Title Page
 Table of Contents
 A visitor from France
 About hopping
 The arrival
 Home recollections
 Poor Peter's distress
 Annette's "devoir"
 Snow court
 Hopping at Green Hollow
 The wanderer found
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: Hop garden a story of town and country life
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00018596/00001
 Material Information
Title: Hop garden a story of town and country life
Series Title: Hop garden a story of town and country life
Physical Description: Book
Publisher: Cassell, Petter, and Galpin
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00018596
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAB0839
ltuf - ANQ2047
oclc - 48561286
alephbibnum - 002773956
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Table of Contents
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 3
        Page 4
    A visitor from France
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    About hopping
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 30a
    The arrival
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Home recollections
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    Poor Peter's distress
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 58a
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
    Annette's "devoir"
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    Snow court
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Hopping at Green Hollow
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 94a
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    The wanderer found
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 112a
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    Back Matter
        Page 129
        Page 130
    Back Cover
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
Full Text




* -. .- ,. ;





A Visitor from France ... ... ...

About Hopping ... ... ... "

S Mansell ... ... ... ... ..

The Arrival ... ... ... ... ...

S Home Recollections.........

Poor Peter's Distress

S Annette's" Devoir" ... ... ...

S now Court ...... ... ...

Hopping at Green Hollow.......

: at Wanderer Found ... ... ...
." .-i ,o o

--.. : J ..
. LL . .. .

S ,. 5

S .. 15

... ... 24

... ... 31

of ... t40

. ... 48

... ... 67

S... 82

.. ... 91

I.. 10


ii iAV some news for you, Clara," said
i Selwyn, as his little daughter took her
place by his side before a dessert plate, upon
w: -hich he had just laid a fine bunch of grapes
r vher.
S "Some news, papa! Is it something I
shall like very much ?" And Clara, with two
S~ beautiful grapes suspended half-way between
:r plate and her mouth, looked earnestly
into her father's face.
S' Well, I can't answer for what you may
think : I should think it very good news
indeed, if I were a little girl with no com-
S panions of my own age," answered Mr.

y- .-


Selwyn, smiling, but looking provokingly
inclined to keep his secret a little longer.
Companions! Am I to have somebody
to play with, papa? Are my cousins
coming ?"
Clara's papa and mamma looked at each
other across the table and smiled, before the
former answered, "No, your cousins are not
coming, that I know of, my dear. Try
Clara looked rather disappointed, and she
ate her grapes before answering, in a much
more sober fashion, It is nobody to play
with, then, for there is no one except my
cousins and the Bernards, and they are gone
to the sea-side, I know."
"Is the young-lady world composed solely
of two Misses Bernard and four Misses
Selwyn ?" inquired papa, with an affectation
of innocence.
"Now, papa, don't be provoking. You
know there is no one else that I ever see,
except at a grand party."
"IOh! there are some other little ladies




d itt ,world, then. Come, that is a com-
f.art ev en if they are only visible at grand

S; .-iapa, you tease! Mamma, isn't he too
bad? And all this time I haven't heard a
word of the news. Now, please," and Clara
looked up coaxingly, in a fashion of her
.: own, which she had found by experience
.wias geerally irresistible with papa.
i -. to begin with-let me assure you,
-ea- s -little daughter, that there really are
ladies of some five feet nothing
i:'- i en .in England, than you have ever
= ==n .. d Mr. Selwyn assumed a look of
S. .iy and wisdom, which, to say
Ira. .. -er exasperating under the
i-<:. .:.--.:i-.., :::.. .- ,

n 6ll; the indignant Clara
A' t*rs. 1* yn, though she
a 0 at her diighter's despairing
'o-tbIp coming to the rescue
-:w ,,papa you are a little too

-1" "How! I?" cried papa, with the most

:-.,. : -
: .L_-; :



-innocent air in the world;" I declare it is
quite true. Even I have not seen ALL the
little damsels just about their teens, in Great
Britain and Ireland, without mentioning any
other European countries, and leaving all
,the remaining quarters of the globe quite
put of the qitestion, so I really don't think
Clara has !"
I don't believe you have any news at
all, papa," cried that young lady, indignantly,
her patience fairly exhausted.
SDon't you?-then as a punishment for
your unbelief, suppose we leave the news
for to-morrow-eh? However, I will be
merciful for once, and save that poor grape-
stalk from utter destruction if I can. Now,
prepare! for it is really great news, Clara.
Have you ever heard mamma talk of a dis-
tant relation of hers, Mrs. Howard, and
her daughter Louisa ?"
"Oh, yes, papa, the little girl that went
to France when she was quite a baby, and
has never been in England since. I




S"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Howard have to go
to the West Indies for a time-perhaps for
two or three years; and as the climate is bad
S for young people, they have asked us to take
charge-of Louisa till they return."
S Mr. Selwyn paused, and Clara, breathless
with eagerness, jumped up and went close
to him, putting her hand on his shoulder,
and murmuring, Yes, papa," almost in a
"Should you like her to come and live
with us, and say lessons to Miss Johnstone,
and be your companion and playfellow all
day? "
Oh so much," cried the little damsel,
with her hands clasped, and her eyes
anxiously watching papa's face, as if she
Feared to lose the delight she had just had a
glirppse of.
*" I am glad of that, my little girl, for she
'will be here the beginning of next week;"
and Mr. Selwyn glanced at his wife, and
then lay back in his chair to indulge himself
S by watching his young daughter's face, which


was speaking at that moment of every
pleasurable emotion.
And will she live here always? Never
go away, and always be with me ?" she
queried at last, in eager tones.
"'Humph!. that is rather a heavy list of
questions to give an answer to in a hurry,
and all in the lump, Clara Let me think.
No, she will only live here till her own
parents can claim her again; but that may be
years first, as her father's prospects as to
.returning home are very uncertain. For
your question Number two, my child, I
think, if you try very hard, you will find
the answer to Number one stands good for
both. And for Number three-why, yes, I
suppose, provided you don't begin to scratch
each other' eyes, or tear your hair out, there
will be .io very insupeitable objection to your
Beifi always together."
"Oh! I am so glad; won't it be pleasant,
mamma ?"
Mrs. Selwyn said yes, she thought it would
be very pleasant, and added that Louisa



would be a great help to Clara in her French
S difficulties. The young lady looked a little
grave at this, and after reflecting a few
moments, demanded anxiously-
"But she isf't quite a French girl
mamma. She can speak English ?"
- Oh, yes; but she was so young when
she went abroad, that I dare say French
S may be considered as much her native
tongue as her own."
There was some further discourse on the
coming arrival and all the joys to be ex-
pected from it, and then Clara went to
.bed full of excited anticipations, and almost
too happy to sleep ; only the fear of Louisa's
proficiency in French now and then dimmed
the extreme brightness of the picture just
a little; but it was a very small cloud, and,
on the whole, Clara had never felt so full
-of joy in all her young life.
And while Clara is dreaming of Louisa
-- S ._a large giantess sailing towards her, on
I tbe top of her very largest india-rubber ball,
:.:iap, saying nothing but 'Prenez-garde,"


