"It was my fault for riling you," generously responded Rupert.
"Then you don't think I split on you?"
"I don't know and I don't care."
With this, Rupert turned on his heels, Kenneth following, both boys feeling too shamed and heavy-hearted for another word.
GERTIE'S PENITENCE
GERTIE'S state of mind in the days which followed her act of deception was miserable beyond description. Again and again her mother's words seemed to ring in her ears:
"God, who sees the wrong, will one day set it right."
Ah! If only she had not yielded to the temptation.
The faithful voice of Conscience would not let her rest. It spoke to her in the silences of the night, and upon awaking Gertie seemed to hear again the still, small voice.
At last the little girl felt that she could bear it no longer, and determined to confess it all to her mother.
Then, when the moment came, her courage oozed out of her finger-tips, and she kept her own unhappy secret still locked in her bosom.
Poor Gertie at this time, was more to be pitied than even little Ella herself. It so happened that on the day when Rupert purchased Marcia's birthday present, Gertie chanced to come upon Ella in tears, over her schoolwork, during the dinner hour.
"What's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.
"My head is aching so," replied the child, "I don't feel as if I could learn anything."
"Let me help you," said Gertie, looking over her shoulder.
Ella's task was a returned lesson in geography.
"Oh if you only would, Gertie, I think I should soon know it."
Gertie then coached the little girl in her somewhat lengthy lesson, and within the space of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the difficulties were all surmounted.
"Thank you ever so much, Gertie," cried Ella, when her lesson was perfectly learnt; "you are kind and good to me."
"Which is more than you deserve," said a girl who, in passing by, chanced to hear the remark. "I wouldn't have anything to do with a story-teller like you."
Ella's colour flushed into her cheeks, leaving her afterwards so white that Gertie was frightened.
"Don't you mind what she says," whispered she; "disagreeable little cat—that's what I call her!"
With this, Gertie glanced angrily at the retreating figure of the offender.
But Ella was now sobbing bitterly. "Sometimes I think," said she, "I can't bear it much longer."
Could Ella but have known it, her trouble was nearly at an end. That same afternoon in school Gertie was strangely unlike herself. Several times she glanced in Ella's direction, and to her imagination the child she had so cruelly wronged, seemed as if she were slowly pining away.
She pictured her breaking down beneath the load of false accusation; she even went further, and thought of her as cold and still in death.
"Mother and the rest would cover her little coffin with flowers," mused she with a strangled sob; "but I couldn't put any there, because I gave her only thorns in her lifetime."
At this juncture, to the surprise of everybody, Gertie Snowden leaned her head on the desk, and burst into a passion of tears. Ella, for the moment utterly forgetful of school discipline, went straight out of her seat and asked her eagerly what was the matter.
"Aren't you well, Gertie?" she cried.
"What is it?"
Never before had Gertie been seen to cry in school and the effect was electrical.
"Go to your seat, Ella," said Miss Merton in a dignified voice; "I'll attend to Gertie."
"No, no, let her stay," sobbed Gertie, hysterically; "only Ella can do me any good."
"Explain yourself," said the governess in bracing tones, for she had a great objection to a scene.
"I can't bear it any longer, Miss Merton," faltered Gertie unhappily. "Ella didn't use the Key at all. It was I who took it, and—and hid it in her desk."
The miserable confession was out at last.
"Why did you wish to injure Ella Russell?" queried Miss Merton in her coldest tone.
Ella almost hung upon Genie's answer.
"I didn't mean to injure her at all," sobbed the girl. "I put the book in the nearest desk I could find, because I wanted to hide it in a hurry."
Ella felt a tremendous throb of relief—relief in being cleared in the eyes of her school-fellows, and also in knowing that Gertie had not injured her in malice. Miss Merton was silent for a while, grieved to the heart for having so misjudged one of her little pupils.
"Speak to me, Miss Merton," at last cried poor Gertie; "say you forgive me."
"I think," replied the lady gravely, "it is for Ella to say that."
Then Ella, who had remained by Gertie's side, notwithstanding Miss Merton's command, put her arms around the little girl's neck, and kissed her before the whole class. At this spontaneous action more than one pair of eyes grew moist and dim.
