GEOFF'S LITTLE SISTER.

BY

EVELYN R. GARRATT,

AUTHOR OF "Dolly Do-Nothing," "An Ugly Hero," "Free to Serve," etc.

WITH

ILLUSTRATIONS

BY

ERNEST SMYTHE.

SMITH, SUITALL, IPSWICH.

PRINTERS & PUBLISHERS, 1900. (Copyright).

SMITHS, PRINTERS, BOOKBINDERS, AND PUBLISHERS, SUITALL, IPSWICH.

"HE THAT IS SLOW TO ANGER IS BETTER THAN THE MIGHTY; AND HE THAT RULETH HIS SPIRIT THAN HE THAT TAKETH A CITY."—Proverbs xvi., 32.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. GEOFF'S CHARGE

CHAPTER II. WHO BROKE THE DOLL?

CHAPTER III. PREPARING FOR CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER IV. TAKING A CITY

CHAPTER V. "POOR LITTLE LAD!"

CHAPTER VI. THEIR MOTHER'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT

GEOFF'S LITTLE SISTER.

CHAPTER I.

GEOFF'S CHARGE.

It was the end of November, and the cold winds were sweeping over the country, swaying the rooks backwards and forwards, as they perched on the topmost branches of the trees, opposite the nursery window.

But Geoffrey was not looking at, nor thinking of the rooks.

He sat doubled up before the fire, with his feet on the fender, staring at the red coals.

Forbes and Jack were surveying with tear-stained faces a dish of oranges, which nurse had just placed before them with the words:

"There, my laddies, you eat away at them oranges, and don't you cry no more. Come, come," she added, as Jack hid his face in her large white apron sobbing, "don't you take on my beauty like that, you'll make yourself sick. Be a good boy now, and try one of them oranges, they'll make you feel better—see if they don't," and wiping Jack's tears away with her apron, and giving him a hearty kiss, nurse's comfortable figure disappeared hurriedly from the room, for she was busy and was afraid of being delayed by the sound of her boy's sobbing, which sound made her kind old heart ache, for blue-eyed Jack was her darling.

Left to themselves Forbes and Jack surveyed the oranges gravely, then the latter, still quivering with sobs, put out his hand to take one; Forbes followed his example. They both glanced at Geoffrey at this juncture, but the look of their elder brother as he sat crouching over the fire, was too miserable to allow of the thought of offering him one. So with heavy hearts, they made holes at the top of their oranges, into which they stuck lumps of sugar, and began to suck them, their tears mingling with the juice.

But the oranges were very good, and deliciously juicy, and just for the moment the cause of their tears was so forgotten, that Jack's orange suddenly bursting and the juice flying up into Forbes' face, a faint chuckle escaped the boys.

Geoffrey turned his sad face towards them, looking both shocked and surprised. Could they really be laughing? He had thought they would none of them ever be able to laugh again, he was quite sure he never could.

Only the other side of the nursery wall their dear dead mother lay, with that wonderful awful calm on her sweet face. How could they laugh after having seen her for the last time—or—had they forgotten—could they have forgotten?

Forbes coloured to the roots of his hair, as he caught sight of that look on Geoffrey's face, and pushing his plate away from him, felt ashamed of having been able to enjoy his orange. He knew Geoffrey could not have eaten a morsel of it. Indeed he had scarcely eaten anything since she had died.

Forbes hated and despised himself for eating that orange, and for actually wanting another.

Jack, notwithstanding that look on Geoffrey's face, was about to take a second. Forbes could have kicked him, particularly as there was something quite sly in the way he smuggled it into his plate, in the hope that Geoffrey would not see, winking at his brother as he did it.

"There my laddies, you eat away at them oranges, and don't you cry no more."

But after all, thought Forbes, Jack was the youngest of the three, and could not perhaps be expected to feel his mother's death so deeply as he and Geoffrey did; neither could Dodie (Muriel was her real name) who lay fast asleep, happily unconscious that the little black frock that hung at the end of her crib, about which she had been so excited as she had watched Nurse making it up, was the sign of something most precious having gone out of her life. Ashamed of himself and full of remorse Forbes rose from the table and took a seat opposite his brother.

A silence followed, during which he surveyed drearily the old familiar room. It looked the same as ever, yet it felt empty. Even the sky out of the window looked further off—the world seemed wider—the home too large.

