The Fairchild Family

by Mrs. Sherwood

  Grandmamma's History of Evelyn Vaughan. Part II.

  Miss Anne Vaughan led her niece by the hand]

  When they were all seated, the next day, in the shade of Henry'sarbour, grandmamma began her story without more delay.

  "I am now," she said, "come to the time when I became acquainted withEvelyn Vaughan myself."

  "I was left early without parents, my dear children; for my father diedwhen I was a baby, and my mother when I was ten years of age. I wassent, after her death, being of course in deep mourning, to the schoolkept in the old Abbey at Reading, and there was then a very fullschool, above sixty girls. It was a large old house, added to a gatewaywhich was older still; and it was called The Abbey, because it laywithin the grounds of the ancient monastery, the ruins of which stillremain, the gateway itself being a part of this very ancientestablishment."

  "The school was kept by certain middle-aged unmarried sisters; and wehad many teachers, and among these a Miss Latournelle, who taught usEnglish after a fashion, and presided over our clothes. I was underher care, and slept in her room, which was one of those in the gateway;and though she was always scolding me about some untidiness, she wasvery kind to me. She was young then, but always in my eyes looked old,having a limping gait, and a very ordinary person.

  "I cannot say what we were taught in that house beyond a few Frenchphrases and much needlework. I was not there many years, but myschool-days passed happily, for we were not exhausted with ourlearning, which in these days often destroys the spirit of children. Wespent much time in the old and pleasant garden; and I had several dearfriends, all of whom are now dead.

  "The first time that I saw Miss Evelyn was on the first Sunday I wentto church with the school. We went to St. Lawrence's, which is near TheAbbey, and we sat in the gallery, from which we had a full view of thepew then occupied by the Vaughans. They always came there, though notthe nearest church, because they could not please themselves in seatsin any other church in the town, and regularly came in theircoach-and-four, and a grand footman went before them to open the door.Their pew was square and lined with crimson, and they always camerustling in, and making a knocking sound with their high heels on thepavement; they walked according to their ages, with this differenceonly, that the eldest Mistress Vaughan present always brought Evelyn inher hand.

  "We sat in the gallery just opposite to this pew, and I was in thefirst row; and as there was no teacher nor governess near us, I couldwhisper to the little girls near me about these ladies. 'Don't youknow,' my next neighbour in the pew answered, 'that those are theMistresses Vaughan, who live in the house beyond the lodges on theBath road; and that little one is Miss Vaughan, and she will have thelargest fortune of any lady in England--and see how beautifully she isdressed?' We could not see her face, as she stood, but we could see herfine clothes."

  "Do tell us how she was dressed, grandmamma," said Emily.

  "She wore a pink silk slip, with small violet flowers, or spots, and alaced apron, with a bonnet and tippet of violet silk. Oh, we did admireit! If she had not a hoop, her skirts were well stiffened withwhalebone."

  "How curious!" said Lucy. "She must have looked like a little oldwoman."

  "The delicate fairness of her neck, and her lovely auburn curls,prevented that mistake, Lucy," replied grandmamma; "and then her way ofmoving, and her easy, child-like manner, showed her youth, if nothingelse would have done so.

  "I had heard of Miss Evelyn before, but I had never seen her so near;and all the rest of that day I could think and talk of nothing but MissVaughan; and how I did long for a pink slip with violet spots.

  "The Sunday on which I saw Miss Vaughan for the first time at churchwas the first day of that week in which little Francis Barr was killed.

  "We did not see her again for many weeks. We were told of the sadaccident, and of the severe illness of Evelyn which followed; and weall entered into the feelings of the little lady with much warmth.

  "It was late in the autumn when she appeared again at church; but,though we did not see her face, we could observe that she sat verystill, and seemed once, whilst the psalm was being sung, to be crying,for she stooped her head, and had her handkerchief to her eyes. We werevery sorry again for her, but our French teacher, when we came home,said, 'Let her weep; she will console herself presently.'

  "It was, maybe, ten days after we had seen Miss Evelyn the second timeat church, as some of us were sitting, on the eve of a half-holiday, ona locker in a window of the old gateway, that we saw thecoach-and-four, with the Vaughan liveries, wheeling along the greenopen space before The Abbey gate; half a dozen of us at least werestanding the next minute on the locker to see this wonder better.