"Ella, are you sure you forgive me?" said Gertie, now utterly repentant. "I've been so horrid to you, and now—"
"Now," interrupted Ella, tears standing in her own eyes, "you're as brave as a lion."
Little else was said, but of this one thing Gertie Snowden was assured, namely, Ella's full and complete forgiveness.
So touched was Dorothy Grey by the whole scene, that her slumbering conscience awoke at last.
Rising to her feet, she said, her cheeks crimson with shame—
"Miss Merton, may I speak a minute?"
"Yes, Dorothy," came the answer; "what have you to say?"
"Please, Gertie isn't the only one who has used a Key for her arithmetic—I have done so several times."
Poor Miss Merton looked grieved beyond measure.
"Girls, girls," she said, "how could you deceive me so?" The plaintive note in her voice was rendered more effective by the tears of genuine distress in her eyes. Then, recovering both her composure and her dignity, she went on: "I shall not discuss the matter any further now; the only thing I have to say is just this—in the name of myself, and the whole school, I wish to apologize to Ella Russell for the false accusation which has been laid to her charge. Ella,—" here she looked kindly into her little pupil's face—"you have been brave and patient under trial, my child, and no one is more truly glad than I am that your name is cleared of all stain."
A short while after this, school broke up. As it befell that afternoon, neither Kenneth or Rupert managed to catch the four-thirty train, and, in consequence of this, Gertie and Marcia reached home first.
Mrs. Snowden was greatly concerned on seeing the two children arrive with tearstained faces. Marcia, although she was not present when Gertie confessed her wrongdoing, had heard all about it, and her loving little heart was sore within her.
"My dear children," asked Mrs. Snowden, "what is the matter? Surely nothing has happened to the boys!"
"No," said Marcia, "they just missed the train. We could see them coming into the station as we started off."
"Oh well, there's another about twenty minutes later, so that's not a serious matter."
As neither of the girls volunteered anything further, Mrs. Snowden pressed inquiries. Then came out, with sobs and tears, the whole unhappy story.
The mother's face grew grave and sorrowful as she listened, her disappointment being almost too deep for words.
"Gertie," said she, at the close, "I would never have believed that a child of mine could do such a thing, and I trusted you so implicitly. Poor little Ella, how hard and cruel it has all been for her!"
Gertie sobbed again, her heaviest grief being that she had proved unworthy of her mother's trust. Oh, the sting of it all Gertie felt almost in despair.
"Mother," she cried, "it will just break my heart if you don't forgive me."
Mrs. Snowden's arms were immediately outstretched, and, with her eyes full of tears, she drew her sorrowful little daughter into her embrace.
"Dear child," said she tremulously, "there is One other of Whom you must ask forgiveness; you know Whom I mean."
"Yes, mother," sobbed Gertie, "you mean God, don't you? I've been asking Him in my heart, lots of times, but I don't feel somehow as if He heard me."
"He always hears, Gertie, be sure of that," was the answer; "and for your comfort, let me remind you, 'the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.'"
Then followed a quiet talk with mother, which neither Gertie or Marcia were ever likely to forget.
Not very long afterwards the boys returned home, brimming over with indignation at Gertie's dishonour.
Before making their way into the dining-room, they deposited the monkey in the stables, giving the little creature a certain amount of freedom on her chain.
As soon as they opened the dining-room door, they could see that something serious was the matter.
A HOMESICK MONKEY
THE traces of tears, which the boys saw on not only their sisters', but their mother's, cheeks, seemed to take the wind out of their sails, and to check the angry words which were on the point of utterance.
"Then—then you know without our telling," gasped out Rupert.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Snowden, guessing that in some way the lads had heard of their sister's disgrace. "Gertie has made open confession, and now, boys, I have just this to say to you—deal gently with your sister, and 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'"
With this, Mrs. Snowden left the room, thinking it best for the children to have it out by themselves.
"How did you know anything about it?" said Marcia wonderingly, for Gertie's grief had rendered the child, for a while, too utterly miserable to ask questions.
"Grey told us at school," replied Kenneth. "His sister Dorothy, saw Gertie hide the book in Ella's desk."
Poor Gertie! Her cup of humiliation was indeed full to the brim.
Somehow, all the storm of reproach which Rupert had intended to launch forth, died away into calm.
