CHAPTER I.

Left Behind.

"WHAT do you think?" exclaimed Katie Bartlett, as she came slowly into the schoolroom, where her two younger sisters were engaged in preparing the tables for school; "what do you think is going to happen?"

"Is it something nice?" asked Gertie, bright-looking child of eight. She spoke in a doubtful tone, for Kate did not look like the bearer of cheering news.

"Nice! I should think not, indeed," returned Katie, dolefully; "papa and mamma have made up their minds to go away; they are going to the seaside."

"Oh, you don't mean it!" cried Gertie and Florrie together, as they clapped their hands; "why, that is splendid news, Katie! How could you say it was not?"

"Well! you are sillies!" exclaimed Kate, in a tone of sisterly contempt; "do you suppose that we are going too? I never said so."

The faces of her sisters fell considerably.

"But are we not going?" they asked.

"No, indeed! Nurse and baby and little Winnie are to go with papa and mamma; but we three and Harry are to be left at home with Miss Jameson."

"Oh, how horrid! what a shame!" cried the children, and tears came into Florrie's blue eyes as she added: "We have not been to the seaside at all this year."

"Papa says that we must not expect to go every year," said Kate, speaking in an injured tone. "He says we had holidays enough before Miss Jameson came to us, and now we must work hard to make up for lost time."

"And are we to have school every day whilst they are away?" asked Gertie, looking troubled.

"Certainly; I don't believe Miss Jameson will let us off a single hour," said Kate, gloomily.

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Florrie, who delighted in strong language.

At this moment, their governess entered the room. She was a pleasant-looking young lady, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a resolute but cheerful expression.

"Come, children, what are you chattering about, and the table not yet ready?" she said, briskly; "what is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, Miss Jameson! have you heard?" asked Florrie. "Papa and mamma are going away, and we are to be left at home! Is it not a shame?"

"Hush, hush!" exclaimed Miss Jameson, "you know I never allow little girls to speak in that way of anything their elders may do. And I can't think why you should make a grievance of this. You ought to be glad that your dear mamma is going away. You know that she is very far from well, and the doctor has insisted upon her having a change."

"Of course I am glad that mamma should go," said Kate; "but why can't she take us too? We have not been to the seaside this summer."

"How much quiet and rest would your poor mother get, I wonder, if she took you all with her," said Miss Jameson, smiling.

"It will be horrid without her," said Florrie, impatiently. "With baby and Winnie and papa gone too, the house will seem wretched. We shall be perfectly miserable all the time they are away."

"Poor things!" said Miss Jameson, still smiling, "what a dreadful prospect! Are we all so disagreeable to each other that it will be impossible to find any pleasant way of passing the time together?"

"Oh no; oh no!" cried little Gertie, as she took her usual place at the table beside her governess, and contrived in so doing to get possession of Miss Jameson's hand and give it a kiss. "You will be with us, and you are always so kind. You will tell us stories sometimes of an evening, and let us hear your musical box, won't you?"

"We'll see, if you're good children," said the governess. "Now, Katie and Florrie, take your places."

But the two elder girls did not consider that Miss Jameson's stories or the performance of her musical box could make up for their losing the pleasure of a visit to the seaside. They were inclined to nurse their grievance, and they took their seats at the table with gloomy looks and pouting lips. They tried their governess's patience that morning, which was very unfair, since she was in no way responsible for the arrangement their parents had made.

It was a lovely autumn morning early in October. The schoolroom windows looked into the large garden lying at the back of the house—a roomy old-fashioned house in the neighbourhood of Richmond. Few children have a happier home than the little Bartletts enjoyed. Their father was a well-to-do man of business, able to provide for his family every comfort and advantage that could be reasonably desired. They had a tender mother, who anxiously studied the welfare of her children, though her delicate health made it impossible for her to do as much for them herself as she wished. The children were surrounded by all that is pleasant and stimulating to childhood; though, like many children, they little knew how happy they were, but were ready to grumble and get out of temper directly anything occurred that was not to their liking.

