Part 3

On either side of them stretched, as far as the children could see, the broad, handsome esplanade, now quite a gay sight with the many people who had been tempted out by the warm sun, either to sit or walk up and down, while enjoying the beauty and freshness of the day. In the distance a band was playing, the soft strains of which were heard by the children as they stood gazing about them.

"A band!" cried Lucy. "O Milly, do let us go and hear it closer--do come;" and she pulled her sisters in the direction from which the sound came.

"Mama might not like us to go; and besides, Lucy, there are such lots of people there," said Milly.

Lena did not at all approve of this speech of Lucy's. It was not Milly's permission she ought to have asked, but hers. _She_ was the eldest, and had already said that she would take care of them, or, as she would have expressed it, "had promised Mama to take care of them." And besides, she knew the place, and was at home here, which Millicent certainly was not.

So, as soon as Milly had spoken, she said--

"Why shouldn't we go? The people won't hurt us. Come along, Milly," she added impatiently, as the latter drew back.

"But, Lena, Mama didn't give us leave. She said we might go to the beach, and"----

"And so we are going. We can go down to it near the band, and Lucy can hear it, as she wants to so much."

"Yes, I do want to," said Lucy, dropping Milly's hand and going forward with Lena.

"We shall hear it just as well down here, and it will be much nicer on the rocks than among all those people."

"It's because you are shy and afraid. You want Lucy not to hear it."

Now like many shy, sensitive people, Milly couldn't bear to be called so. She felt as if it was wrong and a disgrace to be shy. So she said, "I don't think Mama would like it. I should like it otherwise."

"I'm the eldest, and know that it's all right; so come along, it's no good wasting all our time doing nothing." And she started off with Lucy, who was delighted at the prospect of going to see, as well as hear, the band.

It was a much longer walk than any of them had expected, and by the time they got there, Lucy was rather tired; so they found a seat and sat and listened to the music for some time. Milly's shyness at finding herself among a number of people soon wore off, when she found that no one took any notice of them; and Lena's assurance that she had often come, with only a companion of her own age, reassured her as to the propriety of the proceeding, so they all enjoyed themselves listening to the music and watching the varied throng around them, until Lucy became tired of sitting still and proposed that they should go to the rocks. It was no use going back to those nearer home, so they ran down the first steps they came to, and were soon close to the water's edge, hard at work with spade and bucket.

Leaving Milly and Lucy to play on the sand, Lena wandered off to the rocks. This was much more exciting work, and she went back in a very short time to invite the others to come there also.

"Bring your bucket, Lucy, and we will try and catch you a dear little crab," promised Lena, as they all went off together. But very soon the rocks proved too difficult for poor little Lucy; they were rough and slippery, and she slipped about in the most helpless manner. With the aid of her sister's hand she managed for a little, then, emboldened by her success, she tried to go alone, but alas! it was for a very little way. Down she came on the sharp wet stones, cutting both hand and leg in the fall, raising a loud cry of pain and terror as she did so. Her sisters were beside her in a moment, consoling and lifting her on to smoother ground. But some time elapsed before she was comforted sufficiently to be left.

"You are all right now, Lucy, aren't you?" said Lena coaxingly.

"It hurts still," said Lucy mournfully.

"But, Lucy, if we don't go we shall not be able to catch you a crab," continued Lena.

This was too tempting an offer to be refused; even the injured hand was forgotten before such an alluring prospect, and Lucy promised to stay and amuse herself with her spade, until the others returned with the promised crab.

"You will be sure and not leave this part until we come back," said Milly.

"You are a good little girl, Lucy," said Lena, giving her a kiss.

"Now, Milly, we will have a grand scramble. Let us try and go out to those quite far out, the big ones I mean, and let the water come all round us."

And she started off, jumping from rock to rock with the confidence and surefootedness gained by many a former scramble. Not so Milly, who was new to the work, and only too glad to avail herself of Lena's hand and help.