"There, Gertie," said he, "do please stop crying. We've had enough of that, and things might be worse."
"I don't see that they could," was Gertie's pathetic answer.
"Oh yes, they might be," cried Kenneth. "You've made a clean breast of it on your own account, and that's something."
"Yes," echoed Rupert, "that's something."
Gertie, after this, made her way upstairs to wash her tearstained face, having learnt a lesson in truth and honour which she was destined to remember all her life long.
* * * *
"Oh, Rupert! A monkey, and all for my very own!"
So cried Marcia on her birthday morning, when Rupert presented his novel gift.
"How I shall love it!" went on the child ecstatically, stroking her treasure as she would have done a kitten.
But Jenny, as the monkey was named, did not approve. Opening wide her mouth, she made a hideous grimace, and snarled in a very unpleasant fashion.
Mrs. Snowden, who was secretly far from pleased at Rupert's choice of a present, looked on anxiously.
"Don't go too near her, darling," said she. "You must make friends with her first."
But Marcia did not seem to know how to tear herself away from her new possession.
Jenny, after receiving sundry pieces of sugar and biscuit from her little mistress's hands, suddenly took quite a fancy to her, a fact which pleased Marcia more than a little.
The clouds which had hovered over both the Cottage and the Hall had now rolled away, and all was peaceful and serene. Mrs. Russell, grieved to the heart at having doubted her grandchild's word, seemed as though she could not do enough for her. It was some time, however, before the old lady could bring herself to forgive Gertie for all the trouble she had caused, but, nevertheless, after a while, she accorded the little girl her gracious pardon, to the relief of everybody concerned.
Ella, on the night of Marcia's birthday party, at which, of course, she was present, was the gayest of the gay. Only one untoward incident occurred throughout the evening, and that was a terrible upset which took place in the kitchen.
Somehow or other the monkey got loose. Scrambling out of her little kennel, which was kept in the scullery for warmth, she managed, by tugging at her chain, to break one of the links. For a while Jenny did not realize her freedom, but when she did, great was her delight. She made her way into the kitchen by leaps and bounds, and finding Mary, the cook, busy arranging a pile of tarts, she forthwith decided to help herself.
At first Mary was too startled to do more than stare at the intruder, then, anger getting the better of her surprise, she gave the monkey a good sound smack. This, Jenny resented by showing her teeth and looking very cross. However, the sight of some bananas on a glass dish, soon soothed her ruffled feelings. She seized hold of one, taking off the skin with extraordinary rapidity, and before Mary could say her nay, the banana had disappeared.
The monkey's impudence fairly upset Mary's temper at last, and she dealt the little creature a succession of slaps, rating her soundly meanwhile. At this moment Nurse made her appearance in the kitchen, and was in time to see Jenny spring upon cook's shoulders and commence tugging at the hair of her head. The woman's shrieks now rent the air, and Mrs. Snowden, with her four children, came rushing in to see what was the matter.
Jenny was in a regular monkey-rage. She tossed cook's cap on the ground, and then held aloft something which looked uncommonly like part of the unfortunate woman's scalp.
In a moment the truth flashed upon the onlookers: the mass of hair, which Jenny was examining most minutely, was Mary's false fringe.
Kenneth and Rupert were nearly doubled up with laughter. Not so Marcia, who could see that cook was really very much upset.
Springing forward, the child called her pet by name. Jenny immediately dropped her ill-gotten treasure, and sprung down towards Marcia, evidently expecting to be rewarded by some dainty. Snatching up a piece of sugar which was on the tea-tray close at hand, she gave it into Jenny's funny little brown paw, and, by dint of management, the monkey, which was very young and very small, was soon recaptured.
From that moment Mary hated the little creature with a hatred too deep for words.
About a week later Marcia discovered her pet lying prone on the floor of the kennel, looking almost as if she were dying.
It so happened that day, that Mrs. Snowden and the three elder children had gone for a drive, to visit some friends who lived at a distance. Nurse also was absent on a day's holiday, so Marcia was feeling rather desolate. The sight of Jenny, who looked on the verge of a collapse, completed her woes and she burst into tears.
"Oh, Mary," she cried, "do come and look at Jenny. I believe she's going to die."
