in her warm stable.

"Here! You spirit of mischief!" he called, and the next moment Dawn was in his arms. "Oh, I thought you'd gone home and left us! Tina is waiting in the cart with a tipsy man and his little girl, and we've had such glorious adventures!"

"And what will Tina's people say to me, you shameless scamp, for keeping her out at this hour! Lead the way, while I follow with the trap. And keep your adventures till we're home. I'd rather not hear them now!"

They reached the high road, and there was the hawker's cart and Christina and Susy sitting hand in hand upon the seat, whilst Susy's father was crouched in the bottom of it.

It did not take long to move Christina, but she would not come till she had taken an affectionate leave of her new friend, and when she was tucked up by Mr. O'Flagherty's side, she called out:

Mr. O'Flagherty tossed Susy half a crown, and then whipping up his horse they drove off, and for quite ten minutes both Dawn and Christina were silent, waiting for the scolding that they felt was their due.

So Dawn began and related truthfully their experiences up to the time when he went to inquire at the cottage about the best way across the river.

"There was only a stupid old woman, but she told us the bridge was a mile off, back on the road we'd left by the signpost, so we had to go all back again, and Tina was very tired, and the bridge never came in sight, and at last I told Tina we must try and get across the river by wading and swimming, and while we were talking, a gentleman drove by in a motor and I called out, and he said he'd take us in. Tina was awfully frightened; she said she had never been in a motor; but it was scrumptious! We flew along, only when we came to the bridge the gentleman was going the other way, not over it, so he put us out."

"And," broke in Christina, "fancy! The other side of the bridge we found Susy. She was driving so slowly because her pony was tired, and she said she would come back with us to the woods. It was very good of her, for she's so hungry and has had no dinner, and has to wait till she gets to a town to get it. I do hope I shall see her again. Dawn told her she was a gipsy, but she said she wasn't. I do like a little girl to talk to, I only have boys."

"They're a jolly sight better than girls," began Dawn indignantly; but his father shut him up.

"It's lucky I brought lamps," he said, "for we're quite benighted. This will be our last outing, Jack-in-the-box! And it's high time you were at school!"

Christina, muffled up in a heavy plaid, began to feel sleepy. Visions of Susy and her drunken father flitted through her brain, and when Bracken Towers was reached she murmured plaintively:

Her stepmother received her in the hall, and did not seem disturbed by the lateness of the hour. She had only just returned from a long drive herself, and when Mr. O'Flagherty offered his apologies, she laughed.

"It's all right. It won't hurt the child a mild day like this. When you left word that you would be back at four, I thought it might be six. Your nationality is not famous for accuracy!"

"We can't be fettered," said Mr. O'Flagherty gaily; "but on this scamp of mine rests the blame!"

Father and son drove off. Christina tired but happy climbed the nursery stairs, and confided to Miss Loder the history of her day. But she felt that her governess did not approve of Susy.

"She wasn't a dirty child," said Christina, in her defence. "And she is so clever. She drove her cart so carefully, and she loves her father so; and she says her mother told her to be good to him and keep him from drinking too much beer. And she doesn't mind if he beats her; she's the bravest girl I've ever heard of!"

Christina thought a great deal of Susy the next few days, and when she went to tea with Miss Bertha on Sunday afternoon she talked it all over with her. Taking tea with Miss Bertha had become an institution on Sunday. Miss Loder liked a rest from her small charge; Mrs. Maclahan was quite willing, and Miss Bertha used it as her opportunity to guide small footsteps heavenwards. Dawn and Puggy were often there too; but this Sunday Christina had Miss Bertha to herself, and she was not sorry; for her old problem was puzzling her, and she wanted Miss Bertha's sympathy and help.

"I could never, never have done it!" Christina exclaimed, with tightly-clenched hands. "Fancy to-night if I knew my father was coming home to beat me! Oh, Miss Bertha, I should run away from him, I should be so frightened; and Susy loves him, and her arms are black and blue! He has hit her with a poker, and his whip, and even thrown his tin kettle at her. Why, Miss Bertha, she's braver than Joan of Arc! And supposing I had been born her, what should I do!"

"If you had been born Susy, you would still have had God as your loving Father," said Miss Bertha. "Does little Susy know about God, do you think?"

"She doesn't know much, for she told me she'd been to Sunday school once, only Saturday and Sunday were the worst days for her father to drink, and so she likes to stay with him."

"I don't think so. Miss Bertha, if she comes in our village could you, would you ask her to tea? In the kitchen I mean, like you do some of the village children. And will you tell me why God makes some little girls like Susy!"

"Yes, I will certainly have her to tea. I think, Childie, those kind of little girls are meant to be helped by their richer sisters. You have never known what it is to be hungry or cold, and I expect you will never know it; but you can help the little friendless tramps and beggars. That is why God makes rich and poor. If we were all rich, we should have no opportunity to be unselfish and sympathetic and self-denying; if we were all poor, we could not help each other so well."

"What could I do for her?" she added eagerly. "Could I buy her anything? I have some money."

"Let us wait till she appears, then we will see what she wants most. Would you like to knit her a small shawl?"

Christina's face fell. She knew how to knit, but she did not like it, and since Nurse had left, her knitting had been put aside.

"Yes, I might do that. It wouldn't take so long, and then it would be ready when she came if I started it at once."

"I got a whole sovereign from father last week. He asked if I had any pocket money, and when I said 'No,' he said he would give that to me to start with. Miss Loder said it was too much. I was going to buy some real china tea things for our den in the turret tower, but I dare say God expected me to help others with it, and that's why he let father give it to me. Could we spend it all on Susy, Miss Bertha? And do you think that one day you would take me into the town and let me spend it in the shops for her?"

"We might spend some of it," said Miss Bertha brightly. "There are several old people in the village, Childie, who are very poor indeed. I have sometimes wondered if you were getting big enough to think about them. They have worked for your family all their lives, and if you sometimes took them a little present—some flowers or fruit or a little tea and sugar—they would be so pleased, and it would be such a pleasure to you."

"You see," Miss Bertha went on, "when our Saviour came into the world, He was always kind and good to the poor. He wants us to be like Him."

"No, I don't think so, darling. It has never been explained to you, and as it is, it is a difficult subject. Little children have to be taught not to give too much, that is as bad as too little, but what I should like you to feel is that the rich and poor are meant to be real friends, and they can both help and teach each other."

"I'm sure Susy could teach me a lot of things," said Christina thoughtfully; "she knows how to cook and mend her father's shirts, she told me so."

"And perhaps you could teach her about God's love to her, and how the Lord Jesus Christ has died for her."

"Oh, I do hope I shall see her again! You know the village people, Miss Bertha; will you tell them to stop her when she comes driving along, and keep her till I come and see her."

Miss Bertha promised, and Christina left her that afternoon full of new thoughts and projects for the good of the little stranger she had met so casually.

Dawn's departure to London was the next excitement; he came over to say good-bye in his usual good spirits.

"You'll see me with the spring," he assured every one. "Dad pants to be out of London when that comes, and as for me, I get the fidgets in school awful when the buds are coming out. It's in my blood, dad says!"

"Your dad is spoiling you," said Mr. Maclahan, who heard this speech. "You'll stick at nothing as you grow older, if you don't stick to lessons now."

"My mother died young," he said softly. "Dad says it was the lessons did it. He saw her teaching in a school when he was teaching drawing. She was born to be happy, dad says; he knew it when he looked into her eyes. But she was like a 'flower in the shade,' that's how dad says it; so he took her away to make her happy, and he did it for a year; but it was too late. She'd been worked too hard at lessons; and then God took her to make her happier still. And when she looked at me just before she left me, do you know what she said to dad? 'Keep him in the sunshine, darling; his mother has had too little of it!'"

There was absolute silence when Dawn finished speaking. Mrs. Maclahan had been pouring out tea, for Christina and Dawn were having tea in the drawing-room as a treat. She made a great clatter with the cups and saucers, a sign that she did not wish to speak, and Mr. Maclahan caught up Christina on his knee.

"Here is a little lassie who wants sunshine," he said playfully. "I wish she carried as much upon her face as you do, my boy!"

"I'm Irish and she's Scotch," said Dawn with a superior air. "Dad says the Scotch conscience is a terrible thing for making faces long!"

"You and your father are a funny couple," she said. "I don't know what he will make of you by and by."

Dawn went, and Christina missed him intensely. But Miss Loder kept her busy at lessons, and when the play hours dragged, would tell her some of the wonderful stories she concocted out of her brain.

And then one day, just before the Christmas holidays, Susy appeared on the scene.

Christina was curled up on her nursery window seat with a story book. It was nearly four o'clock, and darkness was setting in. Miss Loder was out of the room, and Connie entered rather breathlessly.

"If you please, Miss Christina, there's a little girl at the back door a-keeping asking for you. We've drove her away times without number and she will keep comin' back. She says you told of her to come, and she sells tin kettles and such like, one of them pedlar folk, I should say!"

Christina flung down her book and dashed out of the room. Down the back stairs she tore, through the kitchen and out to the yard door. She was so eager, so delighted, that she threw her arms round Susy and kissed and hugged her.

"Oh, I've been waiting for you years!" she exclaimed. "Come up to the schoolroom with me. Come at once."

She dragged the not unwilling Susy upstairs as fast as she had gone down them, and made her sit in Miss Loder's easy chair by the fire.

"Now tell me all you've been doing. Are you still driving your cart, and is your father still half asleep? Oh, I've thought of you so much, and I've got such a lot of things to give you!"

Susy looked a little dazed and uncomfortable. She was even cleaner in appearance than when Christina had first seen her. Her face shone with the amount of soap with which she had scrubbed it; she had on a red plaid frock which was patched at the elbows with blue serge, and a white coarse apron was tied round her waist. Instead of a handkerchief round her head, she wore a black straw hat trimmed with a faded pink rose and a long rusty black feather, which sadly needed curling, and when she saw Christina's eyes rest on this bit of finery she drew her head up with regal pride.

"I bought it at the fair; my dad giv' me 'arfcrown. I got it to come and see you."

"It's very grand," said Christina admiringly, "and I think you look so nice, Susy. Oh, I do hope Miss Loder will ask you to stay to tea!"

"Where's the boy?" she asked. "Him what wanted you to swim the river. Ain't he with you?"

"No, he doesn't belong to me. He's in London with his father. Are you in our village, Susy? Where do you live now?"

"The fac's is this. Our Tom—the old pony you seed—has got a bad knee, an' he can't go no further, an' dad an' me is puttin' up in the public. We sleeps in the loft, an' pays sixpence a night. We come las' night; but I've had to watch dad, he were so on the booze. Howsumever, he be off to-day round about the village sellin', so I comes off here. My! What a silly lot o' women you have downstairs! They wouldn't b'lieve you an' me was chums!"

"I've been making a collection, Susy. Look! Here's a picture, it isn't in a frame; but I love it and I thought you'd like to hang it up somewhere. It's Jesus on His mother's knee on a donkey; they're going away because of the wicked king who wanted to kill Him. Do you know about it?"

"I know He was a baby once in a cowshed," she said. "They learned me that at Sunday school."

"I has a box at the bottom of our cart which is all mine; dad don't know about it. I keeps things to make a 'ome with one day; mother began it, an' I goes on the same. I'll put the pictur' there. I has a bit o' curtain, an' a carpet, an' a chiny dog to put over the mantelshelf, an' a brass candlestick. When dad an' me has made a lot o' money, we'll set up a little 'ouse with a kitchen an' proper oving, an' I'll have cupboards an' drawers, an' won't have no old boxes any more. I makes it up all to myself when I be waitin' for dad."

"I forgot you hadn't got a house," said Christina ruefully; then she produced more of her treasures.

"Here is a pincushion, and a little shoe with a thimble in it, and a lovely bit of green ribbon and two big shells, and a scrapbook and a ring puzzle, and a little china house and a book of fairy stories, and a doll's tea set; and here is a woollen scarf that I've knitted for you. Do you like them, Susy."

"I'll tie them all up in my apron, an' thank you kindly. The scarf be bootiful, and 'twill pass the time to look at 'em all an' handle 'em!"

"And, Susy, Miss Bertha wants to see you. She lives in a tiny little cottage like a doll's house, and I love her best in all the world! Will you go and see her? You'll like her so much."

"It's Susy, the little girl who drove me and Dawn and is so good to her father," explained Christina rather nervously.

It was not very often that her stepmother came to the nursery, and when she did, Christina always held her breath in expectation of what was coming. But since Miss Loder's arrival, Mrs. Maclahan had not had so much to say to her small stepdaughter.

"Is she one of the village children? Oh—ah—I remember, some tramps you met. Does Miss Loder know of this?"

"No," said Christina with scarlet cheeks; "I asked Susy to come and see me, and she came to the back door, and—and so I brought her up here."

Mrs. Maclahan laughed at her confusion and nodded her head. "You're gettin' on, Tina! Feeling your feet at last. But I don't admire this class of friend for you. Ah, here is Miss Loder. Now, we will hear what she thinks of it!"

But when Miss Loder entered, Susy fled; she dashed along the passage into the arms of a maid bringing the schoolroom tea.

"Here, young woman, let me get out o' this. Where is the door? I never did see such a place for passages and doors never, an' I wouldn't a come if I'd knowed she lived with such grand folk!"

Poor Christina witnessed Susy's flight with great disappointment. She was not scolded; for Miss Loder knew by this time how sensitive her little pupil was, but it was represented to her that though she might visit Susy in her home, Susy must never visit her in hers.