Soon they were both at the furthest point, proudly waving their handkerchiefs back to Lucy, who, poor little body, sat quietly playing for some time by herself, quite happy with her spade. For how long she did not know, but it must have been for some time. She could see her sisters at some distance off, evidently very busy about something, "catching the crab" they had promised to bring her, she supposed. It must be very interesting work, she thought, thus to engross their attention, and keep them away so long. Why should not she try her hand at it also? was the conclusion she arrived at ere long. Rising from where she was seated, she wandered off, and very soon was searching in the pools of water that lay, left by the receding tide, at the edge of the rocks, quite happy, and delighted with all the beauties she descried in their clear depths.

Is it any wonder that we, as well as the children, are enchanted, and forget the passing hours as we search out "the treasures of the deep" that are left by the receding waves, to give us a glimpse, as it were, of the "wondrous things" that lie hidden in their depths? And above all, what mysteries and beauties of God's love does the sea show forth to the thoughtful mind; and who can help being thoughtful and awed as they gaze on that mighty work of the Creator, and think how He who rules the raging waters, and who said of old, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed," is the same loving Father who watches over and guards the weakest and smallest of His children, and without whose knowledge not "even a sparrow falleth to the ground"? No wonder then that Lena and Milly became so absorbed and interested as they searched among the pools, some of which were quite large and deep, for the crab they had promised to catch and take back to Lucy; though I fear this their original intention was soon forgotten among all the new delights that they discovered, and the time slipped away as if it were a thing of not the slightest consequence.

At first they often took a look to see if their little sister was safe, and every time they did so, they saw her sitting in the same place, busy with her spade. At last Milly exclaimed, "O Lena, I don't see Lucy; we must go back and look for her."

Lena looked round, rather startled also. Then she answered, "How stupid of us to be frightened! Of course she's hidden behind the rocks. We have moved ever so far since the last time we looked."

"I will go back and see. I wish we had brought her on with us."

"She couldn't have managed to scramble along these rocks. She is all right, I am sure."

"I won't be long going back to look. Mama trusted me to look after her."

Lena flushed. This was her weak point, and as Milly spoke, an angry feeling started up in Lena's mind at the thought, perhaps "Mama had spoken to Milly privately, and told her to look after Lucy." "She trusts her more than she trusts me," were the words she used to herself. Out loud she said, "Mama said I was to take charge of you both. What did she say to you, Milly?"

"To be careful of Lucy," said Milly, without looking at her sister. She was gazing earnestly about to see if she could see Lucy, and so didn't observe the changed expression on Lena's face. When she did turn round, Lena was stooping down peering into the water.

"You can go back then if you like. I must get that bit of seaweed for Auntie, and then I will follow you," she said without raising her head.

"Don't be long, will you, Lena?"

"No, and I will soon overtake you, if you go slipping and stumbling about as you did coming." The words were not either kindly said or meant.

Milly looked vexed. "I did not mean to put you out by asking you to hurry, Lena."

Lena vouchsafed no answer to this; so Milly went on, "I know I can't manage half so well as you do--come and help me."

Still silence. So after lingering for a minute or two, Milly started off.

She had not gone very far when Lena heard a cry of pain, and looking up, saw Milly raising herself and looking ruefully at her hand. She had evidently hurt herself, and conscience gave Lena a sharp prick, that recalled her to her better self. Alas! poor Lena little knew to what a strong enemy she was opening her heart. She would have indignantly denied that she was jealous of Milly,--no one ever does like to confess that they are that of anybody,--but it was the truth, and twice that day had she allowed it entrance "only just for a moment;" but it is quite wonderful how a very little giving in to strengthens our faults. "Ill weeds grow apace" is only too true. The sweet flowers want a great deal of care and cultivation; but then when they do come to perfection, how they repay us for all the toil and care, and what happiness they give, not only to the owner, but to all around!

Lena sprang forward, and was soon beside her sister, whom she found tying up her hand with her handkerchief and trying hard to keep back the tears.

"Have you cut it much, Milly? let me look."

