Chapter 3

Oh, the bright, bright pictures that came tumbling one over another in one's mind, at the idea of the cottage on the cliff, crabs and shrimps and shells and sea-weed, and merry, merry waves in one happy muddle! And do you know, nothing could induce the horses to trot fast enough up the long drive; they never seemed to consider one bit how much we had to tell, nor, indeed, how much we had _to do_, in preparation for to-morrow. What if they had done a good thirty miles since breakfast, they could stay at home next day and eat hay from morning to night and leave it to Fairy and Whitefoot to do the hot work for us.

I really cannot tell you how much sleep we got that night. I have a distinct remembrance of kicking all the bed-clothes off ever so many times, and of calling out to Lottie in the next room, without the smallest respect to rules. And there was Jane as busy as could be, with Susette, packing up little frocks, and pinafores, and nightgowns. Every now and then she would stop to say, "Really, Miss Sissy, you _must_ be quiet, and go to sleep!" But, you know, that was just one of those remarks which it is of no use listening to.

It's funny how sometimes sleep seems to run away and won't be caught anyhow! Next night it was just the same. Only it was quite different, too. You know what I mean. That funny bedroom, with its white curtains covered with pink rose-buds, and the venetian blinds, and the moon shining through, mixed up somehow with the sound of the waves; and to have Lottie in the same large bed with me--oh, it was all so odd! And the narrow passages with two stairs at every turn, and the rooms opening right in each other's faces, so to say! It felt queer, too, to know that we were alone in the house with only Susette and Jane to take care of us, the woman of the house to do hard work, and Gus to run errands for us.

By some means or other we did go to sleep at last, and afterwards woke up in the morning to wonder where we were. And then came all the wonders of the new place to be discovered. Harry had persuaded grandmamma to send over the steady old pony with us, and no sooner was breakfast over than he appeared at the door led by Gus, for Master Harry to go, as he called it, on a voyage of discovery. I am not sure that our nurses were not rather glad to be rid of this "Turk of a boy," as they called him; for Harry, good-natured as he was, could not lose a chance of teasing the little ones, and sometimes, a little hurting their tempers.

There was a great hollow place in the cliff close to our house, down which was the way to the beach, which we took with the least possible delay. Then came the first delights of bathing, and when that was over, the digging in the sand and hunting for shells, while baby took his morning sleep on Susette's lap. By and by we went home to dinner, and after that, to hemming and sewing and reading with the nurses. And when early tea was over, it was cool enough for a fresh walk over the hills, or away to the rocks farther off.

This was the way we spent four pleasant weeks, getting as rosy and strong as any one could wish. Three or four times we were surprised in our morning play on the beach by the welcome sight of Uncle Hugh. For, every now and then, he would ride over to give grandmamma some news of the children. This was a great delight, for it was sure to mean, first of all, that there were letters from home for us all,--those foreign sheets that Lottie loved to see, and the long crossed letters full of mamma's love to me. And to us four elder ones, Harry and Lottie and Alick and me, uncle's visit always meant a glorious afternoon in a boat far out at sea. I hardly know whether Harry or Gus delighted most in the prospect of these visits. The pleasure simply of holding the "Capitaine's" horse was enough to make the French boy's eyes glisten and his teeth shine with the broadest smile. And to Harry the delight of handling an oar or managing a sail was beyond anything delicious.

But the visit which we had all most cause to remember was the last which Uncle Hugh paid us. He was going away to London on business--business which would soon end in another long voyage, the news of which brought a flush of pleasure to Gus's cheeks, soon changed to intense disappointment at the news that he must this time be left in England.

That afternoon we were longer than usual on the sea, only returning just in time for a late tea and bed. Uncle Hugh started about seven o'clock, and Harry as usual mounted his pony in great haste to go with him part of the way. I remember that uncle was in a hurry, and did not wait for him, for as I stood undressing near the window I saw Harry waving his hat and calling after him, with the two dogs at his side.