"But," pleaded the child sorrowfully, "Susy has no home, she only lives in a cart; and Miss Bertha told me that the rich and poor could be friends, so why can't Susy and me be friends?"

"If it is fine to-morrow, you can run over to Miss Bertha and ask her to befriend this little girl. If she is honest and respectable, Miss Bertha will help her, but she mustn't come here. Your mother doesn't like it."

So Christina had to comfort herself by the thought of Miss Bertha, and went to bed that night praying that God would give Susy a pretty home very soon, and let it be, if possible, in Hatherbrook village.

CHAPTER IX

THE next afternoon, when lessons were over, Miss Loder and Christina went out for their walk, and the governess was persuaded to call at Miss Bertha's on the way.

They found the old lady in her garden, trying to cut some holly from a very thick tree.

"Ah!" she said with a little sigh. "Why is it so many good things are kept just out of our reach? All the brightest berries are at the top of the tree."

"Thank you, my dear; I have promised some bits to one or two of the village children, and I am getting it this week instead of next, because I don't like to be overpressed."

"Have you seen Susy, Miss Bertha? She is here, and you said you would know her when she came."

"Yes; Susy and I met yesterday afternoon. She told me she had been to see you. We are great friends already, and she is coming to tea this afternoon."

"I think she is very sensible for her age; would you be allowed to stay to tea to meet her?"

"You are safe, Miss Mordaunt; I'm sure Tina will be delighted. I was sorry we could not welcome Miss Susy yesterday more warmly, but neither Mrs. Maclahan or I felt we could take her on Tina's word alone. Her looks were not favourable."

She cut the holly for Miss Bertha; then left Christina with her, and promised to send down Connie to fetch her home at six o'clock.

"Miss Loder always understands," said Christina, waving her hand to her governess as she departed. "She knows how I like being with you; but I'm sorry she didn't quite understand Susy."

That was a very happy afternoon to Christina. Susy arrived in due time, and had a good tea in the kitchen with Lucy. Then she came into Miss Bertha's sitting-room, and Christina and she had a lot to say to each other. Miss Bertha listened to them, and occasionally put in a word. She promised Susy she would come and see her father and talk to him about keeping from the drink, and the little girl's tired eyes lightened with hope.

"I never has no one to back me up!" she said. "I does so much talkin' to him that he be pretty well tired of it, but it 'ud come fresh and strong from you, mum; an' father be wonderful soft an' reasonable when he be sober."

"And if any one can make wicked people good, it's Miss Bertha!" exclaimed Christina with conviction. "Why, even Puggy wants to do what he ought when Miss Bertha talks to him!"

"But doesn't your father give you presents? I have always had some, even when I was alone with Nurse with no one living in our house; and now we're going to have a Christmas tree."

For a few moments Christina sat silent, wondering what she did know, and then she said:

"God loves us, Susy, you and me, and He asked Jesus Christ to come down from Heaven and die for us, so that we could go there when we die. He was punished for us."

"Oh, but we're so awfully naughty," said Christina. "We really aren't fit for Heaven, and God hates sin, Miss Bertha has told me that. Don't you know that hymn:

"And so He died!—and this is why
He came to be a man and die:
The Bible says He came from heaven
That we might have our sins forgiven."

"He knew how wicked man had been,
And knew that God must punish sin;
So out of pity Jesus said
He'd bear the punishment instead.

"Now God will pardon those who pray,
And hate their sins, and turn away . . ."

"I'll take to prayers," she said; "mother used to pray to God, but I've forgotten all about it. What shall I say?"

"I ask God to forgive my sins and make me a good girl and bless father and mother."

"Well, you see," said Christina hesitating, "I ask God about all kinds of things just when I think about them. You see, Susy, He knows everything and can do everything, so it is so nice to ask Him things that it's no good asking people about—I mean things that they can't do. I ask God to make me brave, and keep me from being frightened, and when my inside is bumping and my head buzzing, if I pray it seems to make me quiet at once."

"I wonder now," said Susy reflectively, "if God could change father. It would be awful hard; I s'pect it 'ud be too hard for Him!"

Susy nodded gravely, and then, as children will, they suddenly changed the conversation and began to talk about dolls. The time slipped away too fast.

"I'm going to see Susy every day till she goes, Miss Loder, for she's going to wait at our lodge gate to see me when we go out for our walk."

Sure enough Susy waited every day to catch a glimpse of Christina and exchange a few words with her, but with the advent of Puggy, Christina found it rather difficult to see so much of her little friend.

Miss Loder went home for the Christmas holidays, and Christina was left very much to herself.

Puggy came home in boisterous spirits. He missed Dawn, and persisted in dragging Christina after him wherever he went. He was in the turret room the first thing, and took Christina to task for its neglected, dusty appearance.

He was as energetic as ever in finding occupation for himself and Christina, but they both missed Dawn intensely.

The day before Christmas Eve, Mr. Maclahan called them down to the stables, and showed them in the stalls two small ponies, one grey, one brown.

"They are for each of you," he said, "and Tina can take her choice. It is a Christmas present from me."

"Yes, I am anxious you should be a good rider, and the sooner you begin the better. These are thoroughly quiet little animals, and if you fall, you will not have far to fall. I should recommend the grey one for you, Tina. We'll have the saddles put on at once, and Barker shall take you up and down the drive with a leading rein."

"Not me!" exclaimed Puggy in dismay. "I can stick on anything. We can go off after adventures now, Tina. Why, we can go miles and miles and miles!"

He was on the brown pony directly it was saddled, and galloped down the drive with a shout of delight. Christina trembled and shivered from head to foot when she was mounted; but she bravely fought her fears, and her father watched her with a gleam of tenderness in his eyes. He knew by this time her great timidity, and he did not want a repetition of her first trial on horseback. His wife came out and joined him as Christina was led down the drive at a foot's pace by the old groom.

"Stiff with terror," her husband said. "Perhaps it is rather a cruel experiment, at Christmas time too!"

"Oh, nonsense! She is a different child since I came. And Puggy does her all the good in the world. I am so thankful that dreadful old nurse has gone. She would have ruined any child."

"I fancy Christina has some grit in her small composition," said Mr. Maclahan. "She will lose her excessive timidity as she grows older, I hope."

Four times Christina paced the avenue, and then with a sigh of infinite relief she dismounted.

"Ah, Miss Tina," said Barker, "we shall soon have you agoing out hunting. You'll soon be easy on horseback."

"Not hunting the poor little foxes," said Christina, shuddering. "I could never, never do that."

"You ought to have been born a Frenchy," said Puggy, who was standing by and had heard her remark. "You aren't fit to be an English girl!"

"We're just like the map now," said Puggy reflectively. "You and me joined together, and Ireland away from us. I wish he was here now, but Ena says she's going to have the house full, and heaps of people are coming this afternoon, so there will be no room for him."

The children were walking off from the stables together. Puggy was in an excited frame of mind.

"Yes; it's a good thing we had our ponies given to us this morning, but if I had been the Squire, I'd have had them trotted in round the tree, it would have been fine!"

"No, she isn't as good. She's no fun at all. A gipsy would dance and tell fortunes. Do you know what I think I'll do after Christmas?"

"I'll ride off one morning to London and find Dawn. I heard the Squire say this morning it's only thirty miles, and if my pony is a good one, he ought to do that!"

"You would never get to London," she said; "you'd lose your way, and your pony would be too tired to go on!"

"Ah," retorted Puggy, "you don't know what I can do if I choose! And if you weren't a duffer, you'd ride off with me."

"I could never ride to London; I should fall off my pony again and again. I know I shall fall when I have to ride alone. He shakes me up and down so!"

Christina accepted this statement meekly. She was always hearing it from Puggy's lips and believed it.

But he always found her ready to wait on him and fetch and carry for him, and now there was no Dawn to take her part, he took advantage of her good nature and rather bullied her.

The atmosphere of the house with the bustle and preparation for Christmas guests infected Puggy with mischievous ideas. He was in and out of every room. He locked up the old butler in his pantry for two hours; he seized a big tray and used it as a toboggan down the front stairs; he abstracted tarts and mince pies from the larder, and finally retired to the turret room after the schoolroom tea, and locking himself in, remained in perfect seclusion for an hour and a half.

Christina was in the schoolroom helping Connie to decorate the pictures with holly and evergreen. Downstairs Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan with their guests were just going into dinner, when they were startled by wild shrieks, and two or three maids came tearing along the passages and down the front stairs in a panic of fright.

Tipton, the old butler, turned upon them furiously and drove them into the servants' hall. For a moment young Mrs. Maclahan looked really vexed.

"But," said a young girl, Eva Mowbray by name, "I have always heard there is a genuine ghost in this house. Please don't destroy the illusion. It is so respectable to own a ghost."

"I hope that boy won't be playing pranks with Christina," said Mr. Maclahan as he took his seat at the dinner table. "She will not bear much fright I fancy!"

"She is most likely helping him in the invention," his wife said carelessly. "No, Eva, we really don't own a ghost, or else it is taking time to make its appearance. I have seen no signs of it since I have been here."

The subject was dismissed. Other topics took the place of it, and no more disturbance was heard; but when the ladies came into the drawing-room, Tipton asked Mrs. Maclahan if she could speak to the housekeeper for a moment.

There was a little frown between Mrs. Maclahan's eyes as she rustled upstairs to the housekeeper's room. Mrs. Hallam was seated in her chair by the fire, and Christina was upon her lap. Her face was blue and pinched, her teeth chattering, and her eyes dim and glassy.

"Master Puggy ought to be well punished for this. He's dressed himself up in sheet and white mask and frightened two of the maids into hysterics by pouncing out upon them from the turret room; and not content with that, he creeps after Miss Tina as she were going along the passage. She have fainted three times, and I don't seem able to bring her round at all."

"Why don't you give her a drop of brandy, you stupid woman! Dear me, what a bother that boy is! Now, Tina, get up, and don't be silly. It's only Puggy's nonsense! He ought to be ashamed of himself! Get some brandy at once, Mrs. Hallam. Where is Connie? She had better be put straight to bed."

Acting as quickly as she talked, Mrs. Maclahan took Christina off to her bedroom, and by dint of rubbing and making her swallow some hot brandy and water the child at length revived. Mrs. Maclahan did not leave her till she was quite herself again, and then told Connie to sit with her till she fell asleep. She went back to her guests, but did not tell her husband of his little daughter's attack till they were on their way to bed.

"Yes," she said, "Puggy deserves everything you say. He is keeping out of the way now. Give him a good scolding to-morrow morning; but oh, my dear Herbert, it is a pity that Tina is so timid. What can we do with her? She will never get through life like this."

But Christina was not. Her father found her lying with wet eyelashes and a damp pillow.

Connie was sitting by the fire reading. He dismissed her, then turned to his little daughter.

"Well, Tina," he said cheerfully, "I am afraid that young scamp has given you a big fright. Didn't you know he was dressing up as a ghost? What? You are not crying? Don't be unhappy. It is all over now." He sat down and lifted her out of her bed upon his knee.

"But it isn't over," gasped Christina. "It will never be over. It's no good hiding it up. I shall always be afraid, and that's why I'm so—so miserable."

"It wasn't the ghost," sobbed Christina, "it was the being frightened I minded the most. You said I might be the first to disgrace my family and I have!"

"You are a little morbid, over-conscientious goose!" he exclaimed. "Many grown-up people would have been frightened at that boy's trick. No, Christina, you haven't disgraced your family yet. I will tell you when you have!"

He put her back into bed, and Christina, worn out by her fright and misery and comforted by her father's kiss and words, fell asleep.

The next morning Puggy was summoned to the library. He was much astonished to receive a short but thoroughly severe chastisement from Mr. Maclahan, and retired to his bedroom quite crestfallen.

He did not see Christina till dinner time, and when they met, neither made any allusion to the ghost.

CHAPTER X

CHRISTMAS was over. The tree had been quite a success, and though Christina could not get permission to have Susy as a guest, she was allowed to take her some presents from it.

The children were left much alone, owing to the many guests staying in the house. They saw very little of them. Every morning, if fine, Christina went up and down the drive on her grey pony. And to her great delight she was losing her fear, and really feeling at ease in her saddle. Puggy would fly off on his own account. He never seemed to come to harm; though his arms and legs were always liberally supplied with bumps and bruises.

One afternoon the children walked together into the village; Puggy wanted to invest in some putty which he liked to get at the carpenter's shop. He was wonderfully ingenious with his fingers, and modelled all kinds of queer articles from a bit of clay or putty. Christina wanted to get a glimpse of Susy. She knew that she was still in the village, for her father had not been well, and Christina was always afraid that they would go off suddenly, without wishing her good-bye.

As they came up to the outskirts of the village, Christina's quick eyes spied out the hawker's cart and horse standing outside an empty barn.

"Oh, I believe Susy is in the barn," she exclaimed, and then stopped short in terror, for a child's frantic cries rang out:

Like a small whirlwind Christina dashed into the barn. Susy was crying for help, and Susy was in danger. Those two facts were enough for her. She flung herself between Susy and her father and seized her little friend by the arm.

But the hawker was mad with drink. He had the butt end of his whip in his hand and was belabouring his small daughter most cruelly. Her forehead was cut and bleeding and one of her arms hung by her side as if it were broken. When Christina came in his way, in blind rage he struck out at her and felled her to the ground. Then he seemed to realize what he had done; flinging his whip from him, he staggered out of the barn and stumbling up into his cart drove off, leaving Christina unconscious on the ground and Susy kneeling by her side.

"She's dead, she's dead!" cried Susy. "And 'twas trying to save me. Oh, bring a doctor quick, quick! 'Twas just like this mother got the blow she died of."