  "Nearer and nearer came the carriage, with the horses' heads as if theywere a-going through the arch; and when we were expecting to hear therolling of the wheels beneath our feet, the carriage suddenly stoppedright in front of the garden-gate.

  "Next came loud knockings and ringings without, and the running of manyfeet within the house, one calling to another, to tell that theMistresses Vaughan were come, and had asked to see our governess.

  "We strained our necks to see, if we could, the ladies get out, but wewere too directly above them to get a good view; and if we could, wewere not allowed, for our French teacher came up, and made us all getdown from the locker, shutting the window which we had opened, andsaying a great deal about 'politesse' and the great vulgarity ofpeeping.

  "The house was as still as the mice in the old wainscot when they smeltMiss Latournelle's cat, whilst the ladies were in the parlour, for ourteachers insisted on our being quiet; but as soon as we saw the coachbowling away, we all began to chatter, and to speak our thoughtsconcerning the occasion of this visit, which was considered a verygreat honour by our governesses."

  "Did the Mistresses Vaughan come to speak about putting Evelyn to yourschool, grandmamma?" asked Emily.

  "Not exactly so, my dear," replied the old lady; "I will tell you whatthey came for. Poor Evelyn had never recovered her quiet, happy spiritssince the fright and the shock of her little favourite's death. Hermother had had a very delicate constitution, and had died early ofconsumption. Perhaps Evelyn had inherited the tendency to consumptionfrom her mother, though neither her aunts nor Mrs. Harris had thoughther otherwise than a strong child till after her long illness.

  "After she recovered from this illness, however--or rather seemed to berecovered--her spirits were quite gone; and she was always crying,often talking of death and dying, and brooding over sad things. Whenthe family physician who attended her was told how it was, he advisedthat she should go to school, and mix with other children, and herecommended The Abbey.

  "The Mistresses Vaughan thought his advice good, so far as that Evelynmight be the better for the company of other children. But they saidthat no Miss Vaughan had ever been brought up at a school, for therewere sure to be some girls of low birth, and that they could not thinkof their niece being herded with low people.

  "After a long discussion, however, the old ladies yielded so far to theopinion of the physician, that they determined to ask our governess topermit Miss Vaughan to come to them every dancing day, and to join inthe dancing with the other girls.

  "It was to ask this favour that the four old ladies came to the Abbey;and it was then settled that Miss Vaughan was to come on every Fridayevening to dance with us, and to take her tea in the parlour with themistress.

  "This high honour was made known through the house immediately afterthe ladies were gone. Miss Evelyn was to be brought the first time byher aunts, and afterwards by Mrs. Harris; and she was to come the verynext Friday.

  "From that day, which was Wednesday, until the Friday afternoon, what abustle were all in; what trimming, and plaiting, and renewing, andmaking anew, went forward! I was in deep mourning; and as MissLatournelle kept my best bombazine, and crapes, and my round black cap,in her own press, I had nothing to think of; but our governess insistedthat all the other young ladies should have new caps on t
he occasion;and as these were to be made in the house, there was enough to do.

  "I could smile to think of the caps we wore at that time; our commoncaps fitted the head exactly, and were precisely in the shape of bowls.They were commonly made of what is called Norwich quilt, such as we nowsee many bed-quilts made of, with a little narrow plaiting round theedge. My common black caps were made of silk quilted in the same way.Our best caps were of the same form: the foundation being of colouredsilk or satin, with gauze puffed over it, and in each puff either aflower or a bit of ribbon, finished off to the fancy, with a plaitedborder of gauze, and larger bunches of flowers peaked over each ear."

  "Oh, grandmamma!" cried Emily, "how strange! Did not the children lookvery odd then?"

  "The eye was used to the fashion," said the old lady; "there is nofashion, however monstrous, to which the eye does not become used in alittle while.

  "By the time that all the caps were made, and all the artificial roses,and lilacs, and pansies duly disposed, it was time to dress. You havenever been at school, or you would know what a bustle there is to getall the little misses ready on a dancing day.