The long summer evening faded away; from my pillow I saw the stars come out one by one, and then kissing my hand to them, I let my sleepy eyes go shut, and was soon in the midst of pleasant dreamland. I don't know how long after this it was, that I was aroused by a sound of whispers at the door, and then by a little timid question from Lottie, "Susette, isn't Harry come home?" "But no, Miss Lottie," was the answer in a troubled voice, and Jane broke in: "Hush, hush! you'll wake Miss Sissy! Go to sleep, there's a darling. He'll be home directly now--no need to be frightened!"

"No need to be frightened!" said Susette, in her foreign accent. "But, yes----"

Jane had pulled her out of the room, and Lottie and I, now wide awake, were left to wonder, and talk in low, frightened tones. Lottie had heard the whining of one of the dogs under the window--both dogs had gone off with Harry--and she had heard Susette call Jane gently, and then they had whispered outside the door something about Gus and the dog; and after that she had heard Gus run off under the window, the dog barking joyfully and going, too. How we lay and trembled! By and by I got out of bed, and peeped through the Venetians, in spite of Lottie's entreaties.

"Oh, Sissy, please don't! Susette will be so angry! Please, Sissy, come back!"

I protested that Susette was not _my_ nurse, yet I knew she could scold in such a bewildering torrent of French as did sometimes frighten me; and as I could see nothing but the calm, beautiful starlit sky over the sleeping sea, I dropped the blind, and sprang back into bed. It made a noise as I dropped it, and for some time the fear of being heard, and the anxiety to appear asleep if any one came, made us forget our alarm about Harry. In fact, I think we were getting sleepy again--I was, at least--but we started up at the sound of the hall-door softly opened, and then men's footsteps on the stairs. There was a low moan as the steps passed our door. Oh, how breathlessly we waited! Once, even, I had the door ajar, and was peeping out, when a hurried hand outside suddenly shut it again, making me start back. By and by there was a sound of footsteps going downstairs, and in a moment Lottie and I were both in the passage entreating Jane to tell us what had happened.

"Master Harry has been tumbled over the pony's head, Miss Lottie," she said, "and he's been lying in a ditch nobody knows how long; but the dog's saved his life--him and Gus together--and the doctor hopes he won't be very bad, no bones being broken, only bruises and knocks of the head. He don't quite know himself, you see, yet, poor young gentleman! and we have to keep him quiet, so you must go and be as still as mice. The doctor'll be here in the morning, and the missis, too, may be!"

All this while she was tucking us into bed again, and when she drew the curtains and left us we were afraid to whisper even, for fear of being heard in the next room and hurting Harry.

At breakfast the next morning we were told that Gus was "nigh about at Beecham by this time," and before evening the carriage had come just in sight, and stopped, and grandmamma was walking up to the house.

Then followed a very quiet week, during which we never spoke aloud without getting a sharp "hush!" Indeed, we were not allowed to be in the house a minute longer than necessary, being down on the beach whenever we were not eating, drinking, or sleeping. By the end of the week, Harry was to be seen at these rare intervals looking very pale, and quiet, and unlike himself on the sofa. I distinctly remember feeling rather pleased as I looked from him to Alick, and thought how much more of a boy Alick looked with his brown, rosy face, than the pale, languid, almost girlish elder brother, speaking in a weak, tired voice from his pillow. It was about another ten days before the close carriage came from Beecham, and with plenty of soft cushions, Harry was laid in it, and driven away back to the Park.

When we saw him there on our return, he was almost himself again, merry and bright, but a little pale and easily tired.

IX.

_SUSETTE AND HER TROUBLES._

So we all came back to Beecham Park, and the holidays were over, and we had to buckle to work again; work that had a pleasant mixture of play in it, out-of-door fun, Saturday rambles and birthday treats.

