Rosalys turned her soft blue eyes full on Celestina.

'How like an angel she is!' thought Celestina.

'Who's?' said Alie. 'Do you mean Mr. Fairchild's? Why don't you explain properly, Biddy?'

'Yes, that's it,' said the stranger child. 'I'm Celestina Fairchild. I'll show you the shop.'

'Thank you,' said the elder girl. But Biddy would scarcely let her say the two words. Her eyes were very open, looking rounder than ever.

'What a funny name!' she exclaimed. Biddy's collection of adjectives did not seem to be a very large one. 'Do say it again; oh, please do.'

'Biddy, I think you are rather rude,' said Alie severely. 'You wouldn't like any one to say your name was funny.'

'I didn't mean——' began Bridget as usual, but Celestina quietly interrupted.

'I don't mind; she's only a little girl. Don't be vexed with her,' she said to Alie with a sort of childish dignity that seemed to suit her. 'I think my name is funny; mother called it me 'cos—, but p'raps we'd better go on. I've been out a good while and mother might be wondering what I was doing, and then if the letter for father matters much——'

'Yes,' said Alie; 'you're quite right; we'd better be quick.'

So the little party set off again up the street. Biddy and Celestina—for now that Biddy's interest was awakened in the stranger child she had no idea of giving her up to the others—in front; Rosalys and her brother following; Jane Dodson, discreet and resigned, bringing up the rear.

They had not far to walk, but Bridget's tongue made the most of its opportunities.

'Have you got a doll-house, then?' she inquired of Celestina; and as the little girl shook her head rather dolefully in reply, 'What do you get furniture' (Biddy called it 'fenniture') 'for, then? Is it for ornaments?'

'No; I've got a room, though not a doll-house,' Celestina replied. 'It once was a kitchen, but I played with it too much when I was little, and the things got spoilt. So father did it up for me with new paper like a parlour—a best parlour, you know. Not a parlour like you use every day.'

'I don't know what a parlour is,' said Biddy; 'we haven't got one at the Rectory, and we hadn't one in London either. We've only got a schoolroom, and a dining-room, and a droind-room, and a study for papa, and——'

'I forgot,' said Celestina. 'I remember mother told me that they don't call them parlours in big houses. It's a drawing-room I mean; only the dolls have their dinner in it, because I haven't got a dining-room. They haven't any bedroom either; but I put them to bed in a very nice little basket, with a handkerchief and cotton-wool. It's very comfortable.'

'Yes?' said Bridget, greatly interested, 'and what more? Tell me, please. It sounds so nice.'

'Sometimes,' Celestina went on—'sometimes I take them to the country—on the table, you know—and then I build them a house with books. It does very well if it's only a visit to the country, but it wouldn't do for a always house, 'cos it has to be cleared away for dinner.'

Biddy's mouth and eyes were wide open.

'We have dinner in the dining-room with papa and mamma,' she said; 'so we don't need to clear away off the schoolroom table except for tea. That's in London. I don't know where we're to have tea here, when Miss Millet comes back. Don't you have dinner with your papa and mamma—when they have luncheon, you know?'

In her turn Celestina stared.

'I don't know how you mean. We all have dinner in the parlour,' she said, 'like—like everybody. But this is our shop,' she added, stopping and turning so as to face the others. 'If you please, miss,' she went on to Rosalys, 'this is father's shop. If you'll come in, he'll be there.'

Not a little surprised was Mr. Fairchild to see his daughter showing the way in to the three children, whom he rightly and at once guessed to be the new rector's family. Celestina looked quite composed; though so very quiet and silent a child, she was neither shy nor awkward. She was too little taken up with herself to have the foolish ideas which make so many children bashful and unready: it never entered her head that other people were either thinking of or looking at her. So she was free to notice what she could do and when she was wanted, and her simple kindly little heart was always pleased to render others a service, however small.

'Father,' she said in her soft voice; 'it is young Master Vane and the young ladies with a letter for you.'

Mr. Fairchild came forward, out from behind the counter. He made a little bow to Rosalys, who was the foremost of the group, and a little smile brightened his thin face as his eyes rested on hers. Every one was attracted by Alie, and her voice was particularly gentle as she spoke to Mr. Fairchild, for the first thought that darted through her mind was, 'How very ill he looks, poor man—much worse than papa.'

'It is a letter for you, Mr. Fairchild,' she said. 'Mr. Redding asked my brother to give it to you. It is from pa—from Mr. Vane.'

'But I don't know if there is any answer,' said Rough. 'Redding didn't say. Please see, will you?'

Rosalys and Randolph and Jane in the doorway stood waiting while he read. But Biddy's eyes were hard at work. She caught Celestina as she was disappearing through an inner door.

'Oh, please,' she said, 'don't go away. Won't you show me your dolls? And oh, please, what is that funny little window up there in the wall? I would so like to look through it.'



CHAPTER VI

THE WINDOW IN THE WALL

'Will you step into my parlour?' The Spider and the Fly.

Celestina hesitated. She was anxious to be friendly to Bridget, and she had a strong instinct of hospitality, but the little girl rather took away her breath. Just at that moment, luckily, the door between the shop and the parlour—a door in the corner behind the counter—opened, just a little, enough to admit Mrs. Fairchild, who came in quietly. She had heard voices in the shop, and thought she was probably needed there, though at this time of the morning, especially when Celestina was out, she had to be sometimes in the kitchen.

'Celestina,' she exclaimed, surprised and not quite sure if she should be pleased, 'what are you doing? You should have come in at once. I have been expecting you.'

Then her eyes fell on the three—or four—three and a half, one might say, to be very correct—strangers in the shop, for Jane was still wavering on the doorstep, one foot on the pavement outside and one inside.

'Won't you come in?' said Mrs. Fairchild to her civilly; 'it is a cold morning—and then I could shut the door.'

Jane moved inwards, though without speaking, and Rough darted forward and shut the door carefully.

'Thank you, sir,' said Mrs. Fairchild, with a little smile that lighted up her whole face. She gave a half unconscious glance at her delicate-looking husband, which explained her anxiety. Bridget drew near her and looked up in her face. Somehow since Mrs. Fairchild had come in every one seemed more friendly and at ease.

'Are you Ce—Cel—the little-girl-in-the-bazaar's mamma?' asked Biddy.

Mrs. Fairchild smiled again.

'Yes,' she said, touching Celestina on the shoulder, 'I am her mother. Did you see her at the bazaar?'

'She was buying chairs, and that made me buy one too,' replied Biddy rather vaguely.

'The young ladies met me after that in the street and asked me the way here. I showed them. That was why I was in the shop,' explained Celestina, on whose brow a little wrinkle of uneasiness had remained till she could tell her mother the reason of her moment's lingering.

'I see,' said Mrs. Fairchild, who would indeed have found it difficult to believe that Celestina had been careless or disobedient; and at the words Celestina's face recovered its usual quiet, thoughtful, but peaceful expression.

Bridget pressed up a little closer to Mrs. Fairchild.

'You're not vexed with her then,' she said. 'She was quite good. I thought at first you were going to be rather a cross mamma.'

'Bridget,' said Rosalys, colouring, and in an awful tone. When Alie said 'Bridget' like that it meant a great deal.

'I didn't mean,' began Biddy as usual.

Celestina's mother turned to Rosalys.

'Please do not be vexed with her, miss,' she said, with again that winning smile. And the smile that stole over Alie's face in response made Mrs. Fairchild's gaze linger on the lovely child. 'No, my dear,' she went on, speaking now to Biddy, 'it was quite right of Celestina to show you the way; and I am glad you happened to meet her.'

During this time, which was really only a minute or so, for it takes much longer to relate a little scene of this kind than for it actually to pass, Mr. Fairchild had been busy with the contents of the envelope Randolph had given him. It contained, besides a note, a list of some books which Mr. Vane wished to have sent as soon as possible. After knitting his brows over this for some moments, the bookseller came forward.

'I find that Mr. Vane would like this order executed at once,' he said, addressing Randolph.

'I don't know, I'm sure,' said Rough; and indeed how was he to know, seeing that the letter had only been given over to his charge by Mr. Redding?

Mr. Fairchild looked perplexed.

'Oh,' he said, 'I thought that possibly you could have explained a little more fully'—then he considered again. 'I think perhaps I could send specimens of some of the hymn-books, and I can make out a list of the prices, etc., so that Mr. Vane would have no trouble in selecting what he requires. It will only take me a few minutes, and it would save time if——' he hesitated. 'My errand-boy has gone some distance away this morning.'

'If you mean that it'll save trouble for me to carry the parcel, I don't mind,' said Rough in his boyish way.

Mr. Fairchild thanked him.

'I will see to it at once,' he said, and turning to his desk he began writing down the details of some books which he took down from the shelves behind.

The four children, Mrs. Fairchild, and Jane Dodson stood together in the middle of the shop; it was quite small, and with these six people it seemed crowded. There was only one chair, pushed up in a corner by the counter.

'It is draughty near the door, even when it is shut. Will you not come farther in, Miss Vane? or,' with a little hesitation, 'would you step into the parlour—there is a nice fire—and sit down for a few minutes?' said Mrs. Fairchild to Rosalys.

Rosalys began to thank her, but before she had time to do more than begin Bridget interrupted.

'Oh yes, Alie, please do,' she said eagerly. 'I do so want to see what a parlour's like. But, please,' she went on to Mrs. Fairchild, 'would you first tell me what that dear little peep-hole window up in the wall is for? I would so like to look through it.'

Alie's face grew red again; she really felt ashamed of Biddy.

'And it's worse,' she said to herself, 'to be so forward to people who are not quite the same as us, though I'm sure Mrs. Fairchild is as nice as any lady.'

And Mrs. Fairchild confirmed this feeling of Alie's by coming again to the rescue.

'Certainly, my dear,' she said, smiling. 'You shall look through the window from the other side. There's pretty sure to be a chair in front of it, if you are not tall enough. My little girl is very fond of looking through that funny window.'