Puggy tore up the village then for his life, and soon returned with the two first persons whom he met, Miss Bertha and the blacksmith.

"She's only stunned, I think," said Miss Bertha cheerfully, trying to reassure herself and the two children. "Bring her to my house, Taylor, I am not far away; and, Puggy, you run to Doctor Randal's. He is home, fortunately. I saw him drive in just now. Why, Susy, little woman, you're in a bad way! You must come with me too. We'll soon put you both right, please God. Come along."

Cheery Miss Bertha led the way to her small cottage, Taylor the blacksmith carrying Christina in his arms.

"That fellow ought to be in gaol!" he remarked. "He'll kill his child before he's done with her, and now he's had the impudence to attack Missy. What 'll the Squire say, I'm thinkin'!"

"I think you might send one of your boys with a message to him, but don't alarm them too much. Tell them she is with me, and I will do all that is necessary."

Miss Bertha's tiny cottage was soon reached; and Christina was lifted on to her own bed, whilst the good Lucy attended to Susy.

The doctor arrived very shortly, and before very long Christina opened her eyes. She had received a very nasty blow, and Dr. Randal advised her being put straight to bed and kept as quiet as possible.

Susy's arm was set, for a bone in it was broken; and the doctor declared that her father ought to be committed to gaol before he did any more mischief.

But she looked up pitifully at him as he spoke, saying, "He's my father; sir, 'tis only the drink. He's awful sorry when he's sober."

Mr. Maclahan came down to the cottage almost immediately after the doctor had left, but Miss Bertha begged him not to disturb his child.

"She is quite comfortable and going off to sleep; we feel that is the best thing for her. Dr. Randal advises that she should not be moved. I hope you will let me have the pleasure of keeping her. I will take the utmost care of her."

"Do you know how it happened? Where is the rascal that dared raise his hand against her? A delicate, highly-strung child like that to be subjected to such brutal treatment! I would like to give him a sound thrashing!"

"She interfered on her little friend's behalf, I gather, from Puggy's account. There is not much doubt about her pluck, is there? I always felt that she had a reserve force of which she herself knew nothing. Are you determined to see her? Come this way and step softly, so as not to disturb her."

Maclahan went into the bedroom, and looked at his sleeping child with tender eyes. Then he came out, wrung Miss Bertha's hand gratefully and strode off down the village in search for the drunken hawker.

When Christina woke up the nest morning, beyond an aching head there was not much the matter with her. Her first thought was of Susy.

"She is getting on comfortably," said Miss Bertha—"in fact, if you are very good, you shall see her this afternoon. She is staying in the house. I have two little guests, you see."

But later on, when Miss Bertha went to find Susy, she was missing. And Lucy put a slip of paper into her mistress' hand.

"'Tis rather a scrawl, ma'am. Perhaps you may be able to make it out. I'm afraid she's slipped off after her father. She's been in a rare taking over him, and seemed wonderful set on seeing Miss Christina this morning. I said to her that she couldn't be disturbed.

"I didn't know what she was meaning, but now I see she meant to go off. 'Tis very ungrateful, and she's not fit to tramp off yet awhile!"

Miss Bertha took the bit of paper. It was badly written and badly spelt, but tears were in her eyes as she deciphered it.

"I thanks you all, hand my biggest thanks to Miss Tener for I nose her luvs me, hand I luvs her for evermor, but dad as nobuddy and i must fin him and luv him lik muther toled me i was to and I ses good by for we wonte be bak here agen for the perlesse will katch him Loosee said dad wud be kort, and he don't mene to hert.

"SUSY."

She showed the paper to Christina, who looked at it long and earnestly. When she raised her eyes to Miss Bertha's, they were glowing with enthusiasm.

"Susy is the bravest girl in the whole world I believe, isn't she, Miss Bertha? I think she's quite as brave as Joan of Arc!"

"If I was to find myself turned into Susy, I should run away as fast as I could from my father, and that would be dreadfully wicked, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, but that was different. Oh, Miss Bertha, he was killing poor Susy; I really thought he was. I had to get her away from him. How could I help going?"

Miss Bertha was silent, then she laid her hand on Christina's head and said very softly and reverently:

"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends!' You understand that principle, Childie. We must not let any one call you a little coward after this."

Christina looked puzzled. She was still more so after a visit from her stepmother and Puggy.

"Let us have a look at you! Do you know the whole village has made you into a heroine? It's a pity Puggy here wasn't a little more prompt. I would rather have heard that he had accomplished the rescue than you! How did you do it, Tina? I shall begin to think your timidity is all humbug. What do you say, Miss Bertha?"

"Dawn knows Christina better than any of us," said Miss Bertha quietly. He says: "Christina is frightened, but she doesn't funk!"

"Well her father is quite proud of her. He puts it down to Scotch blood. Why is it, Miss Bertha, that the Scotch think themselves so immeasurably superior to us poor English? I tell my husband that I wonder he ever condescended to marry me; but I suppose he considers that an inferior wife is only what is right and proper! What big eyes, Tina! I'm sure you don't understand a word of my talk, do you? How's the poor head?"

"Oh, she is getting on very well, only I want to have the pleasure of nursing her for a few days," said Miss Bertha.

"It's very good of you. She seems quite happy. Now, Puggy, stay and talk to her a little, and, Miss Bertha, take me round your garden. I hear your violets are appearing even now."

Miss Bertha took Mrs. Maclahan round, talking as she went of many things. When Mrs. Maclahan eventually took her leave, she said impulsively:

"I wish I had what you have. I always feel so ignorant when I'm with you. And how is it you get the children's love? My riotous Puggy, who scorns most women-folk, thinks all the world of you."

"Perhaps because I think all the world of him!" said Miss Bertha, smiling. "I could not be happy without flowers and children."

Search was made at once for Susy and her father, but both of them had disappeared. Whether the child had come across her father on the road, or whether she had tramped along on his track, remained a question. It was pretty certain that they had left the beaten road and taken to by-lanes.

Christina was bitterly disappointed, but was quite positive that she would see Susy again.

"I'm sure I shall," she asserted. "Susy told me they often came past our village, and they'll come past it again, and perhaps one day, Miss Bertha, God will make Susy's father a good man. He can, can't He? And Susy and I are both asking Him to do it. And then he'll give up drinking and p'r'aps live in a little cottage and go to church on Sundays and be kind to Susy."

"Yes, pray on, Childie. Nothing is impossible with God," said Miss Bertha with her cheery little nod.

Christina thoroughly enjoyed her week with Miss Bertha. She trotted about the house and delighted in making herself useful, helping Lucy to dust, feeding Miss Bertha's fowls, and weeding the gravel paths in the little garden.

"There's nothing I can do at home," she confided to Miss Bertha, "because we have too many servants. There's our turret room—Puggy and I scrubbed and cleaned that out the other day; but Connie scolded me because I got my pinafore wet, and said I oughtn't to do it. I wish we lived in a little cottage like this!"

"I'm just longing to tell you the news! We're all going up to London. Think of that! And we shall see Dawn and go sight-seeing. And we're going to-morrow. Hurray!"

Christina could hardly believe it. She had never in all her life been away from her home, and at first the terrors of the unknown seized hold of her.

"Isn't London a very full place, Puggy?" she asked timidly, as the two children sat down to their schoolroom tea. "I've heard Nurse say there was no room to walk in the streets, because there were such a lot of people!"

"And trains and omnibuses and carts are all rushing about everywhere!" continued Christina with a sinking heart.

"Yes, and policemen stand in the middle of the streets to help people cross, and the shops are ripping, and we're going to stay at a hotel!"

"Fancy not knowing what a hotel is like! It's a place with huge rooms to live in and jolly good grub to eat, and any amount of people coming and going."

"I like little houses better than big ones," announced Christina. "I think I shall be afraid of so many people."

"Oh, you're afraid of everything—at least—" Puggy pulled himself up. "I promised the Squire I wouldn't say that to you; but you're an awfully queer girl, Tina. You're afraid of such a lot of silly things, and not afraid when you ought to be!"

"Go on and tell me more about London," said Christina hastily. "Shall we see Dawn, do you think?"

"Of course we shall. Ena says we can have him to lunch one day at the hotel if we like. Why, it'll be too jolly for anything!"

"Well, I'll try to like it," said Christina, resolving to swallow her fears and only think of the pleasure of seeing Dawn again.

"The mistress has told me I'm to be your maid and look after you, and as long as I don't have to manage Master Puggy I don't care. I've never been to London in my life. It'll be a great thing for me!"

Christina hardly understood how it was that every one that evening seemed to make so much of her. To her mind, what she had done for Susy seemed only what any one would have done. She did not consider herself a heroine, but the servants and even her father and mother alluded to it with pride in their tones, and all received her back with the warmest welcome. Mrs. Hallam, who seldom had much to say to the little girl, stooped and kissed her when she saw her.

"We're thankful to see you none the worse for that brute's blow!" she said. "And we're proud of you, Miss Tina; to think you stood up against the cowardly bully, when there's many a grown person would have thought twice of interfering with a man mad with drink!"

"But Susy was being hurt!" Christina exclaimed. "You wouldn't have let her be hurt if you'd been there, Mrs. Hallam!"

Mrs. Hallam made no reply. She did not feel at all sure in her own mind that she would have interfered.

"I should have sent the policeman," she agreed to herself. "What's the good of having one in the village if he's not to the fore at such times!"

"Is the head all right?" he asked. "Because you will want to be fit in London. No headache now?"

"You're going to be with us in London to take care of us, aren't you?" she asked.

"Oh!" said Christina, looking up at him with deep feeling. "What should I do if I had to take care of you, instead of you taking care of me!"

"Susy's father never takes care of her—never! She has to look after him. Don't you think Susy a wonderful girl, father?"

"I think she is a poor little unfortunate child, and the sooner she is taken away from her father the better, I should say! But I want you to put those people clean out of your head, Christina; don't give them a thought! Forget them altogether."

"But," said Christina slowly, "Susy is in my heart, not in my head, and I can't put her out from there. I love her, father, and we mean to sit next to each other in Heaven if God will let us; do you think He will, father?"

"Those are questions for Miss Bertha, not for me," said her father hastily, and then he wished her good-night and left her.

CHAPTER XI

They had had three days of sight-seeing in town, and it had almost been too bewildering for Christina. They had been to a pantomime, "Olympia," Madame Tussaud's and the Crystal Palace, and now Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan were going down for the day to Richmond, and the children were to be left in the charge of Blanche, Mrs. Maclahan's maid, who was a very staid elderly woman.

They had just finished breakfast in their hotel, and Mr. Maclahan smiled when he received his answer.

"Ah! I might have guessed that! Now remember! You are to have Blanche with you when you go. She can call a cab, and take you to see Dawn, and you can bring him back to lunch."

Puggy knew the Squire too well by this time to dream of protesting further, but he prepared himself to be very disagreeable, and when Puggy was disagreeable, he made every one near him very uncomfortable. Christina was his butt; when Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan had gone, he made her shiver in her shoes by his dark descriptions of cab drives in London.

"The horses are always starved, and they tumble down. I saw a little girl come crashing through a cab window once, and bits of glass were sticking in her face just like pins in a pincushion, and it was because the cab horse tumbled. And all cabmen in London are drunk, and they drive anyhow, and crash into motor-cars and kill people by hundreds; and cabs in London are always nearly worn out: their wheels fly off, and then down they go! If the Squire had let us walk to Dawn's house, we should have got there safely; but he makes us come in a cab, and we're positively certain to have an accident, so if we're all killed it won't be my fault, and I shall tell them so!"

"But," said Christina, trying to disguise her terror at such a catalogue of evils, "if you're killed, you won't be able to say anything!"

"Oh, I shall manage to let them know," said Puggy with an emphatic nod of his round head.

When they started in a four-wheeler, Christina's nerves were on edge. She clutched hold of Blanche, who sat beside her, and asked her appealingly if there was any danger.

"You're sitting on danger," said Puggy darkly; "this cab smells of smallpox. A fellow at my school got into a cab just like this and died of the smallpox a month afterwards. They always take smallpox people in those cabs—that's why my sister goes in hansoms; she says you're bound to get awful diseases in these cabs."

Having thoroughly frightened both Blanche and Christina, Puggy began to enjoy himself. But the pleasures of that drive were over to poor Christina. Every jolt of the cab meant a wheel off to her, every block in the streets meant collision, every application of the cabman's whip, and a corresponding start of the horse, meant a tumble and certain death. Then she remembered her text and repeated it over to herself.

Still, when they arrived in Kensington, and were put down at Dawn's home, Christina drew a long sigh of relief.

"I expect he'll be as cocky as a sparrow," said Puggy, as they mounted the steps and rang the bell; "but I shan't let him cheek me!"

"Yes, Master Dawn is at home; he is in the studio with his father. I will let him know."

"You mustn't stay here long," said Blanche; "for the cabman is waiting, and if Master Dawn can come back with us, he must do it at once."

The door flew open as she spoke, and Dawn appeared, looking more radiant than ever. He embraced Christina, thumped Puggy on the back and danced up and down with ecstasy.

"How scrumptious! I never knew you were in London. Oh what ripping fun we'll have! I have ten days' more holidays, and if those aren't enough to do everything in, I'll take French leave, and add on a few more days."

"A 'bus is much jollier! Come and see dad. Tina, he's working at your picture: the one with the hounds. It's nearly finished, and we have such a lovely hound lent to us. He goes any way you want him to; I want to make him stand on his head, but dad won't let me."

"They must only stay five minutes," said Blanche, but they never heard her, they were all racing upstairs to Mr. O'Flagherty's studio.

