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Title: Cinderella's prince
Author: Marian I. Hurrell
Release date: October 22, 2024 [eBook #74625]
Language: English
Original publication: London: The Religious Tract Society
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CINDERELLA'S PRINCE ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "CINDERELLA JUST SHUT YOUR EYES FOR A MINUTE."]
CINDERELLA'S
PRINCE
BY
MARIAN I. HURRELL
Author of
"His Guiding Star," "Megsy's Influence."
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Bouverie Street & 65 St. Paul's Churchyard
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
CHAP.
I. CINDERELLA
II. BRUNO TO THE RESCUE
III. LITTLE ELLA'S PRAYER
IV. CINDERELLA'S FAIRY GODMOTHER
V. CINDERELLA AT SCHOOL
VI. ELLA'S DISGRACE
VII. TRUTH WILL OUT
VIII. GERTIE'S PENITENCE
IX. A HOMESICK MONKEY
X. FIRE!
XI. ELLA'S BURDENS
XII. CINDERELLA'S PRINCE
CINDERELLA'S PRINCE
CHAPTER I
CINDERELLA
"ROSE COTTAGE is let at last!"
"How do you know?"
The question was asked by three somewhat excited young people in chorus.
"Because I saw a van-load of furniture there this afternoon."
Kenneth Snowden, aged twelve, looked as he felt, highly pleased with
himself in being able to impart such interesting information to his
brother and sisters.
"I wonder who in the world has taken that little hole of a place."
This from Rupert, Kenneth's twin brother. "I'd as soon live in a
rabbit-hutch as there."
"A rabbit-hutch would just suit you, with your long ears," laughed
Kenneth, his eyes twinkling with fun.
Rupert was in no wise offended at his brother's personal remark, nor at
the giggles with which it was greeted by his sisters, Gertie and Marcia.
"I'd rather have long ears," said he, "than a freckly nose like yours,
old chap. But now," he went on, "what about Rose Cottage? Did you see
anything of the people who have taken it?"
"Yes," was the prompt reply. "I saw an old woman and a little girl get
out of a cab. They were plainly dressed, both of 'em; but somehow I
don't fancy they were common people."
"Common people!" It was Nurse who here spoke. She was sitting by the
window at needlework, doing her best to catch the receding winter
daylight. "I should just think they are not indeed," said she. "Mrs.
Russell, the lady who has taken Rose Cottage, used to be so rich that
she could have curled her hair in banknotes if she had chosen to do so."
If Nurse had wished to create a sensation, she had succeeded. Four
pairs of eyes greeted hers with excited interest. It was little
seven-year-old Marcia, however, who first spoke—
"Oh, how funny!" she cried. "Fancy curling your hair in banknotes. Do
people ever do such things, Nurse?"
"Of course not, you little silly!" cried Gertie, with the wisdom of ten
years. "Be quiet, and let your elders talk."
Little Marcia, thus snubbed, relapsed for a while into silence.
"What made the old lady poor, Nurse?" asked Kenneth. "She must be jolly
hard-up to take a place like Rose Cottage."
"She lost her money in a big bank smash," replied Nurse; "and since
that time she's been so proud and unsociable she won't have anything to
do with anybody. My sister used to be her maid; that's how I know."
"I wonder if she'll let the little girl be friends with us," said
Marcia, with a wistful note in her voice.
"I don't suppose she will. Poor little motherless Ella!" Here Nurse
sighed and looked very sympathetic. "She has rather a hard time of it,
I should fancy."
"What about her father?" questioned Rupert.
"Oh, he's away, trying to make his fortune in Africa."
At this moment the tea-bell rang, and the conversation ended; but Nurse
had said enough to rouse a great interest in the hearts of her young
charges concerning the new inmates of Rose Cottage.
As it happened, Kenneth was the first of the Snowden family to make the
acquaintance of little Ella Russell. Their meeting was in this wise.
A day or two after the inmates of Rose Cottage had settled in their new
abode, Kenneth chanced to see Ella standing in the garden.
Rose Cottage was situated close to the large white gates which led to
Berryland Hall—the residence of the Snowden family—hence the children's
interest in the tiny abode.
It was a bleak January morning, and little Ella, with a dust-pan in her
hand, was about to sprinkle cinder ashes on the garden path. It was in
an exceedingly slippery state owing to the frost.
"Hullo, Cinderella!" said Kenneth with a twinkle in his eye. "What are
you doing that for?"
"Because it's so slippery," replied the child with a certain little
dignity; "and my name isn't 'Cinderella,' please."
"No, but that's what I'm going to call you. Your name is Ella, isn't
it?"
"Yes, but how did you know?" Little Ella looked surprised.
"A little bird told me," said Kenneth mysteriously. "And as we are
getting friendly over the cinders, you see, it's just the right name
for you."
For a moment Ella looked doubtful as to whether to be cross or pleased
at her new name, but her natural sweet temper soon came to the fore.
"If I'm Cinderella," she said, "I know who's the Prince."
"Who?" questioned Kenneth with interest.
"Father is," she answered confidentially; "when he comes home, Grannie
and I are going to live in a big house again, and we shan't be poor any
more."
"That'll be jolly for you, won't it?"
Kenneth was beginning to feel much interested in this little girl with
the pretty blue eyes and brown curly hair.
"Yes, I should just think it will," said Ella; "but I mustn't stop
talking any more. Grannie will be ever so cross if she—"
The rest of the sentence was never finished, for little Ella, in
turning round to fulfil her task, suddenly slipped and fell to the
ground.
A cry of unmistakable pain came from her lips, and then she grew so
dreadfully white that Kenneth was frightened.
"I say, you aren't hurt much, are you?" he asked in anxious concern.
"It's—it's my arm," sobbed out the child. "I'm afraid—afraid—"
The little voice died away. Poor "Cinderella" had well-nigh fainted
with the pain of a broken arm.
Kenneth, now thoroughly alarmed, rushed to the cottage door and shouted
his loudest.
"Gracious me! Whatever is the matter?" It was old Mrs. Russell who
answered his call, the one little maid which the household boasted
having gone into the town shopping.
"It's Cinder—the little girl, I mean," cried Kenneth agitatedly; "she's
tumbled down and hurt her arm."
"You pushed her, I suppose; you great rough boy!" was the old lady's
harsh reply. She was so upset that she felt she must scold somebody.
"No—no, I didn't; she fell, and now she's fainted."
"Rubbish!" was the ejaculation. "Ella," she went on, calling in a thin,
shrill voice, "pick yourself up, like a good girl, and come in out of
the cold. Be quick about it, too."
There was real anxiety in her tone, but to Kenneth it sounded horribly
cross and unsympathetic.
At this moment poor little Ella opened her eyes, her faintness being
only of a slight nature.
With Kenneth's aid, for Mrs. Russell was afraid to venture herself upon
the slippery pathway without her stick, she managed to get up and walk
slowly to the house.
Mrs. Russell's keen eyes soon saw that the child's left arm was broken,
and her first thought was for a doctor. Kenneth, guessing what was in
her mind, suggested that he should run for Dr. Soames, who lived not
far off. The old lady's face softened at his thoughtfulness.
"You are a sensible lad," said she, "and I shall be much obliged if you
will."
Kenneth needed no second bidding, but hurried off for Dr. Soames as
fast as his legs could carry him.
CHAPTER II
BRUNO TO THE RESCUE
"YOU'RE late home to dinner, Ken."
"I know I am, mother, but I couldn't help it," said Kenneth, as he
slipped into the vacant place at the dinner table; "something really
quite exciting has happened."
"What is it?" asked Rupert and Gertie in a breath, while Marcia's
wondering eyes put the same question.
"Ella Russell, down at Rose Cottage, has broken her arm, and I've been
to fetch Dr. Soames for her."
Mrs. Snowden's sweet, motherly face wore a look of concern.
"How did it happen?" she asked.
Kenneth then gave a graphic account of what had taken place, much to
the interest of his listeners.
"Can't you go and see her, mother, this afternoon?" he said at the
close of his story. "She's an awfully jolly little girl, and plucky,
too."
Mrs. Snowden looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I'll call, dear Ken, certainly," she said; "but I don't know whether I
shall be welcomed or not."
"Mother!"
Four voices said this in unison, for the idea of "mother" not being
welcomed seemed incredible.
To the four young Snowdens, their mother represented all that was
beautiful and sweet, and little wonder that it was so, for her
personality was winsome and charming to a degree.
Of their father they had no vivid recollection, he having died from the
effects of an accident in the hunting-field when Marcia was a wee girl
of three.
"I am sure you will have a welcome, mother," went on Kenneth; "at least
from Cinderella—her grandmother, too, is all right when you know her."
"How silly it sounds to call a child like that 'Cinderella,'" said
Gertie, rather scornfully, for somehow Kenneth's praises of Ella
Russell did not please her at all.
"I don't call it silly!" Here Marcia put her spoke in the wheel. "I
think it sounds pretty."
"Cinderella is my name for her, whether you like it or not," said
Kenneth obstinately.
"And you would like me to be her Fairy Godmother, Ken; isn't that so?"
asked Mrs. Snowden with a smile.
It was no new thing for Kenneth to plead the cause of the lonely or
helpless, for unselfishness and consideration for others were very
prominent traits in his character.
Rupert was by far the more brilliant of the two, so much so, that at
school the twins were called the Hare and the Tortoise. Nevertheless,
as in proof of the truth of the fable, more than once the steady-going
tortoise had outstripped the hare.
That self-same afternoon Mrs. Snowden, bidding the four children keep
out of mischief, wended her way to Rose Cottage to inquire after the
little sufferer. After which she was going to the village, bent on
various errands of mercy.
"I vote we have a bit of fun this afternoon to amuse ourselves,"
said Rupert, soon after his mother's back was turned; "what say you
youngsters to a slide on Barwell's pond?"
Gertie and Marcia looked delighted at the idea, but not so Kenneth.
Barwell's pond was deep, and the ice there was showing signs of a thaw.
He knew, for he had tested it that very morning.
"No, Rupert," he said very decidedly. "Barwell's pond isn't safe; why
not try the Ravensbourne?"
"The Ravensbourne! Pooh, a dirty little ditch like that!" retorted
Rupert. "I dare say it would suit a tortoise like you, but it won't
suit me. What do you say, girls?"
Gertie, who was fully as adventurous as Rupert, scoffed at the idea of
Barwell's pond not being safe, but Kenneth held his own.
"No, Rupert," he said; "we mustn't do it, old chap. I wouldn't have an
accident there for anything."
Rupert here gave Gertie a knowing look, as much as to say, "Hold your
tongue!"
And a few minutes after, Kenneth, thinking the matter settled, went
out of doors with the object of taking Bruno—his own magnificent
Newfoundland—for a run.