She led the way through another door—a door facing the street entrance—into a very small passage, whence a narrow staircase ran up to the first floor. The children could scarcely see where they were, for the passage was dark, till Mrs. Fairchild opened another door leading into the parlour, and even then it was not very light, for the parlour window, as I think I said before, looked on to a little yard, and there were the walls of other houses round this yard.

It was a very neat, but to the children's eyes a rather dreary-looking little room.

Biddy turned to Celestina.

'I think I like droind-rooms better than parlours,' she said, returning to their conversation in the street, 'except for the sweet little window,' and in another instant she had mounted the chair and was peering through. 'Oh, it is nice,' she said. 'I can see Roughie'—for Rough, had considered it more manly to stay in the shop—'and Mr.—your papa, Celestina. It's like a magic-lantern; no, I mean a peep-show. I wish we had one in our house. Alie, do look.'



Rosalys came forward, not so eager to take advantage of Biddy's obliging offer as to seize the chance of giving her a little private admonition.

'Biddy,' she whispered, 'I'm ashamed of you. I never knew you so free and rude before.'

Bridget descended dolefully from the chair.

'I'm very sorry,' she said; 'please, ma'am,' and she turned to Mrs. Fairchild, 'I didn't mean to be free and rude.'

The babyishness of her round fat face, and her brown eyes looking quite ready to cry, touched Mrs. Fairchild, though it is fair to add that she approved of Alie's checking the child. She would have been perfectly shocked if Celestina even when younger than Biddy had behaved to strangers as the little visitor was doing. Children were kept much more in the background forty years ago than now. On the whole I don't know that it was altogether a bad thing for them, though in some cases it was carried too far, much farther than you, dear children of to-day, would find at all pleasant, or than I should like to see.

'No, my dear, I am sure you did not mean any harm,' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'We all have to learn, but it is very nice for you to have a kind elder sister to direct you.'

Biddy did not seem at that moment very keenly to appreciate this privilege.

'I'd rather have a littler sister,' she said; but as she caught sight of Celestina's astonished face, 'I don't mean for Alie to be away—Alie's very kind—but I'd like a littler one too. It's very dull playing alone. And oh, please,' as the word 'playing' recalled the bazaar and their purchases, 'mayn't I see her dolls' house?' and she pointed to Celestina.

Rosalys sighed. Bridget was incorrigible.

'It isn't a house,' said Celestina, 'it's only a room. May I get it, mother? I do so want to see if the new chairs will do,' she went on, for the first time disengaging the toys from her handkerchief. 'The others are so big that when the dolls sit on them their legs go all over the top of the table instead of underneath.'

'I know,' said Alie, 'that's how mine used to do when I was a little girl and played with our doll-house. But mamma got some for me from Germany all the proper size, on purpose. The doll-house was really very pretty then.'

Celestina looked up with eager eyes.

'Oh, I would like to see it,' she said. 'It must be beautiful.'

'No' said Rosalys, 'it isn't now. Some of the furniture's broken, and nearly all the chair-seats need new covers. But it might be made very nice with a little trouble, only you see Bridget has never cared to play with it.'

Biddy had drawn near and was standing listening.

'I daresay I would care if I had anybody to play with me,' she said. 'You know you're too big, Alie. I wish Celestina could come and play with me. Won't you let her, if mamma says she may?' she went on, turning to Mrs. Fairchild.

Celestina's eyes sparkled, but her mother looked rather grave.

'My dear young lady,' she said to Biddy, 'you are rather too young to plan things of that kind till you have talked about them to your mamma. Besides Celestina almost never goes anywhere.'

'I went to tea at Miss Bankes's once,' said Celestina. 'That's where I used to go to school, but I didn't like it much—they played such noisy games and they were all so smart. And once I went to Nelly Tasker's, and that was nice, but they've left Seacove a long time ago.'

Mrs. Fairchild looked at Celestina in some surprise. It was seldom the little girl was so communicative, especially to strangers. But then, as she said to her husband afterwards—

'Miss Vane is a very sweet girl, and the little one chatters as if she'd known you for years. They certainly have a very friendly way with them: I couldn't exactly wonder at Celestina.'

'I'll ask mamma. You'll see if I don't,' said Biddy, nodding her head with determination. 'And please, Celestina, do let me see your doll-room, if that's what you call it?'

'May I fetch it, mother?' asked the child. But at that moment Randolph put his head in at the door.

'We must be going,' he said. 'Come along, girls. I've got the parcel. Thank you,' he added to Mrs. Fairchild, 'and good-morning.'

Alie and Biddy turned to follow him. But first they shook hands with Celestina and her mother.

'I'm so sorry,' said Biddy, 'not to see the dolls' room. Wouldn't Rough wait a minute, Alie?'

'No,' the elder sister replied. 'We've been out a good while and there's no reason for waiting now the parcel's ready.'

'Well I'll come again. You'll let me, won't you?' said Bride, and not content with shaking hands, she held up her round rosy mouth for a kiss.

'Bless you, love,' kind Mrs. Fairchild could not resist saying, as she stooped to her.

'She is a very nice mamma, isn't she, Alie?' said Biddy with satisfaction, when they found themselves out in the street again.

'Yes,' said Rosalys. But she spoke rather absently. She was wondering what made Bridget so nice sometimes, and sometimes so very tiresome and heedless.

'I wonder if it would have been better for her if she was more like that little Celestina,' she thought. 'I'm sure they're very strict with her, and yet I'm sure she's very fond of her mother and very obedient. But it must be rather a dull life for a little girl, only she seems so womanly; as if she really felt she was useful.'

It was almost dinner-time—their dinner-time, that is to say—when the children reached the Rectory, and there was something of a scramble to get hands washed, hair smoothed, and thick boots changed so as to be in time and not keep papa and mamma waiting. Randolph came into the dining-room, carrying the parcel of books.

'Papa,' he said, 'these are the books you told Redding to order for you—at least there are some of them, and if they are right, or if you'll mark down which of them are not right, Fairchild the bookseller will order what you want at once.'

'I'll look at them immediately after luncheon,' Mr. Vane replied. 'But how did they come into your hands, my boy? Has Redding been here again?'

'No,' Rough explained, 'we met him,' and then he went on to tell the history of the morning.

'And she 'avited us—the little-girl-in-the-bazaar's mother, I mean,' Biddy hastened to add, 'to step into the parlour. I never saw a parlour before; it's not as nice as a droind-room, except for the dear little window up in the wall. Couldn't we have a little window like that in our schoolroom, mamma? And I'm to go another day to see the room; it's not a proper doll-house, she says; only a room, and I said I was sure I might ask her to come here, but she said I must ask my mamma first. I thought at first she was going to be rather a cross sort of a mamma, but I don't think she is—do you, Alie?'

Biddy ran off this long story so fast that Mrs. Vane could only stare at her in amazement.

'My dear Biddy!' she said at last. 'Alie, you were there? You don't mean to say that you let Bride run into the toy-shop people's house and make friends with their children, and—and——' Mrs. Vane stopped short, at a loss for words.

Mr. Vane looked up.

'My dear child,' he said too, to Bridget, 'you must be careful. And here—where everybody is sure to know who you are, and when you should set a good example of nice manners—you must not behave in this wild sort of way.'

'I didn't mean,' began Biddy plaintively.

But this time she was not chidden for her doleful tone—both Alie and Rough came to the rescue.

'Please, mamma, oh please, papa, you don't understand,' began Rosalys.

'It wasn't the bazaar people at all,' said Rough, chiming in; 'it was all right. Only, Biddy, you are really too stupid, the muddley way you tell things——'

'Yes,' agreed Alie, with natural vexation, 'you needn't make it seem as if we had all gone out of our minds, really.'

'I didn't mean,' started Biddy again, and still more lugubriously.

'Stop, Bride,' said Mr. Vane authoritatively, laying down his knife and fork as he spoke. 'Now, Rosalys, tell the whole story properly.'

Alie did so, and as Randolph had already explained about meeting Mr. Redding, it was not long before his father and mother understood the real facts clearly.

'We couldn't have refused to go into the parlour when Mrs. Fairchild asked us like that—could we, mamma?' Rosalys wound up.

'And she asked us to step in so nicely. And there were no chairs in the shop, 'cept only one. And I did so want to see a parlour,' added Biddy, reviving under Alie's support.

'No, you did quite right,' said Mrs. Vane to the elder ones. 'But Biddy must not begin making friends with every child she comes across and inviting them to come here. You are not a baby now; you should have more sense.'

The tears collected in Bridget's eyes; they were very obedient to her summons, it must be allowed. Rosalys felt sorry for her.

'Mamma,' she said, 'of course Biddy shouldn't invite anybody without your leave first, but still this little Celestina isn't at all a common child. She's so neat and quiet, and she speaks so nicely. And her mother is nearly as pretty as you, not quite of course.'

'She's awfully jolly,' put in Rough.

Mrs. Vane smiled.

'What an uncommon name,' she said. '"Celestine," did you say? It is French.'

'No, mamma, not "Celestine,"' said Alie, '"Celestina." I suppose it's the English of the other.'

'I never heard it in English before,' said Mrs. Vane, 'though I once had a dear old friend in France called "Celestine"—you remember Madame d'Ermont, Bernard? I've not heard from her for ever so long.'

'Celestina was going to tell us about her name, but something interrupted her and then she forgot,' said Alie. 'Perhaps they've got some French relations, mamma.'

'It isn't likely,' her mother replied. 'But some day when I am in the village, or town—should we call it "town," Bernard?'

'It is a seaport, so it must be a town, I suppose,' said Mr. Vane.

'I should like to see the little girl and her mother,' Mrs. Vane continued.

'And oh, mamma,' cried Biddy, jumping up and down in her chair as her spirits rose again, 'when you do, mayn't I go with you, and then Celestina would show me her dolls' room?'