"Prenez-garde," will you hear a little more
about Clara herself? You know already
that her name was Clara Selwyn, and per-
haps you may have guessed that she was
an only child, and had very seldom -had
any playfellows or companions. How old,
did you ask ? Well, her birthday, I know,
was on the 1st of May, because it always
came on Garland day," which made it
a sort of double fete; but as to her exact
age I am- not so sure. About the same
as that young lady's in the pink frock and
white jacket and black hat, I should think.
Thirteen, is she? Well, perhaps Clara was
about thirteen, or a little younger or a little
older; it does not very match matter, I sup-
pose. At all events, she was out of the
nursery, although Mansell, who had been
her nurse, still lived in the house, and
brushed her hair, and took care of her
clothes, and helped her to dress.
Being an only child, Clara was older in
some things than girls of her age usually
are, while in many others she was more



of a child. Her papa and mamma lived
:.I 'ia: London, and Clara had very seldom
been out of the great city. Once or twice
4se had gone to stay with her cousins, who
S lived a long way in the country; but she
had never stayed very long, and real country
sights, and sounds, and doings were quite
strnge to her.
The little French girl, Louisa Howard,
was very nearly Clara's age, but not quite
an only child like her, for she had a brother
some years older than herself, named Ed-
Smund; but he was at a great school in
Germany, and was to remain there some
time still. Louisa had never been parted
from her papa and mamma before. England
was quite a strange land to the child. She
had" quitted it before she was two years
S old, and had never heard of Mr. and Mrs.
Selwyn, or of Clara, till her mamma told
S her they would be obliged to send her to
these kind friends while they went their
Jng voyage to the West. It was a sad
: ti e. for both parents and child; and while



Clara was rejoicing, and singing, and count-
iig the days to next week, poor little Louisa
was sorrowing, and grieving, and crying
herself to sleep ri her little French bed,
very night after her mamma's last kiss
had been given.




S- A DAY or two after Clara had heard the
S great news, and while the .excitement of
S it was still so fresh that she could ap-
,- patently neither think nor talk of anything
e she astonished her father one evening
-iy rushing breathlessly into the room, and
S emanding eagerly-
"Papa, what's hopping?"
Mr. Selwyn put down his paper with a
very grave business-like air, and began
deliberately taking the round of the room at
a rapud pace, supported by one leg only.
: Cra laughed heartily, but expostulated as
s oon as she could speak.
M -NSwI papa, it isn't that, you know.
S ulshedl's brothers and sisters are all doing it


"How very tired Rachel's brothers and
sisters must be!"
"But, papa, that is not it."
"Indeed! Then I can only assure you
that when I was at school, we boys always
called this remarkably active, but not very
elegant mode of progression, hopping."
"Yes, yes, but that can't be Rachel's
hopping. They earn money with it"
"It strikes me, my dear, there is con-
siderable confusion among your pronouns
there. However, I believe I knew what
'hopping' you mean; but I have not had the
luck to be in a hop-garden above once in my
life, and then it was when the plants were
invisible, and the poles dotted about in
pyramids like so many soldiers' tents. You
had better go to mamma for an explana-
tion ; she lived in a hop country part of her.
And Mr. Selwyn returned to his news-
paper, while Clara. took a footstool and
seated herself by mam.ma's knee. It was a
very hot evening, and Mrs. Sehvyn had. her



Wgd-chair drawn close to the open window,
S' r ahbe might enjoy to the full the little
9: there was. The window had a balcony
VrsR filled with flowers and creeping
so that, although it was in London,
t ,.;room was quite screened -from the

O oNamma's way of telling anything was
*iI different from papa's. He, in his
jing manner, kept his young daughter's
-.mind ever on the stretch to find what was
j t and what earnest; while mamma went
oni: qtiietly, patiently answering all queries,
-. t .d never growing weary of their number.
" ~rai thought both ways delightful of their
W'id, and could never quite make up her
S d which she liked best. She now settled
hr.. head on her mother's knee, and then
u kedt. p with a "Well, mamma," as being
4 -certain that her curiosity would be
*O cpfa ly satisfied.
)?' .pW'l, darling, what people call 'hop-
aWt.. is-as gathering the ripe hops from tle
.A:itn which they grow. A hop-garden,


about this time of the year, is one of the
prettiest sights in England. Each vine ha"
a long pole, up which it climbs to the top,
and often beyond, and clings and droops
round and about it in thetmnest elegant
festoons and garlands; while t8 holps them-
selves hang among the leaves, something like
bunches of grapes-only each hop, instead of
being solid, is composed of many little
leaves, and each cluster is farther from its
neighbour than is the case with grapes."
'And are there many of these poles,
mamma? and how high are they ?"
"A great many--hundreds in every
garden-and they are a good deal higher
than a tall man. The hills, as they call
the little mounds, out of which the hop-vine
springs, are only a few feet apart; and as
They lie in rows, the garden is crossed and
recrossed by avenue upon avenue of grace-
ful overhanging plants. In a good year
they not only cluster round their own poles,
but sometimes stretch across to the pext
hill and form an archway, and often a



'archways, so that the avenue
I dMorhes a beautiful bower."
l i_ ttty they must be! how I should

ail thy ire beautiful, my love; and it
- aiR to be one of my great delights during the
; _liyeats I' lived in the neighbourhood of
AI"Whi in Surrey, to go into the hop-
y day while their season lasted.
"I tised to help the people to pick

they reach them, mamma? Have

laughed. "No, my darling;
br,'tas the hop-pickers call it, the
Ii't) and the pole pulled up by a
iall the 'pole-puller.' Each
pi-iekers are generally women
a heap of poles laid by her,
'ai one she takes it up and
the 'bin,' which is a bit of
by wooden skewers to a
w rk consisting of four sticks
other at the corners, and having
%nef: rr2



legs like a table. The sacking hangs down
in the middle of the four sticks like a
large bag, with a wide open mouth, and
into this mouth the hops drop as they
are picked from the pole lying across it.
Do you understand, dear ?"
"Yes, mamma, I think so. What is the
hop itself like?"
It will be difficult to give you an exact
idea of it, I am afraid, by mere description;
but I will try. A fine hop is a good deal
larger than a large Hamburg grape-some-
thing of the same shape-and consists of layer
on layer of light, thin, green petals, between
each of which is a reddish sort of seed and
a quantity of yellow dust, which has a
delicious scent-at least I think it so. People
consider hop-picking very healthy, partly
on account of this scent, and invalids and
children are often sent into the gardens on
purpose to inhale it."
And when they have picked allrt
hops, what do they do with them ?"
First, they a measured from each bin,


.; ~: plkers being paid according to the
S.iSerof bushels they have picked. Then
Ag re carried home in sacks to be put into
At kil or building where they are dried.
tliildIln is a brick building, in the lower
part of which there are several little fires,
l ke those under a copper or in a brick-kiln.
.Fimn these fires the heat passes upwards
ha number of crevices to a flooring of
cloth, on which the hops are spread
-;After that process is over, the hops,
$tor in colour, are pressed tight into
sacks, called hop-bags or pockets,
seM they are sold, and some of them
'inmake what you drink for dinner

,t'er, mamma? Oh of course,
_-;imid this is hopping ?"
love-at least, hopping as
Ia~linham. I believe they use
i i :of 'bins' in Kent; and
So:ther minor differences, in
,Ifking and drying, peculiar
Lut .r where they are grown.