Two days later, Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett left home for Bournemouth, where they proposed staying for a fortnight or three weeks. Their departure caused no small stir in the household. Miss Jameson's help was needed in various directions that morning; and her pupils, freed from her control, rushed hither and thither watching all that went on, and distracting their elders by the innumerable questions they put. Little Winnie was in a high state of delight at the thought of going away with papa and mamma; but baby was not aware the event was matter for self-congratulation, and screamed and struggled tremendously whilst being dressed for the journey. At last everything was done, and the carriage waiting at the door. Mr. Bartlett turned to say good-bye to the sad-faced group of children gathered in the hall.

"I hope they'll be very good whilst we are away, Miss Jameson," he observed; "I shall look to you for a report of their conduct when we return. I daresay you won't keep them closely to their lessons. A little more time in the open air occasionally will do them no harm."

At these words the gloom on the girls' faces gave place to a gleam of satisfaction. They gave quick glances at each other, and there was the fervour of gratitude in the warmth with which they kissed their father.

Tears stood in Mrs. Bartlett's eyes as she said good-bye to her little girls. She was leaving home reluctantly in deference to her husband's wish. She could not believe that the change would effect much improvement in her health. She lingered on the doorstep to whisper to Miss Jameson, as she pressed some money into her hand: "It does seem hard that they cannot go with us, poor dears; but I know you won't let them be dull. Take this and spend it for them on new dolls or books—on anything you think they will most enjoy."

"You need not fear that the 'poor dears' will fret long," said the governess, brightly. "If you could look in upon them unseen this evening, you would not find any trace of dulness, I dare promise you."

And thus cheered, Mrs. Bartlett stepped into the carriage, and in a few moments they drove away.

The spirits of the children quickly revived as the noise of the carriage wheels died away.

"Did you hear what papa said? Wasn't it lovely of him? You will have to give us some holidays now, Miss Jameson. Oh, may we have a picnic in the park some day when the nuts are ripe? We must have a whole holiday on Gertie's birthday; we always do on birthdays."

But Miss Jameson only laughed and shook her head as she listened to these exclamations. She was not going to promise anything, she said. All would depend on how they behaved themselves.

CHAPTER II.

Miss Jameson's Grand Idea.

IT was Mrs. Bartlett's habit, when well enough, to go to the schoolroom at five o'clock, and have a cup of tea with the children. The schoolroom tea was emphatically a "hungry" meal, to borrow a Scotch term. The children were wont to come in from their walk or their games with powerful appetites, and it was marvellous the quantity of bread and butter and home-made cake they would contrive to dispose of. The tea hour was such a bright cosy time, when their mother was ready to listen to all they liked to say, and to answer as many questions as they chose to put. But this evening the room looked less cheery, although there was a bright clear fire burning in the grate, for their mother's easy chair stood empty. The children were disposed to grumble as they took their places at the table, until Kate conceived the grand idea of making toast.

"You would like some toast, wouldn't you, Miss Jameson?" she said, and Miss Jameson kindly said that she would like some, although she knew by sad experience that Kate's toast was not over nice. So Gertie was despatched to the kitchen to fetch a toasting fork, Florrie armed herself with the bread knife, and the toasting began.

Florrie's piece of bread fell into the fire almost immediately, and when rescued was so blackened that Miss Jameson decided that it was fit only to be given to the dog, if he would condescend to eat it. Kate's attempt was not much more successful. She did not indeed drop her slice into the fire; but she first smoked it and then burnt it, so that a good deal of scraping was necessary ere the blackened slice could be eaten. Florrie decided that toasting was stupid work, and gave it up; but Kate persevered in spite of scorched cheeks and tingling fingers, until everyone at the table had been provided with a piece of toast of her making, which, hot-buttered, was thoroughly appreciated by the children, though Miss Jameson found her portion rather over toasted.

"Whatever shall we do this evening?" asked Gertie; "you will tell us a story, won't you, Miss Jameson?"

"Perhaps I will by-and-by, if you take your work and sit down," she replied; "I want you to do a good deal of needlework whilst your mamma is away."

"I hate needlework," grumbled Kate, "I am sick of that antemacassar. What is the good of antemacassars? I think they are stupid things—always sticking to people's backs, or falling out of their right places."

"Oh, Miss Jameson, need I finish hemming that duster?" asked Florrie, "I am so tired of it; I would so much rather do wool-work."