'We shall see, my dear,' her mother replied.

Biddy was not at all fond of the reply, 'We shall see.' 'It's only a perlite way of saying "no,"' she once said, but she dared not tease her mother any more.

'Nobody cares about what I like,' she said to herself disconsolately.

Perhaps she would not have thought so if she had heard what her mother and Rosalys were talking about later that afternoon.



CHAPTER VII

ON THE SEASHORE

'The sands of the sea stretch far and fine, The rocks start out of them sharp and slim.' A Legend of the Sea.

'Oh dear,' exclaimed Mrs. Vane one morning at breakfast two or three days after the children's walk in to Seacove. Everybody looked up—the two girls and Rough were at table with their father and mother. Mrs. Vane had just opened and begun to read a letter. What could be the matter?

'It is from Miss Millet,' she said; 'her sister's children have got scarlet fever, and she has got a bad sore throat herself from nursing them. They had no idea what it was at first,' she went on reading from the letter; 'but of course she cannot come back to us for ever so long on account of the infection.'

'Poor Miss Millet,' said Rosalys.

'I don't mind,' said Biddy; 'I like having holidays.'

Alie, who was sitting next her, gave her a little touch.

'Hush, Biddy,' she said, 'that's just one of the things you say that sound so unkind.'

She spoke in a whisper, and fortunately for Bridget her father and mother were too much taken up with the letter to notice what she had said.

'I didn't mean,' Biddy was beginning as usual, but Mrs. Vane was speaking to Alie by this time, and no one listened to Biddy.

'I must write to Miss Millet at once,' their mother said, 'though I shall ask her not to write often till the infection is gone—she says this letter is disinfected. And, Alie, you had better put in a little word, and Biddy too, if she likes. It would be kind.'

'Yes, mamma,' said Alie at once, but Bridget did not answer.

It was not usual for Mrs. Vane to discuss plans and arrangements for the children before them, but this morning her mind was so full of the unexpected turn of affairs that she could not help talking about them.

'It will be a question of several weeks—even months, I fear,' she said to Mr. Vane; 'there are such a lot of those children, and Miss Millet is sure to wish to nurse them all. We must think over what to do.'

'Perhaps you and I can manage the girls between us,' said Mr. Vane.

'Alie perhaps,' began Mrs. Vane doubtfully.

'Yes,' said Bridget suddenly, to every one's astonishment, 'if it was only Alie. But it would never do for me. I'd be too much for you and papa, mamma.'

She spoke quite gravely, but the others had hard work not to laugh.

'How do you mean, Biddy?' asked her father.

'I'm very tiresome to teach; often I'm very cross indeed,' replied the child complacently.

'But you need not be; you can help being so if you try,' said Mr. Vane.

'Well, I don't like trying, I suppose it's that,' she answered.

For the moment her father thought it wiser to say no more.

Mr. Redding happened to call that morning, and at luncheon Mrs. Vane told Alie and Bride that she was going to Seacove, and they might go with her.

Alie's eyes sparkled.

'Are you going to——' she began, and her mother seemed to understand her without any more words.

'Yes,' she said, 'I have got all the measures.'

'And oh, mamma,' asked Biddy, too full of her own ideas to notice these mysterious sayings, 'will you go to Pier Street and let us show you where Celestina lives. And if you could think of something you wanted to buy, just any little thing, a pencil or some envelopes or anything—they've got everything—we might go into the shop, and I daresay if the nice mamma saw you, she'd ask you to step into the parlour too.'

'We shall see,' mamma replied.

But 'We shall see' was this time accompanied by a little smile, which made Bridget think that the 'We shall see' was perhaps a way of saying 'Yes.'

Mamma had several messages to do at Seacove, and though Biddy was in a great hurry to get to Pier Street, she was rather interested in the other shops also. At the draper's, Mrs. Vane made some small purchases, as to which Alie showed great concern. One was of pretty pink glazed calico and of some other shiny stuff called 'chintz'—white, with tiny lines of different colours; she also bought some red cotton velvet and neat-looking white spotted muslin, and several yards of very narrow lace of a very small and dainty pattern, and other things, all of which interested Alie very much indeed, though after a while Biddy got tired of looking on, and went and stood at the doorway of the shop.

'I am sorry to give you the trouble of taking down so many things when I only want such a short length of each,' said Mrs. Vane civilly to the shopman—or shopwoman, I think it was. 'But the fact is I am buying all these odds and ends for my little girl's'—and here she glanced round to make sure that Bridget was out of hearing—'for my little girl's doll-house, which needs doing up;' by which information Mrs. Cutter, the draper's wife, was much edified, repeating it to her special cronies at Seacove, together with her opinion that the new rector's wife was a most pleasant-spoken lady.

One or two other shops Mrs. Vane and Rosalys went into; a paper-hanger's for one, or rather a painter's, where wall-papers were sold; and an iron-monger's, where she bought two or three different kinds of small nails, tin tacks, and neat little brass-headed nails. Bridget stayed at the door of both these shops: she thought them not at all interesting, and mamma and Alie did not press her to come in. The little girl was in a great fidget to get to Pier Street, and stood murmuring to herself that she didn't believe they'd ever come; Alie might make mamma be quick, she knew how she, Biddy, wanted to see Celestina and her dolls' room.

'But nobody cares about what I want,' she added to herself, with the discontented look on her face which so spoilt its round rosy pleasantness.

Just then out came Mrs. Vane and Alie. They both looked pleased and bright, and this made Biddy still crosser.

'Well, now,' said her mother consideringly, 'is that all, Alie? Yes—I think it is. I must call at the grocer's on the way home, but I think we pass that way. No—I don't remember anything else.'

At this Bridget could no longer keep silent.

'Oh, mamma,' she exclaimed, 'and you said you'd come to Celestina's house. It's too bad.'

Mrs. Vane looked at her in surprise.

'I did not say so, Biddy; I said we should see. And we are going there now. You have no reason to be so impatient and to look so cross,' and she turned and walked on quickly.

'Biddy,' said Alie, 'you're too bad really. You spoil everything.'

Then she ran after her mother, and Bridget followed them at some little distance.

They went directly down the street which a little farther on ran into Pier Street, Biddy feeling more and more ashamed of herself. How she wished she had been less hasty, and not spoken so rudely and crossly to her mother. It did seem true, as Alie said, that she spoilt everything. But she did not appear as sorry as she felt; indeed, her face had a rather sulky look when at last she came up to the others, who were waiting for her at the door of the shop.

'I am going in to see Mrs. Fairchild,' said her mother. 'I have something to ask her. You may come in too, Biddy, and I will ask to see the little girl too.'

A naughty spirit came over Biddy, even though in her heart she was sorry.

'No,' she said. 'I don't want to see the little girl, and I don't want to come in,' and her face grew still more sullen.

'Very well,' said her mother, 'stay there then.'

But as she entered the shop with Alie she whispered to her, 'I really don't know what to do with Biddy. She has such a very bad temper, Alie. Just when I am doing everything I can for her too.'

'Only she doesn't know about it, you see, mamma,' Alie replied. 'Still she is very cross, I know.'

Mrs. Fairchild was herself in the shop as well as her husband. As soon as she caught sight of Rosalys she seemed to know who Mrs. Vane was, and came forward with her gentle smile.

'I hope you will excuse my troubling you, Mrs. Fairchild,' said the rector's wife, 'but Mr. Redding, whom I saw this morning, thought you would be the best person to apply to about a little difficulty I am in.'

She half glanced round as if to see that no one was in the way, and with quick understanding Celestina's mother turned towards the inner door.

'Will you please step into the parlour a moment?' she said. 'We should be less interrupted.'

Bridget, standing by the half-open shop door, heard the words. She felt almost inclined to run forward and beg leave to go in too. But she knew she must first ask pardon of her mother for her naughtiness, and the idea of doing so before Mrs. Fairchild was not pleasant.

'If Celestina would come out herself I could ask her to ask mamma to speak to me,' thought Bridget. But no Celestina appeared.

'They will be so comfortable in that nice warm parlour,' thought Biddy; 'and I daresay Celestina will be showing Alie all her dolls and things,' for she had not noticed that just as Mrs. Vane went into the parlour she had said a word to Rosalys, who had stayed behind.

So Biddy stood outside, very much put out indeed. The ten minutes during which she had to wait seemed to her like an hour; and when Celestina's mother came to the door to show her visitors out, it was not difficult for her to see that the little girl was not in at all a happy frame of mind.

'Good-morning, Miss Bridget,' said Mrs. Fairchild.

'Good-morning,' Biddy could not but reply.

She did not even wonder how Mrs. Fairchild knew her name; she was so taken up with her own thoughts. She would have been rather surprised had she known that it was about her, poor little neglected, uncared for girl as she chose to fancy herself, that the two mothers had been speaking those long ten minutes in the parlour—'Mayn't I see Celestina at all?' Biddy went on. 'I think Alie's very——'

'Very what?' said her mother. 'Alie has been quietly waiting in the shop for me as I told her.'

Alie came forward as she spoke.

'And Celestina is not in this morning,' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'She had a headache, so I have sent her out a walk.'

Thus all Biddy's temper and jealousy had been thrown away. She felt rather foolish as she followed her mother and Rosalys down the street.

After stopping for a moment at the grocer's, Mrs. Vane turned to go home by the Parade, the same way by which the children had come to Seacove that Saturday. It was a fine bright afternoon, still early—a little breeze blew in from the sea—the tide was far out.

'Mayn't we go home by the shore, mamma?' Alie asked. 'It is nice firm walking nearly all the way.'

Mrs. Vane consented: they all turned down a sort of short cart-track, leading through the stony shingle to the smooth sands beyond. The sun was still some height above the horizon, but the cold frosty air gave it already the red evening look. Glancing upwards at it Biddy remembered the day she had watched it setting and the good resolutions she had then made. She almost felt as if the sun was looking at her and reminding her of them, and a feeling of shame, not proud but humble, crept over her. She went close up to her mother and slipped her hand through her arm.