Many are grown in Worcestershire and
Herefordshire; but, oddly enough, Farn-
ham is the only place where they are
grown in Surrey."
How I should like to see some hopping,
mamma." And Clara's eyes opened wide,
and were fixed wistfully on her mother's
i Yes, my darling, I think you would,
and enjoy helping to pick them too, as I
used. Perhaps, some autumn, papa may
take us into a hopping county for a few
weeks, if he can spare the time. Ask
Away flew Clara, and, after some difficulty
and a great deal of caressing, Mr. SelwynT
was brought to confess that he had not been
quite so absorbed by his paper as he had
appeared to be; but, on the contrary, had
heard and been interested in' mamma's
account of the hops; and, finally,, Clara was
dismissed in an ecstatic phase of delight,
with a positive promise that she should go
Jpo see some hopping at some time or other


r-perhaps even next year. Next year was
a lng way off, it was true; but Clara knew
promise was sacred, and she had learnt
Sby experience, before now, that even twelve
months do pass away eventually.

' tud -;
Jb*. L
. j1 ?... -

.- -: -'' J _w : "

l .. ''. ,


CLARA'S nurse, Mansell, was an old and
valued servant, and a very good one; but
sometimes, we are sorry to say, Mansell
fancied she knew better than her master
and mistress; and occasionally this brought
trouble, not only on herself, but some-
times also on Clara, who was very fond
of her. Now, when Mansell heard of
the young lady "from foreign parts"
who was to come and live with them--to
share Miss Clara's own dressing-room, to
be in the school-room every day, and also
to be looked after by herself-she was
greatly "put out," as she expressed it,
and felt "put upon." She also came to
the conclusion that Miss Clara was equally
a sufferer with herself, and she communi-
cated that opinion to her young mistress.
The result -appeared by Clara's saying one

morning, after she had been standing by
tht window in a brown study for an un-
sually long time-
": Mamma, I suppose Miss Howard will
Wik out with me, too ?"
.: Certainly, my dear; I hope there will
4i no reason for her being kept a prisoner,
i~Ci k you are enjoying fresh air and sun-
SAnd Mrs. Selwyn looked with a
Wlto- her young daughter's face. To
O no answering smile was there;
contrary, a very sedate, not to say
p rsesion had stolen over it. A rather
a~s at first her only response to
question; and after some
aid, half to herself--
dI'wish she was not coming

ttsy love?" asked Mrs. Sel-
Why, don't you see, I
all to myself when he
-and it will be so different




This hastily-finished sentence did not at
all explain matters to Mrs. Selwyn, who
said, more gravely than before-
"I do not at all see, Clara, why having
another companion, even with papa, will-
make your walks less pleasant."
"h Oh, mamma! yes it will. He can't
talk to me all the time, and there will be
somebody else to ask questions. And,
besides, as Mansell says, if I've nobody to
play with now, at any rate I've no one
to interfere with me."
A light dawned on Mrs. Selwyn. She
guessed in a moment that Mansell was at
the bottom of her daughter's sudden change
of opinion; and, although certainly vexed
that her little girl could be so easily influenced,
was at the same time pleased that the senti-
ments just expressed were not so entirely
from her own heart.
"And so my little girl- would rather have
only ]her own company to quarrel with! I
wonder if Toss, there, would rather never
have another kitten to play with, for fear-


ijshould sometimes want a turn with -his
oy". particular ball and string, or a little
~iTjk out of his saucer. Would you,

!,,os8 was very sleepy, and only winked one
S< a,. pd gave a short purr in acknowledg-
^f pf his mistress's caress; but Clara
h, j looked at him. She had caught
Sg of her mother's meaning, and
qick colour tinged her cheek as she
med, Oh, it is not that, mamma!
course, I don't care about sharing

SMrs. Selwyn was looking
at her, and before she could
1i a, it began to occur to Clara
94, she was not objecting to
merely because she might
F a share of her ball Ad

,hild does care about
of her plead res,
-rey, and added more
p knQw yet, Clara, what



it is to have a companion-a sort of dear
sister to help you to enjoy everything just
doubly-so I suppose I must not be very
serious wTh you for what you said just now.
But we will remember this, my dear, and
by-and-by, some months or a year hence,
I will ask you what you think about a com-
panion then. Only I must say I am afraid
that Mansell and you have been taking a
very selfish, one-sided view of this matter
altogether. Shall I put another picture
before you ?
Clara was looking down, feeling very
much ashamed of herself, and she only mur-
mured a half audible assent to her mother's
"Well, then, we will think of a little girl
as fond of her papa and mamma as you are;
who would be just as unhappy away from
them, and who had never been separated
from them. After a time, it becomes neces-
sary that she should be taken away from
them, not for a little time merely, or for &
short distance, but perhaps for years, and



vtwy long way ever thc sea. Do you
tki hb would be very happy, and not
Boany comforting or kind receeon when
mdd -aid good-bye' to that tear papa
1-emaia and found herself alone among
iers? How would my Clara feel?
ld she rather come to one who had some
for her griefs, and would feel with
i ole her; or to one who could
Scomisideration to her forlorn
i -Which of the two would you like
g to, Clara ?"
SOh, mamma, I never thought of that!
bted-indeed I will try and make her
A .d Clara, with a half sob, threw
9t her mamma's arms, and clasped
trund her neck.
4 t moment, all Mansell's evil
nid discontents were unheeded,
Clara did stout battle against
she did every now and then,
-victory, too; for Mansell was
Ber, and, besides, right was on
And the days slippedby very fast,


and our little friend was not only looking for-
ward to Louisa's arrival with the old delight,
but also thinking over everything she could
possibly A to make her happy, and lessen
the sorrow she must feel after that sad part-
ing from her dear papa and. mamma.


Page 32.

IJM'k hours and days seem to pass
't1% i sk~ 'young people under eighteen,
S-eaom ng some great event, yet they do
eibven :next week came, though
'ametimes thought it never would.
S" talh ~Ul that Mrs. Selwyn had hinted
-j Wlr .little daughter that the eagerly-
'~itied. young stranger was not likely to
It~qAim very high spirits after having just
. i:from lher parents, otherwise she would
Aiiii been grievously disappointed at the first
:JiC bf t he sad, weary little face which
f:ip- t her eye as she flew to the window on
-:.tig the cab stop at the door.
Jt::~:l B:Rckingham, being on her way home,
;.f-k~f ly 'taken charge of Louisa, but was
.' oi^ great haste to continue her journey to
t~8 0 the poor child was lifted out by
diaIWwf.yn, and stood patiently by while


her trunks were separated from those of the
lady who had accompanied her.
She was taller than Clara, and very slight,
and her face was so pale, she looked quite
ill, Clara thought. But this was only from
sorrow, and improved after a time. Then
her eyes were very large and dark.; but so
sad, that tears came into Clara's for very
sympathy, as she caught their yearning,
wistful gaze.
Another' minute or two, and Mr. Selwyn
was leading her into the house, saying
kindly, Now, my dear, let me take you to
Clara. She has been expecting you very
anxiously, I can tell you, and I hope you
will soon be very good friends."
Louisa murmured something, and tried
to smile; but it was a very watery affair,
and she would very likely have burst into
tears instead if Mrs. Selwyn had not that
moment met her and folded her in her arms,
with a warm, motherly embrace. Wel-
come to England, my dear child," she said,
adding in a lower tone, as they came up to