  "_What a bustle there is to get ready on a dancingday._"--Page 453.]

  "It was time to light the candles long before Miss Latournellemustered us and led us down into the dancing-room. This was a long, lowroom, having a parlour at one end of it, and at the other a kind ofhall, from which sprang a wide staircase, leading to the rooms over thegateway; the balustrades of the staircase still showed some remains ofgilding.

  "We were ranged on forms raised one above another, at the lowest end ofthe room, and our master was strutting about the floor, now and thengiving us a flourish on his kit, when our youngest governess put herhead in at the door, and said:

  "'Ladies, are you all ready? You must rise and curtsey low when thecompany appears, and then sink quietly into your places.'

  "She then retreated; and a minute afterwards the door from the parlourwas opened, and our eldest governess appeared ushering in the fourMistresses Vaughan, followed by other visitors invited for this grandoccasion. There was awful knocking of heels and rustling of long silktrains; and every person looked solemn and very upright.

  "Miss Anne Vaughan, who came in first, led her niece in her hand, andwent sweeping round with her to the principal chair, for there was acircle of chairs set for the company. When she had placed the littlelady at her right hand, and when the rest of the company were seated,we on the forms had full leisure to look at this much envied object.There was not one amongst us who would not have gladly changed placeswith the little lady.

  "Evelyn Vaughan was an uncommonly beautiful girl; she was then nearlyeleven years of age, and was taller than most children of her age, forshe had shot up rapidly during her illness. Her complexion was toobeautiful, too white, and too transparent; but she wanted not a softpink bloom in her cheeks, and her lips were of a deep coral. She hadan oval face and lovely features; her eyes were bright, thoughparticularly soft and mild; her hair of rich auburn, hanging in bright,natural ringlets; whilst even her stiff dress and formal cap could notspoil the grace and ease of her air.

  "Indeed, persons always accustomed to be highly dressed are not so putout of their way by it as those who are only thus dressed on highoccasions; and dressed she was in a rich silk, with much lace, with achain of gold and stud of jewels, silken shoes, and artificial flowers.We on the forms thought that we had never seen anything so grand in ourwhole lives, nor any person so pretty, nor any creature so to beenvied.

  "The ladies only stayed to see a few of our best dancers show forth inminuets before tea, and then they withdrew: and as the dancing-master,who had always taught Miss Vaughan, was invited to join the tea-party,we went into the schoolroom to our suppers, and to talk over what wehad seen. After a little while, we all returned to the dancing-room tobe ready for the company, who soon appeared again.

  "We were then called up, and arranged to dance cotillons, and whilst wewere standing waiting for the order to take our places, we saw ourmaster go bowing up to Evelyn, to ask her to join our party. I saw hersmile then for the first time, and I never had seen a sweeter smile; itseemed to light up her whole face. She consented to dance, and beingasked if she would like any particular partner, she instantly answered:

  "'That young lady in black, sir, if you please.'

  "There was but one in black, and that was myself. The next moment I wascalled, and told that Miss Vaughan had done me the honour to choose mefor a partner; and it was whispered in my ear by my governess, whenshe led me up, that I must not forget my manners, and by no means takeany liberty with Miss Vaughan. This admonition served only to make memore awkward than I might have been if it had not been given to me.

  "Evelyn had chosen me because she had heard it said in the parlour thatthe little girl in black was in mourning for the last of her parents.And I had not begun the second cotillon with her before she told methat she had chosen me for a partner because, like herself, I had nofather or mother.

  "After this I was shy no longer; I talked to her about my mother, andburst into tears when so doing, for my sorrows were fresh.

  "Evelyn soon made herself acquainted with my name--Mary Reynolds--andwe found out that we had been born the same year; and she said that itwas very odd that she should have chosen a partner who was of her ownage.

  "I remember no more of that evening; but the next Friday Miss Vaughancame again, accompanied by Mrs. Harris.

  "Harris played the great lady quite as well as the Mistresses Vaughanhad done, acting in their natural characters; as she always, at home,took her meals with her young lady when in their own rooms, she wasinvited to tea in the parlour; and to please Evelyn, I was also asked,for I had been again chosen as her partner.