'Mamma,' she said very gently, 'I'm sorry for being so cross.'

'I am glad to hear you say so, Bride,' said her mother. She spoke very gravely, and at first Bridget felt a little disappointed. But after a moment's—less than a moment's—hesitation, the fat little hand felt itself clasped and pressed with a kindly affection that, truth to tell, Biddy was scarcely accustomed to. For there is no denying that she was a very trying and tiresome little girl. And Mrs. Vane was quick and sensitive, and of late she had had much anxiety and strain, and she was not of a nature to take things calmly. Rosalys was of a much more even and cheery temperament: she 'took after' her father, as the country-people say. It was not without putting some slight force on herself that Biddy's mother pressed the little hand; and that she did so was in great part owing to a sudden remembrance of some words which Mrs. Fairchild had said during their few minutes' conversation, which, as I told you, had been principally about Bridget.

'Yes,' Celestina's mother had replied in answer to a remark of the rector's wife, 'I can see that she must be a child who needs careful management. Firmness of course—but also the greatest, the very greatest gentleness, so as never to crush or repress any deeper feeling whenever it comes.'

And the words had stayed in Biddy's mother's mind. Ah, children, how much we may do for good, and, alas, for bad, by our simplest words sometimes!

So in spite of still feeling irritated and sore against cross-grained Biddy, her mother crushed down her own vexation and met the child's better mind more than half-way.

A queer feeling came over the little girl; a sort of choke in her throat, which she had never felt before.

'If mamma was always like that how good I would be,' thought Biddy, as she walked on quietly, her hand still on her mother's arm.

Suddenly she withdrew it with a little cry, and ran on a few steps. Some way before them a small figure stood out dark against the sky, from time to time stooping as if picking up something. Bridget had excellent eyes when she chose to use them.

'It's Celestina, mamma,' she exclaimed, running back to her mother and Alie. 'Mayn't I go and speak to her? She's all alone. Come, Smuttie—it'll be a nice run for you. I may, mayn't I, mamma?'

'Very well,' said her mother, and almost before she said the words Biddy was off.

'She must be a nice little girl,' said Mrs. Vane; 'her mother seems such a sweet woman. But, Alie, did you ever see anything like Bride's changeableness?' and she gave a little sigh.

'But, mamma dear, she did say she was sorry very nicely this time—very real-ly,' said Rosalys.

'Yes, darling,' her mother agreed.

A minute or two brought them up to where the two children were standing talking together, greatly to Bridget's satisfaction, though Celestina looked very quiet and almost grave.

'How do you do, my dear?' said Mrs. Vane, shaking hands with her. 'I have just seen your mother; she said you were out a walk, but we did not know we should find you on the shore. Is it not rather lonely for you here by yourself?'

'I was looking for shells, ma'am,' Celestina replied. 'There's very pretty tiny ones just about here sometimes, though you have to look for them a good deal; they're so buried in the sand.'

'But she has found such beauties, and she takes them home for her dolls to use for dishes, and some of them for ornaments,' said Biddy. 'Do show mamma how sweet they are, Celestina. And oh, mamma, mayn't I stay a little with Celestina and look for them too?'

Mrs. Vane hesitated.

'I'm afraid not, Biddy,' she said. 'I must be going in—and Alie too. She must write to grandmamma to-day.'

'Oh, but mayn't I stay?' asked Biddy entreatingly. 'It's quite safe for me if it's safe for Celestina, and she says her mamma often lets her come out on the shore alone.'

Mrs. Vane looked round; the seashore was perfectly quiet except for one or two old fishermen mending their nets at some distance. One could have thought it miles away from the little port and the ships and the sailors. Then, too, the Rectory was a very short distance off, and indeed from its upper windows this sheltered stretch of sand could be clearly seen.

'Well, yes,' she said. 'You may stay for half an hour or so—not longer. And indeed by then it will be quite time for you too to be going home, will it not, my little girl?' she added to Celestina.

'Yes, ma'am. I must be home by half-past four, and it takes twenty minutes from here. I can go past the Rectory and see Miss——' she hesitated over the name, 'Miss Biddy in at the gate, if you please,' said Celestina, in her womanly little way.

Mrs. Vane thanked her; then she and Rosalys walked on, and the two small damsels were left alone.

'Why must you be in by half-past four?' asked Biddy.

'It's getting dark by then,' said Celestina. 'Besides there's things to do. I get the tea ready very often. When mother's not very busy it waits for her till she can leave the shop, but to-day I know she's busy, 'cos father's got a great many letters to write. So I'll get the table all ready.'

Bridget gazed at her.

'Do you like doing it?' she asked. 'You're such a little girl, you see—not much bigger than me, and you play with dolls.'

'I like to be useful to mother,' said Celestina simply.

This was rather a new idea to Bridget, and she was sometimes very lazy about thinking over new ideas.

'Alie's useful to mamma, I suppose,' she said, 'but then she's the eldest. And you're the only one—that's why, I daresay. Is it nice to be the only one?'

'Sometimes it's very alone,' said Celestina, 'some days when mother's very busy and I scarcely see her, and I've nobody to show the dolls to.'

'I know,' said Biddy. 'I'm rather alone too, for Alie's so big, you see. Oh, Celestina, do look, isn't this a beauty? Look, it's all pinky inside. Now I've got six and this beauty. I think that'll do for to-day. I'm tired of looking.'

'Sometimes I look for ever so long—a whole hour,' said Celestina, rather taken aback by Biddy's fitfulness. 'But perhaps we'd better run about a little to keep warm. It isn't like as if it was summer.'

'I'm not cold and I don't like running,' said Biddy. 'Let's just walk, Celestina, and you tell me things. Oh, look at the sun—he's getting redder and redder—and look at the lighthouse, it's shining red too. Is it a fire burning inside, do you think, Celestina?'

'No, it's the sun's redness shining on the glass. The top room is all windows—I've been there once,' she said. 'It's a good way to walk though it looks so near, and there's some water too between. Father took us once in a boat, mother and me, when the tide was in, and we had dinner there; we took it with us, and there was a nice old man father knew. And when the tide went out we came over a bit of water till we got to the stones, in the boat, and then the boatman took it back, and we walked home right along the stones—you see where I mean?'

She pointed to the rocky ridge which I told you ran out from the shore to the lighthouse. Bridget listened with the greatest interest.

'How nice,' she said. 'Couldn't you have walked the whole way? I'm sure there isn't any water between now—I can't see it. It must have gone away.'

'Oh no, it hasn't,' said Celestina. 'It's always there: it couldn't go away. You couldn't ever get to the lighthouse without a boat; once one of the men had to come in a hurry, and father said he had to wade to over his waist.'

But Bridget was not convinced. She stood there gazing out seawards at the lighthouse.

'I would like to go there,' she said. 'Can't you see a long way from the top room that's all windows, Celestina? I should think you could see to the—what do they call that thing at the top of the world—the north stick, is it?'



Celestina was not very much given to laughing, but this was too funny.

'The North Pole, you mean,' she said. 'Oh no, you couldn't see to there, I'm quite sure. Besides, there isn't anything to see like that—not a pole sticking up in the ground—it's just the name of a place. Father's told me all about it. And so did the old man at the lighthouse. Oh, I would like to go there—better than anywhere—just think how strange it must be, all the snow and the ice mountains and everything quite, quite still!'



CHAPTER VIII

A NICE PLAN

'Up where the world grows cold, Under the sharp north star.' A North Pole Story.

Biddy stared at Celestina. The little girl's face was quite flushed with excitement.

'Go on,' said Biddy. 'Tell me some more. I never heard about it.'

'It's what they call the arctic regions,' said Celestina. 'The old sailor at the lighthouse has been there. Once he was there in a ship that got fastened into the ice, and they thought they'd never get out again, and they'd scarcely nothing to eat. Oh, it was dreadful; but I did so like to hear about it. And fancy, in the summer it never gets night up there—the sun never goes away; and in the winter it never gets day, the sun doesn't come up at all.'

'How very funny!' said Biddy. 'What makes it like that? Is it the same sun as ours?'

'Oh yes, but I can't quite explain,' said Celestina, looking rather puzzled. 'Father showed it me with the candle and a little round globe we've got, but I'm afraid I couldn't tell you.'

'Could the old man tell it?' asked Biddy. 'I would so like to go to see him. Don't you think we might some day?'

'Perhaps,' said Celestina. 'When the summer comes perhaps your papa would take you in a boat. Lots of ladies go out to the lighthouse in the summer. It's too cold in a boat in winter.'

'But I don't mean in a boat,' said Bridget; 'I mean walking. I'm quite sure we could jump over the little bit of water if we gave a great big jump. I once jumped over a whole brook at grandmamma's—I did really.'

'It's much bigger than that—it is indeed. You don't understand,' said Celestina. 'If you'd ask your papa he'd tell you, I daresay. But I think we must be going home now. I'm sure it's time.'

'I'm sure it isn't,' said Biddy crossly. 'We haven't talked about the dolls at all yet, and I want you to tell me more about that funny place where the snow is.'

'I'll try to think of more to tell you if your mamma will let you go out with me another time, and I'd like dearly to show you my dolls' room if you could come to our house one day,' said Celestina. 'But we must go home now, Miss Biddy.'

Bridget flounced about, looking very much put out.

'I'm not going yet. I don't want to go in,' she said.

Celestina began to look troubled. Then her face cleared.

'I must go home,' she said, 'whether you do or not. I wouldn't for anything have mother worrying about me. You wouldn't like your mamma to be worrying about you, would you, Miss Biddy?'

'I daresay she wouldn't care; I'd only get a scolding, and I don't mind much,' said Biddy, who had got on to a very high horse by this time.

Celestina stopped short and looked at her. She could not understand Biddy at all.