It was a much larger room than that in his country cottage. Christina looked round it with interest. There were rich coloured stuffs draped over screens, beautiful pictures, bits of armour, china bowls, and all sorts of queer pieces of furniture. The artist was working away, palette in hand. Dawn's corner was soon discovered. A plate of oranges on a stool, some shavings of wood and a knife, and various boy's playthings scattered round showed where he had been working.

"Oh, dad, isn't this luck?" Dawn exclaimed. "Say good-bye for the day, for you won't see me before bedtime; and won't you be jolly glad to get rid of me!"

"You've brought a whiff of the country with you," he said. "Well, Tina, have you been defying any more savage sportsmen?"

"What? Oh, this is delicious! Tell me all about it. Dawn, hand the oranges round. Don't you forget your hospitality."

So the story of Susy and her father was told. Mr. O'Flagherty chuckled with delight over it, and laughed at Christina's solemn face. The recital to her meant a recital of Susy's woes and courage. Her own part in it was a very small one in her own estimation.

"Bravo, little Scotland!" said the artist. "Go through the world with your back up and fists out for the oppressed. I wish it had been my Jack-in-the-box. Whose cause will you undertake next, I wonder? Plenty need a champion in this big city."

"I wish you'd chuck Blanche out of the cab, Tina," said Puggy; "then you would be good for something. If she wasn't a woman, but just a fellow like me, I'd do it myself with the greatest pleasure!"

"I'll show you round London in a jiffy!" cried Dawn. "I know the way, don't I, dad?"

They stayed chatting a few minutes longer, and then Dawn struggled into his greatcoat, and accompanied them downstairs.

"Oh," he said, as they got into the cab together, "we'll do some lovely things together! Tell me what you've done."

Their tongues went fast. At the bottom of Hanover Square they got out and walked the rest of the way to their hotel. Dawn thoroughly enjoyed himself. He liked seeing the different people come in and out of the rooms, and invented a story at once about each of them. They in their turn looked at the pretty curly-headed boy with great interest.

The three children sat down to a luncheon table by themselves. Puggy was in his element now.

"I should like to clear the world of women," he asserted. "I shall have nothing but men servants in my house when I grow up. I hate Blanche and that girl Connie being with us. It's like being with nurses again."

"I'll take you to see some of dad's pictures this afternoon," said Dawn. "They're in a gallery with some others in Bond Street. That's close here, you know. I can go in free. The gatekeeper knows me."

"Yes, Dawn is quite enough for us," said Puggy. "And we'll go out the very minute we've had enough to eat."

Christina was silent. The idea of going out with the two boys without Blanche sounded very tempting.

"The Squire only said Blanche was to come with us when we went to Dawn," argued Puggy.

"Dad says," Dawn asserted thoughtfully, conveying some apple tart to his mouth, "that the Scotch people's consciences make them dour; he says we have too little of it, and they have too much."

"Well, my conscience is just right," said Puggy. "I'm neither Scotch or Irish, so you listen to me, Tina. My conscience says go."

"We'll just tell Blanche what we mean to do," suggested Dawn, pushing his chair away. "You leave her to me. I'll manage her. And if she says we can go, it will be all right."

Blanche had a great desire to go out shopping on her own account, so when Dawn with specious arguments convinced her that they would only walk up one street and down another, and come straight back to tea after seeing the pictures, she reluctantly gave her consent.

The three children started from the hotel in the highest spirits. Even Christina, now that her conscience was eased, felt the force of Dawn's gay humour.

He told them the drollest anecdotes, and was brimful of mischievous devices for spending the next few days.

"Not been to the Zoo? Of course we'll go there. We'll do it to-morrow. I've learnt the way to drive an elephant. A friend of dad's told me. He's been in India; and we'll get on the elephant's back and make him gallop! Wouldn't it be fun to tear out of the gardens and come galloping down Regent Street on him! What a sight we should be! Now come on, here we are, and its awful fun to hear what people say about dad's pictures! There's one of me, when I was quite a youngster, and I'm sitting in the sea; and then there are the three pictures, 'Dawn' and 'Day' and 'Dusk.' I can tell you those are fine!"

They were at the gallery by the turnstile; the ticket collector looked at Dawn rather sternly.

"I'm showing some friends round," Dawn said airily. "Don't mind us. I have dad's card in my pocket, and we shan't stay long."

"Sixpence each, and that's only asking half-price. If you goes in free, a tail o' children after you don't!"

Dawn's face was crimson with mortification. He felt in his pockets, and then laughed his sunny laugh.

"I'm a penniless Paddy," he said, "or I'd pay it for you; but I'll be even with that fellow yet, for insulting my friends! Come on. Now what would you say if your father had painted pictures like that?"

He led them triumphantly to a small room, and there in the centre were three large pictures. A group of people were before them discussing them, and Dawn on tiptoe, with his finger on his lips, crept up to listen.

Christina was feasting her eyes, not her ears. The first picture was a portrait of Dawn, and a very lovely picture he made. He was represented as just waking up in the centre of a great forest, the sun was rising, though not actually in sight. Its pale golden light surrounded by a slight morning mist, edged the horizon between some grand-looking pines. It was a picture that portrayed not only the dawn of youth, but the dawn of day and the dawn of summer. Everything was young and fresh; the baby bracken was softly uncurling, the buds of tree and bush all unfolding; a nest of young birds, a group of tiny rabbits, and a timid frightened fawn peering through the bushes at the waking child were all depicted with power that was akin to genius. The child was the centre of it all, and with his flushed and dimpled face, the disordered curls on his forehead, his sleepy eyes, and his little limbs in the act of stretching themselves, was a life-like sketch.

"What a lovely idea!" said a young girl enthusiastically. "And what a pretty boy! I long to take him up in my lap and kiss him!"

Dawn looked back at Puggy and Christina with mischief in his glance, then he sauntered boldly in front of the girl and looked at her.

"Thank you!" he said, and then his flying feet carried him out of sight into an adjoining room before the young girl could get over her astonishment. Puggy followed him, but Christina stayed, and let her eyes take her to the next picture.

"Day" was simply the picture of a handsome, vigorous young blacksmith working at his forge; children were grouped round the door on their way to school; the sunshine outside and the glowing fire in the darkened forge were managed with consummate skill. "Dusk" was the third picture, and Christina could not tear herself away from this. An old man sitting in the twilight by the sick-bed of his old wife. That was the subject of it, but the gloom and pathos in his resigned expression and attitude, and the sad and wistful glance of his dying wife, as her face was turned towards him, brought the tears to the little girl's eyes.

"Why? Because they are meeting their doom, the doom of us all—decay and death!"

Christina started nervously at the voice close to her. Turning, she saw an old man behind her leaning on his stick, and gazing intently upon the picture.

"But if you die, you go to Jesus," said Christina simply, "and that's a happy thing to do; Miss Bertha says it is."

"Say it again, child, I like to hear it. I am in the dusk of my life. The dusk before darkness."

A gentle-looking woman murmured these words as she passed by, and the old man gazed after her with a sudden gleam of brightness in his eye. Then he turned to Christina:

"I am fond of little girls," he said. "I had a little girl of my own once, and when she was as small as you, she used to sit on my knee and ask me to tell her stories. Have you come here alone?"

"No," said Christina, a sudden panic seizing her, "I'm with Puggy and Dawn, and—and I believe they have left me!"

She looked wildly round. A sense of being lost in London rushed over her, but a minute afterwards, she caught sight of Puggy the other end of the room, and she dashed across to him.

"He's talking to two ladies; they seem to know him. We were just beginning to have a game of hide and seek, and he was under one of those seats when the ladies sat down, and then he mewed like a cat, and they sprang up in an awful fright, and then he crawled out and begged their pardon, and talked as if the whole place belonged to him, and they said they knew his father, and whilst they were jawing I came off."

"We can't go away without Dawn. Don't you like pictures, Puggy? I love them; do let us see some more. Look at that little girl on horseback over there, who is she I wonder?"

"I know I'd like to be on horseback," muttered Puggy; "this is too slow for me. I want to get out of it."

"Isn't it nice here?" he said. "The rooms are so big. Have you seen dad's pictures, Tina?"

"All right, we will; and we'll go and have some tea in a shop. I know where to take you. Dad and I always go there."

Christina very reluctantly left the pictures and followed the boys out into the street. It was Dawn's way she knew, to be always changing his programme. But when they left the gallery, which had been lighted throughout with electricity, they found that outside, thick darkness prevailed.

"No, it's a regular pea soup fog; isn't it fun? Come on, you follow me! I know the way."

"Don't go so fast," pleaded Christina; "and, please, don't cross the street. I can't see the horses and carts properly, and I shall be run over."

"This is the kind of day you get robbed," announced Dawn. "Burglars and pickpockets always come along in a fog. Mind if any one takes hold of you, you hit him straight in the face with your fist. Do you hear, Christina? You aren't afraid any more, are you?"

"Oh," cried Christina clutching hold of his arm, "I'm very, very much afraid just now!"

Everything seemed far away. The lights in the shops, the lamps on the carriages, seemed literally vanishing; and at last she gasped out: "Do you think it's the Judgment Day? Perhaps God has taken the sun right away?"

Both boys laughed; and then suddenly—Christina never knew how it was—there was a crowd of people, she became detached from the boys; and before she had time to call after them, she was alone by herself in the foggy London street.

CHAPTER XII

FOR a few minutes she did not realize it, but she pressed after the boys in the direction in which she thought they had gone. She was too shy to call after them; too frightened and bewildered to speak to any passer-by. Stories of children being kidnapped came into her mind. Dawn had said burglars and pickpockets were about; if she spoke, they might offer to take her home, and then lead her away to rob her or kill her. An overwhelming sense of terror seized her, she fancied some one caught hold of her; and turning round, she ran as if for her life away from the possible pickpocket. The fog seemed to get thicker, she could not see a few feet in front of her, and at last she stood still trying to collect her thoughts.

"I don't know where I am, or what I'm to do," she said to herself. "I couldn't find a cab if I wanted one, and I couldn't drive in a cab alone, I should die of fright. The cabman would be drunk; Puggy said they always were. But I'm sure God will take care of me; I mustn't be frightened. I'll say my text:

"I will trust God to take care of me. I wish I was near a shop; they seem to have all gone away. Perhaps if I went up to a house and knocked at the door, they would tell me what to do."

She was trying hard to be cool and brave; and, gathering all her courage together, she felt her way to the nearest doorstep; three steps she mounted, and then dimly through the fog she saw a bell. This she pulled, and waited in trepidation till some one came. The some one proved to be a manservant, and in opening the door he seemed to let out a flood of light and warmth.

But as Christina looked up at him her heart failed her. He could see her less plainly than she could see him, and his voice was irate as he exclaimed:

"One of you begging brats again! How dare you touch the bell! Is my time to be taken up by answering the door to such as you!"

Christina was dumb; the door was slammed violently in her face, and sitting down on the step she gave way to a few tears.

"What am I to do? The houses are no good, and the people aren't, for I can't see them, and I don't know where the cabs are, or where I am!"

Then she thought she might speak to a lady if one passed by, but none seemed to come in her direction. Two loud-voiced girls passed her certainly, but their tones were not those of ladies, and this Christina knew instinctively.

"I s'pose," she said sorrowfully to herself, "that God is punishing me for having come out without Blanche. My conscience was right after all! And now the very worst has happened to me, and I shall never be found, and I shall be lost for ever!"

She felt cold and miserable; the fog got down her throat and made her cough. She wondered vaguely why she did not feel more frightened, and walked along the pavement with tired lagging steps.

"I wonder if it will ever get light again!" she said to herself, and then the inspiration seized her to take her stand under one of the electric lamps that edged the street at intervals.

"Perhaps I shall be able to see the people's faces better, and if they aren't all burglars, I might ask some one to help me!"

She had hardly taken her stand under the lamp before some one did come by whom she recognized at once. It was the old gentleman who had spoken to her in the picture gallery. In an instant she darted forward and touched his arm timidly.

"Eh? What! Lost? No begging tricks! Why, bless my soul, it's my little friend who ran away from the pictures and me!"

"Can't find your way home? Delightful! I'm as dull as ditch water to-day, you shall come home with me and cheer me up. Have you had your tea? I have not. Come along, come along, my house is not far from here. We'll send you home when we've done with you."

He took her hand in his. Christina followed him happily, till a sudden fear seized her.

"Please, don't mind my asking you, but you are not a burglar or a pickpocket, are you? You wouldn't rob me, would you? I—I don't know anybody in London, and Puggy and Dawn tell me such dreadful stories!"

"If you would take me back to our hotel, I should like it best; for, you see, the boys will be looking for me."

"All in good time. Here we are! You must come in and see my old lady and then you will know why I was moon-struck over that dismal picture."

He had stopped at one of the houses in the street, inserted a latchkey into the door, and then took Christina up a steep flight of stairs.

"Now," he said, ushering her into a small drawing-room that was only lighted by a flickering fire, "here is my good wife. She can't see you in this fog, and she couldn't if it was bright sunshine, for she is quite blind, so she will take my word for it when I tell her that you are a very pretty little lady with eyes like our Minnie's. Come and shake hands with her."

Christina crossed the room timidly. Seated in an armchair by the fire was a very sweet-looking old lady. She was knitting a scarf, and had just laid down her work to listen to her husband's voice. "Very glad to see you, dear, or—I should say—to have you here, as I can't see any one. It is not often we have little visitors. How did you meet her, Ted?"