  "Our friendship was growing quickly; it was impossible to love MissVaughan a little, if one loved her at all. She was the sweetest,humblest child I had ever known; and she talked of things which,although I did not understand them, greatly excited my interest.

  "It was in October that Evelyn first came to dance at the Abbey, andshe came every Friday till the holidays. We thought she looked veryunwell the last time she came; and she said she was sorry that someweeks would pass before she saw me again; she repeated the same to Mrs.Harris.

  "All the other children went home for Christmas, but I had no home togo to; and I saw them depart with much sorrow, and was crying to findmyself alone, having watched the last of my school-fellows going outwith her mother through the garden-gate, when Miss Latournelle came upall in a hurry.

  "'Miss Reynolds,' she said, 'what do you think? You were born, surely,with a silver spoon in your mouth. But there is a letter come, and youare to go from church on Christmas Day in the coach to spend theholidays with Miss Vaughan. It is all settled; and you are to have anew slip, and crape tucker and apron, and a best black cap. Come, come,we must look up your things, and we have only two days for it; comeaway, fetch your thimble; and don't let me see any idleness.'

  "The kind teacher was as pleased for me as I was for myself; though shedrove me about the next two days, as if I had been her slave.

  "When I found myself in the coach, on Christmas Day, all alone, anddriving away with four horses to the great house at the end of theavenue, I really did not know what to make of myself. I tried all thefour corners of the coach, looked out at every window, nodded to one ortwo schoolfellows I saw walking in the streets, and made myself assilly as the daw in borrowed feathers."

  The children laughed, and the old lady went on:

  "When I got to the lodge and the avenue, however, I became morethoughtful and steady. Even in that short drive, the idea of riding ina coach-and-four was losing some of its freshness, and deeper thoughtshad come. I was a little put out, too, at the sight of the fineman-servant who opened the doors for me and led me upstairs. Themoment I entered Miss Evelyn's sitting-room, she ran up to me, and puther arms around my neck, kissing me several times.

  "'Dear, dear Mary,' she said, 'how
very glad I am to see you! I shallbe so happy! I have got a cough; I am not to go out till warm weathercomes; and it is so sad to be shut up and see nothing but the treeswaving, and hear nothing but the wind whistling and humming. But nowyou are come I shall be so happy!'

  "'I hope you will, Miss Vaughan,' said Mrs. Harris; 'and that your headwill not always be running, as it has been lately, upon all manner ofdismal things. Miss Reynolds, you must do your best to amuse MissEvelyn; you must tell her all the news of the school, and the littlemisses; I dare say you can tell her many pretty stories.'

  "Evelyn did not answer Harris, though she gave her a look with morescorn in it than I had ever seen her give before.

  "Miss Vaughan had shown symptoms of great weakness in the chest--thatis, Henry, in the part where people breathe. She had been directed bythe physician to be kept, for some weeks to come, in her own rooms; andwhen this order was given, she had begged to have me with her.

  "I believe that I was a comfort to her, and a relief to Harris; andFanny, also, rejoiced to see me. I was with Evelyn several weeks, andthe days passed pleasantly. I had every indulgence, and the use of allsorts of toys; dolls I had partly put aside; but there were books, andpictures, and puzzles; and when I went back to school I was loaded withthem; not only for myself, but for my schoolfellows.

  "Evelyn seemed to be pleased to see me delighted with them, but she hadno pleasure in them herself, any more than I have now; and once, whenHarris said: 'Come, Miss Vaughan, why can't you play with these thingsas Miss Reynolds does?' she answered: 'Ah, Harris! what have I to dowith these? I know what is coming.'

  "'What is it?' I inquired.

  "'Don't ask her, Miss Reynolds,' said Harris hastily; 'Miss Vaughanknows that she should not talk of these things.'

  "'Oh, let me talk of them, and then I shall be more easy!' Evelynanswered. 'It is because I must not that I am so unhappy. Why have youput away my Bible and the other good books?'

  "'Because your aunts and the doctors say you read them till you havemade yourself quite melancholy, Miss Vaughan; and so they have beentaken away, but not by me. I have not got them. You must not blame mefor what others have done; you know my foolish fondness, and that I candeny you nothing in my power to grant.'

