Читать книгу: «The Old Pincushion: or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests», страница 6

Again the sad feeling of disappointment.

'Kathie,' said, Neville, a minute or two later when their aunt had left the room, 'I want you to come out with me. You're not going to write to Philippa to-day, are you?

'No,' said Kathleen, 'not to-day. But I should like to send the letter to-morrow, for fear of her leaving her grandmother's. I will write to her this afternoon or this evening. I've lots to tell her – all about the journey, and the funny old farmer, and the carrier's cart.'

'Yes,' said Neville. 'If she comes here, Kathie, we'll manage better than that. I wonder if aunty would let us go to Hafod to meet her. Any way, I might go. Perhaps you'd rather stay to welcome her here – to put flowers in her room, and that sort of thing. Girls do so like all that.'

'So do boys too – at least, some boys. You always bring me a nosegay on my birthday. I am sure you like flowers as much as any girl could,' said Kathie.

'I didn't mean flowers only. I meant – oh, fussing,' said Neville vaguely.

But Kathleen was too much taken up by the idea of Philippa's coming to be in a touchy humour.

'Do you really think, Neville,' she said, – 'do you really and truly think aunty is going to ask her?'

'I don't know. I'm sure she'd like to – if she can. She's so awfully good and kind.'

'Yes,' Kathleen heartily agreed. 'I never even thought before that anybody could be so kind.'

CHAPTER IX.
THE COTTAGE NEAR THE CREEK

Kathleen was just finishing a long letter to Philippa that afternoon in the library, when Miss Clotilda came into the room with her usual quiet step. Kathleen did not hear her till her aunt laid her hand on her shoulder. The little girl started.

'Oh, aunty,' she said, 'I've been writing to poor Phil. Such a long letter!'

'And long as it is, I'm afraid you will have to make it still a little longer,' said Miss Clotilda.

Something in the tone of her voice made Kathleen look up. Miss Clotilda was smiling, and her pale cheeks were a little pinker than usual.

'Listen to me, dear,' she said. 'I have thought it over, and it seems to me really right, only right and kind, to ask that poor child to come to us here. I have written to her uncle to propose it, and I have explained things just a little, saying that I am only here for a short time more, and that things are not as they used to be, but that we shall make her most welcome. I thought it best to write to the uncle, as her grandmother is so ill. You can give me the exact address, I suppose, and the uncle's name?'

Kathie held up Philippa's letter.

'Yes, aunty,' she said. 'You see, it is written at the top. She told me to put "care of" to her uncle, because her name is not the same as his and her grandmother's. He is her mother's brother. But oh, dear aunty, I can scarcely believe you are really going to let her come! It is too delicious.'

'It does not rest only with me, however, dear, you must remember,' Miss Clotilda said. 'You must not count upon it too surely till we hear from her friends. They may not approve of it, or there may be difficulties in the way of bringing her. It is rather a long way from Cheltenham, and an expensive journey.'

'I don't think that would matter,' said Kathleen. 'I'm almost sure Phil's relations are rich, and she is an only child.'

'Well, let us hope they will let her come,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I will send my letter separately; but I wanted to ask you what you thought of telling the little girl herself about it. Do you think it best to say nothing to her till we hear from her uncle, and to leave it to him to tell her?'

Kathie considered.

'No, aunty,' she said. 'I think we needn't do that. Philippa is such a very sensible little girl, I'm sure her uncle would talk to her about it immediately. So may I write and tell her? Oh dear, how lovely!'

'Yes, certainly. You haven't very much time. The letters must go in half an hour, but as you are hoping now to see her soon, you won't need to say so very much.'

Kathie's pen flew along the paper. She could have filled pages with the anticipated delights of Philippa's visit, and it was just as well her time was limited. One argument she brought to bear with great force in favour of the visit. 'Be sure to tell your uncle,' she wrote, 'that your mamma gave you into my charge at school, and that I promised her to try to make you happy. So I am sure, if there was time to ask her, that she would like you to come.'

'I think that's very clever of me,' she said to herself, as she folded up the letter, 'and I'm sure it's quite true. But how shall I get through the next two or three days till we can hear if she is coming? I must get Neville to take me tremendously long walks.'

The next day, fortunately, was very fine.

'Aunty,' said Kathleen at breakfast, 'I do feel in such a fidget about Philippa coming that I'm afraid I shall get quite unbearable. Don't you think the best thing would be for Neville and me to go a very long walk to calm me down?'