"Looking at a picture. Ah, dear! Don't remind me of it. Just a picture of ourselves a few years later! And then she ran away from me, and then we met again in the streets, and she told me she was lost. Lost in London! I wonder how many loot souls London is responsible for!"

The old gentleman took off his hat and sat down heavily on a chair. Christina looked at him in wonder, then she laid her little hand softly on the old lady's withered one.

"I'm not quite lost, because I know the name of our hotel, and any one will take me there, won't they? It's this dreadful fog. I couldn't see the boys any more."

"Ted dear, ring the bell. Chivers will bring up tea. You must stay and have some tea, little girl, and then my husband will take you home. He wants cheering up; but he is not always so gloomy as this!"

Christina stayed to tea. She did not see what else she could do, and she confided to the old couple a good deal concerning herself and the boys.

She heard from the old lady that her name was Bolland, and that she and her husband had lived in London for fifty years, only going away from it sometimes for change of air. Mr. Bolland had been once an artist himself, but rheumatism had crippled his hands and limbs so badly that for some years he had not been able to touch a paint brush.

"And where is your little girl?" Christina asked. "The little girl something like me?"

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a sigh. "She's in Heaven; she died when she was twelve years old. I've often thought that if she had lived, she would have brightened our life now, wouldn't she, Ted? Show the little girl your picture of her. She'd like to see our Minnie."

Mr. Bolland left the room and returned with a large picture under his arm. It was a pretty portrait: a little girl in white muslin frock with a string of coral beads round her neck. Christina gazed at it admiringly.

"Yes," said Mr. Bolland, looking at her earnestly, "you've the same eyes, my dear, and you say the things Minnie used to say. Why when she lay dying she looked up at me, 'Father, I'm sorry to leave you, but so glad to go to Jesus,' she said."

He turned away and cleared his throat. Mrs. Bolland took hold of Christina's hand.

"Will you come and see us another day?" she asked gently. "Do you think you would be allowed to? We are very lonely old people, and it is such a treat to hear a little child's voice."

"No, they're boys. We're called the United Kingdom. Puggy is England, and Dawn is Ireland, and I'm Scotland. Dawn is named after the picture we saw to-day."

"I'll take you to your hotel," said Mr. Bolland. "We won't have a cab. The fog is clearing, and it is not far from here."

So Christina wished Mrs. Bolland good-bye, and promised her she would come again if she could, and then taking hold of Mr. Bolland's hand, she was piloted across several streets, and finally reached the hotel just at the time when her father, with a very worried face, was making inquiries about her in the entrance hall.

It appeared that neither Puggy nor Dawn had returned. Mr. Maclahan thanked the old gentleman warmly for bringing his little daughter back. He took her up at once to their private sitting-room, where her stepmother was having a cup of tea.

"It is really most culpable of Blanche to let these three children go out alone," said Mr. Maclahan sharply.

"Yes," his wife responded, "I suppose it is; but Puggy can generally be trusted to look after himself."

"Don't be hard on him. Tina seems the most capable of the three, for she has come back first."

"I expect," said Christina with anxious eyes, "that they're looking for me all this time. We lost each other in the fog. They got in front of me, and I lost them."

"Come here and tell me what you have been doing," said Mrs. Maclahan to her little stepdaughter.

"Of course they ought to have looked after you better. But boys will be boys. I'm afraid your father will be very angry with Puggy!"

"You had better ask your father. I should think it would be a very odd proceeding. We do not know them, though I believe Mr. Bolland was an R.A. once. Ask Dawn's father if he knows him. And now go to Connie, and stay with her."

Christina left the room with relief. Though her stepmother was kind to her, she was not sympathetic; the little girl was never quite at ease when with her. She felt she was in the way, and that Mrs. Maclahan only tolerated her presence. And Mrs. Maclahan made no secret of her preference for the boys. She did not understand Christina, and she felt indifferent towards her. Beyond seeing that she was educated, fed and clothed, her stepmother had little to do with her, and it was to her father that Christina turned with the assurance of being welcome. Mr. Maclahan was taking an increasing interest in his little daughter, and her love of books was a great bond of union between them.

Half an hour afterwards the boys returned. They were indignant instead of relieved to find Christina safely at home.

"What did you run away from us for, you little stupid!" exclaimed Puggy. "A nice hunt we have had for you!"

"And all the policemen in London are looking for you," asserted Dawn. "We did the thing properly I can tell you! We offered £500 reward for whoever would find you."

"Oh, your father would give that and a good deal more to get you back," said Dawn coolly. "Why, dad thinks me worth more than a thousand pounds, I know he does! And if I was put up for sale, I dare say I'd fetch more!"

"You'd only be bought by silly old ladies who go in for lapdogs. Your curls would keep off any sensible man from owning you!"

"Now come, we'll have it out! I've been longing to give you a good crack across your head ever since you told me I was a penniless Irishman!"

"I never called you a man at all!" cried Puggy, squaring his shoulders. "You're a long-haired mongrel, that's what you are!"

Dawn flew like a little tiger upon Puggy, but Christina flung herself between them.

"You shan't fight, you mustn't!" she cried. "Why, this is the first day we've met. Oh, do be good boys, and tell me what you've been doing!"

"We'll put it off," he said with a knowing nod at Puggy. "I want to tell where we've been. Such a lark, Tina; I took Puggy to Scotland Yard. You've never been there I know."

"Does it belong to Scotland?" asked Christina. "I ought to know about it I expect!"

"I don't know what it has to do with Scotland, but the cleverest policemen live in it; and if anything is lost, they take it there. Dad lost his best umbrella in a train, and he took me there, and we got it again."

"No," interrupted Puggy, "I told him they wouldn't. I know London as well as Dawn does, and if any one is found wandering about the streets with no home, they're taken straight off to prison by the police, and made to sleep there all night!"

"Oh!" gasped Christina. "Just suppose a policeman had caught hold of me! How thankful I am he didn't!"

"Such fun!" went on Dawn with a chuckle. "Puggy got a shove from some one in the fog and he hit him in the face, and it was a bobby! We flew for our lives, and then we went to Scotland Yard."

"They'd just brought a huge bunch of keys in," put in Puggy, "and they were quite interested about you. We made up a long story about you. We told them you were the daughter of a millionaire, that we fancied you had been kidnapped in the fog for the sake of your dress and jewellery; we told them bills were going to be printed about you, and if they wished to get the reward, they'd better be quick and find you."

"I told them," said Dawn importantly, "that my father was painting a picture of you which was going to be put in the Academy, so that made them think you were very grand indeed. But then they began to want to know too much, and asked us so many questions that we got tired and came away."

The children were talking together in the lounge of the hotel. They were interrupted now by the appearance of Mr. Maclahan, who gave both boys a sharp scolding, and told Dawn he had better go home.

"Yes," he said, shaking back his curls with a saucy gesture, "and I shall invite Tina to spend the day with me, and then get dad to scold her well, and send her home without any tea."

"Do let Dawn stay to tea, father," Christina begged. "I've had mine out, but he has had none."

But Dawn was already flying down the broad staircase. Looking up when he reached the bottom, he waved his cap.

"Good-bye, you proper people. I like tea with dad better than with the King himself! And I'll come round and see you to-morrow Tina!"

CHAPTER XIII

"OF course you must take home presents for everybody. People always buy things when they come to London, and we'll begin with a present for Miss Bertha!"

It was Dawn who spoke. The three children were in Kensington Gardens. Blanche was with them, but she was now on a seat reading a book. They had been having a series of games, and, tired out, were consulting as to the next move.

"The great thing," said Dawn wisely, "is to give people what they like, not what you like yourself. When I was a small kid I gave dad a penny trumpet on his birthday. He didn't pitch it out of the window, but he pretended he liked it. Of course I know better now, and I generally give him some tobacco."

"We've got to think what old ladies like," asserted Puggy. "My sister Ena gave the old women in the almshouses a pound of tea and a shawl."

"But Miss Bertha has lots of shawls, and very nice tea," said Christina. "I wish we knew an old lady who would tell us what she likes. I wonder if Mrs. Bolland could tell us. Father said I might go and see her again."

"Oh, a bonnet or a gown," she said, and Christina went back to the boys and repeated her words.

"The very thing," said Dawn. "We'll get her the most lovely bonnet. How much money have we got?"

Miss Bertha was dear to their hearts. As Puggy said, the Christmas holidays were rich times, and they determined that Miss Bertha should have the very best bonnet that London could produce. The next question was, where should they buy it and when?

"We mustn't have any grown-up person bothering us. Dad lets me go alone to any shop, but Tina's father is so waxy about her that she'll have to be left behind. You and me must choose it, Puggy."

Christina nearly dissolved into tears. "You won't choose it without me," she pleaded. "I really must choose it with you."

There was a long talk about it. Finally, Blanche was taken into their confidence, and persuaded to come with them to the nearest milliner's on their way home. But she was made to wait outside, whilst they went in and made their purchase.

It was a very grand shop indeed. Christina wondered at the audacity of the boys. She grew nervous and shy at the low giggling of the young lady assistants, as they produced various bonnets for the boys' inspection. Puggy and Dawn were perfectly equal to the occasion. They made the young women put the bonnets on, they tried them on themselves, and insisted upon Christina doing so.

"It's for an old lady, and she's not at all gloomy," said Dawn, "so we won't have a black bonnet. It must be a blue or pink one."

"Or one with cherries in," suggested Puggy, pointing to a small toque trimmed entirely of that fruit. "Now that's a lovely one, it makes me want to eat it! Do just put that on your head, Dawn, and let me get behind you, because I do sit behind Miss Bertha in church, and if they smell like cherries, I shall snap at them, I know I shall."

Christina did not like the cherry toque, it was too small she thought. After a great deal of talk they settled on one at last. It was a wonderful erection of red roses and black plumes. An obliging assistant said she would take out the black feather and ribbon and put in red instead, and Christina gave the address of the hotel. When the bill was handed to them, they saw it came to four guineas. None of them had asked the price, and none of them liked to say that they thought it dear.

They walked out of the shop, then gazed at each other with blank feelings of despair.

"I've just half a crown more," said Dawn, "that will clear me out for good and all. I did think my new half-sovereign would have been enough!"

Blanche had been sauntering outside looking into other shop windows. She was in a very good humour to-day.

"It depends on the style, Miss Tina; a cheap one could be had for eighteen or nineteen shillings. I've seen some at twenty guineas. And I've seen them at five shillings and sixpence for the working classes."

Christina said no more; the children were very quiet till they reached their hotel, then Puggy said in the entrance hall as Dawn was wishing them good-bye:

"Look here! You shan't go home and leave us in this fix. It's share alike. We said so."

"Come into our sitting-room. Father and mother are out," suggested Christina, "and we can talk quietly without any one hearing us."

So to the sitting-room they went, and it was with very sober faces they anxiously consulted together. "Would they take it back and let us have a cheaper one?" Christina asked.

"Of course they wouldn't!" exclaimed Dawn. "There wasn't another nice one in the shop. Besides, we ought to be willing to sacerryfice anything for Miss Bertha. We must sell our clothes or something. There's lots of ways of getting money, you know; lots, and awfully nice ways too. I'll give my last half-crown. I was a cad to mind giving it for Miss Bertha, and mind you two clear your money bags clean out. Not one penny do you keep back!"

Christina hastily left the room, and soon returned with her money-box. Puggy went away and brought his last pennies. They put their money in a pile and counted it up. With Dawn's twelve shillings and sixpence they made out exactly two pounds one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny, and then, with pencil and paper, they came to the alarming conclusion that they must get together two pounds two shillings and fourpence halfpenny more.

"We shall never do it. How can we pay it to-night?" Christina's face was very woe-begone.

"Oh, we must ask them to wait for their money for a few days," said Dawn airily. "We'll do it!"

"I know," said Puggy, with the air of a martyr, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and took his silver watch and chain out and laid it on the table. "A chap in our school got into debt, and took his watch to the pawnshop. I'll do the same. It's true the chap was found out and nearly expelled, but that was because his debts were backing horses, it wasn't for pawning his watch. I'll go now. What have you got, Tina?"

Christina wildly suggested a great many of her treasures; but as they were chiefly books and toys the boys scoffed at her.

"It must be something silver or gold," they said. "I have my gold bangle that father gave me," said Christina humbly. "I hope he won't be angry if I sell it; but we couldn't be in debt, could we? That's much worse. Don't they put you into prison for debt?"

"No," said Puggy, "they send a seedy-looking chap to follow you wherever you go, and he gets inside your house and lives on the fat of the land, and you daren't turn him out, and then he takes any furniture or pictures or silver he likes, to pay for what you owe."

"You fetch me your bangle and I'll take my watch, and Dawn and I will go off to the pawnshop at once. And don't you say anything to any one till we come back."

The boys slipped out of the hotel, and Christina sat down to wait for their return in great unhappiness of mind. She was unhappy about her bangle; she felt she ought to have asked some one's leave before she parted with it; she was dreading the arrival of the bonnet, and felt she would not be equal to the occasion; and she did not know whether Puggy was right in going out with Dawn so late in the afternoon. This was quite enough to bring careworn wrinkles on her small brow.

"Oh!" cried Christina excitedly, getting down from her chair. "It must wait, please. At least, it must come in—it belongs to us—but they must wait."

"I'll tell the young person to bring it in," said the waiter; and the next moment poor Christina was face to face with a tall young woman, who held a bandbox in her hand. She was not one of the attendants whom Christina had already seen in the shop, and for a moment the child looked at her with an agonized face. How could she keep her till the boys came back she wondered!

"Please sit down; we are expecting you. They will be here presently. It's a very fine day."