'Mother never scolds me, but I'm very unhappy when she's not pleased with me,' she said gently; 'and I'm sure your mamma's very kind and good. I'm sure she does care about you a great deal.'

Her words reminded Bridget of what had happened that very afternoon. Perhaps what Celestina said was true: mamma had pressed her hand when she said she was sorry. With one of the quick changes of mood which seemed so strange to Celestina she turned suddenly.

'I'll go home,' she said. 'Come on, Celestina, before I get naughty again. But it isn't all for being good. It's a great deal that I want to come out with you again, and perhaps I mightn't if I was late to-day.'

'No. Very likely your mamma would think I made you disobedient,' Celestina replied; 'and I shouldn't like her to think so.'

'If I might go into the kitchen and get the tea ready for papa and mamma like you do, I'd never want to stay out late,' said Bridget thoughtfully.

Celestina considered.

'You don't need to do that,' she said. 'It wouldn't be any good to your mamma, for she's got servants to do it. But there must be other things you could do if you want to help her.'

'No,' said Biddy, shaking her head, 'there's nothing. And I don't think I want very much; it's just sometimes. Alie helps mamma because she's the eldest.'

Celestina scarcely knew how to answer this, though she felt there was something wrong about her little companion's way of looking at things. But Celestina had not much power of putting her thoughts and feelings into words. Her solitary life had made her a very silent child, not intentionally, but by habit. She found it difficult to express her meaning even to herself. Just now she gazed at Biddy without speaking, so that Biddy began to laugh.

'What are you looking at me so for?' asked the younger child.

'I don't know,' said Celestina. 'I was only thinking.'

'What?' asked Biddy again.

'You should help too, even though you're the youngest,' said Celestina bluntly.

'Oh, bother,' was all Biddy's reply.

They were at the Rectory gate by this time.

'Good-bye, Miss Biddy,' said Celestina. 'I must run home fast. But I don't think it's late.'

'Good-bye,' said Biddy. 'I've got my shells; have you got yours? Oh yes,' as Celestina held up a tiny little basket she was carrying. 'How dreadfully careful you are! Good-night. I'll ask mamma to let me come and see you very soon.'

On her way up the short drive to the house Bridget came face to face with Randolph.

'Oh, you're there, are you?' he said. 'Mamma was just asking if you'd come in, so I came to look out for you.'

Biddy was silent. This did not seem very like mamma's 'not caring,' as she had been saying to Celestina.

'It isn't late,' she remarked at last. 'Mamma said I might stay half an hour.'

'She was beginning to worry about you a little, all the same,' said Rough. 'Were you with the little Fairchild girl?'

'Yes,' said Biddy.

'Is she a nice little girl?' asked Rough.

'Yes,' said Biddy again.

'Then why don't you like her? Why are you so cross?' asked her brother.

'I'm not cross, and I never said I didn't like her,' replied Bridget impatiently.

Rough began to whistle.

'I can't say I agree with you,' he said. 'Well, I'll run on and tell mamma you're all right;' and off he set.

Biddy followed him slowly, feeling rather depressed.

'I didn't mean to be cross,' she said to herself in her usual way, though she really did feel what she said this time. 'It was kind of Roughie to come to meet me. They're all good 'acept me. Celestina's good too. I'm made all the wrong way,' and she sighed deeply.

She brightened up again, however, when she met her mother at the door.

'That's right, Biddy dear,' said Mrs. Vane. 'You've not stayed too late.'

Rough was there too; he had not told about her being cross evidently, and Biddy felt grateful to him. It was very nice when mamma spoke like that; it reminded her of the way her hand had been pressed that afternoon. But a sudden thought rather chilled her satisfaction. Biddy was beginning to be troubled with thoughts, and thoughts too that would not be driven away and forgotten, as she had been accustomed to drive away and forget anything that made her feel at all uncomfortable. This thought teased and pricked her for a few seconds, and though she wriggled herself about and stamped her feet down with hard thumps on the gravel, it would not go.

'Biddy,' it said, 'Biddy, you know what you should do.'

So that at last, in sheer impatience of its teasing, she gave her mother's sleeve a little tug.

'Mamma,' she said, 'it was her that made me not stay longer than you'd said. I wanted to. I wasn't very good, but she's good.'

Mrs. Vane turned with real pleasure in her face.

'I'm very glad you've told me, Biddy,' she said. 'Yes, it was nice and good of Celestina to remind you. I think she must really be a very conscientious child.'

'I don't know what that is,' said Bridget. 'At least, p'raps I do know, but it's such a trouble to think. But Celestina is good. I almost think she's a little too good.'

Her tone was very melancholy. Rough burst out laughing, but Mrs. Vane looked rather disappointed.

'It will be so vexing if Biddy takes a dislike to her just when I was hoping it would be a good thing,' she thought to herself.

Still, the remembrance of the little talk with Mrs. Fairchild was in her mind. She took no notice of Biddy's remark, only telling her cheerfully to run in quickly and get ready for tea, as it was almost ready.

The children's mother went to Seacove again the next day, but this time she did not take either of them with her. She went straight to Pier Street, and as soon as Mrs. Fairchild saw her coming into the shop she came forward with a smile and showed her into the parlour. There Celestina was sitting quietly working at some new clothes for her little dolls: she wanted them to be very smart indeed, in case the Rectory young ladies came to see them. She rose from her seat at once when Mrs. Vane came in, but a shadow of disappointment crossed her face when she saw that the lady was alone.

'I have not brought Biddy this time,' said Mrs. Vane kindly. 'I have come to see Mrs. Fairchild myself. But Biddy shall come some day soon. I want you to show her your doll-house, for I should be glad for her to get into the way of playing with one. She has always been a difficult child to amuse,' she went on; 'she is so restless, and never seems to get interested in her toys or games.'

Celestina opened her lips as if she were going to speak, but said nothing.

'What is it, my dear?' said Mrs. Vane, seeing the look in the little girl's eyes. Celestina grew pink.

'It was only,' she began. 'It's not so nice to play alone.'

'No, that is true,' said Biddy's mother, 'and true of other things as well as play.' Then she turned to Mrs. Fairchild: 'Have you been able to——' she was beginning, but with a little gesture of apology Mrs. Fairchild glanced at her daughter.

'Go upstairs, Celestina, for a few minutes,' and in a moment Celestina gathered together her small concerns and noiselessly left the room.

'How obedient she is,' said Mrs. Vane with a little sigh. 'I should have had quite an argument with Biddy, or at least cross looks.'

'Children are very different,' said Mrs. Fairchild. 'Still there is not much you can do with them without obedience. And if they get the habit of it quite young, it costs them so much less; they obey almost without thinking about it.'

'And have you seen Miss Neale?' asked Mrs. Vane after a little pause.

'She came to see me yesterday, and I think it can be nicely arranged. She is a very good girl: I feel sure you will be pleased with her. The only difficulty would have been her promise about Celestina, which she would not have liked to give up; but what you have so kindly proposed puts this all right of course. It will be a great pleasure and interest to Celestina to learn with a companion. I feel that I cannot thank you enough.'

'On the contrary,' said Mrs. Vane, 'I have to thank you. I am in hopes that your little daughter's companionship will be of great good to Bridget.'

Mrs. Fairchild's gentle face grew a little red.

'I think I may at least assure you of this,' she said, 'little Miss Bridget will learn no harm from Celestina.'

'I am sure of it,' said Mrs. Vane warmly. 'By the bye,' she added, 'Celestina is a very uncommon name. I have never heard it except in its French form of "Celestine."'

'Celestina was named after a French lady,' said Mrs. Fairchild—'a lady who was very kind to my sisters and me when we were young. She happened to be living near the town where our home was for some years. Her husband had an appointment there. They had only one child, a daughter named Celestine like her mother, who died, and my mother helped to nurse her in her last illness, which made Madame d'Ermont very fond of her. Indeed, I think she was very fond of us all,' she added with a little smile, 'and I think I was a special pet of hers. Through her kindness I had many advantages in my education. But when she and Monsieur, as we always called him, went back to France troublous times came on. We lost sight of them altogether. Still, I have never forgotten the dear lady, and I determined to give my little girl her name.'

Mrs. Vane listened with the greatest interest.

'"Madame d'Ermont," did you say?' she asked eagerly, and on Mrs. Fairchild's answering 'Yes'—'It must be the same,' she went on; 'our Madame d'Ermont's name was Celestine too. She was, or is, for I hope she is still living, a great friend of ours too, Mrs. Fairchild. We spent two winters in the south of France near her home, and we saw a great deal of her. It is a pity for you not to have kept up writing to her; she is very kind and very rich and childless—she might be a good friend to her little name-daughter.'

Mrs. Fairchild's face flushed again: I rather think Biddy had inherited something of her habit of hasty speech from her mother, kind-hearted and good as Mrs. Vane was.

'It would not be from any motive of that kind I should like to hear from Madame d'Ermont again,' said Celestina's mother. 'It is true our child has no one to look to but ourselves, and neither her father nor I can boast of very strong health—but still——'

'Oh, I beg your pardon,' interrupted Mrs. Vane impulsively; 'I quite understand your feeling, and I did not mean to say anything you could dislike. But still I will look out Madame d'Ermont's address, or get it from my mother, and when I write to her I may tell her of you, may I not?'

'I should be very grateful if you would do so,' Mrs. Fairchild replied.

Then they went on to speak of the details of the arrangement they had been making, and soon after Mrs. Vane left.

That afternoon she called Bridget to her.

'Bride,' she said, 'I have something to say to you.'

'Yes, mamma,' Biddy replied, but without giving much attention. It was probably, she thought, only to reprove her for her way of sitting at table, or for having been cross to Jane, or for one of the hundred and one little misdemeanours she was always being guilty of. And Biddy was in a queerish mood just now: there was a good deal of battling and pulling two ways going on in her baby heart. Was the lazy little soul beginning to grow, I wonder?

'Yes, mamma,' she said indifferently, with her peevish 'I didn't mean,' quite ready to trot out on the smallest provocation.