'Do very long walks generally have that desirable effect?' asked Miss Clotilda. 'I have no objection, provided you don't lose your way.'

'Oh! we won't lose our way,' said Neville. 'I have a pocket compass. Besides, as you said yourself, aunty, it is a very easy country to find one's way in. There's always a hill one can climb, and once you see the sea, you can easily make out where you are.'

'And any of the cottagers about can direct you to Ty-gwyn,' said Miss Clotilda. 'Well, then, if you ask Martha to make you some sandwiches, and to give you some rock cakes for "pudding," you might take your dinners with you, and not come back till the afternoon. And,' she added, glancing out of the window as she spoke, 'I think you would do well to make hay while the sun shines, at present – that is to say, to go a long walk while it is fine, for I don't think this weather is going to last above a day or two.'

'Oh!' Kathie exclaimed, 'I do hope it won't rain all the time Philippa is here.'

'Kathie,' said Neville, 'you are too silly. Aunty only meant that we might have some rain. She never said it would rain for weeks.'

'That it seldom, indeed never, does here,' said Miss Clotilda. 'But, you know, in a very hilly district you must expect uncertain weather. I think there is no fear for to-day, however.'

And an hour or two later the children set off.

'Which way shall we go?' said Kathleen. 'To the sea?'

Neville looked round.

'Suppose we go over there, towards that hill,' he said. 'There's a sort of creek between two little hills there – or more perhaps as if it was cut in the middle of one – that must be very pretty. Martha told me about it. I forget the name she called it in Welsh. She said the smugglers used to run their boats in there, for there are caves they could hide things in.'

'Oh, what fun!' said Kathie. 'Do let us go! Are there no smugglers now, Neville? What a pity!' she went on, as her brother shook his head. 'It would be so romantic to find a smugglers' cave.'

'I don't think it would be romantic at all – at least, it wouldn't be at all pleasant,' said sensible Neville. 'In the days when there were smugglers, if they had found us poking about their caves they wouldn't have been very amiable to us.'

'What would they have done to us?' asked Kathleen.

'Pitched us into the sea, or – or gagged us, and tied our hands behind us, and left us among the rocks on the chance of any one finding us,' said Neville grimly.

Kathleen shuddered. They were soon at the entrance to the little creek which Martha had described, coming upon it suddenly, as a turn in the path brought them sharply down to a lower level. It was very picturesque. Against the strip of blue sky seen through the fissure or cleft which formed the creek, stood out clearly the outline of a small fishing craft, drawn up on the shingly beach; while down below, the water, darkened by the shade of the rocks on each side, gleamed black and mysterious.

'What a queer place!' said Kathleen. 'Where are the caves, Neville? I don't see any.'

'I suppose they are facing the sea. We must make our way round over the stones at the edge of the water if we want to see them. It isn't deep, though it looks so dark. You needn't be afraid,' said Neville, beginning the scramble.

But Kathleen hung back.

'Neville,' she said, 'you're quite sure there aren't any smugglers now?'

'Of course not,' said Neville, rather disdainfully. 'Kathie, you shouldn't be so boasting about never being frightened, and all that, if you are really so babyish.'

'I'm not babyish. Neville, you're very unkind. You never were so unkind in London,' said Kathie, looking ready to cry.

'I don't mean to be unkind,' said Neville, stopping short in his progress, one foot on a big stone, the other still on the grass near the edge of the water. 'But if you're the least afraid, Kathie, either of smugglers or of the scramble – it will be a scramble, I see – you'd better not come. Supposing you go up to that little cottage – there's quite a nice old woman living there – while I go on to the caves? I'll come back for you in ten minutes or so.'

'Very well,' said Kathie; 'I think I'd better, perhaps. It isn't for the smugglers, Neville. I wouldn't let you go if there was any chance of there being any. But I'm rather afraid of tumbling. Are you sure it's safe for you, Neville?'

'Oh, yes. Aunty told me I might go any day. She explained all about it to me.'

'Well, then, don't be long;' and so saying, Kathleen began making her way up the slope to the little cottage Neville had pointed out.

It was a very tiny place. There was no garden, but a little patch of grass had been roughly railed in, and on this two or three chickens were pecking about. A very old woman came to the door on seeing Kathleen approaching, with a smile on her brown, wrinkled, old face.

'Good morning, miss,' she said in very good English. 'Would you like to rest a bit?'

'Thank you,' said Kathie; 'I'd like to wait a few minutes, if you don't mind, till my brother comes to fetch me. He's gone down to see the caves.'

