Chapter One
“Stockings.”

Chrissie Fortescue sat looking at her toes. They were pretty little toes, pink and plump and even. But she was not looking at them in admiration. And indeed this morning they were scarcely as pretty as usual, for they were rapidly becoming blue and crimson, instead of merely pink, and though blue and crimson are charming colours in themselves, they are not seen to advantage on toes.

It was wintry weather, as you will already, I daresay, have guessed, and very cold indeed, and as the unpleasant consciousness of this made itself felt more and more plainly, Chrissie’s face grew crosser and crosser.

“Nurse,” she called out, and it was the third or fourth time that she had done so, “Nurse, will you come and put on my stockings? I am getting quite frozen.”

There was no answer for a moment or two, then Nurse’s face appeared at the door leading from, the little girls’ room into the large day nursery, where the table was already neatly spread for breakfast and a bright fire blazing.

“Miss Chrissie,” said Nurse, remaining in the doorway, “it is no use – no use whatever your going on calling to me like that. I have told you ever so many times this morning that I won’t and can’t put on your stockings for you. I promised your Mamma before she went away yesterday that I would not, and I cannot break my promise.”

“I can’t either,” was Chrissie’s reply, “and I’ve promised myself that I won’t put them on this morning, so there you see.”

Nurse turned away with a sort of groan.

“Oh dear,” she said, “it is really too bad of you. A young lady of ten behaving like a baby. I’ll come at once when you’re ready for me to do your hair, but not before. How can you behave so, and trouble in the house, too? Breakfast will be up directly, and Master Jasper all ready, and – ” poor Nurse stopped short as she caught sight of another figure in the room. “Miss Leila,” she exclaimed, “what are you thinking of? Reading again before you’ve finished dressing! I heard your Mamma – ”

“Oh bother, Nurse,” interrupted Leila, “I didn’t promise anything, so leave me alone, please. If I choose to read while I’m dressing, it’s my own business.”

Apparently poor Nurse was at the end of her patience, for she disappeared into the other room, repeating reproachfully, “and trouble in the house, too.”

“Rubbish,” said Chrissie contemptuously.

“There’s no trouble in this house. I didn’t care much for old Uncle Percy. Did you, Leila? He’s been ill such a long time, and last summer at Fareham it was horrid having to be so quiet.”

“I don’t mind being quiet if people will leave me in peace,” replied Leila.

“No, I daresay not, with your everlasting books,” Chrissie retorted; “but for all that, you needn’t think yourself any better than me. You like books and I like playing, and we both like to do what we like and not what we don’t, and I suppose that’s about all that can be said,” and she began swinging her feet defiantly.

Leila, who was getting to think that after all it would be more comfortable to read beside the nursery fire, gave a little laugh, as she hurried on with her own dressing.

“Tastes differ,” she remarked; “I shouldn’t like to sit there in the cold with no shoes or stockings on. I’m going to coax Nurse to tie up my hair in there by the fire. It is cold this morning.”

But Christabel sat on obstinately, though she was really beginning to feel wretchedly frozen, and as Leila hurried past her with another word of remonstrance, she only muttered something about “I can’t break – ” which her sister did not clearly catch.

Leila was a year and a half older than Chrissie, but in appearance, and in several other ways also, though different in character, they seemed much about the same age. They really loved each other, but, I am sorry to say, this did not prevent their quarrelling a great deal. There was much truth in what Christabel had said – neither had learnt to think of others before herself; neither was willing to do anything she did not wish to do; neither had learnt to be obedient, or, still less, unselfish. But a great deal, oh a great, great deal of all this sad state of things came from utter thoughtlessness, and this their mother was growing aware of, and beginning to blame herself for not having realised it sooner.

“I have only wanted to make them happy,” she said to herself. “Children should be happy,” and so they should, but are selfish people ever really happy?

The happiness that depends on outside things, on the circumstances of our lives, on amusement and indulgence and having every wish gratified – surely that is not the best and truest and most lasting?

And sometimes this lesson has to be taught by rather severe teachers.