When first we returned from the sea-side there came a very earnest letter from mamma, begging that Sissy might really be sent home now, for surely grandmamma had had enough, and too much, of her. Indeed, a message was added at the end to say that papa had made up his mind to take a holiday and run down to fetch me. All seemed to be settled, and I myself got into that doubtful state--glad to go home but, oh, so sorry to leave this happy Beecham home! I began to wonder, too, whether I should feel quite at home with papa when he came, and on the morning fixed for his arrival, a very shy fit came over me, so that, at first, it seemed rather a relief when Harry called out to me that a letter had come from my home, and that I was to go up to grandmother at once. But what a grave, sad face met me! My very heart stood still as she kissed me. Then in gentle words she told me that Bobbie was ill, had caught the scarlet fever, so papa could not come.

And, to dear grandmamma, I think it was a very anxious time that followed. My little head could not take in all it meant when news came of danger, then of baby's illness, then of nurse's. I could see that other people were sorry; once I found Jane crying, and was caught up on to her lap and kissed and talked to, till a clear memory of the dear, chubby little brother at home came back to me, and I had a long, miserable fit of sobbing. But, you see, I had been away from them all for nearly six months, and the little brothers and sisters around me had somehow shut out the two little fellows at home, and my play and lessons at Beecham seemed much more real than the sorrow all those miles away. In a few weeks all the worst time was over, but, of course, there was no idea now of my going home.

I wonder if grandmamma ever thought, in the early spring, that for a whole year she was to have her house full of children! For a long time we fancied every week that we should hear of aunt and uncle coming home. Every now and then Lottie and I would fret a little bit at the idea of parting, but still it did not come.

One morning brought a letter for Lottie, with a great deal of news in it. She read it to me in the nursery, as we were having our hair brushed for the evening in the drawing-room. It told us that her papa had just made up his mind to take the work of a clergyman in a more out-of-the-way part, somewhere between Switzerland and Germany, and that it was just the place to suit her mamma, so they would probably stay there till Christmas. Besides, there were some little German cousins of Lottie's living close by with their aunt, so there was a great deal to tell altogether. We were very eager talking about little Heinrich and Carl--so eager that at first we never noticed that Susette had thrown herself into a chair with clasped hands, and her black eyes full of tears. When we came to question her, she said Monsieur and Madame had gone to a place close to her native village, and would they--oh, would they--see her poor, poor father, in the misery extreme, frightful! We were quite used to Susette now, and not at all surprised at her passionate manner; and if we did a little smile to each other at that favourite word "affreuse," yet Lottie was eager and sincere enough in her assurances that certainly papa would go and look for the poor family. Out came the foreign paper at once, and if the summons to the dining-room had not come at that moment, I believe the letter would have been written there and then. As it was, it certainly went the next day. It was our first piece of anything like charity, and we waited eagerly for the answer from Lottie's papa, which, of course, did not arrive directly it was wanted.

At last the morning came, when the postman, met by three eager children half-way down the drive, was greeted by the happy cry, "Oh, there it is! I see it in his hand!" And the much-longed-for prize was snatched from him, and triumphantly carried off to the nursery.

"Oh, children, do keep off! You must let Susette hear!" cried Lottie, and then she read this. But first let me say that this wonderful letter, having been put away with other more important old papers, has become very worn and yellow, and you must forgive me if I leave out a piece here and there, where it is too torn to read.

"'My dear Lottie and all the Chicks,--Your letter came very safely all by itself the other day, just as well as if it had been in grandmamma's as usual; and papa knew what an eager little woman his Lottie was, and so he made his discoveries as soon as possible, and here they are! Poor Susette, I don't wonder she was anxious to know all about her poor father, and the rest of them. They have had a hard time of it since she left them, but they are all so fond of her, and so glad to get news of her. Such a good girl as she is to them all! Mind, children, you make much of her, and don't add to all she has to worry about."