"That's just like Florrie," exclaimed Kate, "she always gets tired of her work, and wants to do something different; but she must finish it, mustn't she, Miss Jameson?"

"She can finish it this evening if she is industrious," said the governess; "and then I can find her some pleasanter work to-morrow."

"I am going to make a new apron for my doll," said Gertie, with an air of importance; "mamma gave me a piece of muslin yesterday."

"How would you all like to have some new dolls to dress?" asked Miss Jameson.

"Oh, Miss Jameson!" cried all three at once, "that would be too lovely! Did mamma say that we might have some?"

"Yes," said Miss Jameson, smiling to see their delight, "I have some money to spend for you in any way you like best. But I hardly think that you want dolls; you have so many already."

"Oh, but they are getting shabby," said Florrie; "and it would be so lovely to get new ones, and dress them all ourselves. I should like that work, Miss Jameson."

"I don't want a doll," said Harry, a sturdy little fellow of five; "I should like an engine."

"Well, I'll see if I can afford you one," said Miss Jameson; "but now, children, I must tell you that I have a grand idea in connection with these dolls."

"A grand idea!" echoed the little girls; "oh, what is it?"

"You know that my sister is a nurse in a children's hospital?"

"Oh, yes," said the children, for they had often heard their governess speak of this sister.

"Well, the ward of which she has the oversight is full of poor children, some of them the most miserable little creatures you can possibly imagine."

"Are they very ill?" asked Gertie.

"Some of them are very ill, and suffering constant pain; and, what is most sad to think of, many of them are sufferers through the wicked neglect and cruelty of their parents. When I have gone to the hospital from this bright and happy home, my heart has ached when I have thought of your happy lot, and contrasted with it the lives of these poor little ones."

"It does seem hard," said Katie, looking thoughtful; "I cannot think why God lets them be so unhappy."

"Ah, that we cannot tell," said Miss Jameson; "but we know that God loves these poor little children, and that He is pleased when we do what we can to brighten their sad lives."

"You take them flowers sometimes when you go to see your sister, don't you, Miss Jameson?" asked Florrie.

"Yes, dear; and you can't think how pleased they are to see even the commonest flowers."

"I wish I could do something for them," said little Gertie. "There is a lovely chrysanthemum coming out in my garden. If I pick it, will you take it to those poor little children, Miss Jameson?"

"I am afraid your flower will have faded, Gertie, before I am able to go again to the hospital," said Miss Jameson, smiling at her; "but I have thought of something you might do for these children, if you felt inclined, which would give them great pleasure."

"Oh, what is that?" asked the child, eagerly.

"My sister was telling me that at her hospital, which is situated in a disagreeable neighbourhood, and is not so well known as the larger hospitals, the children are badly off for toys. One day a lady visitor gave one of the children a doll, and that doll was the delight of the whole ward. It was handed about from bed to bed, and they all wanted to have it at once."

"Oh, I know, I know!" cried the little girls simultaneously; "I know your grand idea, Miss Jameson."

"You mean us to get some dolls and dress them," said Kate, "and then give them to the poor little children in the hospital. Oh, that will be nice; that will be far nicer than dressing them for ourselves."

"I am very glad you think so," said Miss Jameson; "what do you say to it, Florrie?"

"Oh, it will be splendid!" she exclaimed. "I only wish we could begin to-night."

"It will be 'more blessed' than keeping the dolls ourselves," said Gertie, who had repeated for her text that morning the words: "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

"You might make some scrap-books too if you like," said Miss Jameson; "there are plenty of pictures and Christmas cards that you could use. Harry could help with that perhaps."

"Oh, what a splendid idea!" said Kate, and immediately rushed away to examine her store of Christmas cards.

"What shall we dress the dolls in?" asked Florrie; "will you buy some stuff; Miss Jameson?"

"I shall have to buy some, I daresay," she replied; "but I was thinking that we might ask Mr. Carter, the draper, if he could give us some scraps. I am sure he would be glad to help, if he knew what you were going to do."

"Oh, I daresay he would," said Florrie; "he gave me a lovely piece of pink satin one day, and I made it into a hood for Belinda."

"The things will have to be made very neatly," said the governess; "you will need to take pains, Florrie. The dolls must be well turned out, or I shall be ashamed to send them as your gift to the children's hospital."