  "We had two or three conversations of this kind; but Harris watched usso closely, that Miss Vaughan never had an opportunity of talking to meby ourselves; so that we never renewed, during those holidays, thesubjects we had sometimes talked of at the Abbey.

  "I stayed at that time about six weeks with Miss Vaughan; and as sheappeared to be much better and more cheerful, I was sent back toschool, with a promise from my governesses that, if Miss Vaughandesired it, I was to go to her again at the shortest notice.

  "The spring that year was early, and some of the days in March were sofine, that the Mistresses Vaughan presumed to take their niece out inthe coach without medical advice. Deeply and long did the old ladieslament their imprudence; but probably this affliction was the firstwhich ever really caused them to feel.

  "About six days after the last of these airings, the coach came to theschool, bringing a request that I should be sent back in it instantly.

  "Miss Vaughan had been seized with a violent inflammation in the chest,attended with dreadful spasms. She had called for poor dear Mary, as ifMary could help her; and I was told that she was in a dying state. Isobbed and cried the whole way, for where were the delights then to meof a coach-and-four? I was taken immediately up to her bedroom, for shehad called again for poor dear Mary. But, oh, how shocked was I when Iapproached the bed! Fanny was sitting at the pillow, holding her up inher arms: she was as pale as death itself; her eyes were closed, herfair hands lay extended on the counterpane, her auburn ringlets hangingin disorder. She was enjoying a short slumber after the fatigue ofacute pain, for she then breathed easily. Near the bed stood Harris,with the look of a person at once distressed and offended. Miss Vaughanhad preferred, in her anguish, to be held by Fanny rather than by her.She had often suspected Evelyn of not liking her, and the truth hadcome out that morning during her sufferings.

  "In the next room I could see the figures of the four MistressesVaughan, all in their morning dresses. The physician was with them; andwhen he saw me he arose, and came and stood by the bed.

  "I know not how long it was before Evelyn opened her eyes.

  "'Thank God,' she said, in a low, weak voice, 'it is gone for thistime;' then added, as she saw me, 'Mary, Mary dear, don't go again.Fanny, is it you? but you will be tired. Might not nurse come, poordear nurse?'

  The physician asked Harris what the young lady said. Harris pretendednot to have heard. Fanny looked to me to speak, and I said:

  "'She wants her nurse, sir, her own nurse.'

  "'And where does this nurse live?' he inquired.

  "I told him, on the London road; I told him also her name. I spoke outboldly, though I felt the eyes of Harris upon me.

  "'I know the woman,' the doctor answered: 'she is a worthy person; she_must_ be sent for.'

  "When Harris heard this she left the bedside and went to the ladies, toprevent, if possible, this sending for nurse. The reason she gave forits not being right to have the poor woman brought there was, that shewas the first to put melancholy thoughts in the head of Miss Evelyn,and would be quite sure to bring the same things forward again. Mrs.Harris would have got her own way, if the physician had not insistedthat Evelyn ought to see her nurse if she desired it; and he himselfundertook to send for her. He had not far to send. Nurse had heard ofher child's violent attack, and was no further off than the lodge.

  "From the time that Evelyn had mentioned her nurse, she had lain quitestill, with her eyes closed, till the worthy woman came in. At thesound of the soft step with which the nurse came forward, she openedthem and saw the person she loved best on earth. A sweet bright glowarose in her cheeks, and she extended both her arms as if she wouldhave risen to meet her.

  "Though poor nurse, at the first glance, had seen death in the sweetfeatures of her child, yet she commanded herself.

  "'I am come, my love,' she said; 'and rejoice to find you easy.'

  "'Yes, it is gone--the pain is gone,' replied Evelyn: 'when it comesagain I shall die. I know it, nurse; but come, and never go away. Takepoor Fanny's place, and lay my head there--there,' she added.

  "'On my bosom,' said the nurse, 'where you used so often to sleep;' andshe placed herself on the bed and raised her child so that she restedon her arm.

  "At this moment Harris, whose eyes were flashing with every evilpassion, brought a vial containing a draught which had been ordered.