The woman, who was busy with her work, did not even trouble to turn her head. Under her breath she muttered—
"No such luck—I wish the wretched thing would die!"
"Mary,—" poor Marcia's tone was pitiful in its pleading—"please come and see what's the matter."
Then Mary came and peeped into the monkey's cosy little abode.
"It's homesick, I expect," she said indifferently; "sometimes monkeys will pine away in a few hours, for no reason except that."
Mary was drawing very much on her imagination, but how was Marcia to know this?
"Do you think if she were back with the gipsies she would get all right again?"
"Yes, in a couple of minutes," responded Mary, who thought if she could possibly influence Marcia to part with her treasure, she would have done something.
"Will she die, I wonder, unless she goes back?"
Marcia was now terribly in earnest.
"Yes," said cook cheerfully, "she'll be dead before to-morrow, I expect."
This decided Marcia. She would take Jenny back to the gipsy encampment, and that without delay.
But it must be done secretly, for well she knew that neither cook nor Ellen, the housemaid, would let her go if they knew of it.
Wrapping poor Jenny in a piece of flannel, she laid her in a basket, and seizing the first opportunity that came, she left the house by a side door and started off on her way. By the time she had reached Rose Cottage, her arms began to ache terribly. As it chanced, Ella was in the garden planting some primrose roots.
"Marcia, whatever have you got there?" she asked, catching sight of the big basket. "It's my monkey, and she's—she's dying," replied Marcia with a sobbing catch in her voice. "Mary says she's homesick, so I'm taking her back."
"But you can't carry her all that way by yourself," said Ella.
"I shall take the train if I can," was Marcia's answer. Then, a sudden thought striking the little girl, she added: "Oh, Ella, couldn't you come with me? Then we could carry poor Jenny between us."
But Ella shook her head. "I promised Grannie not to leave the house while Molly was out," she said. "She's gone shopping, and Grannie is in London for the day. I've got to look after the fire, you see; that's how it is."
"But your Grannie wouldn't mind if she knew about poor Jenny," pleaded Marcia. "She'll die if I can't get her home, and I don't believe I can do it by myself."
The tears in Marcia's eyes, appealed to Ella's tender little heart, and she began to waver.
"I don't like breaking my promise to Grannie," she said; "but p'raps she wouldn't mind just this once."
"Then you'll come?" This very eagerly.
"Yes, wait a minute while I put on my jacket."
FIRE!
A FEW minutes later the two little girls set off on their mission, carrying between them the homesick monkey.
The train journey to Farley was soon accomplished. One was just about to start, and the railway official, recognizing the children as two little season-ticket holders, allowed them to pass. Then came the walk to the gipsy encampment, which seemed very long and wearisome. They had no difficulty in finding the way, as Marcia already knew, from Rupert's description, whereabouts the encampment was situated. Marcia, in her anxiety about poor Jenny, forgot to be frightened as she approached the rough-looking men and women who were round about the caravans.
Taking the basket from Ella, who had carried it nearly all the way, she went up to the man who stood nearest the field gate.
"Hullo! Little missie," said he; "what have you got there, I should like to know?"
"It's Jenny," replied Marcia; "and I've brought her back 'cause she's homesick."
For a moment the man looked puzzled. Then, uncovering the little creature, it suddenly dawned upon him that it was the monkey which his son had sold to a young gentleman a short while previously.
"Homesick!" repeated the gipsy. Then, the funny side striking him, he burst into a roar of laughter. By this time several of the others had drawn near.
"Please, I don't know why you laugh," said Marcia, with a little gasp suggestive of tears; "she's dying!"
"Dying cos she's homesick!" roared the man. "Well, I'm blowed!"
Marcia began to think the gipsy man very strange and rough.
Presently the boy, of whom Rupert had bought the monkey, came up, and the matter being explained to him he, too, bubbled over with amusement.
"You want to get rid of her, little missie, do you?" he asked with a broad grin, thinking that he saw his way to make profit out of Jenny, by nursing her up and selling her again to another purchaser.
"Yes," said Marcia. "She'll die if I keep her, I'm afraid."
"Mayhap she will," replied the boy. "Just you wait a minute, and I'll see if I can't do something to cure her homesick feelings."
