by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XL.
A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.
There are little girls of ten years old who in the present day arepossessed of a large amount of self-possession. Some of these littlemaids are, in their own way, quite womanly--they can ask their waywithout faltering, and they can even walk about alone in a great worldlike London without losing themselves.
But to this class of self-possessed little girls Daisy Mainwaring didnot belong. She had a charming, babyish little face, and was somethingof the baby still in the confiding and wistful way in which she leanedon others for support. Daisy was, perhaps, in all particulars youngerthan her years. When at last, after inconceivable difficulties--afterbeing jostled about by an indifferent crowd, and pushed rudely againstby more than one stupid, blundering porter--she did find her way tothe right ticket-office, and did secure her single third to Rosebury,and then get a very small allowance of room in a crowded third-classcarriage her heart was beating so loudly that she almost wondered itdid not burst. The great train, however, moved out of the terminus,and Daisy felt herself whirling away through the night, and then shebecame conscious of a little sensation of thankfulness. Surely theworst of her journey was over now; surely she and the Pink would bereceived very kindly and very lovingly by Mrs. Ellsworthy; surely Mrs.Ellsworthy would listen with full credence to the little tale Daisywould make up about an ogre having stolen away her money, and wouldhasten to fill the poor empty little purse from her own abundantstores. Daisy thought such happy and hopeful thoughts as she wascommencing her weary journey, and then she clasped the basket whichcontained the Pink tightly in her little arms, and presently, fromsheer weariness, dropped asleep. When the little head bobbed forwardtwo or three times a good-natured neighbor put her arm round thechild, and after a little even took her into her arms, where Daisy,after many hours of deep slumber, awoke. The night train to Roseburywent very slowly, stopping at every little wayside station, andsometimes seeming to the exasperated passengers scarcely to move atall; but all these weary hours Daisy slumbered peacefully, and whenshe awoke the sun was shining brightly, and a new day had begun.
"Well, my dear, you have had a hearty sleep," said the good-naturedwoman; "and where are you bound, if I may make so bold as to ask,little miss?"
"I am going to Rosebury," said Daisy. "Oh! how kind of you to let mesleep in your arms. I've had quite a nice nap, and I'm not so verytired. Thank you very much for being so very good to me. Are we nearRosebury now, please?"
"In half an hour you'll get there, dear. Now I must say good-bye, forthis is my station. Good-bye, missy, and a safe journey to you."
"I'm so sorry you are going away," said Daisy, and she raised herlittle lips to kiss her friend.
"God bless you, love," said the nice, pleasant-faced woman, and thenshe got out of the carriage, nodding her head to Daisy as she walkedaway.
The loneliness which had more or less been soothed or kept in abeyanceby this good woman's company now returned very strongly, and Daisy hadto feel a certain empty little purse which she held in her pocket tokeep up her resolution. She did not seem so certain about Mrs.Ellsworthy being nice and kind as she was the night before. Thethird-class carriage in which she had travelled was now nearly empty,and when she at last arrived at Rosebury she was the only passenger toalight. She gave up her ticket and walked out of the station, aforlorn and unnoticed little personage. It was still very early in themorning, not quite six o'clock, and there were very few people about,and the whole place had a strange, deserted, and unhomelike feeling.Could this be the Rosebury where Daisy was born, where she had been sopetted and loved? She did not like its aspect in the cold grey morninglight. There was a little drizzling mist falling, and it chilled herand made her shiver.
"I know I've been very, very selfish," she kept murmuring to herself."I oughtn't to have minded the dungeon. I ought not to have been soterrified at the ogre. I'm afraid God is angry with me for being sodreadfully selfish, and for letting the ogre take Primrose's money. Ialways did think the sun shone at Rosebury, but perhaps even the sunwon't get up because he is angry with me."
Daisy knew her way down the familiar and straggling village street,but there were one or two different roads to Shortlands, and shebecame puzzled which to take, and what with the drizzling rain, andher own great fatigue of body, soon really lost her way.
An early laborer going to work was the first person she met. She askedhim eagerly if she was on the right road; but he answered her sogruffly that she instantly thought he must be a relation of Mr. Dove'sand ran, crying and trembling, away from him. The next person she cameacross was a little boy of about her own age, and he was kind, andtook her hand, and put her once more in the right direction, so that,foot-sore and weary, the poor little traveller did reach thelodge-gates of Shortlands about nine o'clock.
But here the bitterest of her disappointments awaited her, for thewoman who attended to the gates said, in a cold and unsympathizingvoice, that the family were now in London, and there was no usewhatever in little miss troubling herself to go up to the house. Nouse at all, the woman repeated, for she could not tell when the familywould return, probably not for several weeks. Daisy did not ask anymore questions, but turned away from the inhospitable gates with aqueer sinking in her heart, and a great dizziness before her eyes. Shehad come all this weary, weary way for nothing. She had taken dearPoppy's last money for nothing. Oh, now there was no doubt at all thatGod was very angry with her, and that she had been both wicked andselfish. She had still twopence in her pocket--for the good-naturedomnibus conductor had paid her fare himself. She would go to thenearest cottage and ask for some milk for the Pink, and then shewondered--poor, little, lonely, unhappy child--how long it would takeher to die.