As soon as the lad had passed out of earshot, Rupert turned to the
girls.
"Did you ever know such an old woman as Ken is!" he said, looking a
trifle cross. "I believe, because he's the elder twin, he thinks he's
'father' to us all."
Marcia, in Ken's defence, spoke up bravely: "Ken isn't an old woman,"
retorted she; "he's better than any of us, really."
"I don't deny he's a good chap," was Rupert's reply; "but I wish he
wasn't quite so fussy."
"If Ken says the ice isn't safe, I shan't go," declared Marcia.
"Well, he has said so, you little goose; so you'd better stop at home."
This from Gertie.
"No, I shan't; it'll be too lonely. If you go, I shall go."
And so it was settled, and before twenty minutes had elapsed, the three
younger members of the Snowden family, unknown to either Nurse or
Kenneth, were enjoying themselves to their hearts' content on Barwell's
pond.
"What a silly Ken was to be afraid!" cried Gertie, her cheeks glowing
with the exercise. "Why, the ice is as firm as a rock."
"Yes. I only wish I'd brought my skates," replied Rupert. "I will
to-morrow if it lasts like this."
"Do you think mother would mind about our coming here this afternoon?"
said Marcia, who possessed a very tender conscience. "I wish, somehow,
we'd asked her first."
Gertie inwardly wished the same, but fear of Rupert's ridicule kept her
silent.
Meanwhile, Kenneth was having a first-rate ramble with his beloved dog.
He decided to return home by the roads which led round Barwell's Farm,
these being in good condition for a run. This he did, and was very soon
in close quarters to the pond.
Presently, to his horror, a piercing scream rent the air, which was
followed by another, and yet another.
He tore round the bend of the road which hid the pond from view, and
there, in an instant, he realized what had happened. Rupert and Gertie,
looking frantic with despair, were shrieking for aid, as well they
might, for little Marcia had sunk beneath a hole in the ice. For one
moment Kenneth's heart seemed to stand still within him for fear, and
then, realizing that prompt action was necessary, he made his way with
Bruno towards the dread spot.
"Get back!" he cried to Rupert and Gertie, for the ice seemed to be
cracking all around.
With agonized faces the children obeyed, and Kenneth was left to the
work of rescue.
"I'll save her," he added; "leave her to me and Bruno."
At this moment poor little Marcia's white, terrified face appeared
above the water.
She had been sliding apart from the others where, as it happened, the
ice was exceedingly thin, and unable to bear her weight. Kenneth, with
never a thought of his own personal safety, made his way as far as he
dared, and here it was that good old Bruno showed his mettle.
"Save her, Bruno!" he shouted. "Save her; good dog!"
Again little Marcia was rising to the surface, and the huge
Newfoundland, smashing the ice right and left with his weight, plunged
into the cold water. In another minute he had gripped Marcia's frock,
and was making his way back to his master. In less time than it takes
to relate, poor little unconscious Marcia was in Kenneth's strong
keeping. By means of lying full length on the ice, the boy was able
to stretch out his arms to seize the child, and in this position he
dragged her, with great difficulty, beyond danger point.
Meanwhile, Rupert and Gertie, with strained and terrified eyes, were
watching the proceedings from the bank. Their joy, when Kenneth joined
them with Marcia in his arms, was quite unspeakable. Never in all their
lives had they known such a terrible five minutes as those through
which they had just passed.
"We shall have to carry her home," said Kenneth, his voice quivering
with agitation; "she's quite unconscious."
Gertie looked at the little blue-cold face, with its closed eyes, and
then burst into hysterical sobbing.
"Oh, Ken, she's dead; I know she is, and Rupert and I have killed her,"
she cried. "Oh, what shall we do—what shall we do?"
"She's not dead," answered Kenneth gravely. "I know, because I saw her
eyelids move, but we must get her home as quickly as we can."
It was a very sad and subdued little party which wended its way into
the lonely country road towards Berryland Hall. Kenneth found Marcia's
weight too heavy to allow of quick walking. Presently, in rounding a
corner, they came full tilt upon Dr. Soames, who was driving in his
roomy, old-fashioned carriage towards the village.
In a moment the horse was brought to a standstill, and the doctor
speedily alighted.
"Hullo!" said he. "What's wrong with Marcia?"
He had known the children from babyhood, and in spite of their many
faults and, at times, harum-scarum ways, was much attached to them all.
The children's relief at seeing the doctor was unbounded.
"Marcia's been very nearly drowned," vouchsafed Gertie hysterically,
"and we're taking her home. Oh, please, doctor dear, see if you can't
do something for her."
In a trice the good man took her from Kenneth's keeping, and was very
soon feeling her pulse, with an anxious expression on his kind, clever
face.
CHAPTER III
LITTLE ELLA'S PRAYER
DR. SOAMES then re-seated himself in the carriage, with the poor little
dripping burden in his arms, the coachman being bidden to drive with
all possible speed to Berryland Hall. Little did Mrs. Snowden dream,
as she made her way homewards in the January dusk, of the trouble and
anxiety which were awaiting her. Her visit to Rose Cottage had been
of a most unsatisfactory nature, the little maid there informing her
that "Missis didn't want to see any visitors, and that Miss Ella was
suffering great pain with her arm."
The lady was so unused to being treated in this manner, that her
feelings were considerably hurt. Upon arriving home, however, all else
was forgotten in the shock of hearing of little Marcia's accident.
The news was broken to her by the doctor himself, who at the same time
informed her that the child's condition was more or less critical.
The first one to bring the tidings to Rose Cottage was the baker's boy,
who gave Molly, Mrs. Russell's maid, a most vivid and graphic account
of the whole affair, the story losing nothing in the telling.
Molly, with big round eyes, made her way into her mistress's presence
as soon as the boy had gone, the loaf still in her hand.
"What's the matter, Molly?" said Mrs. Russell in a thin querulous
voice. She was sitting, with little Ella by her side, over a small fire
in the tiny parlour.
"Poor little Miss Marcia, up at the Hall, has been nearly drowned," was
the reply; "the baker's boy don't think she'll live out the day, and
Mrs. Snowden is fit to break her heart over it."
Little Ella's face, pale already from the effects of her accident, grew
paler than ever.
"Oh, Grannie," she cried, "it can't be true. I saw her pass only a day
or two ago, and she looks such a darling little girl."
Ella, from her standpoint of ten years, felt quite grown up compared
with little Marcia.
"I'm afraid, Ella, there's some truth in it," replied the old lady; "I
saw the doctor going to the Hall quite early this morning."
Ella looked ready to cry. "Couldn't you go and call, Grannie," said the
little girl pleadingly, "to see how she is? Just think how kind her
brother was to me! Oh, if only we could do something for them!"
A little flush came into Mrs. Russell's withered cheeks.
"Oh no, I couldn't think of it," she answered sharply. "Molly can go up
with my card and make inquiries; that will be quite sufficient."
Little Ella subsided into silence, and a short while afterwards she
made her way upstairs to the tiny bedroom which she occupied, there
to shed tears of pity for Marcia. Then, on a sudden, she remembered
that there was something else she could do, which would be better than
crying.
Certain words which her mother had said to her before she left for the
Better Land, some two years previously, were wafted to her mind.
"Remember, my little Ella," she had said, "that there is nothing too
big or too little to tell God about. He is our loving Heavenly Father,
who has promised never to leave or forsake His children who trust in
Him."
The words were as balm to the sad-hearted child, and, acting on a
sudden impulse, she knelt down beside her little white bed and poured
forth her soul in prayer.
"Dear Lord God," she pleaded, "I want You so much to make little Marcia
Snowden well again, if it is Your holy will. And I would like to ask
You something else as well, if I may. Please will You let us all be
friends, Mrs. Snowden and the boys and girls up at the Hall. I feel so
lonely, dear Lord God, sometimes, with my dear daddy so far away, and
mother up in heaven with You. And please make me a good little girl,
and kind and loving to Grannie, for Jesus' sake, Amen."
After this petition, somehow little Ella felt better.
"Now," said she to herself, "I am going to wait God's answer. I feel
certain He has heard me, although heaven is such a long way off."
At this moment her Grannie called her downstairs, and, dashing away the
teardrops from her eyes, the little maid obeyed with a cheerful heart.
* * * *
Two days later Kenneth Snowden presented himself at Rose Cottage with a
note from his mother to Mrs. Russell. The old lady, bidding the boy be
seated in the tiny parlour, opened it and read as follows—
"DEAR MRS. RUSSELL,
"I am writing to ask a great favour of you, and that is, if you will
spare your little Ella to us for this afternoon and evening. Marcia
(who, I am thankful to say, is now well on the road to recovery—in
fact, she is coming down to nursery tea to-day) has expressed a great
wish for your little grand-daughter's society, and, as the child is
still weak and ailing, you would be doing a very real kindness if you
would allow Ella to come. We will be mindful of her broken arm, and
take every care of her. Please send word by Kenneth if you will, and
let it be 'Yes.'
"With kind regards,
"Believe me, yours sincerely,
"ISABEL SNOWDEN."
Mrs. Russell, after reading the note, looked a little perplexed. Then
she handed the epistle to Ella, whose eyes danced for joy as she
perused it.
Kenneth, watching her meanwhile, decided she was quite "the jolliest
little girl" he had ever seen.
"Oh, Grannie dear," she cried; "do let me go. Please say 'Yes.'"
As a refusal would not only be discourteous, but very unkind, Mrs.
Russell somewhat unwillingly gave permission, and so commenced a
friendship betwixt Rose Cottage and Berryland Hall, a friendship which
was destined to bring much pleasure into little Ella's otherwise
colourless existence.
What a happy afternoon it was, to be sure! Ella seemed for the time
to be in a new world. Never since her father had left home had the
little girl known what it meant to have any real fun or frolic. All
save Gertie, who was more than a little jealous, fell in love with
"Cinderella." She was so gentle, yet withal so merry and winsome.
At tea-time Kenneth and Rupert vied with each other in their attentions
to the two invalids, as they called Marcia and Ella. Both children were
waited upon as though they were little princesses, and very much they
seemed to enjoy it too. Ella's broken arm rendered her rather helpless
in some ways, but never once was she suffered to feel her crippled
condition.
After tea was over, there followed a lovely chat around the nursery
fire before going downstairs to Mrs. Snowden in the drawing-room.
"Let's talk about the jolliest thing that could happen in all the
world," said Rupert, by way of a start.
"That would be another month's holiday," was Gertie's immediate
response.
"No, it wouldn't. The nicest thing that could possibly happen would be
for Uncle Phil to come home from South Africa," said Kenneth eagerly.
"He's the finest chap that ever was, Cinderella," went on the boy. "The
yarns he's got to tell would make your hair curl."
"It does curl now," laughed Ella, "only not so much as Gertie's and
Marcia's."