"It's a cold she's got, ain't it, Bill?" asked the elder man under his voice.
"Yes. I'll soon give her a little drop as 'll perk her up."
In a few minutes the boy returned to the waiting children. The mixture he had given poor Jenny had certainly revived her.
"You were right, little missie," he said. "The monkey was homesick as could be. She's chirpin' up wonderful now she's amongst us all again. We shall soon have her a-singing of 'Home, sweet Home.'"
As soon as the children had taken their departure, Bill gave his father a knowing wink.
"Bless yer," said he, "that there monkey 'll be as right as a trivet in a day or two. Homesick! He! He! It's the best joke I've heard for many a long day!"
The return journey did not seem nearly so wearisome to the two children, although Marcia's heart was heavy within her for the loss of her little pet. They made their way first to Farley station, in hopes of catching a train. This, they were fortunate enough to do.
A terrible shock, however, awaited the two little girls shortly after arriving at Berryland. In turning a corner of the road which led to the Hall, they discovered that Rose Cottage was in flames!
Ella's heart seemed to stand still within her for very terror. She remembered as in a flash, that Molly had left some clothes to air around the fire, and had bidden her keep guard. These, no doubt, thought the unhappy little girl, had caught fire, owing to her want of attention, and the flames, not being stayed in any way, had spread until the cottage was hopelessly involved.
Alas! What Ella imagined had come to pass.
The children then ran as fast as their legs could carry them towards the scene, where a large crowd had already assembled. The fire engine, too, was at work, but the flames had too great a hold for it to be of any real use. As soon as Ella approached the spot, she was espied by Molly, who, with a white, frightened face, was watching near.
"Oh, Miss Ella," cried the girl, "thank goodness you're safe and sound! Your Grannie's half wild about you. She thinks as how you're all burnt up to a cinder in the fire."
"Where is Grannie?" asked Ella half-distractedly. "I thought she was in London."
"She came back the same time as I did from my shopping, and we found the house alight."
Poor Grannie! Ella had indeed much to answer for that afternoon. In her anxiety to help little Marcia, she had forgotten all about Molly's behests concerning the linen.
Mrs. Russell was amongst the crowd, looking terribly ill with the shock she had sustained. In her eyes, too, was an expression of fear, which as soon as she caught sight of Ella died away.
"Thank God—thank God, you are safe, child!" ejaculated the old lady.
Then, the relief being almost more than she knew how to bear, she swayed forwards in a fainting condition. But for the stalwart arm of a policeman, Mrs. Russell would have been in a sorry plight.
"Hi, there!" shouted the constable to a man in a wagon near by. "Take this 'ere lady up to the Hall. She ain't fit to be in a crowd like this."
The man willingly agreed, and between them, poor Mrs. Russell was lifted into the wagon and taken to the Hall, Ella and Marcia accompanying her.
A short while later, Mrs. Snowden and the children returned from their drive. Great, indeed, was their consternation on beholding the burning cottage, and they at once made eager inquiries concerning its inmates. Their anxiety being relieved as to their whereabouts, Mrs. Snowden bade the coachman drive on home without delay.
That night Mrs. Russell and Ella slept at the Hall; in fact, until suitable lodgings were found for them, they remained there as welcome guests.
It was not until a couple of days after the disaster that Mrs. Russell was well enough to receive explanations from Ella as to how it was, she had disobeyed orders. Then the child came in for her full measure of reproach. It was in vain that Mrs. Snowden, who at heart was thoroughly glad to get rid of the monkey, pleaded her cause. Nothing she could say or do, had any power to allay the old lady's displeasure.
"No," she said sternly. "Ella has disobeyed me, and proved unworthy of my trust. Therefore she must suffer for it."
Poor Ella, they were indeed dark days for her just then.
Lodgings were found at last, and thither, when arrangements were all completed, Mrs. Russell and Ella removed.
Molly, who had found a situation in the neighbourhood without the least difficulty, came to see her old mistress before taking up her new duties.
"There's one thing, mum, I ought to have told you," said she, "and that is, a letter came from South Africa while you were in London the other day. I forgot to say anything about it to Miss Ella, but put it away safely just inside your work-basket."