The girl took a seat. If Christina's voice trembled with nervousness, she did not seem to notice it. She looked at her with a little smile.

"If it is a fine day it doesn't make any odds to me. I'm always tramping about all weathers."

"Oh, it isn't for her. It is a present the boys and I are going to give Miss Bertha. The bonnet belongs to us, you know."

"The boys will be here very soon with it." Christina's cheeks flushed crimson as she spoke.

"Well, my time is precious," said the young woman, and her tone was sharp again.

She took out the bonnet, and Christina gazed at it admiringly. It certainly was a very striking structure; the red ribbons and plumes and flowers made you hot to look at it!

"The old lady will be seen a mile off when she wears it," said the young woman. "It'll act as a danger signal anywhere!"

Christina did not understand this. She looked at the clock. It was six o'clock. Would the boys ever be back? Then she tried to make more conversation.

A short laugh was the only answer she got, and then to her infinite relief she heard a scuffle outside, and the door burst open.

The boys paused abruptly when they saw that Christina was not alone. Dawn, seeing the bonnet on the table, made a dash at it, put it on his head, and danced round the table. Puggy, with a very business-like air, turned to the young woman.

"Hold out your hand, and I'll count the money into it, and mind you give me a proper receipt for it. I know all about bills. You can't take me in!"

Dawn paused in his antics to see the transaction, and Christina watched breathlessly whilst Puggy began to count out his gold and silver. He was inflated with pride and importance as he did so, but the young woman did not seem impressed; on the contrary, she laughed in his face as she wrote out the receipt and gave it to him.

"I hope the lady will like the bonnet," she said, as she took her leave; "it isn't often we send out such a specimen!"

Forgetting he still wore the bonnet, he dashed out of the room after her, and putting his head over the banister, he shouted out:

A shout of laughter greeted him, and he saw three or four ladies and gentlemen in the entrance hall below looking up.

"Is it a monkey?" he heard some one say, and then remembering his headgear, he scampered back to the sitting-room.

"Well, you see, we couldn't find a proper pawnshop, so we went into the first jeweller's we came to. The man was a decent chap. He asked how much we wanted, and we told him the exact sum. He gave it to us. He said my watch was very old, and your bangle out of fashion, or he could have given us more."

"I thought you were never coming," said Christina. "Where shall we put the bonnet? She has taken the box away."

"Oh, you must keep it somewhere," said Puggy impatiently, "girls take care of bonnets, boys don't!"

"I wish I was coming back with you two," said Dawn gravely. "I should awfully like to see Miss Bertha's face when she sees her present. Now, mind you don't say a word to anybody, Tina. Let it be a proper surprise."

Christina said no more, but she carried a heavy burden with her to bed that night, and the next morning took counsel with Puggy.

"I shall never be happy till father knows. I can't laugh or smile or talk or play while I remember it. Do let me tell him."

"Now, look here, don't make an ass of yourself! You had to do it! I'm sure the Squire would be awfully waxy if he knew you had debts you couldn't pay. You'll see what he says. I'll ask about it at breakfast."

Accordingly Puggy began, when he and Christina were seated at the breakfast table with Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan:

"No. I never mean to. But it's better to sell all the clothes off your back, isn't it, than to run up a bill you can't pay?"

"I was only speaking in—a—a allegory fashion," he said. "I'm not going to sell my clothes; I was thinking of the world and all the people in it who have bills they can't pay. Why, if Christina and I—" here he kicked Christina under the table, for he was treading on delicate ground—"had a bill to pay and we hadn't the money, it would be quite right if we sold some of our own toys and things!"

"It would be quite wrong for you to have any bill that you could not pay," said his sister, looking at him suspiciously.

Puggy crammed his mouth with bread and jam; for an instant he looked up stolidly into his sister's face, then went on eating steadily.

Mrs. Maclahan glanced from him to Christina, who turned colour and looked scared at once.

"I am not naturally suspicious," said Mrs. Maclahan, "but I am sure you two children have been up to something. What is it?"

"We've been up to lots of things," said Puggy readily. "And we're up to be taken to the Zoo to-day. We haven't been there yet."

"You must wait till to-morrow. I'll take you there myself, and Dawn can come too. It is the only day you have, for we shall be returning home on Saturday!"

Puggy had turned the conversation, as he had meant to do, but Christina did not feel any happier. When her father asked her if she would like to come out for a walk in the gardens with him she did not respond as cheerfully as usual. Puggy had a word with her before she went.

"You'll be a sneak if you do, and you can't separate yourself from me. England and Scotland are joined together, and they must stand or fall together. Remember that!"

Christina put her fingers in her ears and turned away from him. But she did not enjoy her time with her father, and he thought she must be out of spirits. She came home as miserable as when she went out, and was slowly toiling up the hotel stairs to her bedroom when she was met by Mrs. Maclahan.

"Ah, Tina, here you are! Now you can explain. Connie tells me she has found a huge red bonnet under your bed. It looks perfectly new. Is it a secret?"

"So Puggy says. He told me you would explain. I hope to goodness it is not going to be a present to me?"

"Oh, no," said Christina eagerly. "It's—it's for Miss Bertha. We have bought it for her."

Mrs. Maclahan began to laugh, and she laughed so heartily that Christina looked at her in wonder.

"You ridiculous children! Oh, if Miss Bertha appears in it, I shall die! Where on earth did you get it?"

"He had better answer for himself. Come into the sitting-room; I left him there."

Christina followed her stepmother, and in a few minutes the whole story was told.

"The game is up!" Puggy exclaimed tragically; but he was relieved that the confession had to be made to his sister, and not to the Squire.

But even she looked very vexed when she heard about the watch and the bangle, and insisted upon telling her husband. And Mr. Maclahan spoke very sharply to the children about it.

"When you knew you had not the money to buy it, you ought to have had the pluck to say so. Now, Puggy, come with me to the jeweller's at once, and we will see if we cannot get these things back. If you had asked me for money, Christina, I would have given it to you gladly. I cannot bear this underhand behaviour."

"There, Herbert, not much harm is done! Miss Bertha must get that bonnet at all costs. I will go shares; or, if it is to be the children's present, I will give them each a tip which will bring them out of debt. You must get the bangle and watch back, of course."

This was done; but to teach them a lesson, the Squire locked up both bangle and watch in his dressing-case, and neither Puggy nor Christina had them again till three months had gone by.

CHAPTER XIV

Old Mr. Bolland had left a note asking her to go to lunch the next afternoon with him and his wife. Her father was willing that she should do so, for he had discovered that the old Bollands were friends of a friend of his; but Mrs. Maclahan could only spare the afternoon to take them to the Zoo. She was going to take them to lunch there, and stay a couple of hours with them afterwards.

And the Zoo had great attractions to Christina: greater than an afternoon in the stuffy, dark little house with two old people. Dawn's audacious statements of all he meant to do with the animals stimulated her curiosity. She knew it would be a terrible disappointment if the two boys went without her. Yet in Mr. Bolland's note he had said: "My poor old wife wants cheering up, and is longing to have a little visit from you. Will you do her this kindness, and give us both the pleasure of your company?"

"I know which I want to do, and which I ought to do," Christina said to herself; "it's such a pity they don't match!"

But she made up her mind at last, and trotted off to the Bollands under the guardianship of Blanche.

"I wouldn't be in the mistress' place for a good deal!" Blanche informed her as they walked along the street. "I wouldn't take those two imps of mischief to the Zoo for any money that might be given me!"

"Then it's a lucky thing for you that you're out of it. Master Dawn had a pocket pistol in his hand; if he frights the lions or elephants, there 'll be a regular row. I remember a boy who teased an elephant, and he was tossed up to the roof by the furious animal, and stamped to death and out of recognition, before his own mother's eyes!"

"Don't frighten me about Dawn," she said. "I don't think he would tease the lions, because he's very fond of animals."

She was received very warmly by Mrs. Bolland, and quite enjoyed her lunch. Mr. Bolland told her funny stories, and after it was over showed her a sketchbook of his, with an amusing account of a tour he had once taken abroad: Then Christina sat down on a stool at Mrs. Bolland's feet, and in her soft childish way talked to her about the boys and Miss Bertha and her home. And she soon touched upon the subject that was never out of her thoughts—the fear that she might disgrace her family by proving herself a coward.

"I've only just missed it so often," she said sadly. "And I would like so much to be able to lay my hand on my heart as Dawn does, and say, 'Fear dwells not here!'"

"I have a pony at home and I'm a little afraid when I'm on him, and I'm afraid of strange places and people, and of doing difficult things like crossing water on a plank, and of—of the dark, only I know being afraid of the dark is wicked."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland. "We don't all believe that as we ought to do. When dark clouds come, and trouble and disappointment, we don't trust in God then."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a long sigh. Then in a different tone she said almost in a whisper: "Is Mr. Bolland there, dearie?"

"But grown-up people are never frightened," said Christina. "That is one thing that makes me want to grow up quickly; I shall never be frightened then."

"Grown-up people have different fears, little one; but they have them, and I have mine. I have the dark river to pass, and it seems to be coming very near. I shall have to go first and leave my husband, and I'm afraid for him, when he is left lonely and sorrowful. It is good to have a text like that to dwell on. I used to read my Bible when I could see, and oh, how I wish I had learnt more of it by heart! No one reads to me out of it. I seem to have lost touch with it; and my heart is sore afraid at times. Say it once again, dear, in your soft confident voice, and I will repeat it to myself again and again till it sinks into my heart and stays there. You have been God's little messenger to a poor blind woman this afternoon!"

Christina's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone. Was it possible, she thought, that she could be called one of God's messengers? She said her verse again, and Mrs. Bolland repeated it after her.

And then the door opened and Mr. Bolland appeared with the doctor, who was an old friend of theirs, and who was attending the old lady.

He sat down and chatted with them. Christina kept as still as a mouse. She did not heed the conversation until she suddenly caught the words:

"These people don't deserve to have children. One of those hawking pedlars—a regular drunkard—was brought into my surgery this morning. His small girl is a mass of bruises: she confessed that her father had had one of his drinking bouts, and was knocked down by a wagon as he crossed the road; but from my inquiries I should think she had been going about with him in terror of her life. The man is not likely to live, and I said as much to her, but instead of being comforted by that fact, she dissolved into floods of tears, and assured me he was going to be a very good man, that already he was trying hard, and that she had promised her mother to look after him and love him. Some of these wives and daughters are incomprehensible!"

"That is Susy," she said with conviction. "Is she here in London? Oh, do tell me; and is her father very ill?"

The doctor looked at her kindly. "I can't tell you if her name is Susy, but her father's name is Jack Winter."

"Yes, yes," cried Christina excitedly, "that is his name, and Susy is one of my greatest friends. She told me they were on their way to London when they stopped in our village; and I knew I should meet her again one day. Please tell me where they live."

"I'm sure I don't know. The father is in hospital at present, and is so injured that he will never come out, I am afraid. If you want to see your little friend, you must got some one to take you to the hospital to-morrow. It is visiting day, and the child seems to live outside the hospital gates. They have turned her away twice already to-day."

"I fancy that is an impossibility in London," said the doctor with a smile; "and their cart came to grief when they ran into the wagon. Has the child any friends? She will want them before a week is out, or she will have to go to the workhouse."

Christina was in a great state of excitement. She told all she knew about Susy, and begged the doctor to see her that very night, and tell her that her "greatest friend" was in London.

"And I'll ask father if I can go to the hospital very early to-morrow morning and see Susy. We're going home in the afternoon. Oh, I wish I had known about Susy before!"

"I don't know what Susy will do if her father is very ill. Who will look after her?"

"Come, we must have no tears," said old Mr. Bolland, taking Christina on his knee. "I am an idle old man with nothing to do, so I will look her up, and see if I can find some friends for her; and I'll do it for the sake of a little maid who came here to cheer up a lonely old couple."

"I know you'll like Susy, everybody does, and Miss Bertha said she'd always be her friend; so if Susy wants a home, she must come back to our village, but I know she won't leave her father."

Conversation was interrupted here, by the arrival of Blanche to take Christina home.

She bade her friends good-bye with rather a troubled face, but the doctor assured her that he would see Susy if he could that evening, and take her her message, and Christina walked home as if in a dream.

"Master Dawn got caught out," said Puggy triumphantly. "He had taken a pistol which he was going to fire off in the elephant's ear when we rode upon him, but Ena took it away from him before we got to the Zoo. Ena is awfully sharp sometimes."

"But that would have frightened the poor elephant dreadfully," said Christina, looking at Dawn with reproach in her eyes.

"It would have made him trot out," said Dawn, unabashed. "I wanted to have a good gallop on him. But we did have fun with the monkeys, didn't we?"

"Yes," said Puggy. "Ena stayed outside, she couldn't stand the smell of them. Dawn took a toy rattlesnake and gave it to a big monkey. He was awfully frightened of it at first, and then chattered with rage, and then began to examine it—and—"

Christina could keep her news no longer. Elephants and monkeys were nothing to her compared with Susy.

"I'm so glad I went to see Mrs. Bolland instead of coming with you," she added breathlessly; "for I should never have heard about Susy, and the doctor said unless she had friends, she'd have to go to the workhouse!"

"Well, she ought to go there," said Puggy indifferently; "she is just the kind for the workhouse."

"She's my friend, and you're a hateful boy to say such things! I wish you were in the workhouse yourself!"

"Quite right," cried Dawn delightedly; "give it to him, Tina; let's have a free fight. I'll side with you against him."

"You're a couple of long-haired babies!" retorted Puggy, with heat. "Do you think I care for both of you rolled into one! Come on, and I'll knock your noses flat for you."