'To be sure,' said the old woman. 'Perhaps you'd like best to wait outside; it's pleasant in the air this morning;' and she quickly brought out a chair, and set it for Kathie against the wall of the cottage. 'And you'll be the young lady and gentleman from Ty-gwyn? Dear, dear!'

'What do you say that for?' asked Kathie, not quite sure if she was pleased or vexed at the state of the family affairs being evidently understood by this old woman.

'No offence, miss,' said the dame. 'I'm not of this country, miss, though I've lived here nigh thirty years, and I've seen a deal in my time. I was kitchen-maid when I was a girl in London town.'

'Indeed,' said Kathleen; 'that must have been a very long time ago;' which was perhaps not a very polite speech.

'And so it is – a very long time ago. A matter of fifty years, miss.'

'Indeed,' said Kathleen, opening her eyes; 'that is a very long time.'

'And yet I can remember things as happened then as if they'd been yesterday,' said the old woman. 'There was a queer thing happened in the house of my missis's father. He was a very old man, not to say quite right in his head, and when he died there was papers missing that had to do with the money some way. And would you believe, miss, where they was found? In his pillow, hid right away among the feathers! There's many folk as'll hide money and papers in a mattress, but I never heard tell before or since of hiding in a pillow; and it's been in my mind ever since Farmer Davis told me of the trouble at Ty-gwyn to ask the lady if she'd ever thought of looking in the pillows.'

'Who is Farmer Davis?' asked Kathleen, for the name seemed familiar.

'Him who lives at Dol-bach,' said the old woman. 'He travelled in the railway with you and the young gentleman. You should go to see him some day, miss. He'd be proud; and the old lady thought a deal of him and his wife.'

'Yes,' said Kathleen, 'I'd like to go to see him. He was very kind to us. There's my brother coming,' she went on, as she caught sight of Neville coming up the hill. 'Thank you very much for letting me wait here,' and she got up to go.

'And you won't forget about the pillows, miss?' said the old body.

'No, I won't,' Kathleen replied.

'She's such a funny old woman, Neville,' she said, when they met. And then she went on to repeat what the dame had told her about the pillows.

'Oh,' said Neville, 'they are all gossiping about it. It is nonsense – Mrs. Wynne wasn't out of her mind'.

'Then do you think it's no use looking anywhere?' said Kathleen.

'Certainly not in the pillows,' said Neville, laughing. 'I think we'd better have our dinner now, Kathie, don't you? Over there, just between this hill and the next, I should think there would be a nice place.'

And having found a snug corner, they established themselves comfortably.

'Were the caves nice?' asked Kathleen.

'Not very – at least, I didn't like to go very far alone. There was one that looked as if it would be very nice – a great, deep, black place, but one would need a light. I'll try to go again some day, if I can get anyone to go with me. It's not fit for girls.'

Suddenly Kathleen gave a deep sigh.

'What's the matter?' asked Neville.

'It's only what that old woman said. It's put it all into my head again,' said Kathleen. 'I should have liked to tell Phil we had searched somewhere.'

'Wait till she comes,' said Neville. 'She'll soon see for herself that there's nowhere to search. I've thought and thought about it, and I'm sure aunty has done everything anybody could.'

So no more was said about it, and they finished their dinner comfortably. Then they set off again, and climbed the hill from whence they had been told the view was so beautiful. Nor were they disappointed – the day was unusually clear, with the clearness that tells of rain at no great distance, and on all sides they could see over many miles.

'How lovely the sea is!' said Kathleen. 'The only fault I can find with Ty-gwyn is that you can't see the sea from the house. Now that house over there, Neville – over towards the sea, but a good way from it – on the side of a hill,' and she pointed towards it, 'must have a lovely view of the sea. I wonder what house it is? It looks so pretty.'

'I know,' said Neville. 'It is the old farmer's. It is Dol-bach.'

'Old Farmer Davis's?' said Kathleen. 'Oh, that reminds me the old woman at the cottage said we should go to see him, and thank him for being so kind the day we came. Indeed, we should have gone already.'

'Did she say so?' said Neville; 'she must be rather an impertinent old woman. It's no business of hers.'

'Oh no, she isn't impertinent at all,' said Kathleen. 'She didn't say we should have gone already. That was only my own thought. She said he'd be "proud" to see us – I think that sounds very nice, Neville – and that Mrs. Wynne thought "a deal" of him and his wife. Supposing we go now, Neville, on our way home?'