"Then you mean to say it was destroyed in the fire, Molly?" said Mrs. Russell, looking much concerned.
"Yes, mum; worse luck, that's what I mean," replied the girl; "but perhaps there wasn't much in it," she added, with the endeavour to bestow a word of consolation.
But her well-meant efforts were wasted. Both Mrs. Russell and Ella were terribly distressed that so precious a missive should have been burnt up in the flames.
Ah! Had they known the contents of that letter, their hearts, instead of being heavy as lead, would have leapt for joy.
"Have you heard the news, mum, about Sir James Crofton?" went on Molly, who was in a chatty frame of mind.
"No, what is it?" asked Mrs. Russell.
"He's gone and died suddenly of heart disease."
Mrs. Russell was greatly shocked, for the baronet's generosity in the matter of Ella's education had given him a high place in her estimation.
What about the child's school bills now? Ah! That was the question. Sir James Crofton had paid one term in advance, so until April all was well.
After that, so far as Mrs. Russell could see, there remained only the village-school for her grandchild, and the thought was pain and grief to her. She was feeling far too weak and ailing to think of teaching the little girl herself; in fact, it almost seemed to Ella, as she looked at the withered old face, as if her Grannie were slowly fading away.
ELLA'S BURDENS
"WELL, Ella, and how is your Grannie to-day?"
"She doesn't feel very well, Mrs. Snowden, thank you," replied the little girl, to her morning visitor. "She seems to be fretting her heart out for father to come home."
Ella had been obliged to stay away from school for several days to nurse her grandmother, who seemed suddenly to have grown very feeble.
Mrs. Snowden called to see her constantly, and many were the dainties which found their way from the Hall to the humble lodgings where Mrs. Russell and Ella had now taken up their abode.
"There is one thing I want to ask you, Ella dear," said Mrs. Snowden next, and her voice was very sweet and tender as she spoke. "Has your Grannie forgiven you yet?"
"No, I—I don't think so." The answer came out with a long-drawn sob.
"Poor little girl! I'm so sorry," said the lady, who knew that Ella's penitence for her disobedience was very deep and real. "But for Marcia and her monkey this sad business would never have happened," she went on. "You're a brave little maid, Ella, and I feel sure it will all come right by and by."
"Oh, I'm not brave a bit," cried the child despondingly; "sometimes I feel so cross and unhappy. I don't know what father will think of me when he comes home."
"Ella," said Mrs. Snowden, "I am going to tell you a little story, or legend, which perhaps may help you over your troubles a bit. Would you like to hear it?"
Ella's face brightened. Somehow Mrs. Snowden's visits always did her good.
"Yes, very much," she said earnestly.
"Well, so far as I can remember, the legend runs thus—
"'In the creation of the world, when God made the birds, they had no wings wherewith to fly. Moreover, He bade them each carry two burdens, which were big or little, according to the size of the birds. These were placed on the ground beside them. Obedient to their Creator's voice, the feathered creatures took the burdens in their beaks and laid them across their shoulders. For a little while the weight seemed heavy to be borne. Then, on a sudden, a wonderful thing happened. The burdens grew firmly fixed to the bearers, and became wings. So, instead of the birds carrying their load, their load carried them.'
"And that, dear child, is what may happen to each one of us, if we patiently bear the burden our dear God puts upon us. Instead of weighing us down to earth, it will lift us nearer to His beautiful bright heaven above."
Ella's eyes were full of tears at the close of the little story.
"It's a lovely tale," said she, "and I'll just try and see if I can't be like the birds."
So successful was little Ella in her endeavours, that when Mrs. Snowden called next, she was greeted by a sunshiny face and the brightest of welcomes.
"Grannie is ever so much better this morning," said she. "I tried to be patient and good, and now she's quite forgiven me. Oh, I'm so happy, I don't know what to do with myself."
Mrs. Snowden smiled. "Then I'll see if I can't do something with you," she said mysteriously. "I've got a little plan I want to talk over with your Grannie this morning, so you can just run out into the sunshine for a while. Oh, there's one thing I must tell you," went on the lady. "Dr. Carteret is coming down soon again to see us. His ship is to be stationed in English waters for a time, so I dare say we shall often see him now."