.; ~f~i How pleased mamma will be to hear
7%' l. bravely her little girl behaved."
a-i: was beginning to think her turn
Ai erver come, and yet she felt too -shy
a: very boldly forward.
S-~. very timid kiss was all the greeting
cned between the two sisterless children;
0i ,ljbut for Mrs. Selwyn, it seemed as if
Wr~ uld have had ample silent time to
S Wii .e.. all she had left behind her, and
the.little pale face look sadder still.
Afaerall Clara's longing for her arrival, it
..t nd," now Louisa was really come, that
Olklpor td not find a word to say to her. In
SCl ara had never seen any one looking
srt .ry sad before, and it rather awed our
J$ friend, as deep sorrow will the young
gi;bve never known it.
f: Sql~ryn went on talking kindly, and
4B .-. Louisa was able to answer so as to
gatood; and by-and-by Clara ven-
-a word or two, and at last the two
sent up-stairs together for Clara to
.ponAg guest their rooms. She felt




very shy for a few moments, and could not
think of anything to say, except to ask if
Louisa was very sorry indeed to come away
from her papa anid maminla; :afd that, she
thought, would be a very foolish question
indeed, when she looked into her face, and
saw the tears triembling in the eyes, in
spite of all the heroic efforts to keep them
back. So she said nothing till they were
really in Louisa's own little room, and then
the sight of all the preparations she had made
came to Clara's aid, and she exclaimed-
Oh! I do hope you will like this room,
and the flowers, and the books. I have
been so busy, you don't know, getting it all
ready for you!
Louiisa looked round with a faint smile.
" Thank you; O yes, I shall be certain to
like it by-and-by, only it is all so strange
and new." The poor child stopped to gulp
down a sob, and then said," How sweet the
mignonette smells! we had mignonette at
home." The pathos of the word as she said
it was so great, it went straight to Clara's



i~%tand seemed to tell her all in a moment
l t`he little companion at her side was
threw her arms impetuously round
iack, and, kissing her over and over
i l)aimed-" Oh, dear Louisa, I am so
f or you, I can't tell you. I don't
t I should do if I had to go away
i "ta k rid mamma,"-and she fairly
Sand so did Louisa; and when
Pi led their tears together for a
411 the shyness and form was
'somehow, and they began to
Sfst. Indeed, before Mansell
'them tea was waiting, Louisa
smiled more than once.
ik oi so, Louisa began to re-
.spirits. Two or three letters
Sthe last from on board the
to take them to Barbadoes,
"i famously-they seemed to
;Rhrer; and now they were
It as Clara gravely ob-
1rde back" all the sooner.


Clara had had a fortnight's holiday in
honour of her guest, and one morning as
this was drawing to a close, Mr. Selwyn
proposed at breakfast to take both girls with
him for the day, sight-seeing.
You must see 'the lions,' as people call
them, of your own capital, Louisa," ihe
said, "and as I can spare the time, we
will begin with one or two to-day. Which
shall it be, my dear ?"
Louisa looked up eagerly. "Oh! if you
please, I should so like-" And there she
.stopped, and looked hesitatingly at Clara.
Mrs. Selwyn guessed her thought, and
said, Never mind Clara, my love; she has
often been to most of the London sights,
You are to choose; what is it you are
anxious to see ?"
The Tower, please; I have longed to see
it since I read Sir Walter Scott's 'Tales of
a Grandfather' to mamma. Lord Lovat and
the poor Scofs, the Traitor's Gate' and the
block--I have fancied them over and over to
myself:" and she looked more excited tham



I .t.ever seen their subdued little charge

$,Wqy well, my enthusiastic little Jaco-
. etarned Mr. Selwyn, smiling, "the
Slie it, then; and I believe it is nearly
dI nly place you could have chosen that
elit have been a novelty to Clara."
. have been once, papa, but I was very
~t should like to go again so much,
-iSr Walter Raleigh's writing on the
WtP his celL"
you are devoted to Queen Elizabeth's
knight-eh, my daughter? Well, we
start at ten o'clock, for I must go a
wouod to get an order. It is one of the
ye at the British Museum, too, so we
through there as we come home,
e quite an instructive, historical day."
n shall we come home, papa?"
very early; why, pussy ?"
l otin time for dinner, papa?"
i~ ,yes, I hope so. I don't think I
^ ne very comfortably off the Crown
.-7 even an Egyptian mummy."



Papa, I mean our dinner, you know!"
Ah! to be sure, that is a grave consi-
deration. What do you say, Louisa-do you
think you can dine like a fairy, on air ?"
Louisa laughed, and confessed her pre-
ference for something a little more substan-
tial; and Clara looked rather impatiently
towards her mother, who caught her anxious
look at last, and answered it, smiling Yes,
Clara, I believe there is no help for it; you
will have te dine with us to-day."
"Qh! thank you, mamma; I was hoping
so all the time; that is so nice." As she scam-
pered up-stairs with Louisa, she said, That
is almost the best part of a going-out day,
as I call it; no one o'clock dinner, or tea
up-stairs, but with papa and mamma all
the evening till bed-time, just like Sunday.
Isn't it capital, Louisa, dear ? "
Yes, very, dear; but I can hardly think
of anything but that I reallyshall see the Tower
at last. I can scarcely believe I really shall.
I have pictured it so often. I am sure it must
be a great strong place-stronger than any-








" thing I ever saw in France." And so chatter-
l og, the little damsels prepared themselves
"- their happy day.
And a happy day it was! for, what with
Wonders of the streets, the wonders of
:~i lT&wer, the wonders of the British
and the nicest of tiny lunches,
ich Mr. Selwyn treated them at the
-ook's, the girls, as they told Mrs.
afterwards, "never spent a more
.htful day in their lives."



CLARA and Louisa had each a pretty little
room, both opening into another larger one,
where they could sit whenever they liked,
and where Mansell sometimes finished dress-
ing them. She was doing Clara's hair there
one day, fondling and petting her, while
Clara chattered happily on, sometimes to
Mansell, now and then to Louisa, who was
in her own room, watching them with her
wistful dark eyes. Mansell had forgotten
all about her grievance by this time, and
was getting daily fonder of the "stranger
young lady," as she called her.
Presently Clara fancied she saw Louisa
wiping away some tears; and as her young
friend had for a long time now ceased to
shed them often, it quite disturbed her. So
she left off talking, and rather impatiently
waited for Mansell's last touches to her hair.