"What should you like best to happen, Cinders?" said Rupert teasingly.
"Oh, to see father again!" was the quick reply. "When he comes home we
are going to have such lovely times, Grannie, father and I."
"What sort of times?"
It was Gertie who spoke, with a slightly veiled sneer which was quite
lost upon Ella.
"I don't know exactly," she answered; "only we shall be ever so happy."
"He'll put a glass slipper on Cinderella's foot, and just carry her
right away," said Kenneth.
"Then I hope he won't come yet," cried little Marcia; "'cause we can't
spare you. You'll have to go to school with us, won't you, Ella?"
Ella sighed a little sadly. "No," she said; "Grannie can't afford to
send me to school—she's going to teach me herself."
"H'm!" muttered Rupert. "I should have thought she'd forgotten
everything that she had learnt. Her schooldays were over so long ago."
"Oh, my Grannie's very clever!" said Ella loyally. "She plays upon the
harp—fancy that!"
"So do I," was Rupert's calm statement.
"Master Rupert!" Here Nurse thought it was time to say a word. "How can
you tell such stories?"
"It isn't a story, Nurse; it's as true as true, so there! I keep my
harp in my pocket."
"I know what he means," laughed little Marcia, who was wonderfully
recovering her spirits. "It's a penny Jew's harp."
"Clever girl!" said Rupert. "That's just what it is."
At this moment a resounding peal echoed through the house, and soon
after, a cheery voice was heard in the hall below.
The children listened, then looked at one another excitedly.
"Surely it isn't—" begun Kenneth.
"Yes, it is," cried Rupert, flinging wide open the nursery door. "It's
Uncle Phil home from South Africa. Hurrah! Hurrah!"
CHAPTER IV
CINDERELLA'S FAIRY GODMOTHER
HELTER-SKELTER down the stairs ran the three elder Snowdens, Marcia
following in their rear, tightly clasping Ella's hand.
"Uncle Phil! Uncle Phil! is it really you?" cried Kenneth, who was one
of the first to greet the new-comer.
The rest crowded round him delightedly.
"Yes, I believe it is," was the reply, given in the cheery voice of one
who was well-pleased with his welcome. "But, there, kiddies, leave me
in peace a minute; I have scarcely said 'How d'ye do!' to the mother
yet."
With this, the stalwart young naval doctor flung his arms around Mrs.
Snowden's neck, bestowing upon her a brotherly salute. Then came quite
a hub-bub of greetings, and questionings as to how it was he had come
thus unexpectedly.
"Bless you, my children," was the laughing reply, "you want to know too
much. I thought I'd spring a surprise upon you all, and I've done so. I
hope it hasn't been too much for your feelings."
"It has," said Rupert, with mock solemnity. "As Nurse says, 'you could
have knocked me down with a feather.'"
"H'm! I dare say, you impudent young monkey. What ho!" This ejaculation
was caused by Dr. Carteret, for such was Uncle Phil's name, catching
sight of Ella. "Another of 'em. Come here, youngster, and say 'How d'ye
do!'"
Ella advanced shyly, holding out her hand in polite greeting.
"And who may you be?" asked the doctor. "I don't seem to know your
face. And what's the matter with your arm, pray?"
"Please, I'm Ella Russell," answered the child, blushing rosily, too
bashful to enter into details regarding her arm.
"Russell! Now, that's funny. One of the nicest and bravest chaps I met
while I was in South Africa was named Russell—Gordon Russell."
Ella's whole face was lit up with delight.
"Oh," she cried, "that must be my father, for his name is Gordon, and
he is as brave—as a lion!"
"Yes, I agree with you." All on a sudden Dr. Carteret's voice had grown
strangely quiet. "But for this father of yours, little Ella," he went
on, "I shouldn't be here to-day."
"What do you mean, Phil dear?" asked Mrs. Snowden wonderingly.
"Well, to make a long story short, Bert Crofton—you know Bert Crofton,
son of old Sir James, up at Berryland Grange—and I were out bathing
one day in the river. Suddenly the poor chap was taken with cramp, and
seeing he was in difficulties I swam up to him; he seized on me like
an octopus and dragged me under, so that I was helpless. We were both
pretty well done for when Russell swam out to our rescue. He must have
been a practised hand at life-saving, for he gripped hold of Crofton
in just the right way, and got him to land. Then, when I was about
exhausted, for Crofton had nearly been the death of me, he managed to
bring me in safety to the shore, and here I am to tell the tale."
Ella's eyes were shining like stars. "That's just like father," she
said, her voice all a-quiver. "Please, did he say," she added, half
pathetically, "when he was coming home?"
"No, little girl, he didn't. He's working pretty hard out there, I
can tell you. One of these fine days he'll pay you a surprise visit
I suspect, like I've done to these youngsters—that'll be first-rate,
won't it?"
Ella nodded her head. Tears of excitement and delight were too near the
surface for speech.
"Didn't I tell you, Cinderella," said Kenneth, "that Uncle Phil's yarns
would make your hair curl? I declare now, it's getting quite a woolly
mop."
Kenneth's fun chased away all the tears, and Ella's face grew quite
sunshiny again. The next hour sped as on wings, and all too soon, so it
seemed to Ella, Molly, her grandmother's little maid, called to take
her home. So ended one of the happiest afternoons and evenings she had
ever spent.
Uncle Phil's visit meant a series of delights for the young ones, to
say nothing of the beautiful presents he had brought for them all.
"I've never given that little chum of yours, Ella Russell, a present,"
said Dr. Carteret to Marcia one morning. "I wonder what she would like."
Marcia, who by this time was almost herself again, answered readily
enough.
"Don't you think, Uncle Phil dear, you'd better call and ask her. I
believe she'd like a book best of all, but I don't know for certain."
"I'll just run round, Marcia, and find out for myself;" said Uncle
Phil; "that's a very good thought of yours." And a few minutes later,
he acted on his words.
It was by no means his first visit to Rose Cottage. Indeed, he had
called so frequently during the ten days he had been at the Hall that
he and Mrs. Russell were now on the best of terms. The old lady, upon
knowing that he had met her son in South Africa, so far unbent as to
make him welcome at any time; as for Ella, her pleasure in seeing him
was undoubted.
Dr. Carteret found the child busy dusting the little parlour, Mrs.
Russell being occupied in the kitchen beyond.
"Hullo, Cinderella!" said the young doctor cheerily. He had taken a
fancy to Kenneth's name for the little girl, and rarely called her
anything else.
After their first greetings were over, he told her that he had
something important to say.
"I want you to make believe I'm your Fairy Godmother," he said; "just
for a minute, if you please."
Ella burst into a merry laugh. "I can't," she replied, "'cause you
haven't got a sugar-loaf hat."
"Well, I don't see that that matters," said Dr. Carteret with an amused
smile. "Come, shut your eyes, and don't look at me. Now tell me what
you would like your Fairy Godmother to do for you."
"To make my arm well first," said Ella, entering into the spirit of the
joke; "then to send me to school, next—"
"Gracious me!" replied the doctor. "Your Fairy Godmother has got
something to do!"
"Oh, I haven't finished yet," laughed Ella; "I want a lot of things for
Grannie, and something for Molly, and—"
"What about yourself, Cinderella?"
"Oh, I should like a nice warm blue frock, and a fur and a muff, and a
red tam o' shanter. After that I don't want anything else, only my dear
daddy, and I want him more than all."
At this moment Mrs. Russell herself came into the room, and the
conversation was turned into another channel.
A little later on, "Cinderella's" Fairy Godmother left the house with a
very thoughtful expression on his kindly face. Strange to say, instead
of making his way straight back to the Hall, as he had originally
intended, he went to Berryland Grange, where lived old Sir James
Crofton, a man possessed of considerable wealth, and of one of the
kindest hearts in the world. The result of Dr. Carteret's visit was
very soon made apparent.
A few days later, whilst Ella and her grandmother were sitting at
breakfast, the postman brought a letter, the contents of which caused
the old lady considerable surprise. She read it through twice over, and
then, with trembling fingers, put it back into its envelope.
Ella, on the alert for news of her father, asked if the letter were
from South Africa.
"No, my dear, it is not," was the reply; "but you can read it all the
same, as it has to do with you."
Ella then read the epistle, her eyes glistening very brightly meanwhile.
CHAPTER V
CINDERELLA AT SCHOOL
THE all-important missive ran as follows—
"DEAR MADAM,
"I am writing to ask, as a personal favour, that you will allow me to
defray the cost of your grandchild's education at Farley House School,
at least until her father returns home. I make this offer in gratitude
for the noble service your son rendered mine in saving his life in
South Africa, the story of which doubtless you have already heard from
Dr. Carteret.
"Hoping to receive a favourable reply,
"Believe me, dear madam,
"Yours very truly,
"JAMES CROFTON."
"Oh, Grannie!" exclaimed the child, throwing down the letter in her
excitement. "How simply too lovely! Do write and say 'Yes.'"
"I hate accepting favours, child," was the proud reply. "It goes
against the grain sorely, but—"
"Grannie, dear," interrupted the little girl in her eagerness, "I don't
see that you need mind. Why, he asks it as a favour of you."
"That is only Sir James's nice way of putting it," said Mrs. Russell,
who was a very keen and far-seeing old lady.
"Then you'll put it nicely to him back again, won't you, Grannie dear,
and say 'Yes'?"
And to little Ella's delight, be it said, her grandmother wrote off
that self-same day accepting with gratitude Sir James Crofton's
generous offer.
Farley House was situated some four or five miles distant, and was the
very school, in fact, which Gertie and Marcia Snowden attended.
The Christmas holidays were now drawing to a close, and with them Dr.
Carteret's visit to the Hall. Before leaving, he bade good-bye to Mrs.
Russell and Ella, the child being actually in tears at the idea of his
going away.
The four young Snowdens' regret was very real also, the boys declaring
it "a horrid shame" that he had to leave so soon.
A few days after his departure there came to Rose Cottage a large
parcel, delivered by the London carrier, and addressed to "Miss Ella
Russell."
Eagerly the child cut the string, and when the paper was removed, she
discovered a cardboard box, on which these words were inscribed—
"CINDERELLA,
"From her FAIRY GODMOTHER."
The little girl's face was rosy with anticipation, and actually Grannie
had a pink flush on her cheeks. Molly, who happened to be in the room,
was equally interested and curious. The progress of undoing all the
folds of paper was rather slow, owing to Ella's crippled arm, but at
last it was accomplished. And there, disclosed to view, was a pretty,
warm navy blue frock. Not only this, but there was a muff and a fur
besides, and, to crown it all, a scarlet tam o' shanter.
Surely there never was such a happy little "Cinderella!"
Grannie was now looking quite white, but she uttered no word until
Molly had gone out of the room.