At this point we all looked at Susette, and little Murray squeezed her hand. Her black eyes were overflowing, and her rosy lips were pressed tightly together; yet she was looking very happy and pleased.

Then Lottie went on:--

"'Heinrich and I set off at once to ----' (reader, I _cannot_ read the name of the village!), 'but some time before we got there we met a pretty Swiss girl, with a bundle of corn on her head, whose eyes and mouth reminded me very much of your kind nurse. So I put my hand on Heinrich's shoulder to stop him, and then I asked her if her name was Laurec, and she said, "Yes." So we had a long talk, and she told me all about them at home, and of the fever in the village, and the want of work, and all the rest. I fancy it has been little short of starvation for them all this long time. Then I let her hurry on to tell them at home who was coming. Such a sweet hill-side village as I cannot hope to make my little English birds understand, with its pretty chalets lying against the rock, and the bushy trees shooting out of the cliff above and around them. I went up to the one pointed out to me, and there, lying on a heap of rags, was Susette's little blind sister, that she has often talked to you about. Dear little patient thing! turning her large, dark, sightless eyes towards me with such a bright smile! As she spoke of "le bon Dieu," I thought of the pretty French hymns you used to try to learn, and it gave the soft French words a softer sound when they were on such a happy theme. But we could not stay there; so making our little present to the dear child, we set off up the mountain. We had not gone far, when, among a flock of goats scattered over the hill, we found a poor old man sitting on a rock, with very downcast look, and little Pierre Laurec, who had come to show us the way, told us it was his father. The poor old man was very much out of heart, and it was some time before we could make him understand that we wanted to help him. At Susette's name he looked mournfully in my face as I sat down by him, murmuring that she was gone, gone, bonne fille!

"'Well, you know, I must not make my letter too long. Tell Susette that things look brighter now in her old home; that Pierre has found some work in our garden, and his sister comes now and then to your aunt's house; and that we will look after them a little, and send you more news soon.

"'Mamma sends ever so much love, and many, many thanks to dear grandmamma for offering to house her tiresome chicks for a few more months. What a grand, happy Christmas we will have together! That is, if only I can get mamma well enough to brave an English winter. Poor mamma wants sadly to get a sight of her baby.--Ever your affectionate

"'FATHER.'"

That was the letter, reader. Don't you think it was well worth waiting for?

X.

_AUTUMN DAYS._

"What an idea, papa talking about Christmas!" Alick said, when we came to the end of the letter; and it did seem funny that hot autumn afternoon, when all the leaves were in a glow, looking as if they had been burnt up so long they couldn't and wouldn't bear it any longer! Perhaps they meant to come down. But I suppose, now I come to think of it, that months don't seem so never-ending to grown-up people as they do to children; they are more prepared to see the time fly, you don't know how, so they are not surprised when they find it gone. Besides, you see, they don't get taller and taller as the months pass, so, of course, the time must seem to run past very quickly, they standing still all the while! How odd it must be! I heard a little boy remonstrating last night--

"Well, but, uncle, if you keep your clothes till next year they'll be ever so much too small for you!"

Everybody laughed, and told him that uncle, being six feet high, didn't expect to grow any more; and, of course, as I said before, if Alick's papa stood still, the time _would_ seem to go very quickly.

And so, I suppose, when the end of October came, he didn't cry out as we did all of a sudden: "I do declare it is not quite two months to Christmas!"

It was one damp, misty afternoon, and Lottie, and Alick, and I were learning our lessons all alone in the school-room. We were trying to get the last glimmer of daylight at the window, but it was hardly enough to see what six times nine might be, and that was my great difficulty.