Milly undid the handkerchief, and showed a deep cut on the palm of her hand. "The salt water makes it smart so," she explained, blinking her eyes fast to get rid of the tell-tale tears.

"It is a deep one. Cover it up again; I will help you," and she tied the handkerchief again.

"Thank you, Lena. I have cut my leg too; was not it stupid! I was trying to hurry, and forgot how slippery it was."

Together they went on, jumping and scrambling from rock to rock.

"We ought to see her now. I am sure that is the place where we left her."

Yes, there was the place, and plenty signs in the scattered sand, that some small person had been at work; but no Lucy was to be seen.

They looked at one another in alarm. What could have become of her?

"Oh, I wish we had never left her!" burst out Milly.

"It's very naughty of her to Lave moved, when we told her not to," said Lena.

There was no good standing there, wondering any longer, so they started off to look for her.

"Let us ask those children near if they have seen her," proposed Lena; and running down to where they were at play, they inquired of them if they had seen their little sister. "She was sitting playing there close to the rocks."

"Yes, they had seen her, but she had gone away some time ago in that direction," pointing fortunately to the direction that led towards home.

"And I don't wonder either; it must have been jolly dull for her all by herself," remarked a boy loud enough for the two girls to hear, as they were hurrying off to look for Lucy.

They both blushed scarlet, as they heard these words, and knew that they were meant to hear them. "What a horrid rude boy! But, Milly, I wish we had not left her now."

"So do I," was the answer given with a sigh.

As they skirted the rocks, they came upon a long stretch of sand, now well covered with children. Close to the water's edge were several of them paddling, their bare legs gleaming in the water as they danced and jumped about. And there among them, gazing with delight at their antics, was the missing Lucy. So close was she to the water, that the little waves not only crept up close to her feet, but rippled gently over them, much to the child's delight, who clapped her hands and screamed with pleasure at every wetting.

"You naughty child!" said Lena, as she rushed up to her, followed more slowly by Milly, who was limping from the cut on her leg.

Lucy turned round, her rosy little face beaming with delight, not one whit abashed by Lena's angry words.

"You naughty child! what made you leave and give us such a fright?" Lena was like many other people who have been frightened; when once their fears are removed, they give vent to their feelings by being angry, and, strange to say, consider they have a right to be aggrieved. "You are so wet, too; what will Mama say?"

"That you ought not to have left me," said Lucy, with a saucy laugh.

Lena was too much taken aback to answer this, and Lucy, seeing her advantage, continued, "You and Milly are just as wet as I am;" and she pointed to their feet and dresses, which certainly were both wet and dirty.

Several of the paddlers had gathered round to listen to the conversation, and as Lucy pointed triumphantly to her sister's wet feet, they all raised a laugh. For a moment Lena looked very angry; but catching Milly's eyes, which were dancing with suppressed laughter, the absurdity of it all struck her also, and she joined in the laugh.

"I expect you will all catch it, when you go home," remarked one of the small bystanders in a delighted tone.

"Come, Lucy, it is time to go home."

"Not yet; it's such fun here, I mean to stay," said Lucy, who was so elated at having silenced Lena's scolding, that she thought she might do what she chose.

A laugh from the listeners egged Lucy on in her naughtiness.

Milly's "O Lucy, how can you be so naughty!" was taken no notice of.

Lena, with heightened colour but in silence, walked off to where a lady was sitting, reading, and asked politely, if she would "tell her the time."

"Five-and-twenty minutes to seven," was the answer as she looked at her watch.

As late as that, and they were told to be home by six! "Thank you," she said to the lady, then hurried back to Milly and told her the hour.

"We must go home at once," she exclaimed.

"Will Mama be very angry?"

"Not when we tell her we did not mean to be naughty, and did not know the time. She will be frightened though; I wish Lucy would be good and come."

"She must," said Lena shortly. Going up to the child she took hold of her by the arm and said, "We are going home now, Lucy; it's very late, and Mama will be vexed."

Lucy looked up saucily--"That's to make me come, but I am not going yet."