Silly Chrissie! She was already punishing herself by her obstinacy. I really would be afraid to say how long she might have sat there, growing colder and colder, if something had not happened.

The something was a tap at the door – not from the nursery side, you understand, but at the other door, which opened on to the large landing outside.

At first Chrissie took no notice of the tap.

“It’s that tiresome Fanny, I suppose,” she said to herself. Fanny was the nursery-maid. “She’s no business to come bothering till we’ve left the room.”

But the tap was repeated, and a voice, which was certainly not Fanny’s, a soft, coaxing little voice, made itself faintly heard.

“Chrissie, Chrissie, do let me come in.”

“Come in, then,” was the rather ungracious reply. “What do you want, child? I’m not dressed.”

The door opened and a small figure entered.

It was Jasper, the youngest of the family.

He was barely seven years old, and not tall or big for his age. Fair and slight and rather delicate-looking, and though his face was sweet and even pretty when you examined it closely, he was not the sort of child that is noticed or admired, as were his handsome brother and sisters.

“What do you want?” Christabel repeated. “Don’t you see I’m not half dressed?”

Jasper nodded.

“I know,” he said calmly. “I’se come to help you.”

In spite of her ill-humour, Chrissie began to laugh. She was a child of very changeable moods.

“You must be so cold,” continued Jasper.

“I should rather think I was,” his sister agreed. “Frozen! But you see it can’t be helped. I’ve made a vow that I won’t put on my own stockings this morning, and I can’t break a vow.”

Jasper looked up at her with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

“Bad vows is better broken nor kept,” he said.

Then Chrissie laughed again, and more heartily. It was a relief to her, for, to tell the truth, she was fast getting to a state in which if she had not laughed she would have burst into tears – a sad downfall to her pride and dignity.

“What awful grammar, Japs,” she said. “You really should know better at seven years old.”

But Jasper took her merriment quite pleasantly: indeed he was glad of it, and by this time he was down on his knees on the floor, softly stroking his sister’s cold feet.

“What are you after now?” she said sharply.

“I’se going to put on your stockin’s for you,” he replied, “and then you needn’t mind about vows, ’cept that you’d better not make any more, till it gets warmer, any way.”

Christabel said nothing. In her heart she was very thankful for this unexpected release from the silly predicament she had got herself into, and deeper down still – for in that wayward little heart of hers there were better things than she allowed herself to be conscious of – she was really touched by her small brother’s kindness. So she said nothing, but watched him with some amusement as he cleverly drew on the stockings – toes first, then heels, sighing a little as he got to the long legs, so that Chrissie at this stage condescended to give a pull or two herself. And at last the task was triumphantly accomplished, and she stood upright and slipped the now clothed toes into the shoes lying in readiness.

“You’d better be a boy at a boot-shop, Japs,” she remarked. “You’re so clever.”

Jasper looked up with great gratification at this rather meagre acknowledgment of his services. And then, somehow, the sight of his flushed face and smiling eyes got hold of Chrissie – the naughty, foolish fit of obstinacy left her – she stooped and kissed him.

“You’ve been very kind,” she whispered, and Jasper threw his arms round her and hugged her.

Thanks and kisses did not come in his way as often as they ought to have done.

“I’ll be very quick now,” Christabel added. “I’ll be ready for Nurse to do my hair in five minutes. Run off, Japs, and tell her so. No – I’d rather you didn’t,” and she hesitated.

Jasper stood still and looked at her, his legs rather wide apart, his face solemn.

“I wasn’t going to tell nobody,” he replied.

“Well, run away then,” Christabel repeated, and off he went.

She was a quick and clever child when she chose to give her mind to anything, little more than the five minutes had passed when she opened the door of communication and called out.

“I’m ready for my hair. Do you hear, Nurse?”

Poor Nurse required no second summons. She had really been growing uneasy about Christabel, and almost afraid that she herself would be obliged to give in, in spite of her promise to Mrs Fortescue. So the sound of Chrissie’s voice came as a welcome surprise. She was a kind and good young woman, but not possessed of much tact, otherwise she would not have greeted the little girl as she did on entering the room.