Then she said, and, alas! there was no pleasure in her tones—
"I'm afraid, Ella, this has come from Mrs. Snowden. I never thought
that she would so far insult me and mine."
All Ella's joy faded for the while at the sight of her grandmother's
displeasure. Then again her little face lighted up.
"No, no, it isn't," she cried, suddenly making a correct guess. "It's
Dr. Carteret; I know it is. He said I was to picture him as my Fairy
Godmother, and I just laughed at him."
Grannie's face cleared.
"You don't mind him, Grannie dear, do you?" went on the child
pleadingly. "I'm sure he only meant it kindly, and, you see, he can't
forget about father saving his life."
"No, child," said Mrs. Russell; "I don't mind Dr. Carteret so much, if
it is really he who has sent you such a useful present. We must try and
find out."
But this was easier said than done, for many a long day passed before
Mrs. Russell found out for certain who was Ella's Fairy Godmother.
* * * *
"Mother wants to know, Cinderella, if your grandmother will let us
drive you to school to-morrow."
It was Kenneth who spoke, he and Rupert having called at Rose Cottage
one morning on purpose to make the request. Ella looked delighted. The
term had already commenced, but her arm had only just been pronounced
sufficiently mended, for her to attend school.
"Oh, Ken, how jolly!" exclaimed Ella. "I'll run in and ask Grannie this
very minute."
With this, the child disappeared from the doorway, very soon returning
with the necessary permission. Mrs. Russell had considerably unbent,
since her first coming to Berryland, towards the Snowden family, and
was gradually becoming almost sociable.
"You must be ready at a quarter to nine, sharp," said Kenneth,
well-pleased at Mrs. Russell's ready "Yes."
"All right," replied Ella, "I'll be punctual. I do wonder what school
will be like," she went on; "I expect it will be very strange to me at
first."
"Oh, you'll soon get used to it," said Kenneth good-naturedly.
"I suppose I shall—I wish you and Rupert went to Farley House School as
well; what fun it would be!"
"I fancy I see myself," retorted Rupert, "at a Dame school. Why! Girls'
lessons are play to ours."
But Ella, who had learnt to take Rupert's teasing for what it was
worth, shook her head.
"I don't think they are all 'play,'" she said; "some girls are quite as
clever as boys. Whereabouts is your school?" she added, for the little
girl was intensely interested in all that concerned the Snowden family.
"Oh, further up the High Street," replied the boy; "it's a great red
building, called Farley College."
Ella looked quite impressed. "And what is Farley House like?" she
added, turning to Kenneth.
"You'll see for yourself to-morrow," was the answer; "if I tell you
everything now, you won't have any 'surprises.'"
After a little further chat, the two boys bade good-bye, and it being
near their dinner hour, they hurried off homewards.
Punctually at a quarter to nine on the following morning Ella stood on
the doorstep of Rose Cottage, awaiting the arrival of the wagonette.
Presently it turned the corner of the road, and a few minutes later,
Ella, with the aid of Giles the coachman, had mounted into her place, a
comfortable seat, beside little Marcia.
The journey betwixt school and home was usually accomplished by train,
and little Ella was now the proud possessor of a season-ticket for the
journey.
With a final wave to Grannie, who was watching from the window, the
child started off, light of heart, en route for school.
"I say, Giles," said Rupert, who was sitting on the box beside the
coachman, "I wish you'd let me drive for a bit; I can manage all right,
you know."
"No, no, thank'ee, Master Rupert," was the decided reply, "I don't
trust the reins in your hands, not if I knows it."
"What rubbish!" ejaculated the boy irritably. "When I can drive as well
as you."
Giles took no notice of this remark, however. Presently, before coming
to a somewhat steep hill, the coachman drew up. He could see that
one of the straps required a little attention. Giving the reins into
Rupert's hands for a moment, he stepped down to see to the matter. Just
as the man was thinking of getting up again into his seat, Rupert,
seized with a spirit of mischief, flicked the mare with the whip. She
immediately started off.
"All right, Giles," shouted Rupert with a laugh, "we'll wait for you at
the bottom of the hill."
Giles's face was a study of mingled wrath and alarm.
"Rupert!" cried Kenneth, "What are you doing, you silly young donkey?"
"Donkey yourself!" was Rupert's quick retort. "I'm only going a little
way, just for a lark!"
But, alas for Rupert's "lark," a whizzing motor presently came along
behind, and passed them with a loud "toot-toot."
Now it chanced that Peggy the mare was decidedly fresh that morning,
and, the sudden noise startling her, she dashed off with tremendous
speed.
The girls began to look very frightened, as indeed they had good reason
to be.
Kenneth, without another word, presently slipped out of his seat, and
scrambled, as quickly as possible, into Giles's place.
"Take the reins, Ken, for goodness' sake!" murmured Rupert, now
thoroughly scared. "She's beyond me altogether."
Now, Kenneth was a great lover of animals, and was on the best of
terms, not only with his beloved Bruno, but with every horse in the
stables. Taking the reins from Rupert's grasp, he did his best to pull
up the runaway, but at first without any avail. Then he tried the art
of soothing words—
"Come, come, Peggy," he said, speaking to the mare in tones he had
often used to her in the stable. "What's the matter, old girl? Steady
there, steady!"
CHAPTER VI
ELLA'S DISGRACE
THE mare, after a bit, seemed to understand the change of drivers, and
presently she lessened her speed to an ordinary trot. Then Kenneth
gradually brought her to a standstill.
Some minutes later they were joined by Giles, who, panting and
breathless as he was, commenced giving Rupert a piece of his mind.
For a wonder the boy made no retort. As a matter of fact, he regretted
his wilfulness more than he could tell.
"I say, Giles," he said, when they were once more driving steadily on
their way, "you won't tell mother anything about this, will you?"
"Ay, that I shall, Master Rupert," was the stolid reply. "Don't you
make any mistake about that."
"Then you are a disagreeable old pig," retorted Rupert; "that's what
you are!"
"And you are a very wilful young gentleman, and you'll get into trouble
one of these fine days if you ain't careful."
Rupert, after this, maintained a sulky silence, and it was not until
the wagonette drew up at Farley House that he recovered himself.
"Good-bye, Cinders," he cried mischievously, as the three girls
alighted. "I quite expect you'll be in the babies' class with Marcia,
so don't disappoint me."
"I hope she will be," said little Marcia; "that would be just lovely
for me."
Gertie secretly hoped the same, for the idea of Ella proving a rival to
herself was most distinctly unpleasant.
At first Ella felt overcome with bashfulness, for never in her life
had she been in such a big company of girls. But presently she forgot
about herself altogether, and consequently, when one of the governesses
examined her as to the extent of her knowledge, she answered the
questions put to her without any shyness, and, moreover, with a
clearness which surprised her questioner.
"Who's the new girl with her arm in a sling?" asked a certain Dorothy
Grey of Gertie, during an interval of the morning's lessons.
"It's Ella Russell, a girl who lives close by our gates," was the
half-scornful reply.
"She looks rather a jolly little thing," said Dorothy. "I wonder if
she'll be in our form."
"Oh, I don't suppose she will—she's never been to school before, and
Marcia is quite looking forward to having her in the babies' class."
"Then I'm afraid Marcia will be disappointed, for Ella Russell is quite
advanced enough to be in the third form. In fact, she is going to join
your class at once."
It was Ella's examiner who spoke. She was standing near, and had
chanced to overhear Gertie's remark.
Ella was quietly delighted at the position she took in school, although
so humble-minded was she that she never thought of taking the credit to
herself.
"How is it," asked the third form mistress, Miss Merton by name, "that
you are so well up in your lessons, having never been to school?"
"My Grannie taught me," replied the child, "and she's very
clever—that's how it is."
"And some one else is clever too, or else I am very much mistaken," was
the teacher's unspoken thought.
Shortly after this, school went on in real earnest, and such a busy day
it was, that almost before Ella realized the fact, four o'clock had
come round, and lessons were over for the day.
The four Snowden children, with little Ella, were to return home by
train that afternoon, the four-thirty from Farley Station accomplishing
the journey to Berryland in the space of a few minutes.
"Hullo, Cinderella," was Kenneth's friendly greeting at the station,
"how have you been getting on?"
"Oh, I've enjoyed it ever so much!" replied the child enthusiastically.
"I'm in the same form as Gertie—isn't that lovely?"
"May you always think it so lovely, little 'un!" said Rupert. "If you
were at Farley College, you wouldn't think it such high jinks."
"Isn't your school nice, then?"
"It's all right so far as schools go, but what would you think of a
master who, the very first opportunity that came round, gave you a
beastly imposition to write?"
"What's an imposition?" queried innocent Ella.
"It's imposing on you by giving you a punishment you don't deserve."
"That was very hard lines," said Ella; "but p'raps you did deserve it."
This with a twinkle of fun in her eyes.
"Thank you for your sympathy," grinned Rupert; "now I shall know what
to say to you when you get into disgrace at school."
"Oh, I don't mean to get into disgrace," said the child confidently. "I
am going to be as good as ever I can."
At this moment the train came in, and the conversation ended. But Ella,
alas! had reason to remember her own words some three weeks later.
Upon arriving home, Rupert was summoned into his mother's presence,
Giles having already given information against him.
Now, there was nothing which cut the Snowden children more to the heart
than the thought of "grieving mother," and Rupert's penitence, when she
told him how much his foolish and wilful conduct had pained her, was
very real. He promised faithfully to amend his ways and to his credit,
be it said, he fully meant to keep his word.
During the weeks which followed, Gertie's jealousy of Ella grew by
leaps and bounds, until, at last, it was plain enough for any one to
see.
"I wonder if Ella Russell ever uses a Key for her arithmetic," said
Dorothy Grey one morning to her friend Gertie; "if not, she's the
quickest at sums I ever knew."
"I don't think she's that sort of girl," was the reply, given almost
unwillingly.
"Oh, one never knows, 'still waters run deep,' and a Key is no end of
help."
Alas! Dorothy, on more than one occasion, had used such aid herself.
A couple of days later, Gertie was sitting alone in one of the
class-rooms during the dinner hour, poring over a sum which wouldn't
come right.
"If I'd got a Key," she said to herself, mindful of Dorothy's words,
"I should get the silly old thing done in a minute—I wonder—" here a
sudden temptation came into her heart—"if there is one anywhere on the
shelf."
As it chanced there was one, and no sooner did Gertie spy the book,
than she prepared to make use of it.
"You are doing wrong," said the voice of Conscience, as loudly and
clearly as ever it could speak.
"But my head aches so badly, I simply can't bother over it any longer,"
pleaded Gertie excusingly.
But Conscience was not to be quieted thus. Indeed, so stirring was its
voice that, for a while, Gertie wavered, but it was only for a while.