"Geoff!" he said, with a choke in his voice, "I can't believe it!" Geoffrey did not answer.

"I can't believe that that is Mother," he added in an awestruck whisper, signing with his head towards the next room.

"It isn't Mother," said Geoffrey, still staring at the red coals, with knit brows, as he passed his hand through his shaggy red hair. "Do you think if it was Mother," he added in a low earnest voice, "that Dodie would have been frightened at her, and would have cried? She knew quite well that that isn't Mother. I couldn't bear it, if it was. If," continued Geoffrey looking up now at his brother with sad eyes, "If she had looked—as she always looks—when she says good-bye, I couldn't have borne it."

Geoffrey did not cry, it was not his way, but he spoke slowly and with a desperate effort to control himself.

"I'm glad she's changed," he added after a moment's pause, "for now I know that she is with God in heaven."

"And do you think—are you quite sure Mother would like Dodie to wear a black frock?"

Nurse's familiar step was heard now on the staircase, and at the same moment Dodie began to wake. She sat up in her crib, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes, her pretty curls disordered, and her little face flushed with sleep.

"Mammie," she cried.

Geoffrey's chest heaved, at the old familiar word.

Nurse was at Dodie's side in a moment, and took her into her arms.

"Poor dearie," she said, seating the child on her knee, "she doesn't know that her poor dear Mamma can't hear. Come Jackie, you try and amuse her, while I try on her new frock, bring her the ball, or something to play with, there's a good boy."

But when Dodie caught sight of her new frock all inclination to cry gave way to the pleasure of, for the first time, wearing anything but white, and at the novelty of long sleeves and a high neck.

Geoffrey did not watch the ceremony, it seemed to him too sad.

When he had seen Nurse cutting away at the black material he had been amazed to find that Dodie was not only to be put into black, but was to have her pretty little arms and neck covered up for the first time.

"Mother said she didn't mean to put her into long sleeves till next winter," he had said, as he stood and watched Nurse's scissors cutting the material into shape. "And do you think—are you quite sure Mother would like Dodie to wear a black frock?"

"Not wear black, when she's lost her poor dear Mamma, my dear? Why, we shouldn't be looked upon as respectable; and I wonder at you Master Geoffrey for thinking of such a thing. Haven't you lost the best Mother in the world, and would you show no respect for her? And as for putting the precious pet into a high necked frock with long sleeves, I think I'm a bit more likely to know what your poor dear Mamma would wish than you, considerin' I nursed her through the measles and chicken pox before you was ever born or thought of."

"Mother loved to see her little arms and neck," murmured Geoffrey.

"But she wouldn't love to see her running about in the snow this winter, catching her death of cold poor lamb—and they say we're going to have the coldest Christmas that ever was this year. She shall have a nice warm frock, that she shall, and plenty of room to grow in it."

"Nurse must know best," put in Jack timidly.

Jack had blue eyes and curly hair and was the best looking of the three boys. He was, moreover, Nurse's pet, and if ever there happened to be an extra bun, or an unusually large lump of sugar it was always given to Jack.

He made his remark in a somewhat timid tone of voice, for being only seven years old, three years younger than Geoffrey, he knew Forbes, who came between them in age, would consider he had no right to interfere, and he stood in awe of the latter's fists, which he used freely when he considered that Jack had been cheeky. Forbes had an immense admiration and love for his eldest brother. This feeling had been fostered by the fact, that though Geoffrey was only ten years old, his Mother had always treated him as if he were older, and had taken him into her confidence, and Geoffrey had grown up with the idea that, so long as his Father was away, his Mother was to be his chief care.

Major Fortescue had been away in India two years, having been obliged to leave his wife behind him on account of her health. Little did he think as he said good-bye to her on the troopship at Portsmouth, that he would never see her again in this world.

Dodie was chuckling with delight, as she ran about trying to see her little toes under the unusually long skirt.

The love between Mrs. Fortescue and her eldest son had been very great. She had recognized in this red-haired, plain, or as some people thought ugly boy of hers, qualities, which, if fostered and encouraged, would make him a strong and good man, and as she lay dying she gave Dodie into his special care till his father returned, knowing that the boy would look upon it as a sacred trust.