Ella clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how I shall love to see him again," she cried, her eyes shining with pleasure.
"You shall see him if you are a good girl," was the reply. "Now I must go and talk to Grannie, as my time is rather short this morning."
About a quarter of an hour later Mrs. Snowden returned to the child, who was awaiting her coming in the garden.
"Now I can tell you my plans, Ella," said she; "we are going to have a birthday party at the Hall in your honour."
"What, next Saturday week!" exclaimed Ella in joyful surprise.
"Yes, I believe that is the right day," said Mrs. Snowden with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. "I have been talking to your Grannie, and she has promised to come and spend that week-end at the Hall—of course, you are to come too. I have sent Dr. Carteret also an invitation."
Ella nearly gasped with the pleasure of it all, such a prospect seemed to take away her breath.
The days after this flew as on wings, and to add to Ella's happiness, her Grannie's health was steadily making progress in the right direction.
* * * *
"I beg your pardon!"
So said Dr. Carteret courteously as, coming out of a bookseller's shop one evening, where, as a matter of fact, he had been buying a book for little "Cinderella's" birthday, he ran full tilt upon a gentleman who was walking along the busy London street. "Why!—" Here the doctor's voice changed to one of intense surprise—"Russell, it is never you?"
"Yes, old chap, it is," was the pleased reply. "Who'd have thought of coming upon you like this?"
"Well, you are certainly the last person I should have expected to see. Here, come along to my club; it's close by. I must get to the bottom of this sudden appearance of yours."
In the conversation which shortly after took place, the doctor learnt one important fact, namely, that Gordon Russell was poor no longer, a relative in South Africa, in whose employment he had been, having died and left him a fortune.
"But, my dear fellow, why didn't you write home and tell your people about it?" asked Dr. Carteret in a puzzled voice.
"Oh, they know all about it," said Mr. Russell confidently. "I wrote to my mother and said I should be home nearly as soon as my letter."
Dr. Carteret then proceeded to tell him how completely in ignorance, both Mrs. Russell and Ella were of his movements. He told of the fire at Rose Cottage, and also of the burnt letter, for Mrs. Snowden had kept him well posted up in Berryland news.
"I'll wire to them at once, then," said Mr. Russell, rising from his chair.
"No, you won't, old chap," replied the doctor very decidedly; "that is, if I have any power to prevent it. Mrs. Russell and Ella will be at the Hall on Saturday; come down with me and join them there. We'll give them a bit of a surprise."
And this, after a few minutes' persuasion, Mr. Russell agreed to do.
CINDERELLA'S PRINCE
"I COULDN'T dream of letting you go out, Ella, with a cold like this on your chest. I shall have you laid up with pneumonia if I do."
It was the evening before Ella's birthday party, and somehow or other, the child had contracted a chill, much to the anxiety of her grandmother.
"Oh, Grannie!" Ella's voice had positively a wail in it.
"No, my dear," went on Mrs. Russell; "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but your health is more important than a birthday party."
The child's disappointment was almost too deep for words. Such a calamity as not being able to go to her party had never occurred to her.
"Grannie, my cold is nothing," she said. "It'll break my heart if you don't let me go."
But Grannie was absolutely unyielding. "No, Ella, I'm responsible for you to your father, and were I to neglect your health, I don't know what he would say."
Mrs. Russell, as a matter of fact, was wont to be over-anxious at times, and despite all Ella's protestations, she was packed off early to bed. Here she was bidden to drink some hot gruel, after which a steaming poultice was placed on her chest. That night the child cried herself to sleep, and in consequence looked both tired and heavy-eyed in the morning. Nevertheless, her cold was decidedly better, and Mrs. Russell almost regretted the note which she had dispatched to the Hall on the previous evening.
The consternation her missive caused, was beyond words, Rupert expressing his opinion of Mrs. Russell in no very complimentary phrases.
Mrs. Snowden did not say much, for hope was still in her heart.
She had no intention of giving up her project easily, and so, directly after lunch that morning, she ordered the carriage to be brought round, with a foot-warmer and plenty of rugs. The lady then started off herself to Mrs. Russell's lodgings, bent on bringing back with her, both Ella and her grandmother to the Hall. And, after earnest pleading be it said, she won her way.