A few minutes later, by the aid of the Key, the wrong figures were
erased, and the right ones put in their stead. Just as this was done,
the little girl heard footsteps in the next room.
"What shall I do with the book?" she said to herself, for there was
absolutely no time to replace it on the shelf where she had found it.
Opening the first desk that came handy, she thrust the Key inside, not
knowing or caring, in her agitation, to whom the desk belonged.
In the afternoon the book was discovered to be missing, and Miss
Merton, having reason to suspect that Dorothy Grey was not quite open
with her school work, determined to find out whether the Key was in her
possession.
For this purpose she bade the girls turn out their desks for her
inspection. Ella, all unsuspectingly, cleared out her various
belongings, with never a thought of coming trouble in her mind.
Suddenly her eyes alighted on a brown-covered book, which she knew had
no right to be there. It was the Arithmetic Key. Miss Merton's sharp
eyes had caught sight of it too.
"Ella," she said sternly, "how is it that this book is in your keeping?"
"I don't know, Miss Merton," she said, flushing redly at her
governess's tone. "I didn't put it there."
"Don't add a falsehood to your deception, please," was the sharp reply.
"I am bitterly disappointed in you, Ella—this, then, accounts for your
remarkably well done arithmetic."
Poor little Ella, her cup of humiliation was full to the brim. The
accusation which was laid to her charge seemed to rob her of the power
of speech, and she trembled so that she could scarcely stand.
Gertie, who little dreamed of all the trouble her act of deception
would cause, was filled with shame and regret.
To Ella's surprise, and no little comfort, she stood by her in her hour
of trouble.
"I am sure, Miss Merton," said she, "Ella wouldn't tell you a story
about it. I know she didn't put it there."
"Then if she didn't, Gertie, pray, who did?" was the question.
Gertie turned red and white by turns. "Confess," said Conscience
sternly, "now is your chance!"
Ah! Had Gertie done so, how much unhappiness and sorrow had been
spared! But she let the moment pass, and so it was that Ella was left
to bear the burden of unmerited shame and rebuke.
CHAPTER VII
TRUTH WILL OUT
"I WOULDN'T mind so much, Mrs. Snowden, only that Grannie thinks I'm
telling a story about it."
"Then your Grannie is a silly old cuckoo, that's what she is."
It was Kenneth who thus broke in.
"Ken, Ken, my dear boy, you forget yourself," said his mother
reprovingly.
Kenneth blushed a bit under his freckled skin, and remained silent for
a while.
Ella was spending Saturday afternoon, by special invitation, at the
Hall a few days after the incidents recorded in the last chapter.
The Snowden children, every one, stood by her in her time of trouble,
and, to crown it all, their mother also firmly believed in her
innocence. Ella was more grateful to them than she could tell, and
their trust and confidence in her, was balm to her little wounded heart.
Mrs. Russell, strange to say, in spite of Ella's protestations,
believed the little girl had fallen under a sudden temptation, and
urged her to confess her guilt.
"Your father once told me a story," said the stern old lady, "and I
never forgave him till he had made a clean breast of it, and neither
shall I forgive you."
These words had entered like iron into Ella's soul, and she grieved
over them night and day.
It was plain to see the child's health was suffering under her unjust
accusation, and Mrs. Snowden, to counteract the ill-effects, did her
best to lighten the load which was pressing so hardly on the young
shoulders.
"You must keep up heart and hope, Ella, my child," said she. "God, who
sees the wrong, will one day set it right—be sure of that."
"Gertie, how white you look! What's the matter?"
So said Rupert, suddenly catching sight of his sister's face, which had
grown very pale.
"There's nothing the matter!" replied Gertie irritably. "How silly you
are, Rupert!"
"Gertie is, like the rest of us," gently interposed Mrs. Snowden,
"troubled about Ella. However,—" this with a look of kindly sympathy
into her little visitor's face—"don't worry more than you can help,
childie; the clouds will all roll by one day, you know."
"Yes," said Ella, brightening up; "everything will be right when father
comes home. He won't think I'm a story-teller, I know."
"Of course he won't," was Kenneth's reply; "neither would any one else
with a grain of sense in his head."
And so, for a while, the subject was dropped.
The following Monday week was to be more or less of a festive occasion,
for it was little Marcia's birthday, and many and various were the
presents destined for the little maid. Rupert's gift, however, was to
be something quite out of the common, only Kenneth as yet being in his
confidence.
"I am going to buy Marcia's present to-day."
So said Rupert to his brother on their way to school one morning, a few
days before the eventful Monday.
"How are you going to manage it?" queried Kenneth. "The gipsy
encampment is out of bounds, and you won't have time to go there after
four o'clock."
"'Where there's a will, there's a way,'" replied Rupert easily.
"I wouldn't do it, old chap, if I were you." Kenneth looked rather
serious. "Leave it till Saturday. If it's found out, you'll get into no
end of a row, and another thing, I sometimes wonder whether mother will
care for Marcia to have a monkey about the place."
"I'm sure she won't mind," said Rupert. "Besides, Marcia wants one
awfully."
Kenneth said no more, seeing his brother was bent upon the matter. The
idea of buying a monkey had been simmering in Rupert's head for days,
owing to the fact of a gipsy lad offering him one for sale in the
street a short while previously. The boy had been obliged to decline
the offer for lack of means, but at the same time he had agreed to call
at the gipsy encampment, which was situated about a mile out of Farley,
as soon as he possibly could, with a view to considering the purchase.
And so it happened that Kenneth's counsel fell on deaf ears, for
directly mid-day lessons were over, Rupert made off for the encampment,
returning home with his coveted possession well before the dinner hour.
"Hullo! What have you got there?"
So said Charlie Grey, one of his classmates, seeing Rupert in the act
of smuggling something which looked like a good-sized cage into an
outhouse.
"It's a monkey for Marcia's birthday," replied Rupert, a bit
breathlessly, for he had been hurrying somewhat; "only I don't want the
Head to know, as I've had to go out of boundaries for it."
The boy, who was Dorothy Grey's brother, was much interested in the
little creature, and pronounced it a bargain. Shortly after this, the
dinner-bell rang. Just before the close of the afternoon's lessons, the
head-master, Dr. Winston by name, came into the room with a very severe
expression on his countenance.
"It has come to my knowledge," said he, "that one of you boys has been
out of boundaries to-day. Snowden,—" here he fixed his spectacled eyes
on Rupert's face—"what have you to say about the matter? Have you, or
have you not, disobeyed me?"
Rupert stood up and, crimson with shame, confessed his fault.
"What made you do such a thing, when you know it's against the rules?"
demanded the Head.
Rupert was silent, feeling inwardly very much disgusted at the turn of
affairs.
The punishment which was meted out to him was pretty severe, and the
boy fumed with anger against Grey, who, he felt sure, had been telling
tales. He tackled his class-mate on the subject as soon as school was
over.
"A pretty thing you are," he said in the hearing of Kenneth, "to split
on me like that. A mean sneak—that's what I call you!"
Grey, who was at heart a well-meaning lad, lost his temper likewise,
the accusation being unjust. The Head, in reality, had discovered
Rupert's disobedience, for himself.
"Sneak yourself!" retorted Grey. "I didn't split on you."
"I wouldn't tell a story about it, if I were you," sneered Rupert. "I'd
keep a little rag of honour."
"Before you crow so loudly about honour, I think you'd better look at
home."
"What do you mean?" cried Rupert hotly.
"I mean this," continued Grey, red with anger; "ask your sister Gertie
who prigged the Arithmetic Key, and hid it in another girl's desk?"
Rupert was utterly taken aback, his own vexation for a moment
forgotten. He seemed to see in a flash, Gertie's white face when the
matter was under discussion, a face whereon—so he fancied now—guilt was
written.
It was Kenneth who first found speech. "What do you mean, Grey?" he
said, his young voice not quite steady.
In a moment Grey's temper seemed to have evaporated, and shame had
taken its place.
"I say, old chap," he stammered, "I'm awfully sorry I said it—I'd have
bitten my tongue out sooner."
"It isn't true, it can't be true," spluttered Rupert, but all the same,
in his heart, he felt sure it was.
"How did you know anything about the affair?" said Kenneth.
"I heard of it from Dorothy," replied Grey, his honest eyes full of
contrition, "and I promised faithfully I'd never tell; but it's out
now—worse luck!"
"Now you've told us so much, you must tell us the rest."
There was quite a note of command in Kenneth's voice.
"Well, it was like this," said Grey unwillingly; "my sister Dorothy
happened to look in the class-room window just at the time your sister
was using the Key. She saw her, too, put the book in Ella Russell's
desk all in a hurry."
"Then why didn't she speak up?" cried Rupert sharply.
"Because, you see, Gertie is her own particular chum, and somehow she
didn't like to."
"I see," said Kenneth, looking as humiliated as though he had been
caught in an act of theft.
"I shall never forgive myself," cried poor Grey, "for being such a mean
cad."
"It was my fault for riling you," generously responded Rupert.
"Then you don't think I split on you?"
"I don't know and I don't care."
With this, Rupert turned on his heels, Kenneth following, both boys
feeling too shamed and heavy-hearted for another word.
CHAPTER VIII
GERTIE'S PENITENCE
GERTIE'S state of mind in the days which followed her act of deception
was miserable beyond description. Again and again her mother's words
seemed to ring in her ears:
"God, who sees the wrong, will one day set it right."
Ah! If only she had not yielded to the temptation.
The faithful voice of Conscience would not let her rest. It spoke to
her in the silences of the night, and upon awaking Gertie seemed to
hear again the still, small voice.
At last the little girl felt that she could bear it no longer, and
determined to confess it all to her mother.
Then, when the moment came, her courage oozed out of her finger-tips,
and she kept her own unhappy secret still locked in her bosom.
Poor Gertie at this time, was more to be pitied than even little Ella
herself. It so happened that on the day when Rupert purchased Marcia's
birthday present, Gertie chanced to come upon Ella in tears, over her
schoolwork, during the dinner hour.
"What's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.
"My head is aching so," replied the child, "I don't feel as if I could
learn anything."
"Let me help you," said Gertie, looking over her shoulder.
Ella's task was a returned lesson in geography.
"Oh if you only would, Gertie, I think I should soon know it."
Gertie then coached the little girl in her somewhat lengthy lesson,
and within the space of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the
difficulties were all surmounted.
"Thank you ever so much, Gertie," cried Ella, when her lesson was
perfectly learnt; "you are kind and good to me."
"Which is more than you deserve," said a girl who, in passing by,
chanced to hear the remark. "I wouldn't have anything to do with a
story-teller like you."
Ella's colour flushed into her cheeks, leaving her afterwards so white
that Gertie was frightened.
"Don't you mind what she says," whispered she; "disagreeable little
cat—that's what I call her!"