'You must give your attention, my dear,' said Mrs. Vane; 'it is something rather particular I want to tell you about.'

'I am giving my attention,' said Biddy, though it did not look very like it.

'Well, then,' her mother went on, determined not to notice Bride's evident wish to pick a quarrel, 'listen. You know that Miss Millet cannot come back to us for a good long while. Alie's lessons do not matter so much as yours, for she is very well on for her age and a little rest will do her no harm; besides, she will have some lessons with papa and some with me. But we have not time for you too.'

'And you couldn't manage me if you had,' said Biddy gloomily.

Mrs. Vane took no notice—'And besides, at your age it is most important to be very regular. So I have engaged a daily governess for you, my dear Biddy—that means a governess who will come every morning for three hours, just to teach you. But she won't live in the house with us as Miss Millet does.'

'Won't she take us walks?' demanded Biddy.

'Not every day, for some days she is engaged in the afternoons. But twice a week she will come back in the afternoons and take you a walk and stay to have tea with you. Her name is Miss Neale; she is very nice, though she is younger and—less experienced than Miss Millet. I hope you will be very good with her, Bride.'

Bride gave herself a little shake.

'No, mamma,' she said. 'I don't want to be naughty, but I can't help it. I'm sure I shall be very naughty with her.'

Mrs. Vane kept her patience. She looked at Biddy quietly.

'Why, Biddy?' she asked. 'You are old enough to understand that I have taken a good deal of trouble about this for you.'

'I needn't have lessons till Miss Millet comes back; I'd be quite good without. I don't like having lessons quite alone without Alie or nobody,' said Biddy.

'Would you like it better if you had some one to learn with you—some one nearer your age than Alie, who would do the very same lessons?' asked her mother.

Biddy's eyes sparkled.

'I should think I would,' she said, 'but there isn't nobody'—then she gave a sort of gasp. 'Oh, if only—if Celestina could do lessons with me,' she exclaimed. 'She knows lots, mamma, all about up at the top of the world, where there isn't really that stick I thought there was, but lots of snow and always light—no, always dark, I forget which. I'll ask her—the old lighthouse man told her. I'm sure she'd help me with my jography, mamma, and she'd teach me to dress dolls and——' Biddy stopped, quite out of breath.

Mrs. Vane smiled; she looked very pleased.

'I am very glad you have thought of it yourself, Biddy,' she said, 'for it is the very thing I have planned. Celestina is going to have lessons with you. Her mother had already settled for Miss Neale to give her lessons, as they don't care about Celestina going to school, so it would not have been fair for Miss Neale to give her up to come to us. And besides, both papa and I thought it would make our little girl happier to have a companion—eh, Biddy?'

Mrs. Vane had hardly time to finish her sentence before she felt her breath nearly taken away by a pair of fat little arms hugging her so tightly that she could scarcely free her head.

'Mamma, mamma,' cried Biddy, 'I love you, I do really love you now. I never thought I did so much. Oh, I am so glad. Thank you, dear mamma.'

Never in her life had Biddy been so affectionate; never, at least, had she shown her affection so much. Mrs. Vane kissed her warmly.

'I am very pleased too, dear,' she said. 'I do think you will be a good and happy little girl now.'

'I'll try to be good, mamma, I will really. But it would take me a dreadfully long time to be as good as Celestina, I'm afraid.'



CHAPTER IX

A SECRET

'If the sun could tell us half That he hears and sees, Sometimes he would make us laugh, Sometimes make us cry.' CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

'You must eat your breakfast properly, Celestina, my dear,' said Mrs. Fairchild to her little daughter one morning in the following week. 'You will be quite faint and tired before dinner-time if you don't, and that would be a bad beginning.'

Celestina on this set to work once more on her bread and milk. She was too excited to feel hungry; her pale cheeks had each a bright spot of colour and her eyes were shining. It was the day on which she was to begin her lessons at the Rectory. Miss Neale was to call for her on her way there, and though she had three-quarters of an hour to wait till Miss Neale came, the little girl was sure she would not be ready in time.

'I never saw her so taken up with anything before,' said her mother; and Mr. Fairchild, who was sometimes disposed to take rather a gloomy view of things, said he hoped they should not regret having agreed to the arrangement, and that it would not lead to disappointment, on which Mrs. Fairchild set to work, as she always did, to cheer him up.

'It will give Celestina a little experience,' she said; 'and even if there should be a little disappointment mixed up with it in any way, it will do her no harm, and Celestina is a reasonable child.'

She was very quiet but very happy as she set off with Miss Neale. It was a bright pleasant morning, 'quite spring-like,' said the young governess, and a walk at that early hour was of itself a pleasure to Celestina. She had not been inside the Rectory since the Vane family had replaced old Dr. Bunton and his wife, and scarcely was the door open when the little girl noticed a difference. The old, heavy, stuffy furniture was gone, and though it was still plain, the house looked lighter and brighter. The schoolroom was a nice little room looking towards the sea; there was a good strong table with a black oil-cloth cover and four hair-seated chairs, such as were much used at that time. But there were two or three pretty pictures on the walls, and a cottage piano, and in the bookcase were a few bright-coloured tempting volumes as well as the graver-looking school-books. Everything was very neat, and there was a bright fire burning, and in a pot on the window-sill a geranium was growing and evidently flourishing. To Celestina it was a perfect picture of a schoolroom, and she looked round with the greatest interest as she took off her hat and jacket, according to Miss Neale's directions, and hung them on a peg on the door.

'You must be very neat here, you know, my dear,' she said; to which Celestina meekly replied, 'Oh yes,' quite agreeing with Miss Neale.

In a moment or two the door burst open and in came Biddy. A very pleasant-looking Biddy, with a spotlessly clean apron, tidy hair, and smiling face, and just behind her appeared her mother.

'Good-morning, Miss Neale,' said Mrs. Vane. 'Here is Bridget, whom, you have not seen before. Good-morning, Celestina. I hope you will be two very happy and good little girls, and that Miss Neale will have no trouble with you.'

Then she went on to explain a little about the books Biddy used, saying that Rosalys would look out any that might possibly be missing, and after telling Miss Neale to keep up a good fire and one or two other small directions of the kind, she left the schoolroom.

Everything went on most smoothly. Miss Neale could hardly believe that Bridget was the child she had been warned that she would find 'tiresome and trying and requiring great patience.' For, for once Biddy really did her best. She was interested in finding out how much Celestina knew 'compared with me,' and anxious that neither her little friend nor her new teacher should think her stupid or backward. And though Celestina's habits of steady attention had made her memory better and her knowledge more thorough than Biddy's, still Miss Neale could hardly feel that either of her pupils was more satisfactory than the other; both were so obedient and attentive and intelligent.

So the morning passed delightfully.

'And won't it be nice?' said Biddy, as she stood at the gate, whither she had accompanied Miss Neale and Celestina on their way home; 'the day after to-morrow Miss Neale will come back to take us a walk in the afternoon, and you may come too, mamma says, and stay to tea if your mamma will let you.'

How Celestina's eyes sparkled! To be invited to tea at the Rectory seemed to her far more enchanting than if she had received an invitation from the Queen of the Fairies to be present at one of her grandest festivals. She was so delighted that she forgot to speak, and Miss Neale had to answer for her, and say that she would not forget to ask Mrs. Fairchild's consent.

'And some day, Celestina,' Biddy went on, 'I want you to ask your mamma to ask me to tea, for I want to see your dolls.'

Celestina looked rather grave.

'I'll ask mother,' she said, but there was a little hesitation in her manner. This did not come from any false shame—Celestina did not know what false shame was—but from very serious doubts as to what her father and mother would think of it. She had never had any friend to tea in her life; father was always tired in the evening, and she was far from sure that a chattering child like Biddy would not annoy him and make his head ache. So poor Celestina was rather silent and grave on the way home; Biddy's thoughtless proposal had taken the edge off her happiness.

On her way back to the house Bridget met Rosalys.

'Well,' said Alie, 'and how did you get on, Biddy? How do you like your new governess?'

'Ever so much better than Miss Millet,' Biddy replied. Her superhuman exertions had somewhat tired her; she felt rather cross now, and half inclined to quarrel. She knew that Alie was particularly fond of Miss Millet, and she glanced at her curiously as she made her speech. But Alie was a wise little woman.

'I'm so glad,' she said. 'So glad you like Miss Neale, I mean. Of course I knew you'd like Celestina.'

'I don't like her so very much as all that,' said Biddy contradictorily. 'I like her well enough to do lessons with, but she's not very nice about my going there to tea.'

'Going there to tea,' Alie repeated. 'What do you mean, Biddy?'

'Mean what I say. She's coming here to tea two times every week if it's fine, so I think they might 'avite me sometimes, and when I said to her just now I'd like to come, she looked quite funny and only said she'd ask her mother. Not a bit as if she'd like it.'

Rosalys felt very vexed.

'Really, Biddy, you might know how to behave,' she said. 'People don't offer themselves to other people like that.'

'They do,' Bride retorted. 'I've heard papa say he was going to "offer himself to luncheon" to Aunt Mary's, and——'

'She's a relation,' Alie interrupted.

'Well, and once mamma offered herself to tea to old Lady Butler—I know she did—just before we went away at Christmas.'

'That's quite different; she knows old Lady Butler so well—and—and—mamma's grown up and knows what's right, and you're a little girl, and you shouldn't do things like that without asking leave,' said Rosalys decidedly.

'You're a cross unkind thing,' said Biddy; 'and if you speak like that I'll not go on being good any more.'

Then she turned away from her sister and ran down a side-path of the garden, leaving Rosalys looking after her in distress, and half inclined to blame herself for having spoken sharply to Biddy. 'It will vex mamma so if this new plan doesn't do,' she thought regretfully. 'But perhaps Biddy will be good again when she comes in.'