At Jack's remark, Geoffrey had moved away from the table without another word. He could scarcely bear to hear his sweet young Mother called by Nurse "your poor dear Mamma," and much as he cared for Nurse, and submitted quietly as a rule to her authority, having learnt from his mother that if he wished to be a great man, he must begin first by being an obedient boy, he felt as confident as ever that his mother would not have wished Dodie to be put into black. He did not therefore watch Nurse as she fastened the frock, and it was only when he heard the child pattering across the nursery floor that he moved his eyes from the fire.

Dodie was chuckling with delight, as she ran about trying to see her little toes under the unusually long skirt, and nurse was standing with her arms akimbo laughing at her.

Geoffrey could bear it no longer. He rose pale and trembling, and was on the point of leaving the nursery, when nurse hearing herself called, hurried away.

The three boys stood watching their little sister with perplexed faces.

"There's something quite wrong about the frock," said Geoffrey, his brow puckered into a distressed frown, "it looks dreadful."

"Why it's ever so much too long of course," said Forbes, "If I dared to use Nurse's scissors, I'd cut it round the bottom, it would look much better. I'm quite sure Mother wouldn't like it."

"And if Father comes home as Nurse thinks he will, he'll never guess how pretty Dodie really is," added Geoff.

"Anyhow," remonstrated Jack, "she'll be nice and warm as Nurse says, and will have plenty of room to grow in it,—and Nurse is quite sure to know what is best." Jack added this bravely as the last time he had made a similar remark it had been allowed to go unreproved.

"Nurse does not always know best," said Forbes. "Don't you remember how often she used to want to give us gregory powder and rhubarb pills if we were a little ill, and Mother never would let her. Of course she wouldn't know so well as Mother what was best to do, and why just because Mother has gone to Heaven," added Forbes, with a curious expression about his mouth which his brothers understood, "Dodie is made to look so sad and so—so ugly, I can't think."

"She doesn't look ugly, she couldn't," said Geoffrey, as he watched the child frisking about the room, so taken up with her new frock, that she was entirely unconscious that her brothers were looking at her, and talking of her.

Dodie was a lovely little girl. Her hair was curiously light, the very palest shade of gold, her eyes dark brown, and she had the sweetest most kissable little mouth imaginable. She was so small too, that though she was three years old, she looked like a little doll walking about. Any mother's heart would have ached at the sight of these three motherless boys watching with such sad sombre faces their baby sister.

Geoffrey loved this little sister next best to his mother, and nothing she could do, ever vexed him. She might pull his hair, stuff her fingers down his neck, pluck off ruthlessly the finest blossoms from his favourite plants, throw his pet books recklessly on the floor, thereby breaking their backs, scribble over his carefully written Latin exercise, and yet he could not find the heart to be angry with her.

"When could Father be home, if he comes?" asked Forbes, after a few moments pause.

"He might be here by Christmas," answered Geoffrey. "Poor Father! He must know by this time," he added, seating himself again by the fire. "Mr. Hodson telegraphed to him last night."

"Nurse says we needn't go back to school till after Christmas," remarked Jack, "We shall have a jolly long holiday."

"Jolly!" exclaimed Geoffrey, looking up in surprise,—then he remembered that Jack was only seven years old.

CHAPTER II.

WHO BROKE THE DOLL?

Had the inhabitants of Hazelbury seen the Rev. Claude Hodson on a certain winter's afternoon about a fortnight after the events recorded in the last chapter took place, crawling about the floor of his sitting room on all fours, minus a coat, but with a rug thrown across his back, and roaring in imitation of some wild beast, they would scarcely have recognised him as their quiet and grave young curate.

With children, he felt thoroughly at ease, and specially with his little friends the Fortescues. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to have all four of them to spend the afternoon with him and to stay to tea.

Mrs. Fortescue had always been very kind to him, and he had felt less shy with her than with most people.

Thinking that the young man must be lonely, she had allowed the boys to run in and out of his rooms on their half holidays, at his request, and thus a warm friendship was formed between them.

The table was pushed to one side, its former contents cleared quite away, next Sunday's sermons among them.

During Mrs. Fortescue's last illness, no one could have been more tender to and sympathizing with the children than he was, and it was to him that Geoffrey had gone at once when the end came. "Mr. Hodson," he had said, looking up at him with tearless eyes, but with a pale face, "Mother has gone."

For the minute Claude was quite silent, and then he did, what to him was the only possible thing he could do under the circumstances.

"Let us pray, Geoff," he had said in a low voice, and though no word was uttered aloud by either of them, they knelt silently together, Claude's hand resting tenderly on the boy's shoulder.