"Yes, you are; it's long after six." She pulled Lucy away from the water, Milly took hold of her by the other hand, and together they dragged her away, screaming lustily.

All eyes were fixed upon them, making both the elder girls very uncomfortable. They knew they were right in going home, but still thus having to drag their little sister away by main force made them, they thought, appear very unkind in the eyes of the bystanders.

"O Lucy, do be good and come quietly," entreated Milly.

"You must come, Lucy, so there is no good making all this fuss," added Lena.

"I am not going to obey Lena. I'll go with Milly, but I don't love Lena; she's horrid." And pulling her arm away from Lena's restraining grasp, she struck wildly at her, to push her away.

Lucy's words were but added fuel to Lena's wrath. Seizing the child firmly by her shoulders she gave her a good shaking, saying as she did so, "I don't care if you like me or not, but you must do what I tell you."

"O Lena, don't be angry; she does not mean what she says, I know she doesn't," said Milly.

The shaking so took Lucy by surprise, for she was unaccustomed to such strong measures, that she stopped screaming, and gazed at Lena's angry face in open-mouthed astonishment.

In the midst of this scene Hester's voice was heard exclaiming, "Miss Lena, whatever is the matter? That's not the way to treat your little sister. I wonder at you, that I do!"

At the sound of Hester's voice, Lena quickly removed her hands from Lucy's shoulders, and turning to her said, "She has been so naughty, Hester; she would not come home, though we told her it was late, and she went on screaming."

"But you hurt me," sobbed the child. "I would have gone with Milly, because she's kind and nice."

"That's a wicked story, Lucy. You know quite well Milly had to drag you along as well as I; hadn't you, Milly?"

"Yes," she asserted; "but, Lucy, you will be good now?"

"You should not have been so rough with her, Miss Lena; you don't understand how to manage children."

"No, she does not," agreed Lucy. "I will go home with you, Hester," clinging affectionately to her new ally, as she considered Hester.

"Your mother was so nervous at your being so late, that Miss Somerville sent me to look for you."

"Come on, Lena," said Milly, and linking her arm into her elder sister's, they hurried on first, followed by Hester and Lucy.

At first neither of the two girls spoke as they walked quickly along, but soon the steep hill, they had to ascend, made them slacken their pace.

"Lena," said Milly, "you are not still angry with Lucy; she is so dreadfully passionate sometimes, but she does not mean all she says."

"Then she ought to be punished," was the short answer.

"So she always is. And she does not get into rages nearly as often as she did, because she knows how wicked it is, and how it grieves the Lord Jesus," said Milly reverently, adding, as a sort of apology for her little sister, "And she is very young, you know."

The life of a child in India is very different to what it is in this country; and Millicent, thoughtful and gentle by nature, had become more so, from having been the constant companion of her parents; for in the hill station, where their home was situated, she had no companion of her own age. The few children that were near them were all quite little, and looked upon Milly as "quite old" in comparison. Mrs. Graham had been very far from well, the last two years of their stay, and when Colonel Graham had to be away, as he often was obliged to be, on duty, it was Milly's delight and privilege to be her mother's loving little nurse and attendant. And Mama loved to have her gentle little daughter beside her, during the long days of weakness that followed the attacks of fever from which she suffered; and Milly would sit so quietly with her work, or read out to her, but oftenest they spoke of the dear child and sister in the English home. In this way, Mama soon began to depend upon her little nurse, and even to consult her, when Papa was away, upon many subjects; and she dearly liked to be consulted and trusted by Mama, and would put on an air of wisdom, and answer quite gravely and sedately on such occasions, and was beginning to think herself almost grown-up compared to little Lucy, who was full of baby fun and frolic, and apt to become so wild and noisy that she would disturb Mama, if Milly did not amuse her and keep her good. "She was a pet and a darling, and didn't know better," Milly would say at such times. It was only natural then, that Milly considered it her duty to apologise for her little sister's outburst of naughtiness. As Lena made no answer, she went on, "You won't mind, Lena dear, will you?"