  "Evelyn took it without a word, and then, laying her sweet head onnurse's bosom, fell into a long deep sleep--long, for it lasted somehours, and during that time only nurse and I were with her; nurseholding her in her arms, and I seated at the foot of the bed.

  "I had many thoughts during these hours of stillness--thoughts moredeep than I had ever had before, on the vanity of earthly things andthe nature of death.

  "The sun was descending behind the groves when Evelyn stirred, andbegan to speak. I arose to my feet; she still lay with one side of herface upon the nurse's bosom--that side, when she stirred her head alittle, was warm and flushed; the other cheek was pale and wan.

  "'Nurse, nurse,' were the words she uttered.

  "'I am here, my child,' was the good woman's answer.

  "'You will not go,' said Evelyn; 'and Mary must not go, and Fanny mustnot go.'

  "The nurse raised her a little, still supporting her, whilst she askedme to ring the bell, and gave notice that Miss Evelyn was awake and wasto have some nourishment which had been ordered.

  "Harris came in with something on a salver, Evelyn received it insilence, but did not forget to thank Harris, though even whilst takingit she whispered, 'Don't go, nurse.' Mrs. Harris heard the whisper, asI could see by the manner in which she went out of the room.

  "I was called away just then, to take some refreshment, and for thispurpose I was take
n to the room of Mistress Catherine. She was there,and had been crying bitterly; she spoke kindly to me, and said shehoped that the sight of me would be a comfort to Miss Vaughan; but sheseemed to be unable to talk much.

  "When I returned to Evelyn's room, I found that she had fallen againinto a doze, and it was thought best for me to go to bed. I slept, bymy own desire, with Fanny; but Fanny left me about midnight, to takeher turn in attending the little lady.

  "She died at last somewhat suddenly, and very peacefully, like onefalling asleep. The last word which she was heard to utter distinctlywas the name of her Saviour.

  "I was present when she died, and went with her aunts to the funeral,where I cried till I was quite ill.

  "A few days before her death, she had asked to be left with her AuntCatherine, and got her to write down several things which she wished tobe done after her death. It was found, when the paper written byMistress Catherine was read, that she had remembered everyone, anddesired that Harris, and Fanny, and nurse's son, should all havesomething very handsome. All her toys and gayest dresses, and manyornaments and books, were to be given to me: and the poor whom she hadloved and visited were all remembered.

  "That death was the cutting up of all the worldly prospects of the oldladies, for Evelyn was the last of that branch of the family. At thedeath of the youngest Mistress Vaughan, who lived to a very great age,the estates went into other hands, and The Grove was sold, andpurchased by a gentleman whose son parted with it to your uncle. Thevery name of Vaughan is now nearly forgotten in that part of the world,excepting it may be by a few very old persons like myself."

  Farewell to the Old Home

  Henry reminded her of the robin]

  Michaelmas was the time fixed for their all moving to The Grove, andleaving that sweet place which was the only one the children hadlearned to love. Mrs. Fairchild had let August pass without saying muchto her children about the moving, though she and Mr. Fairchild had beenbusy with many settlements.

  Mr. Fairchild had been at The Grove again, and come back again. He hadsettled that John was to have a part of the large garden under hiscare, and that no one was to meddle with him; and that he was to takecharge of the old horse and carriage, and to go out with the childrenwhen they went abroad in it. Henry was to have leave to go to John,when he wished to work in the garden.

  Mrs. Fairchild fixed on Betty to wait upon the children; she knew thatthey must have a maid, and she soon settled who that maid should be.

  "I know Betty," she said; "and I know I may trust her with mychildren."

  Miss Tilney was very angry when she heard of this.

  "Well, to be sure," she said, "so Betty is turned into a young lady'sgoverness; who could have thought it? How very ridiculous some peopleare!"

  When September came, Mrs. Fairchild reminded her children how near thetime was come, and that they must think of preparing to move. When Lucyand Emily heard this, which they did one morning at breakfast, theycould not help shedding a few tears.

  Their mother sent them out into the fresh air, saying she would have nolessons that morning, but giving no particular reason. The little girlswere glad to be left to themselves, and they put on their bonnets andwalked out, taking their way to the hut in the wood.