.RAih1ere, Mansell, Pm sure that 'I1 do; it's
quite tidy now," she exclaimed, at last;
and stopping the old woman's remonstrance
h a kiss, she hastily ran into Louisa's
iYese, she had really been crying; there
w- the evidence of it still in two large
pa hanging to either eyelash. "Loui,
.aipr, what is the matter? Ar'n't you well ?
'-.ihy, you were talking so merrily just now."
-. '.Yes, I know, and I am very naughty
abd silly; but when I thought of Annette I
quiW H not help it."
i.f;Annette! who is that? I never heard
wiPBr, before."
Mlk WNo. She was my nurse. She came to
: hteare we first went to France, and I was
ia-r and of her, and so was she of me. She
| t; pet me, just as Mansell was doing to
tju st now, and that made me think of her
a a sudden, and then the tears would

isa! you have to part from
said Clara, compassionately.



But why could not she have come with
"She would if I had had her still."
Is she dead, then?" asked Clara, in a
low, awe-struck voice.
"I don't, know; I hope not. She went
away al of a sudden, and we have never
seen her since."
But why ? Was she wicked ?" Clara's
only experience of a servant's leaving the
house suddenly was when one of the house-
maids hid done something very wrong, and
Mr. Selwyn had turned her away directly.
"Wicked !--Annette? .Oh, no, no; very
good. Mamma and papa were alinost as
sorry as I to part from her, and tried to find
out where she was gone, but we never could,'
said Louisa, sadly.
"Well, but I don't understand," said
Clara, looldng puzzled.
No; no more do I, much, dear. It was
nearly two years ago, when one night as
Annette was sobbing and crying so, as she
undressed me, that I was quite frightened.






intedl~o call mamma, but she begged me
| ~~dsaid she should be all right again
ib, only she had heard some bad news;
i mshe begged me, whatever I did, to say
ibim to inadame. So I did not, and the
Ibxmerning Annette was gone, and she
hbafiy left a little bit of a note telling
o .n she was bien-triste," broken-hearted,
ll~atsom.ething had happened, and it -was
IbWtevoir" to go, and she eould not say
1* Bw very odd! Is that what French
:ite always do?". asked Clara, still
,no, they are very faithful; and,
0a4ifAnnette was not quite French. Her
l -.Weras auid she had never been out of the
i m in her life ; but her father was partly
'-iif not altogether, I believe; and
Sii Ihe was not a very good man.
aslwlays seemed afraid when she
-oE him, and so did her mother, poor

ghevery old ?"



Who ? Nathalie ? No, I believe not;
only she looked so, she was so withered and
"No, I mean Annette."
Oh, she was quite young when she first
came to us, and, of course, not very old
when she went away. She had such a sweet
pleasant face, and such winning ways. Oh,
Clara, you don't know how I grieved over
losing her, and sometimes I am afraid I
shall never see her again."
Oh, I hope you will, and find out why
she had to go away. Should you not like
to know very much? I should."
"Yes, but I care more for seeing Annette
again. She was more of an humble friend
than a servant, mamma used to say. We
were all so fond of her. Papa tried to
'find out about her going, but he could never
discover anything more than that they were
all gone quite away from the town, nobody
knew where."
How very funny! It is just like a
story in a book, Loui dear; only to finish



.ip right you must meet her again some

I "I hope I shall; but I am afraid not, it is
lpk a long time ago now."
ti* story about Annette made a deep
Fpreion on Clara. She told it to her
i paand mamma, with all her thoughts
S:opinions about it, and her great curio-
w~ toknow why Annette went away; and
Suite satisfied with the amount of
it rest'displayed in the matter by both her
ts-which is a great deal to say, con-
ing how intensely she was herself in-
- in it.
il][on't you think, mamma, it was rather
p ~ r'doir to stay with Louisa?" she asked
ijutA after they had been speaking of it
umne time.
,SWell, I cannot say, my love; that quite
w1 01on1 what called her away. Certainly
WitjPt not-to have been a trifle to occasion
having in that way."
i,.L am sure she was right, whatever
cried Louisa, eagerly. "Annette



thought a great deal of her devoir, and was
certain to do it."
By the bye," said Mrs. Selwyn, smiling,
"how does the French get on, Clara? Miss
Johnstone says you are beginning to speak
without blushing now; and papia told me he
was quite pleased to hear two little tongues'
talking French quite fast the other day at
the Tower."
Clara did blush a good deal then, and it
was Louisa who answered-
Oh, yes, that was because of the beef-
eater who was talking to Mr. Selwyn; lie
was such a funny man. I wanted Clara to
observe all about him; but we did not like
to talk about him before his face, so that he
would hear us; so we spoke French, and
Clara got on famously. She knows I am
fond of speaking it, because it is like old
times; and so she tries to do it to please me,
and it isn't a bit difficult-is it, Clara
dear ?
It isn't quite so bad as I expected,"
returned Clara, who had recovered herself by



time; "but I don't think it is so very
y, except when you are talking, and then,
say it so-so just like English, that
SI can too, till I begin to try."
IJAnd s6 you can-or at least you will be
r sotn, -if you go on talking to me
and don't give up; and it is so
iible to chatter French just as I
.Is it no odd, dear Mr. Sel-
che. child, raising her soft
affectionately to the face that
so kindly and compassionately
tr liked to talk English at home,
iibifct'.was like mamma's home; and here
r tibalk French, because it is like music."
:3It is very natural, my dear, and, a very
i^: for both of you. You will find
In.ieful in after-life to have, as it were,
ieatile ongues."

arn b T J.



SMAMMA," cried Clara one morning, running
into the room where Louisa and Mrs. Selwyn
were sitting, there is a poor little boy in
the hall, and he says he wants to see you,
and Sarah can't' make out anything about
him. Who can he be?"
"I don't know, my dear, but the best way
of finding out would be for Sarah to bring
him to me, I should say." And Mrs.
Selwyn rose to ring the bell when the maid
"Please, ma'am, there is a child below says
he was to come and see you," Sarah said, in
a tone of voice which seemed to express a
strong disbelief of this statement.
"What sort of a child, Sarah? Did he.
give his name?"
"No, ma'am. There's a big strip of a girl
with him, and I hardly liked to leave them

.t ball at first, only Mrs. Mansell was
.-going up-stairs, and I got her to stay a
hit. and give a look to them while I

y prudent of you, Sarah; but could
I4tbh girl tell you more about his

llnma'am, she didn't say anything,
ng about his not being used to
-o she came with him to see
't be lost again."
l '- repeated Mrs. Selwyn, puzzled;
Obn added after a minute, Oh! per-
fitt i that little fellow I met so long ago.
6d given up all idea of his ever coming
S'Show him into the dining-room,
Oi1' I will come directly."
Belwyn put her work aside, and was
Sarah out of the room, when she
.it pair of wistful eyes fixed entreat-
-ti her face. She paused, and smiling,
oul may follow me, my dears, if you
,i.t don't come into the room till I
ULis the little fellow I fancy. Stop a


moment behind, and if I don't sign to you
to go back, you may come."
"Oh, thank you!" cried both girls; and
Clara, who was close on her mother's heels
in a moment, added in a half whisper,-
"But who is the little boy you mean,
"I will tell you by-and-by: now do as I
tell you."
To the children's great joy, no forbidding
sign followed Mrs. Selwyn's entrance into
the dining-room, and they too arrived there
in time to hear her say-
So you have found me out at last, my
little man. How do you do ?"
The boy she spoke to was rather a small
one of his age, dressed neatly, but very
shabbily, with a fresh-coloured round face
and innocent eyes, much more like a little
country fellow who has never been out of
his own village, than one of the quick-witted,
sharp-eyed London youngsters, who often
look more like a small race of men than
trusting, curious children.