The path down which the little girl had run led to a low wall from which you overlooked the sea. The tide was in, and though at some little distance from the Rectory, Biddy could clearly see the water shining in the morning sunshine, which was yellower and richer in colour now, for the season was getting on; the cold thin wintry look was giving place in this sheltered spot to the warmer feeling of spring. The little waves came lapping in softly; by listening intently and fancying a little, Biddy could almost hear the delicate sound they made as they kissed the shore.

'I wish it was warm enough to bathe,' thought Biddy. 'But if it was they'd be sure to say I mustn't, or that I was naughty or something,' and in her anger at the imaginary cruelty of 'they,' she kicked the little stones of the gravel at her feet as if it was their fault! But the little stones were too meek to complain, and Biddy got tired of kicking them, and seating herself astride on the wall, sat staring out at the sea. Somehow it reminded her of her good resolutions, though it was a quite different-looking sea from the evening tide, with the red sun sinking below the horizon, like that first time on the shore.

What a pity it was that she had spoilt the fresh beginning of being so nice and good at her new lessons by being cross to Alie! And in her heart Biddy knew that her sister had not blamed her without reason—it was her old fault of heedlessness; she was quite old enough to understand that she should not have asked Celestina to invite her, and she knew too that Celestina had been right in answering as she did. But all these 'knowings in her heart' did not make Biddy feel more amiable.

'It's no good trying,' she said to herself as she got slowly down off the wall—Bridget was always deliberate in her movements—'I'll just not bother. I'll do my lessons, 'cos I don't want them to say I'm stupid, but I'm not going to try not to be cross and all that. I'm tired of trying.'

Mrs. Vane noticed at luncheon that Biddy was quiet and silent and not particularly amiable looking, but Alie whispered that it had nothing to do with lessons, which had gone off well.

'Don't notice her, mamma; it was only that she was vexed with me for something,' Alie added; so nothing was said to Biddy, and she was allowed to nurse her grievances in silence.

She cheered up a little by tea-time, and told Randolph triumphantly that she had done all her lessons for Miss Neale 'by myself, without asking that nasty cross Alie or nobody to help me.' But she remained very surly to her sister, though Alie tried to prevent her father and mother noticing it.

Next day was rainy and blowy. Miss Neale and Celestina arrived smothered up in waterproofs and goloshes, and there was quite a bustle to get them unpacked from their wrappings and warmed at the schoolroom fire. Biddy made herself very important, and forgot for the time about being vexed with Rosalys.

Lessons went off well, thanks to Bridget's putting a good deal of control on herself, though there were moments that morning which made the young governess say to herself that she could understand its being sometimes true that Biddy was tiresome and trying. When Celestina was putting on her hat and jacket to go she gave Biddy a little touch on the arm.

'I asked mother,' she whispered, 'about what you said, and mother says perhaps some day you would come early in the afternoon, and we could play with the dolls and have tea for ourselves out of mother's toy cups that she had when she was a little girl. They are so pretty. It wouldn't be quite a real tea, for we don't have real tea till past five, but I'm sure mother would get us some little cakes, and we might make it a sort of a feast.'

Biddy's eyes sparkled.

'Oh, that would be nice,' she exclaimed. 'Yes, please, tell your mother I'd like to come very much. And just fancy, Celestina, that horrid Alie said it was very rude of me to have asked you to ask me. I'm sure it wasn't, now, was it?'

Celestina grew red and hesitated.

'I'm sure you didn't mean to be rude, Miss Biddy,' she said. 'Mother said——' but here she stopped.

'What did she say?' demanded Biddy.

'I didn't mean to say that she said anything,' poor Celestina answered, 'only when you asked me——'

'What did she say?' Biddy repeated, stamping her foot.

'She didn't say you were rude; she said you were only a child,' Celestina answered quietly. Biddy's temper somehow calmed her. 'And I think so too,' she added.

'Then, I think you're very, very unkind, and I'll never come to your house at all,' said Biddy.

And thus ended the second morning.

Bridget was a queer child. By the next day she seemed to have forgotten all about it. She was just as usual with Rosalys, and met Celestina quite graciously. But it was not that she was ashamed of her temper or anxious to make amends for it. It was there still quite ready to break out again. But she was lazy, and very often she seemed to give in when it was really that keeping up any quarrel was too much trouble to her. I think, however, that Celestina's perfect gentleness did make her a little ashamed.

Lessons were on the whole satisfactory. Celestina worked so steadily that she would soon have left Biddy behind had Biddy been as idle as had often been the case under Miss Millet. And Mrs. Vane was pleased to think that the plan had turned out so well.

One day, about a week after Miss Neale had begun to teach the children, just as they were finishing lessons, Rosalys made her appearance in the schoolroom. It was one of the days on which Miss Neale and Celestina came back in the afternoon to take the girls a walk and to stay to tea afterwards. Rosalys looked pleased and eager.

'Celestina,' she said, 'mamma has a little message for you. Please come into the drawing-room before you go home this morning.'

Up started Biddy.

'What is it, Alie? Do tell me. Mayn't I come into the drawing-room with Celestina?'

Alie shook her head, though smilingly.

'No,' she said; 'it's something quite private for Celestina.'

'I'll come,' said the little girl, but Bridget's face darkened.

'It's not fair,' she muttered, as Celestina, after carefully putting her books away, left the room.

'Come now, my dear,' said Miss Neale, not very wisely, perhaps—she scarcely knew Biddy as yet—'you shouldn't be jealous. It's a very little thing for Celestina to have a message to do for your mamma. Some other time there will be one for you to do, I have no doubt.'

Biddy wriggled impatiently.

'They've no business not to tell me,' she said, taking not the least notice of Miss Neale's words. Then she banged down her books and ran out of the room without saying good-morning to her governess.

Miss Neale did not see anything more of her till she and Celestina returned that afternoon. It was a lovely day, and so as not to lose any of the pleasant brightness of the afternoon, Mrs. Vane had made the girls get ready early and go a little way down the sandy lane to meet the two coming from Seacove. Bridget was gloomy, but Alie was particularly cheerful, and after a while the younger sister's gloom gave way before the sunshine and the fresh air and Alie's sweetness.

'There they are,' she exclaimed, as two figures came in sight; 'shall we run, Biddy?' and almost without waiting for a reply off she set, Bridget following more slowly.

When she got up to them Celestina and Alie were talking together eagerly. They stopped short as Biddy ran up, but she heard Celestina's last words, 'Mother says she'll be sure to get it by to-morrow or the day after.'

'What are you talking about?' asked Bridget.

Celestina grew red but did not speak. Rosalys turned frankly to her sister—

'It's a message of mamma's we can't tell you about,' she said, 'but you'll know some time.'

Alas, the brightness of the afternoon was over, as far as Biddy was concerned. She turned away scowling.

'Why should you know if I don't?' she said; 'and what business has Celestina to know—she's as little as me nearly?'



'Oh, Biddy,' said Alie reproachfully.

But that was all. She knew that argument or persuasion was lost on her sister once she was started on her hobby-horse, ill-temper. She could only hope that she would forget about it by degrees. And after a while it almost seemed so. They went down to the shore, where it was so bright and pleasant that it did not seem possible for the crossest person in the world to resist the soft yet fresh breeze, the sunshine glancing on the sands, the sparkling water in the distance. And Miss Neale was full of such good ideas. She taught them a new play of trying to walk blindfold, or at least with their eyes shut, in a straight line, which sounds very easy, does it not? but is, I assure you, very difficult; then they had a capital game of puss-in-the-corner, though the corners of course were only marks in the sand; and with all this it was time to go home to tea almost before they knew where they were.

'How pretty it must be up in the lighthouse to-day,' said Celestina as they were turning away.

This was the signal for Bridget's quarrelsomeness again.

'Miss Neale,' she said, shading her eyes from the sun, as she gazed out towards the sea, 'Celestina does talk such nonsense. She says you can't walk over the sands to the lighthouse. Now can't you? I can see sand all the way.'

Miss Neale was anxious not to contradict Biddy just as she seemed to be coming round again, and she was really not quite sure on the point.

'I can't say, my dear,' she replied. 'It does look as if you could—but still——'

'There now,' said Biddy to Celestina contemptuously, 'Miss Neale's bigger than you, and she thinks you can; don't you, Miss Neale?'

'Yes, yes, my dear,' Miss Neale, who was on some little way in front with Alie, replied hastily; 'but come on—what does it matter?'

But Biddy's tone had roused Celestina, gentle as she was.

'I know you can't,' she said, 'and whether a big or a little person says you can, I just know you can't,' and she turned from Biddy and walked on fast to join the others. Seeing her coming, Rosalys called to her.

'Celestina, I want to ask you something,' and in a moment the two were talking together busily.

'It's only the secret, Biddy,' said Alie laughingly; she did not know of Biddy's new ill-humour. 'You mustn't mind.'

Down came the black curtain thicker and thicker over Bridget's rosy face; firmly she settled herself on her unmanageable steed.

'I don't care,' she said to herself as she trudged along in silence beside Miss Neale; 'they're horrid to me—horrid. And I'll be as horrid as I can be to them. But I'll let that nasty Celestina see I'm right and she's wrong. I will.'



CHAPTER X

BIDDY'S ESCAPADE

'And Dick, though pale as any ghost, Had only said to me, "We're all right now, old lad."' Author of 'John Halifax.'

Miss Neale was rather in a hurry to get home that afternoon, so she and Celestina did not linger at the tea-table as they sometimes did. By half-past four they had gone, for on Miss Neale's account tea had been ordered half an hour earlier than usual.

Rosalys disappeared—mamma wanted her, she said. So Bridget was left alone, for Rough had begun school some time ago. He rode over every morning, and got home again about six.