'No,' said Neville. 'I don't think it would be right to go anywhere without asking Aunt Clotilda. But I daresay she'll let us go. I remember old Davis said something about knowing Mrs. Wynne very well.'

'We'll ask her,' said Kathie. 'It would be something nice to do, to keep my mind off Phil's coming. And we might dress nicely, Neville. It would be more of a compliment to them, you know, if we went nicely dressed – like paying a real call.'

They met Miss Clotilda coming to meet them, when, after a good long ramble among the hills, they made their way home.

'I have come along the road two or three times to look for you,' she said. 'Have you had a nice walk, and any adventures?'

'Oh, yes,' said Kathie, and she launched at once into an account of her old woman.

But Neville noticed that she did not mention the anecdote about the pillow. 'Perhaps it is better not to keep reminding aunty of it,' he thought. 'I am glad Kathie is so thoughtful.'

'And may we go to see Farmer Davis, aunty?' asked Kathie eagerly.

'Oh, certainly,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was thinking of proposing it. It would have been no use going to-day, as both he and his wife were at Hafod Market, I know. There are many of our neighbours I should have liked to take you to see, both the gentlepeople and others; but it is impossible to go about much without a horse of any kind,' she ended, with a little sigh.

'May we go to Dol-bach to-morrow?' asked Kathie. 'I want to keep myself from fidgeting.'

Miss Clotilda could not help smiling at her.

'I have no objection,' she said, 'if the weather holds up; which, however, I have my doubts of.'

And her doubts proved well founded. 'To-morrow' proved a very rainy day – a thoroughly and hopelessly rainy day, such as seldom is to be seen in the middle of summer, and Kathleen's spirits sank to zero. She was sure they were not going to have any more fine weather; sure a letter would come from Philippa's uncle refusing the invitation; and very angry with Neville for remarking that if the first prediction was fulfilled, it was almost to be hoped the second would come to pass also. And when the morning after broke again dull and gloomy, Miss Clotilda felt really distressed at Kathie's gloom.

'My dear,' she said, 'you must make an effort to be cheerful and patient. You cannot, at soonest, have an answer from Philippa till to-morrow, and you cannot go to Dol-bach to-day; even if the rain leaves off, the roads will be terribly bad. Try to think of something to do in the house that will occupy and interest you. I am almost sure that to-morrow will be fine.'

Kathleen listened respectfully enough, but with a most depressed look in her face, to the beginning of this speech. Half-way through it, however, her face suddenly cleared, and a light came into her eyes.

'Thank you, aunty,' she said. 'Yes, I have something I should like to do up in my own room. I won't grumble any more,' and off she set.

'She is a dear child,' thought her aunt. 'A word suffices with her.'

Poor Miss Clotilda! She scarcely knew her volatile, flighty little niece as yet.

CHAPTER X.
A PLAGUE OF FEATHERS

An hour or two later, Miss Clotilda, having completed her housekeeping arrangements for the day, went up to Kathie's room to see what she was about. Neville had gone off for a walk, as the rain was now slight, and of course, as he said himself, 'for a boy it was different.'

'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda, as she reached Kathleen's door; 'I hope she isn't feeling dull, all alone.'

The door was locked.

'Kathie,' she called, 'it is I – aunty.'

A scattering inside, and then Kathleen's voice, sounding rather odd, replied, 'In a moment, aunty. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish I' —

'What is the matter, Kathie? Open at once, my dear; you alarm me!' Miss Clotilda exclaimed.

Thus adjured, Kathleen had no choice. She drew the bolt; Miss Clotilda entered.

What was the matter? For an instant or two she was too bewildered to tell. The room seemed filled with fluff; a sort of dust was in the air; Kathie's own dress and hair looked as if they had been snowed upon; every piece of furniture in the room was covered with what on closer inspection proved to be feathers! And Kathleen herself, the image of despair, stood in helpless distress.

'Oh, aunty,' she said, reminding one of the merchant in 'The Arabian Nights,' when he had let the genii out of the bottle, 'I can't get them in again.' Poor Kathie – her genii were to be reckoned by thousands!

'What is it? What have you been doing? Feathers!' exclaimed Miss Clotilda, stooping to examine a whitey-grey heap on the floor, which, disturbed even by her gentle movements, forthwith flew up in clouds, choking and blinding her. 'Feathers– my dear child!'