i b'.bifg strip of a girl" was dressed no
Y and. looked rather more dirty than
, boy; but she was evidently a much

I ma'am," said the poor little boy
hiwildered tone, while his eyes were
iy ixed on the bright gas chandelier
ibwging over the dining-room table; but
;his head nevertheless, and put-
hand up, seemed feeling on its
surface for a bit of hair
"ji -owexMgh to pull in reverence to the

, Well, but can't you tell me some-
'. about what happened to you, and
ftV .notheIr is?" asked Mrs. Selwyn,

: e- ,i:yes came down from the chan-
S i~h eqt the word "mother," and were
llrjma.the face of the speaker. She's
0ter, they say; but she can't walk, not a

i thing! she has been very ill,I am
; but perhaps she'll soon be well



again, my little man." And then turning to
the girl, Mrs. Selwyn asked, "Are you his
sister, my good girl ?"
"No, I aint no relation-I'm not,"
returned the girl, with a sudden bob, "but
I've been longer up in London, and so, as
we're neighbours, I come to take care on
him like."
SAnd where do you live, and what is the
boy's name?"
We, lives up a court near the Abbey, and-
his name's Peter West. 'Peter Wide-
awake' we calls him, he's so mortal slow
learning our ways."
Well, perhaps you might have been as
long if you'd come up to London as young as
he is, poor child; besides, he has not been
long here yet. And now can you tell me a
little more about him and his mother and
father? for I could make out very little from
"His father's been dead long ago, I
believe; anyhow, long afore Mrs. West come



she came to London ? Oh! she's
woman, then ?
yes, like mother; they both come
n way, mum."
hoW long has she been in Lon-

at. h er? Oh, 'fore I can remember
ABat you means Mrs. West? Why,
years agone, I think."
w hat does she do ?'
out washing and charming, and such
i ibut she's not had much luck since her
Iovlher was took bad and she had to tend

And where is she now, and her

~ gr looked up at Mrs. Selwyn, as if
at the question. .She evidently
tbat lady as well informed on Mrs.
s history as- herself, and therefore felt
agrieved at being asked so many
Useless questions. She answered

-i mam, why he's dead. He died



before her accident, you know, and now she's
come back to her room next ourn; but the
landlord says he can't keep out o' the rent
much longer."
And she is ill, and not able to work,"
said Mrs. Selwyn; and, as the girl nodded
an affirmative, continued-" Well, I will come
and see her as soon as I can; and now you
shall go down into the kitchen and have
something to eat. Peter, are you hungry ?"
she continued, turning to the little boy, who
had been silently staring round and round
the room, at his old friend the chandelier, at
the bright cornice, the picture frames, and
now and then at our ypung friends Clara and
Lousia, who were standing rather behind
Mrs.-Selwyn, listening with intense interest
to all that passed, and watching with great
amusement Peter's astonished examination
of everything.
Peter said he was very hungry, and looked
brighter than he had yet done, poor child, at
the prospect of something to eat, and h6'_A
following his awkward escort, the big girl,


gifHWf the room, when something seemed to
Swide across his memory. He made a dead
Wltij the door, grew very red, stammered a
Albthen shuffled back nearer Mrs. Selwyn,
-his small round head till it nearly
ltet i his knees, and blurted out-
Thank you, ma'am, humbly. Mother
as to thank you with all her heart,
Nibe sent me to say that." And, fairly
at his own long speech, little
N.J & red as fast as he could after his
Ni'Poor child !" said Mrs. Selwyn, smiling.:
do believe they are honest sort of people.
tI)~ktt talk to papa about what to do for
loit., And now go, Clara, and tell cook to
-tthem some cold meat to eat. And stay--
n' yOeutwo like to pack up a little
for him to take to his sick mo-

-,4*Oh, so much! "
'Well, run up to my room then, Clara,
&p my little round basket with the
gnd lid from my closet, and then



come to Louisa and me into the store-
Clara was scampering off, when a sudden
thought seemed to strike her, and she stopped
And youwill tell us about him directly
after, mamma-won't you?"
'Yes; but there is not a great deal to
The basket was nicely packed by the two
girls with a very acceptable supply of food
for the invalid-cold meat, arrowroot, tea,
sugar, and similar things, which Mrs. Selwyn
herself selected and gave them-and by the
time they had finished, the meal in the
kitchen was over. Then Mrs. Selwyn, with
some difficulty, got the exact address of
Peter's widowed mother from the girl, and
entrusting the basket to the care of both,
saw them safely off on their way home.
"Now, mamma," cried Clara, when they
were once more fairly established in the
drawing-room. "Come, Louisa, and bring
the other cushion. Mamma has two%




you know, and we can each have

~ ll, ,Clara, you dispose of my knees
y," returned Mrs. Selwyn,
; but you are quite welcome to
my love, in the way Clara meant,"
added, turning to Louisa, who had hesi-
s:o appropriate it on Clara's invitation
'Thus encouraged, however, she
;, and with a child leaning against
either side, Mrs. Selwyn began-
'.L-wonder I never told you of my meeting
r before, Clara, but it happened when
Were staying at your aunt's for a week,
i then, just as you came back, we heard
C dear little visitor here coming to us,
;.we were so full of that, I suppose, the
Ae lithing went out of my head. How-
lW Iet you stay in Welbeck Street alto-
er; you know, because my friend, Mrs.
U ,:was so ill they wanted me to go
Spss a few days with her if possible."
4~Q!h yes, I remember, mamma; and'
not half like being away from yoti
: "



a whole week, though it was very good
fun staying with Carry and Julia in their
Well, Mrs. Norman lives out of town,
you know, and I went up and down on
business once or twice while I stopped
with her. One day I was rather hurried,
and there was a greater crowd than usual,
especially round the railings separating the
platforms at the railway station. I was
passing very rapidly along to meet papa,
whom I saw close by the railings near the
large waiting-room, when I heard a child
crying bitterly, and apparently almost
crushed in among some young men who.
were leaning over the rails laughing and
talking. I looked towards the spot from.
which the sound proceeded, but could not see
the child's face, and as papa had been,
waiting for me some time, and we had
neither of us much time to spare that day, I
was just turning away, and we were leaving.-
the station, when some of the gentlemen
moved a little, and then I saw a little boy.



"Asked the poor child what was the matter? "-Page 59.