The delight of the Snowden children at the success of their mother's mission was beyond words, and this one serious drawback to their happiness being removed, all went merry as a marriage bell.
* * * *
"You, Kenneth, have got to be the Prince, and in five minutes' time you must come in with the slipper to fit on Cinderella's foot. We'll have a jolly big one, for the fun of the thing!"
"All right. Have you got one that will do?"
"Yes,—" it was clever Rupert who was organizing the games for the evening—"we've got an old one of Nurse's. It will hold both Ella's feet, and there 'll still be lodgings to let."
Kenneth laughed. The fun was at its height, and charades were in full progress, much to the amusement of the little assembled guests.
The word chosen for the charade was "Cinderella," and the two first parts had already been enacted.
Now it only remained for the final scene, which was the trying on of the slipper by the Prince.
Kenneth, during the five minutes before his presence was required, ran downstairs to see whether Uncle Phil had yet made his appearance. He wended his way to the dining-room, where he heard voices. Here a surprise awaited him, a surprise so delightful that it nearly took his breath away. Not only did he find his mother, Mrs. Russell and Uncle Phil in the room, but a tall, fine-looking stranger also, whose face somehow seemed slightly familiar to the lad.
"Hullo! Ken, my boy," said Dr. Carteret, stretching out his hand. "Here I am, you see—'better late than never!'"
The warmth of Kenneth's greeting was enough to satisfy the most exacting of uncles.
"I'm awf'ly glad to see you, Uncle Phil," said he; "but what made you so late?"
"Well, we just managed to miss our train at Victoria, old chap. Now, Ken,—" this as the boy turned questioningly towards the stranger—"I want you to guess who it is I've brought home with me."
Kenneth looked puzzled. That something unusual had happened he felt sure, for Mrs. Russell's eyes were shining with happy tears, and his mother's face was brimful of pleasure.
Then, in a flash, it came to him! He had seen more than once, the photograph of Ella's father, and here—yes, there was no doubt at all in his mind now—was Gordon Russell in very truth.
"I know," cried he delightedly; "Cinderella's father has come home at last!"
"Right, my boy," said Uncle Phil; "clever chap; now come and be introduced properly."
Kenneth was so pleased at the turn of affairs that he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels; but presently he recovered himself sufficiently to be able to make a suggestion.
After shaking hands with Mr. Russell, he turned to his mother, his eyes bright with a splendid idea, which had just come into his mind.
"Mother," said he, "what fun it would be to surprise Cinderella! She thinks I'm coming in presently to fit on her slipper. Couldn't Mr. Russell do it instead of me? Just let me manage it all, may I, mother?"
And Kenneth had his way.
A few minutes later the whole party made its way towards the nursery door. Kenneth, however, was the only one to enter.
"Cinderella," said he to the waiting Princess, for Kenneth was a few minutes behind his time, "just shut your eyes for a minute. Shut them tight, mind you!"
"Stupid!" grumbled Rupert. "That isn't in the charade."
But Kenneth insisted, and the little Princess obediently did as she was bid.
Then, motioning every one to be silent, Kenneth beckoned those outside the nursery to come in. He next gave the slipper into Mr. Russell's hand, his heart going pit-a-pat as he waited to see the issue of events.
An absolute stillness reigned, for here was something quite unexpected.
But for Kenneth's warning finger, Uncle Phil's arrival would have been greeted with shouts of delight; as it was, the boy's scheme was being carried out to perfection.
A very sweet little maid, indeed, looked "Cinderella," as she sat there with fast-closed eyes, waiting the coming of the Prince.
The roomy slipper was soon placed on the little foot, and at Kenneth's word of command the child opened her eyes.
A look of puzzled wonder came into the little face, and then a cry of such gladness burst from her lips, that more than one pair of eyes grew suddenly tear-filled.
"Father! Father!" cried she. "Is it really—really you?"
"Yes, little one, there's not a doubt about it," was the reply, and hereupon the Prince took "Cinderella" into his loving arms and kissed her fondly.
* * * *
And so rolled away the clouds of poverty and care from little Ella Russell's pathway—
"And over meadowland and hill,The birds trilled forth their songs again,And as in blessing from the skies,God sent His 'shining after rain.'"
THE END
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