'Oh, aunty,' said Kathleen, bursting into tears, 'I never knew they were such horrid things. It's my pillow, and one off Neville's bed, and two off yours, and one off the big green-room bed, and – I got them all in here;' and then amidst her sobs she went on to tell her aunt of the old woman's story and the search it had suggested. 'I didn't mean to empty the pillows, but they kept coming out so when I put my arm in to feel, and I thought at last it would be easier to shake them all out and fill the covers again, so that I couldn't have missed even a small piece of paper. But it's no good; and oh, I've made such a mess!'

There was no denying this last fact. Miss Clotilda hurried Kathie out of the room – for, as everybody knows, the fluff of feathers is really injurious to the throat and lungs – and hurried Martha up to see what could be done. It ended in a woman having to be sent for from the village to re-imprison the flighty feathers in their cases; but even after this was done, Kathleen could not sleep in her room that night.

'I am so sorry, aunty,' she said, so humbly that kind Miss Clotilda could not but forgive her, though she made her promise for the future to attempt no more 'searches' without consulting her elders.

'Of course I'll promise that and more than that,' said Kathie, as she dried her eyes; 'I won't search at all for that nasty will. I didn't want to, only I thought Philippa would say I should have tried to find it. But I'll just show her it's no use.'

And Neville was so sorry to see her distress that he did not even remind her of his having told her that searching the pillows would be no use; which, in my opinion, was truly generous of him.

All troubles were, however, cast into the shade when the next morning brought a letter from Mr. Wentworth, Philippa's uncle, most heartily thanking Miss Clotilda for her kindness, and eagerly accepting her invitation. Mr. Wentworth wrote that he had been quite distressed at the idea of sending the poor child back to school, but till Miss Clotilda's proposal came he had seen no help for it. He went on to say that he would bring Philippa himself to Hafod if Miss Clotilda could send to meet her there, but that he could only make the journey at once. If 'Thursday' were too soon for Philippa to come, would Miss Powys telegraph to say so – in that case he feared the visit would have to be put off till he could hear of an escort.

'Thursday!' Miss Clotilda exclaimed, 'that is to-morrow. Telegraph! It is plain Mr. Wentworth does not know much of this part of the country. There is no telegraph office nearer than Boyneth, and that is half-way to Hafod.'

'But, aunty,' said Kathleen, looking up from the little scrap to herself which Philippa had slipped into her uncle's letter, 'need you think of telegraphing? Mayn't she come to-morrow? She is so happy – oh, aunty, do read her dear little letter.'

Aunty did not need much persuasion.

'If we can get things ready, and if Mr. Mortimer can lend us his waggonette,' she said hesitatingly. 'There is your room still upset, you know, Kathie,' at which Kathleen grew very red; 'and I don't know' —

'Can't I go to Mr. Mortimer's and ask him?' said Neville. 'It isn't very far, and I can find the way, I'm sure.'

'That might do,' said his aunt; 'and if the waggonette is not to be had, perhaps he would lend us the pony-carriage. That would do for two, besides the one driving.'

So it turned out. The waggonette was required to meet friends of the Mortimers themselves, arriving to-morrow, but Miss Clotilda was welcome to the pony-cart, and the strong pony which drew it would be quite able for the two journeys, with a good rest between. And the little girl's luggage might come up with that of the Mortimers' friends, and be left at Ty-gwyn on the way.

There was only one drawback; Kathleen could not go to the station. Miss Clotilda would drive, and Neville must go with her to open gates, etc., in case of need. And Kathleen must content herself for staying at home by adorning Philippa's room with flowers, as Neville had suggested.

'Only, whatever you do, please leave the pillows alone my dear,' said Miss Clotilda, as they drove off the next morning.

Kathie was quite cured of searching for the lost will, though not sorry to be able to assure her eager little friend that she really had done so. The day passed quickly enough, however; for, to make up for the trouble she had given the day before, she set herself to be particularly useful to Martha. And by seven o'clock, the time at which the pony-carriage might be begun to be looked for – for Philippa was to come by a much earlier train than the London express – Kathleen, having helped to set the tea-table and bake the cakes, and having given the last touch to Philippa's little room, was hopping about in front of the house, looking very neat and nice in a clean white frock, her face and eyes, indeed her whole little person, in a perfect glow of happy expectation.

Nor was her patience long put to the test. It was not more than twenty minutes past seven when approaching wheels were to be heard. Kathie scuttered back into the house; she wanted to be standing just within the door, not outside, when they arrived; and in another half minute there they were. Neville had jumped down and was helping out a little familiar figure, while Miss Clotilda smiled brightly at the sight of the children's delight.