  It may be supposed what they talked of; they talked of the change thatwas coming, and the time which was gone. They made each other cry moreby trying to remember things which had happened in every place theypassed through. They went as far back as the time when Mr. Fairchildused to carry Henry in his arms when they went out, and only now andthen set him down to walk. They had a story belonging to almost everytree, to the brook and the bridge, to each little path, and many forthe hut at the end of their walk.

  In this hut they sat down and began to ask each other what neithercould answer, whether it was likely they should ever come back to thatdear place.

  "It is papa's, we know," said Lucy; "but then he will let the house,and we don't know who will have it; people always let houses which theydon't live in. He said, one day, that he should let it. But," saidLucy, with a deep sigh, "I do not think we ought to cry so much; ifgrandmamma sees our eyes red, and asks the reason, we shall be obligedto tell her, and then she will think we do not like going with her."

  "Henry does not mind going," said Emily; "he likes it now John is togo."

  They were talking in this way, and had not yet succeeded in quitestopping themselves from crying, when they thought they heard a voicefrom the wood on the other side of the brook. They listened again, andplainly heard these words: "Lucy! Emily! where are you?"

  They came out to the mouth of the hut, and listened, but could not hearthe voice again. Then there came the sound of steps, and they werefrightened and ran back into the hut. The steps were heard more plainlyas they pattered over the bridge, and, not a minute afterwards, whoshould appear before the hut but Bessy Goodriche! She was quite out ofbreath and all in a glow with running; her hair all in disorder, andher bonnet at the very back of her head. She could not speak for amoment, but her face was bright with joy. Lucy and Emily ran to her andkissed her, and said how she had frightened them.

  "Poor little things!" she answered: "you would not do to be lost in awood on a dark night. But I am come to tell you it is all settled,though, to be sure, you know it already; I am so glad and my aunt is soglad. No more chimneys to come down and clatter over our heads;--andthen, you know, you can come whenever you like, the oftener the morewelcome, and stay as long as you like, the longer the better. Aunt willhave such pleasure in taking care of your poor old women--thepin-cushion and the housewife woman, I mean. But I am much afraid thatI shall not make up your loss, good little things as you are, I shallnever manage it; but I must try. I hope I have got the goodwill, thoughI have nothing else."

  In this place Bessy stopped for actual want of breath.

  "What is it?" said Lucy; "what do you mean, dear Bessy?"

  "What is it? don't you know? How strange--no, it is not, neither; Mr.Fairchild said he should not tell you till it was settled; and so therecan be no harm in telling it. And are you not delighted?--you don'tlook delighted. Your papa said that there could be nothing which wouldplease you so much."

  "But what is it?" asked the little girls; "how can we be delighted,when we do not know what it is?"

  "Have not I told you?" asked Bessy; "I thought I told you at first.Why, we are to live in this place, and take care of it, and see thateverything is kept in order; every tree, and every bench, andeverything you love. How you stare!" added Bessy; "how round your eyesare! I don't mean this hut; did you think I meant that my aunt and Iwere to live in it, and take care of the benches?"

  "The house, the house?" answered Lucy, with a cry of joy; "are you andMrs. Goodriche to have the house and the garden; and to take care ofthe poor people, and the school, and the hut, and the arbour, and thebenches, and our little room, and the parlour, and the roses? Oh,Bessy, Bessy, dear Bessy, now am I glad indeed! and we will come to youhere, and you shall come to us there. Oh, Emily, Emily, I am so happy!"

  The gentle eyes of Emily sparkled as brightly as Lucy's did, when sheheard this news, though she said little; but she whispered to hersister, the next minute: "Now, Lucy, we should not have cried so much,it was not right."

  Lucy answered aloud: "No, Emily, we should not; but I hope that weshall cry no more. If the whole world had been picked, we could nothave found any people we like so well to live here as Mrs. Goodricheand Bessy."

  "Aunt is at the house, she is come to spend the day here; and Mr.Fairchild sent me here to look for you; and we shall come in when yougo out; and things are to be left as they are now, only a few to bemoved. Aunt will sell her rubbish furniture, and we are to be so tidy,and I am to have your little room and bed."