'I wonder if papa is in,' thought Biddy idly, for a moment or two half inclined to see if she might pay him a visit in the study. But then she remembered that he had been out all day, and that he was not expected home till dinner-time. There were not many very poor people at Seacove, but there were a great many young men and boys always about the wharf, and some fishermen and their families living half-way between the little town and a fishing village called Portscale, some way along the coast. At Portscale there was a beautiful old church, and a vicar younger and much more active than Dr. Bunton. Mr. Vane and he had made friends at once, and to-day they had arranged to visit some of these outlying neighbours together, for even though Mr. Vane was not at all strong and had come to Seacove for a rest, he was far too good and energetic not to do all he possibly could.

Biddy felt very cross when she remembered that her father was out. She strolled to the window; it was still bright and sunny—a sudden thought struck her. She hurried upstairs to the room where her hat and jacket were lying as she had just taken them off—her boots were still on her feet, and in less time than it takes me to tell, for Biddy could be quick if she chose, a sturdy little figure might have been seen trotting down the sandy path which led to the shore.

'If they leave me alone I'm forced to amuse myself and do things alone,' she said to herself, as a sort of excuse to her own conscience, which was trying, poor thing, to make itself heard, reminding her too that there were plenty of things she could have done comfortably at home in the nursery, where Jane Dodson was not bad company when allowed to talk in her own slow way. There were to-morrow's lessons in the first place—pleasant, easy lessons to do alone, and not too much of them; and there was the kettle-holder she was making for grandmamma's birthday! But no, Biddy refused to listen. She was determined to carry out the wild scheme she had got in her head—'It will be nice to put Celestina down,' she said to herself.

A very few minutes' quick walking, or running rather, for Biddy could run too when she chose, brought her to the end, or the beginning, whichever you like to call it, of the long rough road, so to speak, of stones, stretching far out to sea. Biddy had gone some way along it two or three times when out with the others; it was a very interesting place to walk along, as the outgoing tide left dear little pools, which held all sorts of treasures in the way of seaweed and tiny crabs and jellyfish, besides which, the scrambling over the pools and picking one's way was very exciting, especially when there was a merry party of three or four together. Biddy found it amusing enough even by herself, for some little time, that is to say. But after a while she got rather tired of not being able to walk straight on, and once or twice sharp stones cut and bruised her feet, and she wished she had some one's hand to take to steady her. She was very eager to get to the other end of the tongue, or ridge of stones, for once there she felt sure it would be but easy walking over sand to the lighthouse. For the lighthouse as you will have guessed, was her destination!

'I daresay the sand'll be rather wet,' she thought; 'it must be the wetness that Celestina thought was water, for it shines just like water sometimes. I'll run over it very quick and my boots are thick. What fun it'll be to tell Celestina I've been to the lighthouse all by myself!'

But the stones grew rougher and rougher. The tongue was not really more than half a mile long, but it seemed much more. Several times before she got to the end of it Biddy looked back with a half acknowledged thought that perhaps it would be best to give up the expedition after all—no one need know she had tried it. But behind her by this time the rough stones seemed a dreary way, and in front it did not now look far. She felt as if she could not go back, and she had a sort of vague hope that somehow or other the nice old man Celestina had told her of would help her to get home an easier way. Perhaps he would take her round in a boat!

At last she got to the end of the stones, and then, oh joy! there lay before her a beautiful smooth stretch of ripple-marked sand—how delightful it was to run along it, so firm and pleasant it felt to her tired little feet. The lighthouse seemed still a good way off—farther than she had expected, but at first, in the relief of having got off the stones, she almost felt as if she could fly. She did get over the ground pretty quickly for some minutes, and even when she began to go more slowly she kept up a pretty good pace. And at last she saw the queer building—it reminded her a little of an old pigeon-house at grandmamma's, for it was not a very high lighthouse—almost close to her. But, Celestina had spoken truly, between it and her there lay a good-sized piece of water, stretching up to the rocks, or great rough stones round the base of the lighthouse—a sort of lake which evidently was always there, filled up afresh by each visit of the tide.

Bridget gasped. But she was determined enough once she had made up her mind. She went close up to the water; it did not look at all deep and her skirts were very short. Down she sat on the sand, less dry than it looked, and pulled off her shoes and stockings, tying them up into a bundle as she had seen tramps do in the country. Then lifting her frock as high as she could, in she plunged. Oh, how cold it was! But the water did not come up very high, not over her knees, though now and then a false step wetted her pretty badly. She was shivering all over, but on she waded, till within a few yards only of the sort of little shore surrounding the lighthouse, when—what was the matter with the sand, what made it seem to go away from her all at once? She plunged about, but on all sides it seemed to be sloping downwards; higher and higher rose the water, till it was above her waist, and still every movement made it rise.

'I'm drowning,' screamed Biddy. 'Oh, help me, help me! Man in the lighthouse, can't you hear me? Oh, oh, oh!'

Biddy fortunately had good lungs and her screams carried well. But the water kept rising, or rather she kept slipping farther down. She was losing her head now, and had not the sense to stand still, and she was partly stupefied by cold. It would have gone badly with her but for—what I must now tell you about.

It was what would be called, I suppose, a curious coincidence, the sort of chance, so to say—though 'chance' is a word without real meaning—that many people think only happens in story-books, in which I do not at all agree, for I have known in real life far stranger coincidences than I ever read of—well, it was by a very fortunate coincidence that that very afternoon Bridget's father happened to be at the lighthouse. He had gone out there by a sudden thought of Mr. Mildmay's, the Portscale clergyman I told you of, who had mentioned in talking that he had not been there for some time.

'And it is a very fine mild day,' he said. 'It doesn't take twenty minutes in a boat. If you don't think it would hurt you, Mr. Vane?'

Mr. Vane was delighted. There was a good deal of the boy about him still; he loved anything in the shape of a bit of fun, and he loved boating. So off the two came, and were most pleasantly welcomed by old Tobias and his second-in-command at the lighthouse. And by another happy chance, just as Biddy began to wade, Mr. Vane had come to the side of the lantern-room looking over in her direction.

'What can that be, moving slowly through that bit of water?' he said to Tobias. 'I am rather near-sighted. Is it a porpoise?'

'Nay, nay, sir, not at this season,' replied the old man; 'besides it's far too shallow for anything like that, though there is a deepish hole near the middle.'

He strolled across to where Mr. Vane was standing as he spoke, and stared out where his visitor pointed to. Then suddenly he flung open one of the glazed doors and stepped on to the round balcony—perhaps that is not the right word to use for a lighthouse, but I do not know any other—outside, followed by Mr. Vane. Just then Biddy's screams came shrilly through the clear afternoon air, for it was a still day, and out at the lighthouse, when there was no noise of wind and waves, there was certainly nothing else to disturb the silence except perhaps the cry of a sea-gull overhead, or now and then the sound of the fishermen's voices as they passed by in their boats. And just now the waves were a long way out and the winds were off I know not where—all the better for the poor silly child, who, having got herself into this trouble, could do nothing but scream shrilly and yet more shrilly in her terror.

Old Tobias turned and looked at Mr. Vane.

'It's a child, 'pon my soul, it's a child,' he exclaimed, and he sprang inside again and made for the ladder leading downstairs. But quick as he was, his visitor was before him. People talk of the miraculous quickness of a mother's ears; a father's, I think, are sometimes quite as acute, and Bridget's father loved dearly his self-willed, tiresome, queer-tempered little girl. Long before he got to the top of the ladder he knew more than old Tobias, more than any of them—Mr. Mildmay or young Williams, the other lighthouse man—had any idea of. He knew that the voice which had reached him was that of his own Biddy, and before Tobias could give him a hint, or ever a word had been said as to what was best to do, he had pulled off his coat, tossed away his hat, and was up to his waist in the water. For though not so deep close round the lighthouse as at the dangerous place where Biddy had lost her head, this salt-water lake even at low tide was never less than two or three feet in depth at the farther side.

'I can swim,' was all Mr. Vane called out to the three hurrying after him. But so could Mr. Mildmay, and so could, of course, Tobias and Williams. And it was not so much the fear of his friend's drowning as the thought of the mischief that might come to him, delicate as he was, from the chill and exposure, that made Mr. Mildmay shout after him, 'Come back, I entreat you, Vane; you are not fit for it,' while he struggled to drag off a very heavy pair of boots he had on—boots he had on purpose for rough shingly walking, but which he knew would weight him terribly in the water.

A touch on his arm made him start. It was Tobias.

'Stop you here, sir,' he said; 'Bill's off, and he's the youngest and spryest,' and sure enough there was Williams already within a few yards of Mr. Vane. 'I don't take it there's much danger of no drownding—and Bill knows the deep part. But it's cold for the gentleman, so delicate as he is—we two had best stay dry and be ready to give 'em a hand when they get in. But it beats me, it do, to think what child could be such a fool as to try to cross that there water—such a thing's ne'er happened before.'

Mr. Mildmay did not like to give in, though he knew there was sense in what Tobias said. He stood hesitating, one boot half off, but there was not long to wait. Soon came a cheery cry from Williams, 'All right, sir, all right,' and in almost less time than it takes to tell it, the two men, half-swimming, half-wading, were seen returning, carrying between them a little dripping figure, with streaming hair, white face, and closed eyes.



It was thus that Biddy paid her long thought-of visit to the lighthouse.

She was not drowned, nor anything approaching to it; she had only once, or twice perhaps, been thoroughly under the water; the whole had in reality passed very quickly, but not so had it seemed to Biddy. Unless you have ever been, or thought yourself in danger of drowning, you could not understand how in such a case seconds seem minutes, and minutes hours; and the ducking and the cold and the terror all combined had made things seem worse than they really were. Bridget was almost quite unconscious by the time her father had got hold of her—perfectly stupefied any way; her clothes were heavy too, and she was at no time a light weight. Altogether it was a very good thing indeed that strong hardy Bill was close behind Mr. Vane, whose powers would not have held out very long. As it was, he was whiter even than Biddy, his teeth chattering with cold and nervous excitement, when at last the whole party found themselves safe in the living-room or kitchen of the lighthouse.