Girls of the True Blue. Meade L. T.
use of it for her life, but only for her life. So, my dear little girl, you have no money.”
“Then I expect,” said Nan, drawing herself up and fixing her eyes full on Mr. Pryor’s face, “that I had best go to the workhouse. I can go to the workhouse until I am old enough to take a place as servant; and I would like, please, to go into the same house with Phoebe. Perhaps Mrs. Vincent would have me as her little servant, and Phoebe could teach me.”
“That is not necessary; you are not suited for that kind of life, and God does not require it of you. Mrs. Richmond is very well off; she has more money than she knows what to do with, and she always loved your mother, so she is going to take you to bring you up with her two little girls. You will be trained and educated, and have everything that a little girl can require, and all Mrs. Richmond wants in return is your love and your obedience.”
“But I don’t think I can love her. I wish – oh, I wish she would not do it!” said Nan.
“Now, Nan, the first proof of your love for your mother has arrived, for she wanted you to go to Mrs. Richmond. She would be dreadfully pained – far, far more pained, if trouble could reach her in heaven, by your not going there than even if you still wore a coloured frock.”
“Oh, how puzzling it is, and how difficult!” said Nan. “I shall quite hate to go to Mrs. Richmond. I never liked her much, and now to think that I owe everything to her!”
“I have something more to say. There is a man who owed your father money long ago, and he has promised to adopt you in case you are not happy with Mrs. Richmond; but you must spend quite a year with her before you go to him. You would have a different life with him – freer, wilder. Your mother preferred the idea of your being with Mrs. Richmond, but if you are unhappy with her you are to go to the Asprays; when last I heard of them they lived in Virginia, in the States of America.”
Nan pressed her hand to her forehead.
“That does not seem much better,” she answered; “and I think my head aches, but I am not sure. Shall we go back again now, Mr. Pryor?”
CHAPTER V. – THE MYSTERY-GIRL
Kitty and Honora Richmond were in high spirits. Even the knowledge that Nan’s mother had been buried that day could scarcely depress them. They had heard of Nan a great deal for the last couple of years of their lives, but they had never seen her. Honora called her the little mystery-girl, and Kitty invariably made the same remark when her name was mentioned.
“I wonder if her eyes are blue or brown. If she has brown eyes she will be like me, and if she has blue eyes she will be like you, Nora.”
“As if the colour of her eyes mattered!” said Honora. “For my part,” she added, “I do not think any girl matters, and I do not see why you are so excited about her. If she were a dog it would be a different thing.”
“Yes, of course it would,” answered Kitty, looking wistfully round. “But you see she is a girl, and mother will not let us keep any more dogs.”
“The darlings!” cried Honora; “what a sin! Oh Kitty! do you know, I saw a dear little fox-terrier to-day when I was out. I know he was lost. He had one of those darling little square heads, and he did look so sweet! I would have given anything to bring him home, but when I spoke to nurse she said, ‘There are enough waifs and strays coming to the house without having stray dogs.’”
“I do wonder what she meant by that!” said Kitty.
“I expect,” said Nora in a thoughtful voice, “she must have meant poor Nan. It was not nice of her – not a bit. Do you know that Nan has no money? Nurse told me so last night; she said that if mother had not adopted her she would have had to go to the workhouse. Is it not awful?”
“Poor darling!” said Kitty. “Then we will be good to her; and it is almost as nice as if she were a dog. I like her twice as well since I know that. If she were a rich girl I should hate her coming, but as she is a poor one we will give her the very best – won’t we, Noney?”
“The best we could do,” said Honora in a thoughtful voice, “would be to give her Sally’s pup – you know, little Jack; would she not love it?”
Kitty looked very thoughtful.
“I thought perhaps I might keep Jack,” she said. “Do you think I ought to give Jack to Nan – do you, Nora?”
“Yes,” replied Nora in an emphatic voice. “We have just said that we ought to give her the best, and as Jack is your best, you ought to hand him over. Come, now, let us make the schoolroom look pretty. Mother said she would be here at six o’clock. She will be very sad, you know, Kitty; you must not laugh or be at all gay this evening. You must try to feel as if mother were in her coffin.”
“Oh, don’t!” said Kitty. “How horrid of you, Noney! How could I think of anything so awful?”
“But poor Nan has to think of it. Oh dear! oh dear! it is exciting. Do you know what I should like to do? I’d like to rush downstairs and fling my arms round her neck, and drag her up to the schoolroom, and say, ‘You poor little motherless, penniless creature, here is Jack to comfort you.’ That is what I should like to do; but, of course, I suppose it would not be right.”
Miss Roy, the children’s governess, now entered the schoolroom. She was a kindly, good-natured woman. They went to school for most of their lessons, but she looked after their dress, and took them for walks, and saw to their comforts generally.
“What are you two puzzling your little heads over?” she said. “Oh Nora, my dear, why is the schoolroom in such a mess?”
“We were teaching Jack some of his tricks,” said Nora. “Do you know, Miss Roy, he begs so beautifully, and he quite winks one of his dear little eyes when he sits upright and takes his biscuit.”
“But he sulks a good bit when we teach him to trust,” interrupted Kitty.
“Well, dears, get the brush now and sweep away the crumbs; when your little friend comes she will not like to see an untidy room.”
“I hope she will,” said Kitty. “It will be very much the worse for her if she is of the tidy sort.”
“What nonsense, Kitty! You know I have always trained you to be most careful and tidy.”
“Yes,” answered Kitty, with a sigh; “and when you do train us, Miss Roy, do you know what Nora and I think of?”
“What, dear?”
“Of the happy, happy days when we are quite grown-up, and can be as awfully untidy as we like, and sweep all our things into bundles, and never have a tidy drawer, and never be able to find anything; and have six or seven dogs, all in baskets, sleeping about the room; and a few cats, more particularly if they are sick cats, to bear them company; and birds, of course; and mice, and white rats, and” —
Miss Roy put her hands to her ears.
“Don’t introduce your menagerie until I am out of the country. I would rather leave England, although I am devoted to my native land, than be anywhere near such an awful room.”
“We told mother on Sunday,” said Nora, “and she quite laughed. I think she was ever so glad.”
Just then there came a sound of commotion downstairs. Nora drew herself up to her full height, and her heart beat a little faster than usual. Kitty rushed to her sister and clasped her hand.
“Oh Noney, has the little mystery girl come?”
“I think so,” said Nora; and just then her mother’s voice was heard shouting, and the two children ran downstairs.
Once again Honora thought of the impulse which she longed to give way to – the impulse to rush to the forlorn little figure in its quaint and peculiar frock and clasp it tightly in her arms, and sweep the child upstairs to the warm schoolroom, where Kitty would sit at her feet, and Nora would hold her round the waist, and Jack would sit on her lap, and they would talk and talk, and be happy and free, and even mingle their tears together. But Mrs. Richmond, although the most good-natured and kindest