Geoff did not cry. His breath came quick and short for a few minutes, and then he grew calm. From that day their friendship was sealed.

On this particular afternoon of which I write, the Curate was in his element. He had invited his little friends to tea and had resolved to do what he could to cheer them up and to make them happy, and he certainly had succeeded.

Game after game they had played, turning everything in his room upside down.

The table was pushed to one side, its former contents cleared quite away, next Sunday's sermons among them, for the Vicar was away from home, and the preaching therefore devolved on the Curate.

Dodie was sweeping about the room, with the table cloth tied round her waist, forming a long train behind her, and an antimacassar thrown over her head for a veil, and the Curate himself amidst the shrieks of his little friends, was prowling about the floor, supposed to be a wild beast, trying to catch the children one by one.

Everything was in wild confusion, and Mrs. Green, the landlady, hearing the merriment from her dull little parlour at the back of the house, could not resist giving a peep into her lodger's room, to see a bit of the fun.

At the sight of her at the door, Claude sprang up from his humiliating position, and wiping the heat from his brow, said:

"I'm afraid Mrs. Green that we are making an unearthly noise, you've not a bad head to-day, I trust."

"Bless you, no Sir," said Mrs. Green, laughing, "It does one's heart good to see them enjoying themselves, poor little dears. I like a noise, it's cheery. 'Why Sally,' my husband has said many a time to me, when I've complained of the quiet of the country, 'I do believe,' says he, 'you'd like to live in an Inn, where people are always going and coming. One day, says he, when my ship comes in, I'll buy a Hotel at Yarmouth or Margate or some such place, and then you'll have as much noise as you like.'"

"You've had enough noise I expect for one day, any way," said Claude, suddenly becoming conscious that he was standing talking to his landlady in his shirt sleeves, and turning round to hunt for his coat among the confusion.

"Well as I tell you Sir, I like it, it's cheerful. Now that's what I like to think about Heaven," continued Mrs. Green, who at the slightest show of interest on the part of her listener, was inclined to become garrulous. "We shan't have no dull back parlours there I take it, not seeing a soul from one day to another, all shut up by ourselves like. We shall always be coming across new people there, and there'll be plenty to see and to hear. Think of old Rachel, Sir, her as lives at the bottom of the hill all by herself. She don't see a fresh face from one week's end to another. What a nice change it'll be for her now, that's to say if ever she gets there. I'm afraid she ain't fit for Heaven yet from all I hear."

The children interrupted in their game stood staring at the intruder, somewhat indignantly, while Dodie administered sundry impatient thumps on Claude's back.

"I must say," added Mrs. Green, "that that daughter of hers behaves shameful. Ever since she married the man Jones she has quite neglected her poor old mother, and if ever she gives her anything, you may be quite sure it ain't fit to eat, something they can't eat themselves because it's turned."

"What!" cried Geoffrey. "Does she do that to her own Mother?"

"You may well cry out, Master Geoff, it's a wicked shame, and I tell you Sir," she added, turning to Claude, "mark my word, if that woman don't manage somehow to get the Christmas Charities this year, even though her own old Mother has to go without."

"Come, come, Mrs. Green," expostulated Claude, "She's not quite so base as that, I hope. However I'll have an eye on her at Christmas; and now," he added, as Dodie's thumps became more violent, "do you think you could let us have tea? It's early I'm afraid, but we're all hungry. Is it too early?"

"Bless you no Sir,—not if you want it. I'm always willing to do what I can to make you comfortable. 'Sally,' my husband used to say to me when I had troublesome lodgers, 'don't you mind being put about a bit, keep a cheerful countenance my girl,' and so I've always tried to do Sir, and though the kitchen fire is a bit low as I didn't know you'd be wanting tea quite so early, I'll make it up at once Sir, and tea will be ready in a few minutes."

And Mrs. Green hurried off with a good-natured smile on her face, thinking to herself, "Who wouldn't be obliging to such a nice young gentleman, I should like to know—such a quiet lodger too—so different from my last party. I sometimes wish he'd make a little more noise, that I do; it 'ud be more cheerful. But there now, it isn't his way. Bless me! Flow those dear children are enjoying themselves," as a fresh peal of laughter found its way down into the kitchen.

Nurse's hair would have stood up on end, if half an hour afterwards she had looked in, and seen the zest with which the three boys tucked in to the apricot jam and currant cake, which their host brought out of his cupboard.