The Children of Wilton Chase. Meade L. T.

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СКАЧАТЬ child, useful enough, and obliging enough, but no one thanked her, or wondered if they should miss her if she were not in the house.

      She was leaving the room this morning, when Ermengarde stirred and opened her eyes.

      "Is that you, Maggie? oh, you're dressed. Don't go for a minute, I want to speak to you."

      Marjorie closed the door which she had half opened, and went and stood by Ermengarde's bed.

      "Well?" she said.

      "I'm sleepy; it's frightfully early. If I talk to you, I'll get wide-awake. Can't you just wait in the room for a little?"

      "I'm going into the garden, and I'll come back again, Ermie. Eric may be up, and he has promised to show me Shark. I don't believe he has got six rows of teeth."

      "How you chatter, Maggie! Now I'm quite woke up. I'll have a headache most likely this afternoon. I generally do when my first sleep is disturbed."

      "You have had a very long first sleep," said Marjorie. "It's half-past six o'clock."

      "Is it? It's all the same to me what the time is; I'm woke up now, and it's your fault. You might be considerate, Maggie; you're the most thoughtless child. If you had sat quietly by my bedside I wouldn't be wide-awake now."

      "Well, what can I do for you now that you are awake, Ermie?" asked Marjorie. "Please tell me quickly, for I can't keep Eric waiting."

      "Oh, it will be all Eric with you from this out. I might have guessed that."

      "No, it won't. It will be all everybody. Now, what am I to do for you?"

      Ermengarde laughed.

      "Maggie, don't put on that solemn face. Of course you are a good little thing. Now listen. Last night Basil and I made a plan."

      "O Ermie! Weren't you in luck that Miss Nelson never found out about your wickedness yesterday?"

      "My wickedness?"

      Ermengarde colored brightly.

      "Don't you remember, Ermie? Going in the carriage when Miss Nelson told you not. Of course you were dreadfully wicked, but I'm glad you were not found out. Now, what's the plan?"

      "You're so rude and frank, Maggie. It's a horrid habit you have. I had forgotten all about that drive. And now you remind me and spoil my pleasure. You are a tactless creature!"

      "Never mind about me. What's the plan?"

      "It's this. Dear, I hope the day is fine!"

      "Yes, Ermie, it's a lovely day."

      "Well, Basil thinks – are you sure the sky is not cloudy, Mag?"

      "No, perfect, not a flake anywhere; go on, Ermie."

      "Jolly! Basil thinks we ought to have a whole holiday to-day – we girls, I mean. He says we might have a picnic, and go up the lake, and land and dine on Pearl Island."

      "Lovely!" said Marjorie, clasping her hands. "Only Miss Nelson said – "

      "That's just it, you always will think first of Miss Nelson."

      "Ermie, you said I thought first of Eric a minute ago."

      "That's another of your horrid habits, casting one's words up to one."

      Marjorie clasped her hands in front of her, and closed her lips. Her round face looked stubborn.

      "I'm sure Eric is in the garden," she said.

      "I'll let you go in a minute, you impatient child. Of course Miss Nelson wants us to have lessons, but of course father is the person we must really obey. I know father is going to London to-day, and he will leave by the early train. And what I want you to do is this, Maggie; to wait about for father, and catch him, and get him to consent to give us a holiday to-day. If he says so, of course Miss Nelson has got to submit."

      "All right," said Marjorie. "I don't mind a bit. Eric and I can watch for the carriage, and perhaps Macnab will let us drive round to the house. Then we'll do our best to get father to consent."

      She did not wait to exchange any more words with her sister, but dashed out of the room.

      At eight o'clock the schoolroom party assembled for breakfast. Miss Nelson had decided not to say anything to Ermengarde until the meal was over. Her salutation of the little girl was scarcely more cold than usual, and Ermie sat down to the breakfast-table without the least idea that her delinquency of the day before had been discovered.

      Marjorie was the late one on this occasion. She rushed into the room with her hair un-plaited and her cheeks glowing.

      "A holiday! a holiday!" she cried. "Father has asked you to give us a holiday, please, Miss Nelson, in honor of the boys. A lovely whole holiday! Father has gone to London, but he scribbled you a message on this card. Here it is! You'll say yes, won't you, Miss Nelson? and oh, it is such a lovely day!"

      "Get your hair plaited properly, Marjorie, and come and sit down to breakfast," said her governess. She received Mr. Wilton's card without comment.

      Ermengarde and Basil, however, exchanged delighted glances, and Basil, bending forward in that courteous way which always won the heart of the governess, said, "You will let us all have the holiday together, as my father wishes it?"

      "You can go, of course, Basil," replied Miss Nelson.

      She laid a stress on the word "you," but neither Basil nor Ermengarde noticed it. They began to chat together over the delights of the day which lay before them. The holiday spirit was caught up by the younger children, and soon an uproar and excitement of delight arose, which even Miss Nelson could not stem.

      In the midst of the general hubbub, she touched Ermengarde on her shoulder.

      "I want a word with you, my dear. Come with me."

      In some astonishment Ermengarde rose to comply. The governess took her into her own little room.

      "Shut the door," she said.

      She sat down herself, and Ermengarde stood before her. Her face was pale, her voice shook.

      "Ermengarde, will you now repeat your imposition poem."

      "Casabianca," said Ermengarde. She had felt a vague sense of uneasiness at Miss Nelson's manner. Now her brow cleared. She recited the whole poem with scarcely a mistake, and with some show of feeling.

      "You have said it well," said the governess. "It relates the extraordinary exploit of a noble-hearted child. I grieve to say there are few such in the world. May I ask you when you learned this poem, Ermengarde?"

      "Yesterday – " began Ermengarde.

      "No, don't go on. I will save you, I must save you, poor child, from yourself. You would tell another lie. You would deceive again. Ermie, I have loved you. I – I – have suffered for you."

      "I don't know what you mean," said Ermengarde, in a voice which shook with anger. "Am I to be – are dreadful things to be said of me? Why do you accuse me of telling lies? Why?"

      "No more, my dear pupil. For, notwithstanding your refractory and rebellious state, you are still СКАЧАТЬ