"And we must make all the clothes to unfasten, mustn't we?" said Gertie; "it is no fun to play with a doll unless you can dress and undress it."

"To be sure not," said Florrie. "When shall we get the dolls, Miss Jameson?"

"To-morrow after school, if you do your lessons well," she replied; "but now, Florrie, remember that that duster must be finished before you begin your doll's clothes."

"Oh, dear! that horrid duster!" exclaimed Florrie, impatiently. But she fetched it, and sat down to her hemming.

"Oh, I wish to-morrow would make haste and come," said Gertie, as she turned over the heap of Christmas cards that Kate had tossed on to the table.

"Suppose it should rain," suggested Kate. But that was too sad a prospect to contemplate.

As they continued to discuss their delightful plans, the children quite forgot to ask Miss Jameson to tell them a story, and they could hardly believe that it was bed-time when the clock struck eight. All but Florrie, who gave a sigh of relief as, her hem complete, she folded up the tiresome duster.

CHAPTER III.

The Dolls.

HAPPILY the next, day rose bright and fair. The children, impatient for twelve o'clock to come, were somewhat restless during school hours; but their intentions were good, and they really tried to do their school-work well; so Miss Jameson made allowance for their occasional fidgets, and the whispered allusions to the pleasure in prospect.

Promptly at twelve o'clock books were put away, and a very few minutes sufficed for the children to get equipped for their walk. It was not far to the town. They crossed the bridge over the Thames, and saw the river gleaming blue in the sunlight, and the foliage which skirts its green banks brilliant with the rich hues of autumn. But the children gave no thought to the beauty of the scene. They were intent upon one thing—dolls; and they hurried on as quickly as possible till the tempting shop was reached.

And now what a business the choosing of the dolls was! There was a grand assortment of dolls of every description. There were dark dolls and fair dolls, boy dolls and girl dolls, baby dolls and dolls that were quite grown up, judging by the style in which they wore their hair; dolls that could shut their eyes, and dolls that could stand alone! Amid such a variety Miss Jameson found it no easy matter to direct the choice of her pupils. But a thought of the price helped to a decision, for they could not afford to purchase costly dolls, since they wanted to make the money go as far as possible.

At last, after much deliberation, Kate decided that she would like to have a baby doll which could be dressed in long clothes, like the baby brother who had been taken to the seaside. Florrie chose a lovely flaxen-haired beauty, on whom she at once bestowed the name of Lily. Gertie was not to be diverted from her fancy for a black doll of more striking than prepossessing appearance; and when she pleaded that there might be a little black girl in the hospital who would like to have a doll of her own colour, Miss Jameson yielded, and allowed her to gratify her taste. Besides these Miss Jameson selected two dolls, one with dark curls and the other with wonderful golden curls, which she intended to dress herself; and at Harry's earnest request she added to the number a quaint little sailor doll. Then Harry's engine had to be bought, and altogether these purchases took so much time that when at last they got away from the shop it seemed, as Florrie remarked, as if they had been there half the day. And now there was the draper's to be

visited, and there Miss Jameson purchased some muslin and lace for the baby doll's robe, and other necessaries.

Fortunately Mr. Carter was in the shop, and, being taken into the children's confidence, readily promised that the piece drawer should be ransacked for the benefit of the dolls. The result was a supply of most suitable pieces. Amongst the number was a piece of pale blue cashmere, which would make a most becoming gown for Miss Lily, and some yellow satin in which it was generally agreed that black Topsy would look grand. From the draper's the busy party passed on to the bookseller's, where some strongly-bound scrap-books were purchased.

Then at last the happy children turned homeward. Lily, Topsy, and Baby they carried with them, feeling it impossible to wait until they were sent from the shop.

"Oh, if only we could begin to dress them this afternoon!" said Gertie.

Then Miss Jameson, feeling sure that the children would settle to little else, promised that as soon as each had finished her practising for the day, she would cut out the doll's clothes and set them to work.

If Mrs. Bartlett could have looked into the schoolroom an hour or two later, and seen the bright faces gathered about the table, scattered with scraps of material of all shapes and colours, she would have seen that there was little fear that the children would be dull.