.a s if his heart was broken. Poor little

a amma and was that Peter ?"
my dear, it was Peter; though till
Fbad no idea what my poor little
is. name was. However, I could not
'wiMay without speaking to a poor little
who seemed in such misery and with
to care for him, so I begged papa to
ti' moment for me, and went back.
I stooped down to speak to the boy
jfiiglhtlemeh made way, and seemed then,
hefirst time to be aware that they had
so unhappy a little mortal hidden
-miMgat them. I asked the poor child what
r .Afie matter, and had some difficulty in
jEw ng out the answer through his convul-
C sobs."
SJbor little fellow!" ejaculated Louisa,
deep sympathy.
04,YFem; indeed, he was a pitiful sight,
Sidear.. At last I comprehended partly
he had been sent there to meet some-
ita %and that this somebody had not

w:.-. .:



come, and he felt himself lost in all that
"Was he quite alone, mamma, and with-
out luggage or anything ?
"Quite alone, dear, and all the luggage
he had was in a very small white bag, which
he held tightly clutched in his little hands.
He evidently understood he was to take great
care of it, and considered it quite a trea-
Yes, mamma."
i" Well, I spoke to a porter whom I knew,
and he sent a police-officer, to whom I pointed
out my little friend, and he went up and spoke
to him quite kindly. He made out more
about him than I had been able to do, and
showed me his direction pinned on with a
crooked pin."
"His direction, mamma! What can you
mean ?"
SJust what I say, my little girl: there was
the poor little fellow's address written in a
sprawling hand, but quite legibly, on a card,
and carefully fastened on to his waistcoat."





'..i WhatI just as if he had been a pacd-
iage? Poor child how droll it must have

i:bi$- would have done so, but it was hidden
-jj~r? the front of his jacket, and I don't
A znk I should ever have found it out; but
: the policeman seemed quite used to such
things, and so hunted for it. He made out
rm the apy, and repeated to me, that he
had been sent up from the country to his
Smothet; that she was to have met him herself,
Sor sent a neighbour to do so, at the station,
Sbut that no one had come; and the poor boy
SI as t have been waiting two hours amongst
4. the crowd of strangers at the railway
station, till, no doubt, he became thoroughly
L;. ghtened, and began crying bitterly, as I
Sfand him."
And what did you do?" asked Louisa,
earnestly fixing her large eyes, moist with
Sympathy, on Mrs. Selwyn.
Why, I should hardly have known what
-t do, but the policeman said he knew an
m omnibus conductor who went close by the


lane where the child had to go, and if he had
money to pay his fare he had no doubt Jejn
would give an eye to him and see that he got
up the court all right. I spoke to papa; -and
as it was quite impossible that we could see the
child safe, as we were already late for our ap-
pointment, we gave the policeman a shilling
for the boy, and begged him to sea that
he was put in the way of getting safp
'And did you tell him to come and see
you ?"
Yes, I wrote my full address on one of
my cards, and, on the back, that I wished
the boy to come on some future day, and tell
me if he got to 'mother' safely, and made
him put it away into the inner pocket of his
little jacket. He had left off crying by that
time, and promised me quite bravely that he'd
be sure and come if mother would let him;
and I saw him trotting along by the police-
man's side in one direction, looking tolerably
happy, while your papa and I went off in


aow you will go and see his mother.
-go with you, mamma ? "
a'~,y dear, I think not; it is a very
,London, andyou are too young
-.4aken among such people as we
to encounter to visit Mrs. West.
1,not go myself without asking papa

4 if she is a nice woman, why does
among bad people, mamma ?"
l"l .e are not sure yet, Clara, that she is
S~li"co woman, as you say; and besides, if
|j|P ever so nice, she is, no doubt, much
''oor to choose her own home just where
) would like. We can none of us quite
.4i.at,, and in London the very poor are
poftan obliged to live in the same house with
ji-M bq-urs they would rather not be near if
l-pcould help themselves. Not that I mean
saTy all people who live near Mrs. West are
ijT hope there may be many quite as good
ka are fancying her to be. However, it is
jjta time you went out for your walk now,
,jydears, so go and get ready. You may



tell papa all about Peter's visit yourself to-
night, if you like, and we will hear what he
says about going to see his mother."
Mr. Selwyn was nearly overpowered that
evening, directly the children came in for
dessert, with the eager account of their morn-
ing visitor; and it was some time-at leasthe
pretended so--before he discovered whether .
little Peter was a living boy with a tongue
of his own, or a well-made figure obeying
certain strings pulledby the "big strip of a
girl," who seemed to have. no name at all,
so far as he could make out. However,
when the little voices were still waiting in
some anxiety for his fiat respecting the pro-
jected visit to Snow Court, he said, looking at
his wife-
"Well, I am glad your little friend has
turned up after all. I was very much afraid
the whole thing was an imposition, and one
does not like to think real distress could be
so well counterfeited. So this male Niobe
was bondfide what he seemed-a heart-broken
little boy, not over-gifted with sharpness. That




S of the girl's for him isnot a bad one,
itiagh it savours very much of the region
she sprang. Well, Clara, what are
g my fingers off for, and both of
ookng so very eager about ? )
Ma:.. ma's going to see her.'
Oh, certainly ; but not till I can go too.
The first leisure afternoon I have we will go
and ferret out little-Peter, and this charming
pettioa4 Mentor of his. But then, you two
must give up your expedition to Richmond,
perhaps-till nex4 year, for I may n6t have
;another free day till the days are too short.
How about that ?"
-" Oh, we would much rather you went to
wee Mrs. West, indeed," cried both girls
at once.
Very well, then. Mamma and I will go
as soon as we can; she must not go alone.
.I wonder how much snow we shall find,"
added Mr. Selwyn, laughing. "Don't you
guhink it will be rather an unusual colour,
bi~lrdren ?"
SClara and Louisa were delighted to think


Mrs. West was to be visited, and that they
should hear all about little Peter; and though
they were rather disturbed at having to wait
for what they wanted to know that very
minute, Still it was something to look
forward to, and, like good girls, they tried
to be patient, and submit to the delay

aim& do look at that man," cried Louisa
me morning, as the latter stood by the
~t ai widAow; what an ugly dog
pk-, invfr* by the atrhing And oh!
b: tewe,; has another quite a little
nature, such a dear little mite, hidden
Wo:1 tis ooat--in his pocket it is, I verily

fYN4that it is," said Clara, running to
pesieoe .* c Mamma, do come and look
i;a wana d see, he has another on the other
e: has just pulled it back through the
SWhat cat he be doing with all
6 dogs? I wish we could see that tiny
,saa in his pocket. Mamma, may
lhimi in and ask him to show it

Vio m. y dear, certainly not. I should
a 2


like you to see the dogs very much; but he
is not a sort of man to have into the house.
I am afraid he is nothing else but a dog-
stealer. See, he is offering them for sale to
that gentleman. Now stand close to the blind,
my dears, and you will see that.wonder of
yours; he is taking it out of his coat at this
"Oh, what a darling!" cried Clara;
' why, it is not much bigger than Topsy.
Do look, at its tiny brown ears and tail,
Louisa; do look.".
Yes," said Louisa, musingly, and she did
peep through the blind. But she was evi- :
dently thinking of something else; and
presently, when Clara was still lost in ecsta-.
sies about the "wee doggie," she said, half'
as if asking a question, half as though to
herself, "Then men do steal dogs in:
England ?"
Yes, my dear, I am sorry to say they
do," said Mrs. Selwyn, "and very often they
take dogs back to their rightful owners afte&t '
stealhig them, pretending they have fwound-