With this, Gertie glanced angrily at the retreating figure of the
offender.
But Ella was now sobbing bitterly. "Sometimes I think," said she, "I
can't bear it much longer."
Could Ella but have known it, her trouble was nearly at an end. That
same afternoon in school Gertie was strangely unlike herself. Several
times she glanced in Ella's direction, and to her imagination the child
she had so cruelly wronged, seemed as if she were slowly pining away.
She pictured her breaking down beneath the load of false accusation;
she even went further, and thought of her as cold and still in death.
"Mother and the rest would cover her little coffin with flowers," mused
she with a strangled sob; "but I couldn't put any there, because I gave
her only thorns in her lifetime."
At this juncture, to the surprise of everybody, Gertie Snowden leaned
her head on the desk, and burst into a passion of tears. Ella, for the
moment utterly forgetful of school discipline, went straight out of her
seat and asked her eagerly what was the matter.
"Aren't you well, Gertie?" she cried.
"What is it?"
Never before had Gertie been seen to cry in school and the effect was
electrical.
"Go to your seat, Ella," said Miss Merton in a dignified voice; "I'll
attend to Gertie."
"No, no, let her stay," sobbed Gertie, hysterically; "only Ella can do
me any good."
"Explain yourself," said the governess in bracing tones, for she had a
great objection to a scene.
"I can't bear it any longer, Miss Merton," faltered Gertie unhappily.
"Ella didn't use the Key at all. It was I who took it, and—and hid it
in her desk."
The miserable confession was out at last.
"Why did you wish to injure Ella Russell?" queried Miss Merton in her
coldest tone.
Ella almost hung upon Genie's answer.
"I didn't mean to injure her at all," sobbed the girl. "I put the book
in the nearest desk I could find, because I wanted to hide it in a
hurry."
Ella felt a tremendous throb of relief—relief in being cleared in the
eyes of her school-fellows, and also in knowing that Gertie had not
injured her in malice. Miss Merton was silent for a while, grieved to
the heart for having so misjudged one of her little pupils.
"Speak to me, Miss Merton," at last cried poor Gertie; "say you forgive
me."
"I think," replied the lady gravely, "it is for Ella to say that."
Then Ella, who had remained by Gertie's side, notwithstanding Miss
Merton's command, put her arms around the little girl's neck, and
kissed her before the whole class. At this spontaneous action more than
one pair of eyes grew moist and dim.
"Ella, are you sure you forgive me?" said Gertie, now utterly
repentant. "I've been so horrid to you, and now—"
"Now," interrupted Ella, tears standing in her own eyes, "you're as
brave as a lion."
Little else was said, but of this one thing Gertie Snowden was assured,
namely, Ella's full and complete forgiveness.
So touched was Dorothy Grey by the whole scene, that her slumbering
conscience awoke at last.
Rising to her feet, she said, her cheeks crimson with shame—
"Miss Merton, may I speak a minute?"
"Yes, Dorothy," came the answer; "what have you to say?"
"Please, Gertie isn't the only one who has used a Key for her
arithmetic—I have done so several times."
Poor Miss Merton looked grieved beyond measure.
"Girls, girls," she said, "how could you deceive me so?" The plaintive
note in her voice was rendered more effective by the tears of genuine
distress in her eyes. Then, recovering both her composure and her
dignity, she went on: "I shall not discuss the matter any further now;
the only thing I have to say is just this—in the name of myself, and
the whole school, I wish to apologize to Ella Russell for the false
accusation which has been laid to her charge. Ella,—" here she looked
kindly into her little pupil's face—"you have been brave and patient
under trial, my child, and no one is more truly glad than I am that
your name is cleared of all stain."
A short while after this, school broke up. As it befell that afternoon,
neither Kenneth or Rupert managed to catch the four-thirty train, and,
in consequence of this, Gertie and Marcia reached home first.
Mrs. Snowden was greatly concerned on seeing the two children arrive
with tearstained faces. Marcia, although she was not present when
Gertie confessed her wrongdoing, had heard all about it, and her loving
little heart was sore within her.
"My dear children," asked Mrs. Snowden, "what is the matter? Surely
nothing has happened to the boys!"
"No," said Marcia, "they just missed the train. We could see them
coming into the station as we started off."
"Oh well, there's another about twenty minutes later, so that's not a
serious matter."
As neither of the girls volunteered anything further, Mrs. Snowden
pressed inquiries. Then came out, with sobs and tears, the whole
unhappy story.
The mother's face grew grave and sorrowful as she listened, her
disappointment being almost too deep for words.
"Gertie," said she, at the close, "I would never have believed that a
child of mine could do such a thing, and I trusted you so implicitly.
Poor little Ella, how hard and cruel it has all been for her!"
Gertie sobbed again, her heaviest grief being that she had proved
unworthy of her mother's trust. Oh, the sting of it all Gertie felt
almost in despair.
"Mother," she cried, "it will just break my heart if you don't forgive
me."
Mrs. Snowden's arms were immediately outstretched, and, with her eyes
full of tears, she drew her sorrowful little daughter into her embrace.
"Dear child," said she tremulously, "there is One other of Whom you
must ask forgiveness; you know Whom I mean."
"Yes, mother," sobbed Gertie, "you mean God, don't you? I've been
asking Him in my heart, lots of times, but I don't feel somehow as if
He heard me."
"He always hears, Gertie, be sure of that," was the answer; "and for
your comfort, let me remind you, 'the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth
from all sin.'"
Then followed a quiet talk with mother, which neither Gertie or Marcia
were ever likely to forget.
Not very long afterwards the boys returned home, brimming over with
indignation at Gertie's dishonour.
Before making their way into the dining-room, they deposited the monkey
in the stables, giving the little creature a certain amount of freedom
on her chain.
As soon as they opened the dining-room door, they could see that
something serious was the matter.
CHAPTER IX
A HOMESICK MONKEY
THE traces of tears, which the boys saw on not only their sisters', but
their mother's, cheeks, seemed to take the wind out of their sails, and
to check the angry words which were on the point of utterance.
"Then—then you know without our telling," gasped out Rupert.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Snowden, guessing that in some way the lads had
heard of their sister's disgrace. "Gertie has made open confession, and
now, boys, I have just this to say to you—deal gently with your sister,
and 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'"
With this, Mrs. Snowden left the room, thinking it best for the
children to have it out by themselves.
"How did you know anything about it?" said Marcia wonderingly, for
Gertie's grief had rendered the child, for a while, too utterly
miserable to ask questions.
"Grey told us at school," replied Kenneth. "His sister Dorothy, saw
Gertie hide the book in Ella's desk."
Poor Gertie! Her cup of humiliation was indeed full to the brim.
Somehow, all the storm of reproach which Rupert had intended to launch
forth, died away into calm.
"There, Gertie," said he, "do please stop crying. We've had enough of
that, and things might be worse."
"I don't see that they could," was Gertie's pathetic answer.
"Oh yes, they might be," cried Kenneth. "You've made a clean breast of
it on your own account, and that's something."
"Yes," echoed Rupert, "that's something."
Gertie, after this, made her way upstairs to wash her tearstained face,
having learnt a lesson in truth and honour which she was destined to
remember all her life long.
* * * *
"Oh, Rupert! A monkey, and all for my very own!"
So cried Marcia on her birthday morning, when Rupert presented his
novel gift.
"How I shall love it!" went on the child ecstatically, stroking her
treasure as she would have done a kitten.
But Jenny, as the monkey was named, did not approve. Opening wide her
mouth, she made a hideous grimace, and snarled in a very unpleasant
fashion.
Mrs. Snowden, who was secretly far from pleased at Rupert's choice of a
present, looked on anxiously.
"Don't go too near her, darling," said she. "You must make friends with
her first."
But Marcia did not seem to know how to tear herself away from her new
possession.
Jenny, after receiving sundry pieces of sugar and biscuit from her
little mistress's hands, suddenly took quite a fancy to her, a fact
which pleased Marcia more than a little.
The clouds which had hovered over both the Cottage and the Hall had now
rolled away, and all was peaceful and serene. Mrs. Russell, grieved to
the heart at having doubted her grandchild's word, seemed as though she
could not do enough for her. It was some time, however, before the old
lady could bring herself to forgive Gertie for all the trouble she had
caused, but, nevertheless, after a while, she accorded the little girl
her gracious pardon, to the relief of everybody concerned.
Ella, on the night of Marcia's birthday party, at which, of course,
she was present, was the gayest of the gay. Only one untoward incident
occurred throughout the evening, and that was a terrible upset which
took place in the kitchen.
Somehow or other the monkey got loose. Scrambling out of her little
kennel, which was kept in the scullery for warmth, she managed, by
tugging at her chain, to break one of the links. For a while Jenny did
not realize her freedom, but when she did, great was her delight. She
made her way into the kitchen by leaps and bounds, and finding Mary,
the cook, busy arranging a pile of tarts, she forthwith decided to help
herself.
At first Mary was too startled to do more than stare at the intruder,
then, anger getting the better of her surprise, she gave the monkey a
good sound smack. This, Jenny resented by showing her teeth and looking
very cross. However, the sight of some bananas on a glass dish, soon
soothed her ruffled feelings. She seized hold of one, taking off the
skin with extraordinary rapidity, and before Mary could say her nay,
the banana had disappeared.
The monkey's impudence fairly upset Mary's temper at last, and she
dealt the little creature a succession of slaps, rating her soundly
meanwhile. At this moment Nurse made her appearance in the kitchen,
and was in time to see Jenny spring upon cook's shoulders and commence
tugging at the hair of her head. The woman's shrieks now rent the air,
and Mrs. Snowden, with her four children, came rushing in to see what
was the matter.
Jenny was in a regular monkey-rage. She tossed cook's cap on the
ground, and then held aloft something which looked uncommonly like part
of the unfortunate woman's scalp.
In a moment the truth flashed upon the onlookers: the mass of hair,
which Jenny was examining most minutely, was Mary's false fringe.
Kenneth and Rupert were nearly doubled up with laughter. Not so Marcia,
who could see that cook was really very much upset.
Springing forward, the child called her pet by name. Jenny immediately
dropped her ill-gotten treasure, and sprung down towards Marcia,
evidently expecting to be rewarded by some dainty. Snatching up a piece
of sugar which was on the tea-tray close at hand, she gave it into
Jenny's funny little brown paw, and, by dint of management, the monkey,
which was very young and very small, was soon recaptured.
From that moment Mary hated the little creature with a hatred too deep
for words.
About a week later Marcia discovered her pet lying prone on the floor
of the kennel, looking almost as if she were dying.
It so happened that day, that Mrs. Snowden and the three elder children
had gone for a drive, to visit some friends who lived at a distance.