"It's very hard," burst out Lena. "Mama trusted her to me, so she ought to have obeyed me; and Hester blames me, I know she does, from what she said, and she takes her part, and she has been my nurse, and ought to like me best; but nobody does love me but Auntie."

"O Lena, I do, and Papa and Mama, and Lucy."

"But they all love you best. Mama always asks you about things, and"----

Here Milly interrupted, with a look of distress--it had never dawned upon her before that Lena doubted her mother's love, or had what she called such dreadful thoughts--"How can you say such things, Lena? It is not kind and it is not true," she added with spirit.

They had nearly reached the gate of Scarsdale Villa by this time, and there stood Mrs. Graham, looking out anxiously for them, and now hurried to meet them, thus preventing any more conversation between the sisters.

"Here you are, my darlings; I was beginning to fear something had happened. And there is Lucy lagging behind, I see." One look at her children's faces, showed Mama that something had gone wrong. Milly looked distressed, and Lena's usually bright open countenance was now very clouded. Putting her arm round Lena, she drew her to her side, and kissing her, said, "What has made you so late, dear?"

What power there is for good in the gentle word or the loving gesture! The mere fact of her mother having put her arm round her, and having spoken to her first, brushed away, for the moment, the hard jealous thoughts, that had been finding room in Lena's heart.

"I am so sorry, Mama, we are late," she said, looking up with an altered expression. "We were so interested and happy on the rocks, we did not know how fast the time was going."

"How did you find out at last?"

"We asked a lady, and it was five-and-twenty minutes to seven; we were so astonished."

"Now run and take off your wet things, and come down to tea. Milly looks tired; are you, darling?"

"A little, Mama, not very."

"She has cut her hand, Mama, and her leg too, that is what makes her walk like that. Fancy my forgetting it!"

"I will tell Hester to take Lucy to the nursery then. I will come and see to you, dear," said Mrs. Graham to Milly, as she watched them go up to their rooms; then went out again to meet Hester and Lucy, who by this time had also reached the house.

*CHAPTER V.*

*AUNTIE'S LETTER.*

Wrong thoughts, when only sent away by a kind deed or loving word, are not really rooted out; they are, as it were, but expelled for a short time. When we only thus send them away, we are like the man in the parable spoken of by our Divine Master. The evil spirit certainly goes, but this is not enough; we cannot sit down with folded hands and say, "It is done--we can rest." No, we have our work still to do. Now that the place is empty, we must fill it anew, but this time with the good and true, or else the evil thought will return, and alas! not alone, but in the words of Holy Writ, "He taketh with him seven other spirits, more wicked than himself"--that is, the wrong thought returns with sevenfold strength, and "the last state of that man is worse than the first."

Thus it was with Lena Graham. The jealous thoughts, that had been showing themselves, were put aside, as it were, for the time being, and unfortunately she did not trouble herself any more about them; and Milly, who was the only person whom she had spoken or even hinted to, that she had such thoughts, was only too glad to dismiss it from her mind, blaming herself for having even allowed the suspicion entrance.

"Lena," said her mother, later in the evening, when she and Aunt Mary were sitting together with the two girls in the drawing-room.

"Yes, Mama," she answered, looking up from the book she was reading.

"What was the meaning of the scene that Hester saw, when she found you on the beach this evening?"

Milly looked up hastily at these words, while Lena said, "I will tell you about the whole afternoon Mama. It was this." And she gave a long account of their doings, appealing often to Milly to confirm what she said; and if she did gloss over the leaving little Lucy alone, it was done almost unconsciously, so easy is it to see, when we wish it, a good reason for our conduct.

When she had finished there was a pause for a moment or two, during which the two girls looked anxiously at their mother.

"Well, Mama?" asked Lena, who was growing impatient.

"I was wondering if either of my girls saw how very selfishly they had acted this afternoon."

"In leaving Lucy alone?" they both said slowly.

"Yes, dears; don't you think it was very hard for the child to be left all by herself? and from your own account, you were away for some time."

"We didn't mean to be long."