Chapter IV: The Visit to Grandmamma

THE children took their places at the schoolroom table the next morning with quiet subdued demeanour. They had not forgotten their sorrow and contrition of the previous night. They meant to behave well; but still they felt it hard that they obliged to spend the day at grand-mamma's, when they would so much rather have been at home dressing their dolls.

As soon as their lessons were finished, the little girls began to prepare for their visit. Some sighs were heaved as they peeped into the drawer where the dolls lay side by side. "It is always the way," sighed Kate, glancing at her work, "something always happens to prevent my getting on. I could have finished that frock to-day if Grandmamma had not sent for us."

But Miss Jameson would allow no grumbling or dawdling. They were soon dressed, and on their way to Twickenham. Miss Jameson walked with them to Mrs. Bartlett's gate; but there she wished them good-bye, and went back alone, not displeased perhaps at the prospect of a quiet afternoon.

"There is Edith," said Kate, as they walked up the path, and caught sight of a fair-haired child standing at one of the windows of the house; "what has she got that white thing round her neck for?"

"Oh, she has got a cold, I suppose," said Florrie, impatiently; "she is always having colds."

"Then we shall have to stay indoors. How horrid!" exclaimed Gertie.

"Oh; I hope not," said Katie, in a tone of dismay, for one of the chief pleasures of a visit to Grandmamma was a game in the large old-fashioned garden, which lay at the back of the house. "Surely it can't hurt her to be out on such a lovely day as this!"

But they soon learned that there was to be no play in the garden for them that afternoon. Cousin Edith, a pretty delicate-looking child, who was often ailing in health, had a bad cold and sore throat, and her mother, who idolised this her only child, was tenderly anxious that her darling should run no risk of increasing her cold. The cousins had been invited for Edith's amusement; and since she could not go into the garden, it was out of the question that they should do so.

"I don't believe it would hurt Edith, aunt," Kate took it upon herself to remark; "papa says that it is a mistake to coddle children."

"My dear Kate, you should not be so ready to give your opinion," Mrs. Hobson said, reprovingly. "There is no coddling in this case. A delicate little creature like my Edith requires to be more carefully cherished than strong robust girls like you."

"We are not so very strong," said Florrie. "Gertie often catches cold, and she had to take cod liver oil in the spring. But mamma never keeps her in when the weather is fine."

"Really, you young people are very forward in expressing yourselves," said their aunt; "I understand that you have a new governess. I hope she will do something to improve your manners, for they need improvement."

"How do you like her?" asked Edith, in a hoarse little voice.

"Very much indeed," said Florrie; "she is the nicest governess we have ever had."

"And oh, what do you think?" cried Gertie. "We are dressing dolls for the poor little children in the hospital. It was Miss Jameson's idea. Isn't it splendid? My doll is a black one."

"A splendid idea for throwing away money," said Mrs. Hobson. "Your parents need be rich to indulge you in that way. What do they want with dolls in hospitals?"

"Oh, Aunt Sophie! the poor little children want them," exclaimed Kate. "How would you like to think of Edith lying all by herself in a little bed with nothing to play with?"

"I think it is a kind thought," said old Mrs. Bartlett, gently; "and the undertaking has this advantage, that it will teach the children to sew."

"That is desirable, certainly," said Mrs. Hobson. "I remember seeing some needlework of Florrie's that astonished me very much. I should have been ashamed if Edith had done no better, although she is eighteen months younger."

Florrie coloured and bit her lip. Aunt Sophie's reproofs were well intended, but they had a very irritating effect. The tempers of her three nieces were all more or less ruffled by her words; and as Edith, owing to her indisposition, was more than usually perverse and peevish the prospect for the afternoon was not hopeful.

After dinner the children were sent to play "quietly" in the breakfast room, whilst Grandmamma took her afternoon nap. It was some time ere they could decide what the game should be, for Edith objected to whatever the others proposed. Yet when asked to name a game herself, she would say nothing. At last it was agreed that they should play at hide-and-seek, one of the party hiding a little ball for which the others were to make search.

The game went well for a little while; but soon Edith grew very cross, because she was not so quick as her cousins, and one of them found the ball each time. It was Kate's turn to hide the ball, and the others were supposed to cover their eyes that they might not see where she put it. She was just slipping it beneath the fender, when suddenly she turned and exclaimed angrily:

"Edith, you peeped! I saw you! What a horrid cheat you are!"

"I didn't peep," said Edith, stoutly; "I'm not a cheat. You ought not to call me such a name."

"What a story! You did peep, I saw you. You were looking straight across at me," cried Kate, indignantly.

"What a nasty mean thing," cried Florrie. "I hate cheats."

