am sorry to hear it,” said Miss Earle. “Well, any way, let us try to have a cheerful report waiting for her, as far as we are concerned.”
And the rest of the walk passed in a most pleasant way.
But, alas! the children’s dinner, which the two girls had with their governess downstairs, was a cause of irritation, for, without being “greedy,” I am afraid I must allow that they were very “dainty,” which is almost as bad.
“I hate cutlets done like this,” said Chrissie. “They’re so dry. I like them with that nice reddy sauce.”
“Tomatoes,” said Leila. “So do I. And I don’t see why we should have plain potatoes, instead of mashed or browned, just because Mummy’s away.”
She pushed her plate from her.
“Leila,” said Miss Earle sternly, “go on with your dinner,” and as there was nothing else to eat, and Leila was hungry, she had to do so.
Then came the next course.
“Apple pudding! I hate cooked apples!” exclaimed Christabel. “Is there no cream, Lewis?”
No – there was no cream.
“What a hateful dinner,” both children complained, and as they saw Miss Earle about to speak, Chrissie interrupted her.
“I know what you’re going to say – all that about poor children who have nothing to eat, and that we should be thankful to have anything. But I’ve heard it hundreds of times, and I don’t see why we should have nasty things, all the same. It doesn’t make it any better for the poor children.”
“If your food were not nice, perhaps I would agree with you, but as things are, I cannot,” said Miss Earle.
But eat her apple pudding Chrissie would not, and as she had really not had enough dinner for a strong, healthy child as she was, her temper was by no means at its best for afternoon lessons, and Miss Earle walked home, feeling sadly discouraged.
“I must tell Mrs Fortescue that I’m making no way with them,” she thought. “Things have gone too far. I do not see how one is to get any lasting impression on them. And yet, I am so sorry to disappoint their mother! I wonder if she is really in trouble? What would those children do if actual misfortunes came over them?”
A sort of presentiment, caused greatly, no doubt, by her sincere interest in her pupils, and anxiety about them, seemed to add to her depression.
“I wish I had heard what Roland said,” she thought. “He is a good sort of boy. Perhaps he was only trying to make the girls more considerate for their mother just now.”
Chapter Three
Breaking Bad News
The day I have described was a Thursday, and on Monday the children’s mother did return, as she had said. Nothing very particular had happened during the last day or two. Leila and Chrissie had gone on much as usual, sometimes good-tempered and pleasant – so long, that is to say, as there was nothing to ruffle or annoy them – but always thoughtless and heedless, quite unconcerned as to the comfort of those about them, thinking of nothing but their own wishes and amusement.
Still, on the whole, both the schoolroom and the nursery had been fairly peaceful. Miss Earle had found less fault than she might have done; she even let some small misdemeanours pass as if unnoticed, but she was grave and rather silent.
“I hope she’s beginning to find out that it’s no use nagging at us,” said Chrissie, though “nagging” had never been Miss Earle’s way; but as to this, Leila seemed doubtful.
“I don’t know. I think there’s something the matter with her,” she replied. And so there was; the poor girl – for she was still a girl in spite of her learning and cleverness – was making up her mind that she was not the right person for her present pupils.
“Perhaps an older governess would manage them better,” she thought. “I must speak to Mrs Fortescue when she returns,” and in the meantime it seemed wiser to avoid “scenes.”
And Nurse, too, on her side, had been extra patient – scarcely interfering in the squabbles and noisy discussions which every day was sure to bring. She almost left off begging Leila and Christabel to try to be less careless and untidy; she only “scolded,” as they called it, once or twice, when the inkstand was overturned on Leila’s new red serge frock, and when Christabel wilfully cut a quarter of a yard off her best sash to make an “eiderdown” for the doll-house bed.
“There’s something the matter with Nurse too,” said Chrissie. “She’s as gloomy as an owl.”
“Poor Nurse, she’s had bad news,” said Jasper. “Her was cryin’ all by herself last night. I sawed her, and I kissed her, and she hugged me. I was so sorry for her.”
“Rubbish,” exclaimed Chrissie; “you’re so silly, Japs. I hate people in low spirits. It’s so gloomy, and when Mummy comes back, I suppose we’ll have to look rather gloomy too for a bit. Roland says it would be only decent because of Uncle Percy. I call it humbug.”
But when “Mummy” did arrive, there was no need for any “seeming,” for as soon as her little daughters saw her poor face they were both startled and shocked and really grieved; even the few days, less than a week, that she had been away from them had changed her so sadly. And as I have already said, neither Leila nor Christabel was actually hard-hearted or wanting in affection down at the bottom of her heart.
It was all thoughtlessness and selfishness – selfishness truly not known by themselves – that were the cause of their being so troublesome, so disappointing, so very far from what they should have been, in so many ways.
“Mummy,” exclaimed Chrissie, always the first to notice things, “Mummy, have you been ill? Leila, don’t you see how pale poor Mummy is, you stupid thing?”
Their mother glanced up beseechingly. She was kissing Jasper over and over again, as he clung to her, though with tears in her eyes.
“Dears,” she said, “my head is aching terribly. No, Chrissie, I have not been actually ill, but I have not been able to sleep, and scarcely to eat, since I left you. And poor Daddy, too – when I have taken off my things and rested a little, I will send for you and tell you – ” her voice broke.
“I wish you’d tell us now,” said hasty Christabel. “If it’s anything horrid, it’s worse to have to wait.”
But Leila was thoroughly roused out of her dreams for once, by this time.
“Be quiet, Chrissie. It’s very selfish of you, when Mummy is so tired. I wonder – ” and she glanced round the schoolroom, where they all were – Miss Earle having left – “I wonder if – ” but before she could finish her sentence, Jasper, who had run off suddenly, made his appearance again, very solemn and important, as he was carefully carrying a cup of nice steaming tea.
“Ours was just ready,” he said. “I knew it was, and Nurse brought it to the door for me. Her wants you to take it while it’s quite hot.”
Mrs Fortescue took the cup from the kind little hands and drank it gladly.
“Thank you, darling,” she said, “that has done me good;” but Leila looked