Nurse also was absent on a day's holiday, so Marcia was feeling rather
desolate. The sight of Jenny, who looked on the verge of a collapse,
completed her woes and she burst into tears.
"Oh, Mary," she cried, "do come and look at Jenny. I believe she's
going to die."
The woman, who was busy with her work, did not even trouble to turn her
head. Under her breath she muttered—
"No such luck—I wish the wretched thing would die!"
"Mary,—" poor Marcia's tone was pitiful in its pleading—"please come
and see what's the matter."
Then Mary came and peeped into the monkey's cosy little abode.
"It's homesick, I expect," she said indifferently; "sometimes monkeys
will pine away in a few hours, for no reason except that."
Mary was drawing very much on her imagination, but how was Marcia to
know this?
"Do you think if she were back with the gipsies she would get all right
again?"
"Yes, in a couple of minutes," responded Mary, who thought if she could
possibly influence Marcia to part with her treasure, she would have
done something.
"Will she die, I wonder, unless she goes back?"
Marcia was now terribly in earnest.
"Yes," said cook cheerfully, "she'll be dead before to-morrow, I
expect."
This decided Marcia. She would take Jenny back to the gipsy encampment,
and that without delay.
But it must be done secretly, for well she knew that neither cook nor
Ellen, the housemaid, would let her go if they knew of it.
Wrapping poor Jenny in a piece of flannel, she laid her in a basket,
and seizing the first opportunity that came, she left the house by a
side door and started off on her way. By the time she had reached Rose
Cottage, her arms began to ache terribly. As it chanced, Ella was in
the garden planting some primrose roots.
"Marcia, whatever have you got there?" she asked, catching sight of the
big basket. "It's my monkey, and she's—she's dying," replied Marcia
with a sobbing catch in her voice. "Mary says she's homesick, so I'm
taking her back."
"But you can't carry her all that way by yourself," said Ella.
"I shall take the train if I can," was Marcia's answer. Then, a sudden
thought striking the little girl, she added: "Oh, Ella, couldn't you
come with me? Then we could carry poor Jenny between us."
But Ella shook her head. "I promised Grannie not to leave the house
while Molly was out," she said. "She's gone shopping, and Grannie is in
London for the day. I've got to look after the fire, you see; that's
how it is."
"But your Grannie wouldn't mind if she knew about poor Jenny," pleaded
Marcia. "She'll die if I can't get her home, and I don't believe I can
do it by myself."
The tears in Marcia's eyes, appealed to Ella's tender little heart, and
she began to waver.
"I don't like breaking my promise to Grannie," she said; "but p'raps
she wouldn't mind just this once."
"Then you'll come?" This very eagerly.
"Yes, wait a minute while I put on my jacket."
CHAPTER X
FIRE!
A FEW minutes later the two little girls set off on their mission,
carrying between them the homesick monkey.
The train journey to Farley was soon accomplished. One was just about
to start, and the railway official, recognizing the children as two
little season-ticket holders, allowed them to pass. Then came the walk
to the gipsy encampment, which seemed very long and wearisome. They had
no difficulty in finding the way, as Marcia already knew, from Rupert's
description, whereabouts the encampment was situated. Marcia, in her
anxiety about poor Jenny, forgot to be frightened as she approached the
rough-looking men and women who were round about the caravans.
Taking the basket from Ella, who had carried it nearly all the way, she
went up to the man who stood nearest the field gate.
"Hullo! Little missie," said he; "what have you got there, I should
like to know?"
"It's Jenny," replied Marcia; "and I've brought her back 'cause she's
homesick."
For a moment the man looked puzzled. Then, uncovering the little
creature, it suddenly dawned upon him that it was the monkey which his
son had sold to a young gentleman a short while previously.
"Homesick!" repeated the gipsy. Then, the funny side striking him, he
burst into a roar of laughter. By this time several of the others had
drawn near.
"Please, I don't know why you laugh," said Marcia, with a little gasp
suggestive of tears; "she's dying!"
"Dying cos she's homesick!" roared the man. "Well, I'm blowed!"
Marcia began to think the gipsy man very strange and rough.
Presently the boy, of whom Rupert had bought the monkey, came up, and
the matter being explained to him he, too, bubbled over with amusement.
"You want to get rid of her, little missie, do you?" he asked with a
broad grin, thinking that he saw his way to make profit out of Jenny,
by nursing her up and selling her again to another purchaser.
"Yes," said Marcia. "She'll die if I keep her, I'm afraid."
"Mayhap she will," replied the boy. "Just you wait a minute, and I'll
see if I can't do something to cure her homesick feelings."
"It's a cold she's got, ain't it, Bill?" asked the elder man under his
voice.
"Yes. I'll soon give her a little drop as 'll perk her up."
In a few minutes the boy returned to the waiting children. The mixture
he had given poor Jenny had certainly revived her.
"You were right, little missie," he said. "The monkey was homesick as
could be. She's chirpin' up wonderful now she's amongst us all again.
We shall soon have her a-singing of 'Home, sweet Home.'"
As soon as the children had taken their departure, Bill gave his father
a knowing wink.
"Bless yer," said he, "that there monkey 'll be as right as a trivet in
a day or two. Homesick! He! He! It's the best joke I've heard for many
a long day!"
The return journey did not seem nearly so wearisome to the two
children, although Marcia's heart was heavy within her for the loss of
her little pet. They made their way first to Farley station, in hopes
of catching a train. This, they were fortunate enough to do.
A terrible shock, however, awaited the two little girls shortly after
arriving at Berryland. In turning a corner of the road which led to the
Hall, they discovered that Rose Cottage was in flames!
Ella's heart seemed to stand still within her for very terror. She
remembered as in a flash, that Molly had left some clothes to air
around the fire, and had bidden her keep guard. These, no doubt,
thought the unhappy little girl, had caught fire, owing to her want
of attention, and the flames, not being stayed in any way, had spread
until the cottage was hopelessly involved.
Alas! What Ella imagined had come to pass.
The children then ran as fast as their legs could carry them towards
the scene, where a large crowd had already assembled. The fire engine,
too, was at work, but the flames had too great a hold for it to be of
any real use. As soon as Ella approached the spot, she was espied by
Molly, who, with a white, frightened face, was watching near.
"Oh, Miss Ella," cried the girl, "thank goodness you're safe and sound!
Your Grannie's half wild about you. She thinks as how you're all burnt
up to a cinder in the fire."
"Where is Grannie?" asked Ella half-distractedly. "I thought she was in
London."
"She came back the same time as I did from my shopping, and we found
the house alight."
Poor Grannie! Ella had indeed much to answer for that afternoon. In
her anxiety to help little Marcia, she had forgotten all about Molly's
behests concerning the linen.
Mrs. Russell was amongst the crowd, looking terribly ill with the shock
she had sustained. In her eyes, too, was an expression of fear, which
as soon as she caught sight of Ella died away.
"Thank God—thank God, you are safe, child!" ejaculated the old lady.
Then, the relief being almost more than she knew how to bear, she
swayed forwards in a fainting condition. But for the stalwart arm of a
policeman, Mrs. Russell would have been in a sorry plight.
"Hi, there!" shouted the constable to a man in a wagon near by. "Take
this 'ere lady up to the Hall. She ain't fit to be in a crowd like
this."
The man willingly agreed, and between them, poor Mrs. Russell
was lifted into the wagon and taken to the Hall, Ella and Marcia
accompanying her.
A short while later, Mrs. Snowden and the children returned from their
drive. Great, indeed, was their consternation on beholding the burning
cottage, and they at once made eager inquiries concerning its inmates.
Their anxiety being relieved as to their whereabouts, Mrs. Snowden bade
the coachman drive on home without delay.
That night Mrs. Russell and Ella slept at the Hall; in fact, until
suitable lodgings were found for them, they remained there as welcome
guests.
It was not until a couple of days after the disaster that Mrs. Russell
was well enough to receive explanations from Ella as to how it was, she
had disobeyed orders. Then the child came in for her full measure of
reproach. It was in vain that Mrs. Snowden, who at heart was thoroughly
glad to get rid of the monkey, pleaded her cause. Nothing she could say
or do, had any power to allay the old lady's displeasure.
"No," she said sternly. "Ella has disobeyed me, and proved unworthy of
my trust. Therefore she must suffer for it."
Poor Ella, they were indeed dark days for her just then.
Lodgings were found at last, and thither, when arrangements were all
completed, Mrs. Russell and Ella removed.
Molly, who had found a situation in the neighbourhood without the least
difficulty, came to see her old mistress before taking up her new
duties.
"There's one thing, mum, I ought to have told you," said she, "and that
is, a letter came from South Africa while you were in London the other
day. I forgot to say anything about it to Miss Ella, but put it away
safely just inside your work-basket."
"Then you mean to say it was destroyed in the fire, Molly?" said Mrs.
Russell, looking much concerned.
"Yes, mum; worse luck, that's what I mean," replied the girl; "but
perhaps there wasn't much in it," she added, with the endeavour to
bestow a word of consolation.
But her well-meant efforts were wasted. Both Mrs. Russell and Ella were
terribly distressed that so precious a missive should have been burnt
up in the flames.
Ah! Had they known the contents of that letter, their hearts, instead
of being heavy as lead, would have leapt for joy.
"Have you heard the news, mum, about Sir James Crofton?" went on Molly,
who was in a chatty frame of mind.
"No, what is it?" asked Mrs. Russell.
"He's gone and died suddenly of heart disease."
Mrs. Russell was greatly shocked, for the baronet's generosity in the
matter of Ella's education had given him a high place in her estimation.
What about the child's school bills now? Ah! That was the question. Sir
James Crofton had paid one term in advance, so until April all was well.
After that, so far as Mrs. Russell could see, there remained only the
village-school for her grandchild, and the thought was pain and grief
to her. She was feeling far too weak and ailing to think of teaching
the little girl herself; in fact, it almost seemed to Ella, as she
looked at the withered old face, as if her Grannie were slowly fading
away.
CHAPTER XI
ELLA'S BURDENS
"WELL, Ella, and how is your Grannie to-day?"
"She doesn't feel very well, Mrs. Snowden, thank you," replied the
little girl, to her morning visitor. "She seems to be fretting her
heart out for father to come home."
Ella had been obliged to stay away from school for several days to
nurse her grandmother, who seemed suddenly to have grown very feeble.
Mrs. Snowden called to see her constantly, and many were the dainties
which found their way from the Hall to the humble lodgings where Mrs.
Russell and Ella had now taken up their abode.
"There is one thing I want to ask you, Ella dear," said Mrs. Snowden
next, and her voice was very sweet and tender as she spoke. "Has your
Grannie forgiven you yet?"
"No, I—I don't think so." The answer came out with a long-drawn sob.