“That’s right, Miss Chrissie,” she exclaimed with a smile; “I was sure you’d think better of it in a few minutes, and not force me to have to complain to your dear Mamma, when there’s trouble in the house, too.”

Instantly Christabel’s gentler feelings took flight, like a covey of startled birds. She turned upon Nurse.

“That’s not true,” she said rudely. “You know you weren’t sure of anything of the kind. You know me too well to think I’d go back from what I said, and, as it happens, I didn’t. I’ve not put on my stockings myself this morning, but I won’t tell you anything more. And I do wish you’d leave off talking rubbish about trouble in the house. There’s no trouble. We didn’t care for Dad’s old uncle, who was as deaf as a post and whom we scarcely ever saw, and we can’t be expected to.”

Nurse was silent. She went on tying the ribbons round Chrissie’s abundant locks, without seeming to pay attention to this long tirade.

“Can’t you speak?” said the little girl, irritated by her manner.

“Yes, Miss Chrissie,” was the reply, “I can, but I would rather not. I don’t think what you say is at all pretty or nice.”

Chrissie gave a little laugh.

“Thank you,” she said. “Well, one thing’s certain: it’ll be ever so much jollier at Fareham the next time we go – you’ll see.”

This was too much for Nurse.

“Oh, Miss Chrissie,” she exclaimed, “and your poor aunt! She’s getting to be an old lady now, and lived all her life with Sir Percy such a devoted sister. You should care for her.”

Christabel’s face softened.

“Well, yes, I do love Aunt Margaret,” she said, “but I never thought she’d mind so very much. I should think she’d be glad to be free. Why, she can come and stay with us in London now as much as she likes, in turns with us going to Fareham, though, of course, Fareham will be Daddy’s very own now.”

Again Nurse was silent, but this time Chrissie took no notice of it, as she was growing very hungry as well as cold, and very glad to escape into the next room, where breakfast was now quite ready.

Leila and Jasper were already there, and as Chrissie ran in, Roland, the eldest of the four children, made his appearance at the other door. He was a tall, handsome boy of nearly fourteen – shortly to go to a public school, but, for the present, working in preparation for this, under a private tutor. He was dark, like Leila, Chrissie’s reddish-brown hair and eyes making the middle colouring between these two elder ones and fair, blue-eyed little Jasper.

It was not often, as a rule, that the nursery was honoured by Roland’s presence at breakfast, but he preferred it to solitary state in the dining-room just now, when the death of their old uncle had called away his father and mother for some days. And, indeed, nobody could have wished for a pleasanter room than this cheerful nursery, with its large, old-fashioned bow-window facing the park, the pretty paper on the walls, white-painted furniture, bright fire, and neatness; though, as regards this last attraction, I fear first thing in the morning was the only hour at which one could be sure of finding it!

Poor Nurse and Fanny! I should be sorry to say how many times a day they were called upon to “tidy up.”

“I’ve a letter from Mother,” Roland announced, after Jasper, as the youngest, had said grace for the party. “They got there all right.”

“Is that all she says?” asked Chrissie, for Leila was already buried in a book which she had propped against her breakfast-cup, only moving it from time to time as she drank her tea. “When are they coming back? She said she’d tell us as soon as she could.”

“They’d only been there a few hours when she wrote. I don’t know how you could expect her to say – you’re so babyish, Chrissie,” said Roland.

“Babyish,” she repeated scornfully, “I know what Mummy said better than you do. I’ll write and ask her to tell me, not you.”

Roland by this time had got out the letter and was reading it again.

“As it happens,” he said, good-naturedly enough, though his tone was decidedly “superior,” “she does say something about it, and something else that I don’t understand,” and the boy’s face clouded a little.

“She seems very bothered,” he replied doubtfully, still fingering the sheet of paper. “I think both she and Dad were pretty worried before they left.”

“Well,” said Chrissie, “I suppose they had to be. I suppose they had to care for Uncle Percy. P’raps he was nicer before he got so deaf. I don’t see that Mums need have gone, though.”