"I'm not a cheat; you're very rude," cried Edith, bursting into tears; "I won't play with you any more. I shall tell mamma." And so saying she made for the door. But Kate was there before her.

"I won't let you go to your mother," she said, as she planted herself firmly against the door; "it's horridly mean to tell tales, as you always do."

"I will go; you shan't stop me," cried Edith, wildly, and she tried to kick and pinch her cousin. But Kate defended herself with ease, and remained provokingly cool. The others came to her aid, and drove Edith back, and Florrie pushed the round table across the room in such a way as to bar Edith's approach to the door. But this was an unfortunate defence, for Edith, trying to push it aside, clutched at the table-cloth and dragged it off, bringing with it to the ground a beautiful china vase, which had been standing on the table. The vase was shattered by the fall; and the children, their romping suddenly arrested, stood looking at each other, aghast.

Edith was the first to speak. "There!" she said, not without triumph, though she too was considerably frightened, "see what you have done!"

"What you have done, you mean," said Florrie, "it was you pulled the cloth."

"I didn't," she said.

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried the others in chorus.

Edith began to cry anew, and ran from the room, no one now attempting to stay her. The three sisters stood looking at each other in blank dismay.

"Now there will be a row," said Florrie, expressing herself as usual with more force than elegance.

"Will Grandmamma be very angry, do you think?" asked little Gertie.

"She is sure to be angry," said Kate, "for I know she was very fond of that vase; but I shall tell her that you and Florrie were not to blame."

"We ought to have gone with Edith," said Florrie; "there is no knowing what she will tell Aunt Sophie."

"Little story-teller!" said Kate, indignantly.

But ere they could say more their grandmother and aunt arrived on the scene. Mrs. Bartlett was very vexed indeed when she saw the condition to which her vase was reduced. She scolded the children roundly; and when she paused for lack of breath, their aunt took up the tale, and her words stung the children even more than their grandmother's. In vain Florrie declared that it was Edith who had dragged the vase off the table. Edith denied it; and Mrs. Hobson was sure that her child spoke the truth, whilst Mrs. Bartlett impartially decided that the children were all to blame alike.

The rest of their visit passed heavily enough to the little Bartletts. They saw Edith petted and made much of by her mother, whilst they were treated to reproachful looks and reproving words. They took their tea with a sense of dark disgrace overshadowing them. Harry alone was able to maintain unbroken serenity; but then he was such a little boy, that as long as he was treated to plenty of cake and jam he could not imagine anything amiss.

It may be guessed what a story the children had to pour info Miss Jameson's ears when at length they returned home, only too thankful that their visit was at an end. She heard them in silence for a time; but soon she was obliged to check their words, for she was shocked at the bitterness with which they spoke of their cousin Edith.

"And was Edith the only one to blame?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't suppose that our conduct was perfect," said Florrie, frankly; "but really it was all through Edith that things went wrong. Oh, she was cross! And then to cheat as she did, and tell stories! It was horrid."

"And I suppose you told her that you thought so?" said Miss Jameson. "You did not try to coax her into a better temper, nor to show her how much better it is to be fair and truthful?"

"Why no. What would have been the good?" asked Katie; "I have no patience with Edith."

"I hate her," exclaimed Florrie, vehemently.

"Oh, Florrie! Florrie!" cried her governess, "you cannot know what you are saying. Do you forget what the Bible says of one who hates another?"

"What, Miss Jameson?" asked Florrie.

"He that hateth his brother is a murderer," said Miss Jameson, slowly.

"Oh," exclaimed Florrie, looking startled; "what a dreadful verse, Miss Jameson. A murderer, you can't think that I felt like that?"

"No, dear, I do not; but it is to such dreadful things that hatred leads. I cannot believe, however, that you really hate Edith. But I wish you children would ask yourselves how it would be with you, if God should feel towards you as you feel towards Edith."

"Why, Miss Jameson, how could that be?" asked Gertie.

"It might easily be," returned Miss Jameson, "if our God were not a God of love. Think how often you sin against Him and grieve Him, yet His heart is ever full of love towards you. Should you not try to forgive Edith and all who vex you, as God, for Christ's sake, forgives you?"

"I don't feel as if I could forgive Edith," said Florrie, with a sigh.

"Ask God to help you to do so," said her governess; "for if you do not forgive Edith, how can you say to-night in your prayer: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us? You would be asking God not to forgive you."

"I never thought of that," said Kate, thoughtfully. "Dear me! how hard it is to be good."

"It is hard," said Miss Jameson; "but so is everything in life that is worth striving after. And who would not rather struggle up the steep hillside than sink in the mire at its foot? But now you are tired and excited. You must not talk any more to-night. Good-night."

And the children went to bed without saying another word about their cousin Edith.