"Poor little girl! I'm so sorry," said the lady, who knew that Ella's
penitence for her disobedience was very deep and real. "But for Marcia
and her monkey this sad business would never have happened," she went
on. "You're a brave little maid, Ella, and I feel sure it will all come
right by and by."
"Oh, I'm not brave a bit," cried the child despondingly; "sometimes I
feel so cross and unhappy. I don't know what father will think of me
when he comes home."
"Ella," said Mrs. Snowden, "I am going to tell you a little story, or
legend, which perhaps may help you over your troubles a bit. Would you
like to hear it?"
Ella's face brightened. Somehow Mrs. Snowden's visits always did her
good.
"Yes, very much," she said earnestly.
"Well, so far as I can remember, the legend runs thus—
"'In the creation of the world, when God made the birds, they had no
wings wherewith to fly. Moreover, He bade them each carry two burdens,
which were big or little, according to the size of the birds. These
were placed on the ground beside them. Obedient to their Creator's
voice, the feathered creatures took the burdens in their beaks and laid
them across their shoulders. For a little while the weight seemed heavy
to be borne. Then, on a sudden, a wonderful thing happened. The burdens
grew firmly fixed to the bearers, and became wings. So, instead of the
birds carrying their load, their load carried them.'
"And that, dear child, is what may happen to each one of us, if we
patiently bear the burden our dear God puts upon us. Instead of
weighing us down to earth, it will lift us nearer to His beautiful
bright heaven above."
Ella's eyes were full of tears at the close of the little story.
"It's a lovely tale," said she, "and I'll just try and see if I can't
be like the birds."
So successful was little Ella in her endeavours, that when Mrs. Snowden
called next, she was greeted by a sunshiny face and the brightest of
welcomes.
"Grannie is ever so much better this morning," said she. "I tried to be
patient and good, and now she's quite forgiven me. Oh, I'm so happy, I
don't know what to do with myself."
Mrs. Snowden smiled. "Then I'll see if I can't do something with you,"
she said mysteriously. "I've got a little plan I want to talk over with
your Grannie this morning, so you can just run out into the sunshine
for a while. Oh, there's one thing I must tell you," went on the lady.
"Dr. Carteret is coming down soon again to see us. His ship is to be
stationed in English waters for a time, so I dare say we shall often
see him now."
Ella clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how I shall love to see him
again," she cried, her eyes shining with pleasure.
"You shall see him if you are a good girl," was the reply. "Now I must
go and talk to Grannie, as my time is rather short this morning."
About a quarter of an hour later Mrs. Snowden returned to the child,
who was awaiting her coming in the garden.
"Now I can tell you my plans, Ella," said she; "we are going to have a
birthday party at the Hall in your honour."
"What, next Saturday week!" exclaimed Ella in joyful surprise.
"Yes, I believe that is the right day," said Mrs. Snowden with a
twinkle of fun in her eyes. "I have been talking to your Grannie, and
she has promised to come and spend that week-end at the Hall—of course,
you are to come too. I have sent Dr. Carteret also an invitation."
Ella nearly gasped with the pleasure of it all, such a prospect seemed
to take away her breath.
The days after this flew as on wings, and to add to Ella's happiness,
her Grannie's health was steadily making progress in the right
direction.
* * * *
"I beg your pardon!"
So said Dr. Carteret courteously as, coming out of a bookseller's shop
one evening, where, as a matter of fact, he had been buying a book for
little "Cinderella's" birthday, he ran full tilt upon a gentleman who
was walking along the busy London street. "Why!—" Here the doctor's
voice changed to one of intense surprise—"Russell, it is never you?"
"Yes, old chap, it is," was the pleased reply. "Who'd have thought of
coming upon you like this?"
"Well, you are certainly the last person I should have expected to see.
Here, come along to my club; it's close by. I must get to the bottom of
this sudden appearance of yours."
In the conversation which shortly after took place, the doctor learnt
one important fact, namely, that Gordon Russell was poor no longer, a
relative in South Africa, in whose employment he had been, having died
and left him a fortune.
"But, my dear fellow, why didn't you write home and tell your people
about it?" asked Dr. Carteret in a puzzled voice.
"Oh, they know all about it," said Mr. Russell confidently. "I wrote to
my mother and said I should be home nearly as soon as my letter."
Dr. Carteret then proceeded to tell him how completely in ignorance,
both Mrs. Russell and Ella were of his movements. He told of the fire
at Rose Cottage, and also of the burnt letter, for Mrs. Snowden had
kept him well posted up in Berryland news.
"I'll wire to them at once, then," said Mr. Russell, rising from his
chair.
"No, you won't, old chap," replied the doctor very decidedly; "that is,
if I have any power to prevent it. Mrs. Russell and Ella will be at the
Hall on Saturday; come down with me and join them there. We'll give
them a bit of a surprise."
And this, after a few minutes' persuasion, Mr. Russell agreed to do.
CHAPTER XII
CINDERELLA'S PRINCE
"I COULDN'T dream of letting you go out, Ella, with a cold like this on
your chest. I shall have you laid up with pneumonia if I do."
It was the evening before Ella's birthday party, and somehow or
other, the child had contracted a chill, much to the anxiety of her
grandmother.
"Oh, Grannie!" Ella's voice had positively a wail in it.
"No, my dear," went on Mrs. Russell; "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but
your health is more important than a birthday party."
The child's disappointment was almost too deep for words. Such a
calamity as not being able to go to her party had never occurred to her.
"Grannie, my cold is nothing," she said. "It'll break my heart if you
don't let me go."
But Grannie was absolutely unyielding. "No, Ella, I'm responsible for
you to your father, and were I to neglect your health, I don't know
what he would say."
Mrs. Russell, as a matter of fact, was wont to be over-anxious at
times, and despite all Ella's protestations, she was packed off early
to bed. Here she was bidden to drink some hot gruel, after which a
steaming poultice was placed on her chest. That night the child cried
herself to sleep, and in consequence looked both tired and heavy-eyed
in the morning. Nevertheless, her cold was decidedly better, and Mrs.
Russell almost regretted the note which she had dispatched to the Hall
on the previous evening.
The consternation her missive caused, was beyond words, Rupert
expressing his opinion of Mrs. Russell in no very complimentary phrases.
Mrs. Snowden did not say much, for hope was still in her heart.
She had no intention of giving up her project easily, and so, directly
after lunch that morning, she ordered the carriage to be brought round,
with a foot-warmer and plenty of rugs. The lady then started off
herself to Mrs. Russell's lodgings, bent on bringing back with her,
both Ella and her grandmother to the Hall. And, after earnest pleading
be it said, she won her way.
The delight of the Snowden children at the success of their mother's
mission was beyond words, and this one serious drawback to their
happiness being removed, all went merry as a marriage bell.
* * * *
"You, Kenneth, have got to be the Prince, and in five minutes' time you
must come in with the slipper to fit on Cinderella's foot. We'll have a
jolly big one, for the fun of the thing!"
"All right. Have you got one that will do?"
"Yes,—" it was clever Rupert who was organizing the games for the
evening—"we've got an old one of Nurse's. It will hold both Ella's
feet, and there 'll still be lodgings to let."
Kenneth laughed. The fun was at its height, and charades were in full
progress, much to the amusement of the little assembled guests.
The word chosen for the charade was "Cinderella," and the two first
parts had already been enacted.
Now it only remained for the final scene, which was the trying on of
the slipper by the Prince.
Kenneth, during the five minutes before his presence was required,
ran downstairs to see whether Uncle Phil had yet made his appearance.
He wended his way to the dining-room, where he heard voices. Here a
surprise awaited him, a surprise so delightful that it nearly took his
breath away. Not only did he find his mother, Mrs. Russell and Uncle
Phil in the room, but a tall, fine-looking stranger also, whose face
somehow seemed slightly familiar to the lad.
"Hullo! Ken, my boy," said Dr. Carteret, stretching out his hand. "Here
I am, you see—'better late than never!'"
The warmth of Kenneth's greeting was enough to satisfy the most
exacting of uncles.
"I'm awf'ly glad to see you, Uncle Phil," said he; "but what made you
so late?"
"Well, we just managed to miss our train at Victoria, old chap. Now,
Ken,—" this as the boy turned questioningly towards the stranger—"I
want you to guess who it is I've brought home with me."
Kenneth looked puzzled. That something unusual had happened he felt
sure, for Mrs. Russell's eyes were shining with happy tears, and his
mother's face was brimful of pleasure.
Then, in a flash, it came to him! He had seen more than once, the
photograph of Ella's father, and here—yes, there was no doubt at all in
his mind now—was Gordon Russell in very truth.
"I know," cried he delightedly; "Cinderella's father has come home at
last!"
"Right, my boy," said Uncle Phil; "clever chap; now come and be
introduced properly."
Kenneth was so pleased at the turn of affairs that he scarcely knew
whether he was standing on his head or his heels; but presently he
recovered himself sufficiently to be able to make a suggestion.
After shaking hands with Mr. Russell, he turned to his mother, his eyes
bright with a splendid idea, which had just come into his mind.
"Mother," said he, "what fun it would be to surprise Cinderella! She
thinks I'm coming in presently to fit on her slipper. Couldn't Mr.
Russell do it instead of me? Just let me manage it all, may I, mother?"
And Kenneth had his way.
A few minutes later the whole party made its way towards the nursery
door. Kenneth, however, was the only one to enter.
"Cinderella," said he to the waiting Princess, for Kenneth was a few
minutes behind his time, "just shut your eyes for a minute. Shut them
tight, mind you!"
"Stupid!" grumbled Rupert. "That isn't in the charade."
But Kenneth insisted, and the little Princess obediently did as she was
bid.
Then, motioning every one to be silent, Kenneth beckoned those outside
the nursery to come in. He next gave the slipper into Mr. Russell's
hand, his heart going pit-a-pat as he waited to see the issue of events.
An absolute stillness reigned, for here was something quite unexpected.
But for Kenneth's warning finger, Uncle Phil's arrival would have been
greeted with shouts of delight; as it was, the boy's scheme was being
carried out to perfection.
A very sweet little maid, indeed, looked "Cinderella," as she sat there
with fast-closed eyes, waiting the coming of the Prince.
The roomy slipper was soon placed on the little foot, and at Kenneth's
word of command the child opened her eyes.
A look of puzzled wonder came into the little face, and then a cry of
such gladness burst from her lips, that more than one pair of eyes grew
suddenly tear-filled.
"Father! Father!" cried she. "Is it really—really you?"
"Yes, little one, there's not a doubt about it," was the reply, and
hereupon the Prince took "Cinderella" into his loving arms and kissed
her fondly.
* * * *
And so rolled away the clouds of poverty and care from little Ella
Russell's pathway—
"And over meadowland and hill,
The birds trilled forth their songs again,
And as in blessing from the skies,
God sent His 'shining after rain.'"
THE END
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