"Children, what is this? The United Kingdom quarrelling! That's all quite wrong! And Tina angry too! I'm sure it must be something very serious."

It was Mrs. Maclahan, who had come upon them unexpectedly. She knew it was not very often that Christina was roused, and she turned to her for an explanation.

"England has been insulting Scotland, and I'll avenge her!" cried Dawn, fun, not anger, sparkling in his eyes. He sprang on Puggy, and in a moment both boys were rolling on the ground together.

Mrs. Maclahan left them, but took Christina upstairs, and soon heard from her all about Susy.

"This child seems to haunt your steps," she said. "I hoped we had seen the last of her. But we are going back to-morrow, so you must forget her!"

"I never can!" sobbed Christina. "I love her; and Miss Bertha told me the rich were made to help the poor. She'll starve in London if no one looks after her."

"My dear Tina, those kind of children always find friends. Don't waste your tears on her. I hope to goodness she won't turn up here!"

But that was exactly what she did. At half-past eight the next morning, Christina was told by a chambermaid that a little girl named Susy wanted to see her, and Mrs. Maclahan, with a shrug of her shoulders, told her she could speak to her in the hall for ten minutes only.

"Tell her we are leaving London to-day. And you must make her understand that we cannot help her in any way."

Christina ran downstairs with all the speed she could muster, and embraced Susy fervently; who was looking as clean and neat as she usually did, but very woe-begone.

"The nice doctor who saw dad first, and had him taken to hospital, told me that you was here, and I come along the first thing. Dad was gettin' so quiet and sober; and then he met an old pal and they went off drinkin', and he wouldn't let me drive, and we smashed into a wagon, and poor old Tom has had to be killed, and dad was run right over by them great wagon wheels, and our cart be smashed and lots o' crockery. Oh, it's bin a terrible thing for us!"

"These 'ere London perleece are such busybodies," sighed Susy. "If I hadn't kep' my head on my shoulders, they'd 'ave lodged me at the station all night; but I knowed we 'ad savin's in the bottom o' my box, and I runs into a small fruiterer's shop close by, and I asks the woman if she'd give me a bed for the night, and I'd pay her for it; and she were a good soul and took me in right away and all the tins and crockery that I had left, and I'm agoin' to sell them to-day to a lady further down the street, who has a shop for such things. I shan't want for money for a bit, Miss Tina, but 'tis dad, poor dad; he were callin' for me all night. I heard he were from a kind nurse who saw me for a minit this mornin'. She's goin' to let me see 'im this arternoon."

"If dad dies," said Susy, struggling with her tears, "I shan't have no one to live for at all."

"Yes," said Susy doubtfully; "but perhaps God don't want to. I'm afraid dad will be a terrible trial to God, for he'll want so much lookin' after, 'specially in London. If I gets him past four or five publics, there's more comin' on, the streets seem crammed wi' 'em. And God were makin' dad good, He really were. He giv' up the drink for a whole week and never thrashed me once. He cried one night and said he did want to be like mother, an' he knelt down and prayed along wi' me! I'm afraid God be awful disappinted wi' 'im. But it warn't his fault, that pal o' his took him right off and made him worse than ever. I do wish you were goin' to stay here, Miss Tina!"

"But you'll have friends, Susy. Such a nice old gentleman is coming to see you; he told me he would. You won't be left alone."

"I be all right, 'tis dad that I keeps thinkin' of. Since you learned me about prayin' to God, it don't seem half so lonesome, as I tells Him everythink, and I feels He'll manage things fur me!"

Christina pressed into Susy's hand a story book, two oranges and a piece of cake.

"I have no money to give you, because I spent all I had on Miss Bertha's present; but you won't starve, Susy, will you?"

"'Tisn't money troubles me," said Susy wistfully; "'tis poor dad. I does want 'im to get well and be a good man. And I've got my box with all my bits to make a 'ouse nice, and we shan't never have a 'ouse if dad don't get no better!"

The children parted, and Christina was now anxious to get home to tell Miss Bertha all about her little friend.

"We're coming down at Easter, and then we'll have a ripping time!" he informed them. "You ought to have come to London before; we haven't had time to do half what we could have done!"

"I wonder that child is allowed to go about alone so," said Mrs. Maclahan to her husband, as the train moved off, and Dawn stood on the platform waving his cap and looking the picture of health and beauty. "I hold with boys being independent, but he seems to go everywhere, and do exactly as he likes!"

"Yes," said Puggy; "his father is an awfully sensible chap. And Dawn says he can't stand not being free, he would die right off, and I believe he would!"

"Boys aren't so easily killed," his sister said with a laugh. "Dawn has a thorough Irish upbringing. I'm not sure that it isn't better in the long end!"

"Dawn's father says that Ireland makes happy people, England makes plucky people and Scotland sanctimonious people! And Dawn is always happy, and I am always plucky, and Tina is always sanctimonious!"

Their elders were not listening to them. For the rest of the journey Christina and Puggy carried on an animated discussion upon the characteristics of the United Kingdom, but Christina was worsted, as she always was, and she subsided into silence after a parting shot:

"Anyhow you're not plucky when you beg me not to tell people what mischief you've been doing. If you were really plucky, you would tell yourself!"

CHAPTER XV

Puggy and Christina were in Miss Bertha's tiny drawing-room. A bandbox was on the floor, and Miss Bertha stood before them, holding up the wonderful red bonnet in her hand.

A piece of paper was attached to it, on which was written in Puggy's best handwriting:

Her face was a curious mixture of astonishment, pleasure, and—if I must say it—of horror, as she looked from the bonnet to the two excited children.

"Did you really buy this for me in London? A real London bonnet! How very, very kind of you, dears!"

"It was Blanche and Dawn who thought of it," said Christina; "and we all chose it; we chose the very best!"

"Yes," put in Puggy; "and we knew you would like a cheerful kind of colour, and you'll look tiptop next Sunday in church. You'll promise us faithfully to wear it, won't you? We got into rather a fix over it; but it's all right now, and we're to write a long letter to Dawn to tell him how you look. Do try it on now!"

"I'm only afraid, dears, that it is too grand for me," said poor Miss Bertha. "Yes, I will go upstairs and try it on certainly!"

She was gone some minutes, and when she came back with the startling erection on the top of her sweet grey hair, she looked as if she were just going to sit down in the dentist's chair and have two of her front teeth out.

"She looks stunning!" said Puggy. "And we'll write at once and tell Dawn so! Come on, Tina."

Then Miss Bertha slipped out of the room again. She had a few words with her servant Lucy as she wrapped the bonnet in silver paper and put it in one of her drawers.

"I wouldn't hurt their little feelings for the world, Lucy, but I shall pray that next Sunday may be a wet day. It will be the only loophole for me. I would not be so wicked as to wish for the death of any of my distant relatives, but if I could go into mourning for any other cause, how grateful I should be!"

Then she put on her cap again, and went down to Christina, who poured into her ears all she had seen and done in London, and told her of Susy's plight.

Miss Bertha listened with her usual cheery sympathy. She was very interested about the Bollands, and told Christina that years ago a school-friend of hers had married an artist named Bolland.

"I should not wonder a bit if it were the same man. If he will look after Susy, you need not trouble, Childie. Do you see how God guides in every bit of life? If you had gone off to the Zoo that day instead of to see those old people, you would never have heard about Susy. It really seems as if we are to help that child. She is a dear little girl, and Lucy was only saying to me, after she had left the village, that she would so like to have her and train her up as a little servant. Perhaps, if her poor father dies, we may be able to manage that."

"Oh!" cried Christina in a fervour of delight, "How lovely, Miss Bertha! Would you really have her in your house as your little servant? And I could come and see her sometimes. Oh! How I wish it could come true!"

"We must not wish her father to die. What a good thing it is for us that our loving Father arranges our lives for us, otherwise how many mistakes we should make! You will hear soon, I expect, from her."

Two days afterwards Christina did hear. Mr. Bolland wrote to her to tell her that Susy's father had died in hospital; he said he was going to look after Susy till something could be arranged for her. Directly Miss Bertha heard this she determined to go up to London herself and bring Susy back with her, and in correspondence with Mr. Bolland, she discovered that his wife was indeed her old school-friend. They insisted that she should stay with them for a few days, and Miss Bertha thankfully agreed. She did not move about much, and a visit to London was a great event to her. She had a horror of hotels and strange lodgings, so this invitation greatly eased her mind.

Puggy and Christina were both disappointed to find that she was going up to London on the Saturday; but Christina was too much concerned about Susy to mind much that they would not see Miss Bertha wear their gift.

"I'm back at school on Monday," said Puggy, as he wished Miss Bertha good-bye at the station.

The two children had been allowed to ride down to the station on their ponies to see her off. "But I do think you might have worn your bonnet up to London. I shan't get a chance of seeing you in it till the Easter holidays!"

"I should have spoilt it in the train," said Miss Bertha, looking a little uncomfortable; "but I shall always value it, Puggy. It is the loving gift of three dear little friends of mine."

"And will you go to see Dawn?" asked Puggy. "And tell him if he doesn't cut off those curls of his before Easter, I'll do it myself the first day I see him!"

"Oh no," said Miss Bertha. "Dawn is just his quaint little self with his curls. He never will be like other boys, and we would not wish him to be so. I will see him if I can, but I must make no promises."

"Good-bye, dear Miss Bertha," said Christina; "and give Susy my love, and tell her I'm longing to see her."

"I wish my school was in London," said Puggy. "Dawn seems to have all the fun in life and I have the grind."

"I don't like London," said Christina emphatically. "It's too crowded with people, and I don't think Miss Bertha likes it any better than I do! But I'm so glad she's going up to Susy. If I was left alone in London as Susy is, there is nobody I should like better than Miss Bertha to come up to me."

"Yes, I like him best, of course; but I couldn't tell him things that I could Miss Bertha. She always knows what you feel like inside, other people tell you what you ought to feel like, and I never feel what I ought."

"I never think of feelings at all," said Puggy a little scornfully; "that's just like a girl!"

Miss Bertha remained away a week. When she returned with Susy, Christina was hard at work, learning lessons with Miss Loder.

But the first day she was allowed, she went over to Miss Bertha; and Susy opened the door to her in a black frock and white apron.

"He were so good an' patient," said Susy, "an' so wonderful sorry for all 'e'd been an' done. He seemed to lie in bed an' think of all 'e'd done when he were in drink. He told me to teach of 'im to pray to God, an' I learned 'im what you learned me, how Jesus died on the Cross for his sins, and poor dad were just broken 'earted.

"An' 'e says to me the last night afore he died: 'I'm askin' to be forgiven my sins all the time along, do 'ee think I shall be 'eared?'

"An' I says, 'Sure to be, dad, 'cause the Bible says so'; an I readed 'im a tex' off the 'orsepital wall,—

"An' then he puts his 'ead down on the piller with a groan, 'Ay, Lord, ha' mercy; Lord, ha' mercy!'

"Oh," said Christina, mingling her tears with Susy's, "do let's come to Miss Bertha; she will make us feel happy."

And so Miss Bertha did. She talked to them both about the beautiful home above, and how sinful men and women were received there for the sake of their Saviour. She pictured the meeting between Susy's father and mother, and how glad her mother would be to hear about her little daughter. And then changing the subject, she sent them both out to the kitchen to help Lucy make some hot cakes for tea. Later on she told Christina about her visit to the Bollands.

"My dear old friend was so glad to have me with her, and I think I was able to cheer her up a little. She said you had comforted her so much, Childie, by giving her your verse to think of. I was so glad to hear it."

"I wonder," said Christina reflectively, "if I am getting braver. I don't think I am quite so frightened now as I used to be. I'm not frightened of my pony; I like riding him. But I'm always afraid of what may come to me."

Susy settled down wonderfully soon in Miss Bertha's small establishment. At times she had restive fits on, and then Miss Bertha would send her out of doors, either to take a message to Christina, to shop in the village, or to weed the garden. She was very docile and obedient, and took the keenest interest in all housework.

"I always mean to have a little house of my own one day," she confided to Lucy; "and p'r'aps, as I shan't have no dad to look after, I shall be able to get a husband!"

"In my young days, such things was never mentioned to children like you!" she said.

"Ah, well," said Susy with an old-fashioned air, "I've travelled a lot, an' heerd tell a deal more than most. I knows husban's need a lot o' care an' patience, but they be needful if you has a house, and women are born to take care o' people, ain't they? You an' me takes care o' Miss Bertha, and Miss Bertha takes care o' nearly all the village: they told me so, that time I stopped along wi' dad at the Red Bull."

"You might be fifty to hear you talk," said Lucy, and Susy subsided into silence.

Occasionally, when the turret room wanted cleaning out, Christina was allowed to borrow Susy for the day; and the two little girls had a grand time together, Christina enjoying the scrubbing and cleaning quite as much as Susy. Eventually they used that room a good deal, and whenever it was wet, and Christina was shut up in the house, Miss Bertha would send Susy over to her, and the two would retire to the turret room, where they talked a great deal, and mutually helped one another, Christina with her superior book knowledge, and Susy with her wider experience and unselfish views of life. Neither Mrs. Maclahan or Miss Loder objected to the friendship now. Susy was slowly winning her way with every one, and Lucy's training added to Miss Bertha's kind supervision was turning her into a capital little servant.

"I don't miss the boys half so much since Susy has come," Christina informed Miss Bertha one day. "You see, I can't have very grave talks with Puggy and Dawn; Puggy always laughs at me, and Dawn won't listen, he begins to talk himself. But Susy understands things much better. She says boys and men don't think like women and girls."