'My dear old Phil!' 'My darling Kathie!' and for a moment or two hugs and kisses had it all to themselves. Then Miss Clotilda got out, and Neville got in again to drive the pony home, with many charges to be quick.

'Tea is quite ready,' Kathie called after him; 'and I'm so hungry that I can fancy what you must all be.'

'Take Philippa up to her room, Kathie,' said her aunt. 'Her luggage won't be here for an hour or two, but you can lend her a pair of slippers, I daresay.'

'Oh, mine would be far too big, aunty; but you may be sure Phil has got a pair in her bag,' said Kathie, laughing. 'She's a regular old maid, you know;' and she held up the bag in question for her aunt to see. 'Your room will just suit you, Phil,' she ran on; 'it's as tiny as yourself and as neat as a pin.'

And Philippa's exclamations of delight when they entered it, well rewarded Kathleen for all the trouble she had taken.

'Oh, Kathie,' said the little girl, 'what a perfect place Ty-gwyn is! and how kind and sweet your aunt is, and how good of you all to have me; and oh, Kathie, have you hunted well for the will?'

'Don't speak of it – horrid thing!' said Kathleen with a grimace. 'Yes, I have hunted for it – all to please you, Phil. I'll just tell you what I did,' and she proceeded to relate the unfortunate experience with the pillows.

Philippa was deeply interested.

'I don't think it's likely she hid it in a pillow,' she remarked. 'But I have such a feeling that it is somewhere in the house. I am sorry you don't mean to look any more, Kathie.'

'Oh well, don't talk about it any more just now,' said Kathleen. 'We want to be as happy as ever we can be. If only the weather is fine, and it does look better to-day, – oh, you don't know how it rained yesterday, and the day before worse still, – we can go such lovely walks. You know we're quite near the sea here – up there from that hill we can see it,' and she pointed out of the window.

'Can we really?' said Philippa. 'How nice! I do think it is the loveliest place I ever saw, Kathie. How I do wish it was going to be your home for always!'

'Ah well! there's no use thinking of that,' said Kathleen, 'though of course we can't help wishing it. It's worst for aunty – isn't she sweet, Phil? Come now, are you ready? We'll just take a peep into my room on the way down – isn't it a jolly room, the very next door to yours, do you see? And afterwards I'll show you all the house – there are such lots of rooms, and all so nice and queer. Don't you smell that nice old-fashioned sort of scent, Phil? Like lavender and dried rose-leaves; and it's partly the scent of the wood of the wainscoting, aunty says.'

'Yes,' said Philippa, sniffing about with her funny little nose; 'it's very nice, and everything is so beautifully clean, Kathie. Grandmamma's house is very nice, but it hasn't the same sort of look and feeling this dear old house has.'

'I am so glad you like it, dear,' said Kathie, very amiably. 'But we must run down. I am sure you must be very hungry.'

'I think I'm too happy to be very, very hungry,' said Philippa.

She managed, however, to do justice to the good things Martha had prepared, and Miss Clotilda told her she would be very disappointed indeed if three weeks at Ty-gwyn did not make her both fatter and rosier.

'But she's looking much better than she did at school, aunty,' said Kathleen. 'Last spring she was a miserable little object.'

'But that was because I was so very unhappy about mamma going away,' said Philippa, getting rather red.

'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda. 'Ah, well! I can sympathise in that. But you will be able to send your mother a very cheerful letter from here, I hope.'

'Yes, indeed,' said the little girl. 'And I'm so glad now that we didn't write last week to tell her of grandmamma being ill, and my having to go back to school. Uncle and I talked it over, and we thought we might wait till this week, and now she'll hear of grandmamma's being better and me coming here, at the same time, so it won't make her unhappy.'

'Your uncle seems very kind indeed,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was quite sorry for him to have to make such a long journey, and to go straight back again.'

'Yes,' said Philippa. 'But, you see,' she went on, in her funny little prim way, 'he wouldn't have felt happy to have left grandmamma longer alone. He will be home by eleven to-night.'

This first evening was not a very long one, for after tea Philippa's box arrived, and Kathleen had, of course, to go up-stairs with her little friend to help her to unpack her things and put them away. And Miss Clotilda told the children that they must go to bed early, as Philippa would be tired.

'Have you been very tidy, Kathie, without me?' asked Philippa. 'I'm sure you must often have wanted me to put your belongings neat, and to find your pencils and gloves, and all the things you lose.'

'No; I've got on very well indeed, thank you, Miss Conceit,' said Kathie, laughing. 'It's much easier here than at school. There's so much more room, and one isn't so hurried.'