“She’s coming back as soon as she can,” Roland went on. “On Monday, most likely. Dad will have to stay there, and she has to come back to do a lot of business things for him here, and then she says she’ll explain that Dad and she are very worried, and she hopes we’ll all be very good while they’re away, and that we must help her to be very brave. What can she mean?”

All except Leila looked rather grave and puzzled; all, that is to say, except Nurse, whose face expressed distress, but not surprise.

“She knows something,” thought Chrissie. Then she turned impatiently to her elder sister.

“Leila,” she exclaimed, “don’t you hear? Leave off reading, you selfish thing.”

“Miss Leila,” Nurse joined in, “you know your Mamma has forbidden you to read at meals.”

Leila looked up at last.

“What are you all chattering about?” she said, and she pushed her book to one side, in so doing almost upsetting the milk jug, had not Jasper, who was next her, just caught hold of it in time, and lifted away the little volume.

“I’ll put it down for you,” he said, clambering off his chair as he spoke, and Leila, who, to tell the truth, had got to the end of a chapter, made no objection.

“What are you all chattering about?” she repeated, though without giving any one; a chance of replying she turned to Nurse complaining that her tea was quite cold.

“How could it be anything else,” said Chrissie. “You let it stand while you go on reading. I never did know anyone as selfish as you, Lell.”

As regarded the cold tea there really was no possible defence, so Leila contented herself with saying —

“I only ask to be left in peace. I don’t call that half as selfish as perpetually teasing and worrying everybody, as you do, Chrissie,” and a war of words was on the point of beginning had not her curiosity suddenly changed her ideas. “What’s the matter?” she went on, “I’ve asked you twice. What are you all so excited about?”

“It’s poor little Mumsey,” said Jasper softly.

“Shut up, Japs,” said Roland. “You don’t deserve to be told, Leila. It’s a letter from Mother. She seems in very low spirits and – ”

“She says we must help her to be brave,” interrupted Christabel, “and we don’t know what she means, and – ”

“Chrissie,” interrupted Roland in his turn, but certainly with more right to do so, “be so good as to hold your tongue. The letter is to me, not to you.”

He glanced at it again. “Yes,” he said, “it looks as if there was something the matter.”

“Is that all?” said Leila. “I daresay it’s nothing much. P’raps she said ‘brave’ by mistake for ‘cheerful,’ for I suppose Dads is rather cut up about old uncle, though really we can’t be expected to mind much.”

In this sentiment apparently both Roland and Christabel agreed. Only Jasper murmured half to himself —

“I don’t like nobody to die. He used to pat my head, and he gave me five shillin’s on my birthday”; but to this modest tribute to poor old Uncle Percy’s memory there was no response.

“Oh, I daresay it’s all rubbish,” said Chrissie, having recourse to one of her favourite words. “Any way, it’s no good bothering beforehand. If there’s anything wrong we’ll know it soon enough, when Mums comes back on Monday.”

“Monday,” repeated Leila in surprise. “Is she coming as soon as that?”

“She says she has things to see to for Dads here,” said Roland, “and he’s got to stay up there for a bit.”

“Oh, that’s of course,” said Chrissie. “Fareham’s all ours now, don’t you see? Dads will have to give lots of orders and settle everything. I daresay Mummy is bothered about all she’ll have to do now, with two big houses – though I’m sure she needn’t mind; it’s easy to get plenty of servants.”

For the first time Nurse here ventured on a remark.

“Not so easy as you might think, my dear. Large possessions bring their burdens. Still there are worse troubles than riches, ’specially to those not used to small means.” She sighed, and, in unconscious sympathy, little Jasper murmured again, “Poor Mumsey.”

“You’re always so gloomy, Nurse,” said Chrissie pertly, and though it was far from true, Nurse said nothing in her own defence; she only glanced across the table, saying gently, “Master Roland, won’t you be late?”

The boy jumped up hastily, exclaiming —

“Where’s my book strap? I’m sure I brought it in here.”

“It’s fastened round your books, Roley. I did them,” said a small voice.

“Thank you, Japs; you’re not half a bad sort,” the elder brother returned, and Jasper glowed with pleasure.