"I had a letter from Dawn this morning," Christina went on. "He asked me if you had worn your bonnet yet?"

"It is a little bit heavy," she confessed. "I think I must keep it till next winter, Childie. The mild bright weather is coming on, and I get headaches if I have too much weight on my head."

Christina assented innocently; and the Christmas bonnet as yet had never been worn.

Dawn and his father appeared first, and took possession of their country cottage again.

When Puggy arrived, Dawn came over to the Towers and spent a long day there, and it was in the turret room that Susy was brought under discussion.

"We're not going to have her here in the holidays," announced Puggy; "we don't want to see her, or hear anything about her. She's nothing to do with us."

"She has a good deal to do with me," said Christina warmly; "and if you don't like to have her here, I shall go to Miss Bertha's to see her."

"All right, you can; but you'll have to be here when I want you, because you belong to me."

"But you can't. Scotland is joined on to England, and England comes first. I'm the most important one."

"I'll tell you! We'll make her Wales," said Dawn; "and then she won't be on any side particular. And we won't think of her at all."

So Susy was made into a Welshwoman, and though Christina suggested that Wales was joined to England, Puggy would not listen, and for the time Susy's visits to the Towers were discontinued.

"I've got a most splendid game in my head," announced Dawn one morning. He always appeared after breakfast, ready for any amount of fun.

"It's a kind of civil war," explained Dawn. "Yesterday evening I went out on the village green when the boys were playing cricket, and they said they would join us. I'm going to rise up against Great Britain, and I'll get the better of you both."

"Hurrah!" cried Puggy. "And we'll have followers; I'll go down to the village and get some."

"Wait a minute. I've bagged the Murphy boys because they're Irish, and the Greens' mother came from Ireland, so they belong to me. I thought we'd prepare to-day, and have a regular fight to-morrow all over the woods and lanes. I'll have a force, and you'll have a force, and we'll choose our men to-day."

"Well," said Puggy, a flash of inspiration seizing him, "you must be my wife and stay in the turret room, and Dawn and his rebel soldiers will come to attack it, and you must prevent them getting in."

"Oh, but I shall come and carry you off, and Puggy will come after us and rescue you. It will be scrumptious!"

"I don't think father will like the village boys all coming into the house and up the back stairs," said Christina.

"So we won't tell them till they come back," said Dawn. "That's always best. Dad says he's often glad he doesn't know the mischief I'm in till it's over, so I always try to keep him from being anxious!"

"I don't believe Ena would mind at all," said Puggy. "She isn't a bit strict. I'll go and ask her."

This was done. Mrs. Maclahan laughed, told them to confine their warfare to the turret tower, and gave them the desired permission.

"I'll come and attack it pretty soon," Dawn assured her; "but we've got to pitch our camps first."

"And must I be quite alone? I'm sure a soldier's wife would have some servants."

Then Christina's face grew radiant. She went off to Miss Bertha's as soon as she could, and got permission for Susy to come to her the first thing the next morning. And though Puggy took away the key of the turret room, and told her she would have to barricade it, she did not feel a tremor of fear. With Susy she could do and dare all things.

CHAPTER XVI

"Yes, but we can watch out of the window, and we won't let a single boy up the stairs. I don't mean you to be taken a prisoner, Miss Tina."

The fun had begun. Being Saturday, the village boys were only too delighted to join the forces of the two leaders. Dawn had borrowed Christina's pony, and one of the Murphys was his standard bearer, and carried the green flag which was eventually to fly triumphantly out of the turret window, when the Union Jack that was waving there now had been captured.

Puggy was flying the Royal Standard, and he rode on his own pony at the head of his followers. Christina and Susy watched Puggy march down the drive, and from their window they saw in the woods Dawn's force gathered round him. About eleven o'clock Puggy cantered up the drive, and behind him ran two of his followers, guarding carefully two small Murphy boys who had been taken prisoners. Their arms were bound with rope. Puggy came triumphantly to the bottom of the turret stairs, and Christina and Susy ran down to meet him.

"A victory! A thousand dead! And two Irish barons prisoners!" shouted Puggy excitedly. Then he put his prisoners in a housemaid's cupboard at the bottom of the stairs.

"Guard them well!" he cried. "I've locked them in, and you keep the key. Now I'm going to return to the fight. Another battle is coming off at one o'clock!"

"Do soldiers ever think of dinner? But after it's over, we've got provisions, I can tell you; for Dawn's cook gave him a big basket, and we're going to capture it."

"I think," said Susy, "I'll go down to your cook and ask her to give me some food, and I'll steal out to the woods, and take 'em to the soldiers. I'll say my mistress the countess sent me!"

"That will be lovely," said Christina; "but you mustn't take dinner to the wrong soldiers."

Cook was in a good temper. She packed up a basket and gave it to Susy, and Christina saw her running down the drive with it.

But she was away a long time, and when she came back was flushed with excitement.

"Oh! It's first-rate, Miss Tina; 'tis just like real battle. I was nearly ketched by Master Dawn's soldiers; they chased me, but I hid in the bushes, and they couldn't find me nowheres. They called out that I was a spy, but I nipped round and laid the basket at Master Puggy's feet. He was awful pleased. And then comin' back I had another race past Master Dawn hisself. He is in one part of the wood, and Master Puggy is in the other, and Master Dawn have got six prisoners!"

"Susy, those two poor little boys ought to have some dinner. I've been thinking about them. They oughtn't to be locked up in that cupboard so long. I shouldn't like it."

"Yes, Puggy said we were to, and you must fetch it, Susy, from the kitchen; for we're not to let any of the maids come near us, the boys said."

So when Susy brought the dinner up, she took a good share of it down to the cupboard, and when she carefully opened it, she found one of the little boys crying.

"You must stay here till Master Dawn comes to let you out," said Susy sternly. Then her heart relented, for the smallest boy was only seven years old.

The promise was promptly given, so she untied the rope, and the two plates of meat and pudding looked so appetising that the prisoners were more than half consoled. Susy locked the door upon them, and came upstairs to Christina.

"It won't be very long afore you is taken prisoner now," she said to Christina, "and when you goes, I shall go along with Master Puggy and fight with the boys."

"I would much rather be taken prisoner than fight," said Christina. "I do hope the boys aren't really hurting each other. It's only play, isn't it?"

And then Christina was seized with terror for their safety, and Susy had to assure her that boys didn't mind a few whacks occasionally.

A qualm of fear seized Christina, but she valiantly helped Susy to barricade the door with furniture. They heard the boys clamping up the stairs, then the shouts of the prisoners to be let loose, and the yell of triumph when the cupboard was unlocked, for the key had been left in the lock outside. Tramp, tramp, tramp up the stairs came the boys. It did not take many minutes to burst the door open, but Susy seized a can of water and deluged two boys with it before she let them approach her. Dawn seized hold of Christina with delight.

Susy was too quick for them; she seized hold of the green flag and tore down stairs with it; two boys pursued her, but she outran them, and finally reached Puggy's camp in safety.

His curls were flying in the wind, his cheeks flushed; he had the air of a conqueror!

"I don't think both of us can ride my pony," objected Christina shrinking back, as she was being hoisted up to the saddle.

Poor Christina did not enjoy her ride. To begin with, she was obliged to ride astride, as it was a boy's saddle that had been put on her pony; then Dawn was clutching the reins, and making the pony gallop. If Christina had not learnt to ride by this time and to ride fairly well, she would not have been able to keep her seat.

"Don't go quite so fast!" she pleaded, but she might just as well have spoken to the wind.

He galloped up a country lane, then across a bit of wild common, and then was stopped by the river.

Christina besought him not to venture. "We shall be drowned!" she cried. "Oh, Dawn, do stop; it's only a game!"

But Dawn only thought of Puggy behind him. He looked round, and to his delight saw that there was a pause amongst his pursuers. Something had happened to Puggy's pony. He had dismounted, handed it to one of the village boys, and was tearing along on foot with his followers.

"We must go through the river. They won't come after us there, and we shall be quite safe the other side. Don't be a funk, Tina; we'll ride along a little further. There! A cart has been over here, I see the mark of the wheels; it must be the ford!"

He pushed the pony down to the water. Christina shivered and shuddered. Her fears almost overwhelmed her. "Can I pray to God when it's only a game?" she asked herself, and habit made her repeat her text.

The pony did his best, but his footing was very insecure; he stopped mid-stream and refused to go any further. The current was strong; Dawn leant over Christina to whip him on, then overbalanced himself and fell head foremost into the river. With a start the pony turned back and reached the shore in safety, but Dawn cried out sharply:

To the little girl's horror, she saw him swept down by the current. In an instant she was off her pony and running along the bank. It seemed as if quick sight was given to her. She saw a shallow part of the river a little distance off, with a large rock in the middle of it. It flashed across her that if she could get there first, she could catch hold of Dawn as he came past.

No fear now was in her heart, Dawn and only Dawn filled her thoughts. She ran as she had never run before; she dashed into the water and reached the rock, and an instant after had clutched hold of Dawn by his long hair as he was being whirled along.

He was not unconscious, and struggled up to the rock, but when he was safely there fainted away.

Then Christina called for help, and in a few minutes the village boys reached them and assisted them across to the bank.

But Dawn lay still and white, and Puggy cried out frantically: "He's drowned! He's dead!"

A farmer driving by saw that an accident had happened, and came up to the children. He whipped out a flask from his pocket, and made Dawn swallow some of it.

"Bless your hearts!" he cried cheerfully. "He's all right. 'Tis only a bit o' faint. I knows the young gent and I'll drive him straight home. Any more hurt?"

His eye fell on Christina. She was wet up to her waist, and, now the danger was past, was shivering with fright and cold.

"I'll take the ponies home, and then come to the cottage for you, Tina," said Puggy, who was recovering himself.

When Miss Rachael received the two children, Dawn seemed in a better plight than his rescuer. He could give explanation, which Christina could not.

"I've sprained my knee against a stone. I couldn't swim," he said, "and Tina pulled me out of the water when I was drowning!"

Miss Rachael did the wisest thing she could. She put both children to bed and kept them there, sending a message to the Towers to say that she was keeping Christina for the night. The civil war came to an end. Puggy felt very ill used, because he had not been nearly drowned too.

Susy went back to Miss Bertha and told her all that happened, and Miss Bertha could not rest that night until she had been to inquire after her little friends. She met Mr. Maclahan at the door. He was coming away.

"I have just been up to see my little daughter," he said. "I am thankful she is all right. Miss Bertha, what do you think of her? A more extraordinary mixture of pluck and timidity, of childishness and wisdom, I have never come across! That boy in there owes his life to her!"

And then she went indoors, and Christina, looking at her sleepily from Miss Rachael's big feather-bed, drew her down to her and put her arms round her neck.

"I got wet, and Miss Rachael has given me something hot to drink, and I'm going to sleep here all night, and—and, Miss Bertha—the civil war is over!"

It was a tea-party at Miss Bertha's. Puggy and Dawn and Christina were all there, and they were busy telling her about the lovely game they had played before the catastrophe occurred.

"And if I hadn't tumbled in the river, I would have won," said Dawn, "because I was riding away with my enemy's wife."

"No," said Puggy, "I was coming after you as hard as I could. You wouldn't have escaped me, and if Tina had played the game properly, she would have ridden back to me directly you fell off the pony!"

"Tina is so funny," said Dawn with a little chuckle. "She funked the river awfully when we went through it first, and then—"

"I was just too late," said Puggy. "It's a pity I wasn't there a minute sooner! My schoolmaster has a saying:

"You wouldn't have been as brave as Tina, if you had saved Dawn," said Miss Bertha, "for you would have had no fears to overcome."

"I wasn't brave," confessed Christina, "only there was no time to stop to think."

"We will never say you're afraid again," said Dawn, looking at her gravely. "I'm not sure that I quite like being pulled out of the water by a girl; but I wasn't quite helpless, I helped to get myself out."

"And you were saved by your curls," said Puggy, a little scoffingly. "Tina hauled you up by your hair! Why does Tina always do the things I wonder!"

"Because," said Miss Bertha with much emphasis, "Tina always thinks of others before herself. An unselfish person is always brave in an emergency. It is only the selfish who are cowards."

"Then you really think I'm not a coward?" questioned Christina with anxious eyes.

And the boys began to sing a piece of doggerel that they had invented themselves:

"United Kingdom we,
As brave as brave can be,
We all hold together
In fine and stormy weather.
And if we have to fight,
We do it with our might;
So three cheers for three,
United Kingdom we!"

"If Master Puggy and Master Dawn are brave, they never do the brave things that Miss Tina does. They're always talking and singing about it, but Miss Tina does it without any talk. And I know which of them I'd like to be!"

That same evening Mr. Maclahan was walking with his little girl round the picture gallery at the Towers. He often went up there after dinner to smoke a cigarette, and if Christina were not already in bed, she would slip out of the schoolroom and join him. She was never tired of hearing stories about her ancestors, and would gaze wistfully at their stern proud faces, as she would ask:

Mr. Maclahan's mind was full of what his little girl had done. He stopped suddenly, and putting his hand under her chin turned her small face up to him.

"You have the right spirit, little woman, in spite of your size. How do you manage it? Has fear by this time departed from you?"

"I am afraid I shall always be afraid, father; but I think my text will keep me from being a coward. And if I can't say, 'Fear dwells not here,' don't you think my text will do as well:

"God's words are best, Christina. If you keep to them, you will never need our motto to remind you to be brave."

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Christina and the boys

CHRISTINA AND THE

BOYS

CHAPTER I