The Girls of St. Wode's. Meade L. T.

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СКАЧАТЬ corner seats. A woman with a fretful baby on her knee sat near one.

      “How tired you must be!” said this girl. “Do let me hold your baby for a little.”

      As she spoke all the other passengers turned and stared at her. She was a tall, slim, very plainly-dressed girl; her dark-blue serge dress lacked freshness, her sailor hat was decidedly the worse for wear, and her gloves had been mended in many places. The woman whom the girl addressed, glancing first at the shabby clothes, then at the kind, bright, handsome young face, decided that the girl was not very much above herself in the social scale, and agreed to let her hold her baby for a bit.

      A charming color came into the girl’s face as she received the small atom of humanity on her knee. She held the baby tenderly; her young arms were strong, the little one nestled down comfortably, and the mother gave her a glance of admiration.

      “Why, I do declare, my dear,” she exclaimed, “one would think you had half-a-dozen of your own, you handle the little mite that knowingly!”

      “Oh, it is because I love children,” replied the girl. “It is kind of you to let me hold your little one. Look, Marjorie, do look; hasn’t it pretty little fingers; and oh, do see its tiny toes!”

      Another tall girl bent forward and began to examine the baby’s feet. They were pink and very small; the girl stretched out her palm, and the other girl placed the little foot upon it.

      “You are not to take the little dear from me,” said the first girl.

      “Oh, my dear Eileen, I would not deprive you of the little treasure for the world,” was the quick reply. “I know by your face you are in the seventh heaven.”

      “I am, I am,” replied the girl addressed as Eileen. “Oh, what a darling! It is so delicious, Marjorie, when it nestles up against you.”

      The train slackened speed, drew up at a great station, and the woman, the baby, and most of the other passengers got out. The three girls now found themselves alone in the carriage. The girl at the distant window, the smallest of the three, turned and eagerly faced her companions.

      “Well, Eileen,” she began – she shook her finger in the face of the bright, tall girl as she spoke – “if you begin that sort of thing just on the very day when you have left school, if you will insist on wearing those disgracefully shabby clothes, going third-class and taking us with you, when your mother sends us money to travel first, and finally adopting strange babies who happen to be traveling in the same carriage, you will certainly break Aunt Helen’s heart.”

      Eileen shrugged her shoulders.

      “Not at all,” she answered. “Mother may not like it at first, but she will soon learn to know once for all that Marjorie and I mean to follow our own bent. Marjorie and I do not intend to wear gay clothes, because we consider finery a sheer waste of money; but as to you, Lettie, it is the greatest pity you are not mother’s own daughter. How exquisitely neat, how smart, you look!”

      “Not smart at all, only suitably dressed,” replied Letitia, bridling a little.

      She was wearing a very correct traveling costume of dark gray; her bright wavy hair was arranged in the latest and most fashionable manner; little curls and bits of fluffy downy brightness would get out of their confinement and dance round her small, soft face. She was wearing the universal coat and skirt; but a light-blue cambric shirt and a white sailor hat with a broad white ribbon gave distinction to her costume. Her gloves were also white, and her little shoes had smart bows and buckles.

      “My dress is only suitable,” she repeated. “Now, your dress, Eileen, is not suitable; nor is yours, Marjorie. To wear what is not suitable is the height of vulgarity.”

      “Oh, do listen to her,” said Marjorie, bursting into a hearty laugh. “She is trying to scare us with those old bogy words, as if we minded. Think what it all means, Lettie, before you condemn us so severely. Mother’s money is safe in my purse instead of on my person, and the difference between third and first class means a considerable addition also to my nice, heavy little purse. Who knows in what class we are coming up to town? Who cares to know? Mother is certain not to meet us at King’s Cross, and old Fowler will not see what class we alight from.”

      “I am glad Aunt Helen has secured Fowler as her coachman,” said Letitia. “But, all the same,” she added hastily, “you both do look disgracefully shabby.”

      “Well, Lettie,” said Marjorie, “I don’t feel shabby, which is the main thing. What can be the matter with this serviceable dress? It is very strong and won’t tear, and is the sort which does not crumple much.”

      “It is all over grease,” replied Letitia; “spots of grease here, there, and everywhere. And, oh, your gloves – there is absolutely a hole in the thumb of the one on your left hand. It is too disgraceful!”

      “My gloves suit my character,” replied Marjorie.

      She looked at her sister; they both sat back in their seats and indulged in hearty girlish laughter. They were very like one another; the same dark, handsome eyes beamed out of each face, the same good arched brows, the same hair, thick and straight, very dark in color, but cropped to within an inch of their respective heads. They had clear, good complexions. Plenty of color brightened each pair of healthy cheeks – their lips were beautifully formed and they had snow-white pearly teeth. And yet these two girls, partly because of their dress, were not looked at twice during that journey, whereas Letitia was the cynosure of many admiring eyes.

      CHAPTER III – THE TORN DRESS

      King’s Cross was reached without adventure, and a moment later Marjorie was eagerly talking to old Fowler the coachman.

      “How are you, Fowler? I am so glad to see you again,” she cried. She held out her hand to the old coachman as she spoke.

      “I am quite well, I thank you, miss,” he replied. He could not help smiling into the beaming dark eyes, and could not help thinking, notwithstanding a certain amount of chagrin, how nice it was to have Miss Marjorie back from school.

      “Eileen and I have knitted some baby socks for the last addition to your family, Fowler,” continued Marjorie. “We’ll come round and see Mrs. Fowler and the bairns to-morrow. How old is the last baby? and is it dark or fair?”

      “It’s six weeks old, miss, and very dark; but the wife isn’t as strong as she ought to be.”

      Fowler colored all over his face as he spoke. There was a porter standing near, listening to this conversation.

      “Perhaps, young ladies,” said the footman, coming to the rescue, “you wouldn’t mind getting into the carriage, for the horses are that fresh Fowler can scarcely keep ’em standing much longer.”

      “But it’s quite serious about his wife not being strong,” said Eileen in a meditative voice. “Now, if she were to take extract of malt or Fellowes’ Syrup – ”

      “Oh, do get into the carriage,” cried Letitia. “Really, Eileen, you will be one of the most remarkable women of your day if you keep up your present fads. Can’t you see how all those porters are enjoying the scene; and as to poor wretched Fowler, if you think he enjoys talking about his latest baby and the medicines his wife is to take, at King’s Cross Station, you are vastly mistaken. For goodness’ sake, get in.”

      As Letitia spoke she gave her energetic cousin a push. Eileen scrambled into the carriage almost headforemost, treading on her dress, and СКАЧАТЬ