You know, don't you? how the things that "you do so want to say" will come into your head just when you ought to be very silent and busy! It's _very_ odd; but even now that I am old enough to know better, I never want so much to talk as just when I ought to be quiet. I wonder how it is? Anyhow, it seemed quite impossible to hold one's tongue that afternoon. Alick was as busy and quiet as could be, working out a hard sum on his slate, but even he looked up when Lottie started that wonderful idea about Christmas; and then we all joined in wondering how the time had gone, and what lots of fun Christmas would bring with it. I had my own particular share of delight, for was there not a certain prospect of papa and mamma coming to the Park to take me home? My little cousins, too, were looking forward to home directly after Christmas; but their mamma could not come and fetch them. She had been well enough to travel, and would be in England very soon now; that is, in the little island down in the south, you know, where the invalids go. She would get a nice home ready for them there and then, as she said in her letters, "have the delight of calling back all the chicks under her wings again!"

Well, it was just all these things that we were talking about over our lesson-books at the school-room, when our attention was caught by two figures coming up the drive in the mist. Such a foggy afternoon as it was, all the dead leaves hanging yellow and dripping from the trees! It was not till they got quite up to the house that we saw that the two men were going to give us some music. One had some bagpipes and the other a kind of horn, and, of course, all thought of lessons went out of our heads when we heard them begin. What fun it was to listen, and to watch their queer grimaces and antics, as they danced about to their own music!

But we had not been enjoying this long when a terrible thing happened. Oh, little reader, it makes me shudder now!

You must understand that our school-room was on the ground-floor, but raised a good way from the ground; a separate room built out from the house, the roof sloping out under the windows of the day-nursery.

The first thing we thought of was calling the little ones to hear the music; but when I proposed it, Alick said he was sure they knew all about it, he could hear their voices. Lottie declared that that was impossible; we never heard anything from the nursery unless the window was open. Just then the men began to beg, and Alick ran off to get some pence. Grandmamma said they were to have a cup of the servants' tea, and Alick went to the kitchen to ask for it. When he came back, he told us that Susette was down there getting baby's supper, and that Jane was teazing her about her "brothers the players!"

"Oh, Alick!" cried Lottie, "then that's it! Murray and Bertie have got the window open to hear better, and in all this fog and wet!"

Alick was just going to laugh at her for being such an "old fidget," when we were startled by a loud cry, and the sound of something falling down the roof. At the same moment we saw Harry rushing up to the house--he was just home from his lessons at the curate's--throwing his arms about in the most excited way.

"Oh, it's Murray tumbled out of window?" cried Lottie. And away we all rushed to the front door, feeling sick with fear.

Now, up the side of the wall grew a very thick, bushy fig-tree, the stem of which was very big of its kind. When we rushed out into the foggy air, there was Harry clambering so cleverly up among the large, wet leaves; and on the edge of the roof, caught by his clothes in some way that we could not see, was poor little Murray! Susette covered her face with her hands, and most of us turned away too frightened to look. I remember hiding my face in Jane's gown, and feeling her stroking my hair; and I never looked up till there was a cry that it was all right, and Harry and Murray were both safe on the ground again.

How glad we all were, and how we all talked at once, and said how we had felt, and how Murray cried though he wasn't hurt, only frightened--all this I mustn't stop to tell you. By and by it came to be one of those things that are always nice to talk about with shudders, and sighs, and laughter. Many and many a tea-time the same wonder and thankfulness were repeated, always beginning with, "Don't you remember that dreadful day?" and so on.

Meanwhile Christmas was coming, and Christmas weather came sooner still. Then the snow collected outside the nursery window, and the mornings were very dark, and bed the only comfortable place; and Gus's hands got blue, and his face thin and pinched, and he wished himself away with the "Capitaine" in the warm South Seas.

But there was fun, too, about that cold weather; fun with the snow-man in the Park; fun in learning to skate on the frozen pond, shut in so nicely with the fir-trees; and fun in the real Christmas treats, Christmas-trees, and Christmas games.

And so it was a very bright time that came to finish up those happy Beecham days. The end of it all was saying "good-bye" to grandmamma and cousins one fine, frosty morning, just the other side of New Year's Day, and driving off between papa and mamma.