  "And you will feed our poor robin," said Emily; "he has come everywinter for a great many years, and he knows that window; but you mustshut it after you have put out the crumbs, for fear of the cat. Heknows us, and he will soon know you."

&
nbsp; As the three girls walked back to the house, they were quite busy intelling and hearing what things were to be attended to. Lucy and Emilyfelt like people who have had a tight cord bound over their hearts, andthat cord had been suddenly cut, and they were loose.

  The three weeks which followed that day were a time of great bustle. Onone evening all the children of the school came and had tea in thefield behind the barn; and Mrs. Goodriche and Bessy came, that theymight get acquainted with them.

  Another day all the old people whom the children loved were invited todinner; and Mrs. Goodriche came also to make their acquaintance. No onewent away without some useful gift; but these meetings and partingswere sad, and made some wish they were in that blessed state in whichthere shall be no more sorrow, nor any more tears.

  Mary Bush, and nurse, and Margery, however, said that if Mr. and Mrs.Fairchild must go, they could not have chosen anyone they should haveliked so well as Mrs. Goodriche.

  All this bustle caused the few last days in the home of their childhoodto pass more easily with the little girls; but when they rose for thelast time, from that bed in which they had slept so long as they couldremember, they both felt a sadness which they could not overcome.

  The breakfast was to be at an early hour, but, early as it was, Mrs.Goodriche and Bessy had come before it was ready. They were to returnagain to their old house for a day or two, but they wished to see thelast of their dear friends before their departure. Mr. Somers also camein immediately after breakfast.

  The coach from The Grove also arrived at the same time with Mr. Somers,for the horses and coachman had rested during the night in the village.Old Mrs. Fairchild always liked to be driven by the man she knew, anddrawn by the horses she had often proved; and they were to travelslowly, and be three days on the road. Henry came flying in when thecoach arrived; and Lucy and Emily ran up once more to their little roomto cry again. Bessy followed them to comfort them, though she herselfwas very sad.

  John Trueman, who was at the house with his wife to take care of ittill Mrs. Goodriche took possession, now brought out the old horse andcarriage, in which John and Betty were to travel; and there was a greatdeal of packing and settling before anybody got in, for there were ninepersons to go. The two Mrs. Fairchilds, and the two little girls, wentinside the coach; Mr. Fairchild sat with Henry in an open seat in theback; and Mrs. Johnson was to go with Betty, John, and the magpie, inthe old carriage. It was large and of the old fashion. When the oldlady had taken her place, Lucy and Emily were called: they kissed Bessyagain, and Henry reminded her of the robin. Then they ran down andkissed Mrs. Goodriche, and without looking round at any dear tree orwindow, or garden-seat or plot of flowers, they sprang into the coach,and felt for the first time that riding in their father's carriage wasno cure for an aching heart. Their hearts ached, and their eyescontinued to flow with tears, till they had passed the village and leftit at some distance behind them; but as they were dragged slowly upthe steep hill, beyond the village, they took courage and looked out,and could just see a number of persons standing beneath the beech-treeson the top of the round hill. Someone was waving something white, andHenry was answering it by waving his handkerchief. Tears soon blindedthe eyes of the little girls, and they drew back again into the coach,and did not look out again till they had got beyond the places whichthey had been well acquainted with in the young happy days which werenow shut up in the past.

  When we leave a place which we have long lived in and much loved, howvery soon do all the things which have passed begin to seem like dreamsand visions; and how will this life, with all its pains and pleasures,troubles and distresses, seem to us when death is swallowed up invictory, and we shall be with the Saviour where sorrow never more cancome?

  "_Someone was waving something white._"]

  * * * * *

  _Wells Gardner, Darton and Co., 3, Paternoster Buildings, London_

  The Fairchild Family]

  TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

  Inconsistent hyphenation of words such as band-box, play-ground,school-room, maid-servant, farm-house, bed-time, play-room, post-boy,school-fellow, corn-field, store-room, tea-cup, and work-bag has beenretained. For the text version's cover and title pages, I have addedperiods to initials and to "Mrs." Minor typographical corrections aredocumented in the source of the associated HTML version.