SjPAt to get any reward that may have
l ow very wicked !" exclaimed Louisa;
i perhaps what papa thought might
~ %iWhat was that, my dear ?" asked Mrs.
9gyn; and Clara turned hastily round in
0 hope of a story.
!hWhy, Annette one day brought a beauti-
AlI .ttlsedog in to show us. It was such a
4asr little beauty, and I wanted mamma to
y it; but Annette said no. She begged
, would not do that; but she wished I
would d keep it just for that night. She
4ed" very uncomfortable, and ready to
igj and as if she did not quite know what
ll.said, and then she asked to speak to
I-adame alone.
_~~f Well ?" said Clara, impatiently, as
Lonisa paused for a moment.
S -Poor Annette! I was thinking how
she used to seem in great trouble;
'.I never thought about it then, ex-
t,9 be impatient that she was not so
. ,, .
"-"", z


amusing as usual." And Louisa sighed
"Ah! my dear child," said Mrs. Selwyn,
stroking her hair, you are not the only
person-no, not even the only little girl-
in the world who has to regret want of
sympathy with the sorrow of others,
and impatience at the effects of it. We
must have felt sorrow ourselves before
we can make allowance for its results in
"But about the little dog, Loui dear?"
said Clara, eagerly. What did she tell
your mamma ?"
Nothing, dear. She only asked mamma
if she would advance her a month's wages,
offering to leave her ear-rings in madame's
hands till the month was up."
Ear-rings!-a servant with ear-rings!"
exclaimed Clara.
Yes, my dear," said her mother; you
will not see the poorest peasant in France
without her ear-rings. They are not looked
on as mere finery there, but are a sort of



Adltrik s "( DEVOIr."

.f Ipahbility; they descend from
to daughter, and are highly
:t fetnch girl would as soon think
i*ithout her cap as without her
arid both are distinctive marks
i'tF ch bonne, or nursemaid. Well,

i*i t hattI miad she would let her have
eipj bt 'ngher ear-rings, and
#iWtl -w and thankful-
'4 dL r mmered rathei- when she asked
ie t sh6 wotld let me keep the dog
iy room out f sight, till the next day,
en it must go home. She would be very
if chare mademoiselle might buy it;
fi-Rmust go home."
iWTies," said Clara, eagerly; "and did
Wk~eep it?"
S.Only till the next day; then Annette
h leave to go out for the afternoon, and
Sit away with her. Papa said he saw
ltls about, describing just such a little
'~ lost, and he thought it had been


Stolen! but who by? Annette ?" asked
Clara, bewildered.
"Oh, no, dear Clara. Won't you under-
stand how good Annette was ? No, but per-,
haps by her father; at least, that is what papa
and mamma fancied, but we don't know at
all; only Annette seemed very poor for a long
while after, and they thought perhaps she had
paid her father for the dog and taken it back
to its owner, without asking anything for it
or saying anything about it. Mamma said
she was almost sure of it, because Annette
seemed so much more cheerful and happy
that night when she came home without the
dog and with no money. We knew she had
no money, for papa asked her next morning
to lend him two francs to pay a man, because
he had no change, and Annette coloured
and said she had only five sous in the
world. Mamma was quite sorry after-
wards she had been asked, but she seemed
too happy to think about it for long, and
they had not thought how it all was till
afterwards." /


MI 311'S 4' DEVOIRS 7

whait a shame it was," exclaimed
n-aignntly, "for her to suffer for her
ekedIess like that."
.bt then, you know, it was helping
," pleaded Louisa, gently.
tIj^ B said Mrs. Selwyn; "and though it
o seem hard, my dears, it was her duty,
1 depend upon it she has had her reward
gik-.~ :h.. She mnst have been a
-Br d though, and I wish very
r 9X'therf :seemed any chance of finding
where she is."
iLuisa was much gratified by this praise
ikAher favourite, but inquired anxiously,
_0s1h, Mrs. Selwyn, don't you think
is any hope of her coming to us

AMy dear child, it is impossible to say.
is always a possibility of such things,
II would not have you depend on it too
One comfort for you is, that wherever
nay be, it is tolerably certain she is where
b.duty calls her, and fulfilling it to the
-oefher ability."



Louisa sighed ; she knew this ought to
comfort her; but she would rather have
felt sure she should one day see her chire
Annette again. Clara, in their private con-
versation over the matter afterwards, gave
it as her decided opinion that "Annette
would come to light again somewhere or
other; she did not know why, she confessed,
and had no particular reason to give, only
she felt quite sure about it-it would be so
wrong and unfair if she did not." Louisa
hardly subscribed to her young friend's
logic; but it comforted her, nevertheless,
and though she hardly hoped for such
good fortune herself, it was a consolation'
to know that some one had blind faith in
Annette's reappearance.
The Bernards had come back from the
sea-side a week or two previously to tl6
above conversation, and about this time
came an invitation from them for Clara and
Louisa, which was a subject of great felicita-
tion to both those young damsels. Clarm
enjoyed anything out of the ordinary wa-



Amr~.''S "DnVOIn., 75

day life, and Louisa was very
B to'~ee other little English maidens,
km one of an English party, though
!( thu-. id at the prospect, nevertheless;
l as I. a great disappointment was in
:'ir for both. Just two days before the
mbnia Lomisa began to look very flushed,
i ul ctghed -a .grett deal. Mustard and
bfhat heafLfr break&st in bed, and
R un ='..t water, were all tried in
Slain. Wednesday evening she was no better,
Thursday morning so feverish that Mrs.
-i wyi sent for the medical man, and his
ii4sence was, "perfect quiet in bed for a day
itwo at least."
i S;o-or children! it was a sad blow to all
their joyous anticipations; and though Louisa
* ell :irefy patient, and tried to be very con-
I:itr a tear or two did steal down her
lfieek, as visions of what was to have hap-
F w4Bad that eventful evening flitted before
S -As for Clara, when she heard Mr.
's fiat, she cried outright, and, asking
dhnstone, very piteously,-just to let


her go and speak to mamma, ran headlong
into the drawing-room with red eyes and
swollen cheeks, exclaiming, "Mamma-
please, mamma, if Louisa can't go, I
Mrs. Selwyn looked up from some house-
hold bills before her, rather bewildered,
and not quite understanding to what her
little daughter alluded: a light broke upon
her, however, after a moment, and she
My dear Clara, you need not be so vehe-
ment. Louisa's illness is very unfortunate,
but still it is what no one could have pre-
vented. My little girl, you speak in quite
an injured tone. Mr. Drayton advises what
is best."
Oh! yes, mamma, I know. I didn't
mean that; only it is so provoking, and
when we had so depended on it too."
"My dear child, illness and health are not
in our hands. Think, my Clara, and let us
rather be thankful Louisa's illness is -no
worse than it is-a cold, severe for the ti I



wifll pass away, and leave her just
e wn cheerful, happy Louisa again in a

did not answer directly; she thought
,A another bade her, and then her
d face cleared a little, and it was
1 a softer tone that she again pleaded
-tff But1 I e.ned not go, mamma, without

S~~did imta answer directly, she
-i n g of a certain conversation held
h er little girl not yet a year ago, and
her views of companionship had changed
Iack then. Clara grew impatient at reoeiv-
I#O a answer, and repeated her query with
ib dditiori--" It won't be a bit of pleasure
Hi me without Louisa."
ie&fr~Selwryn smiled. It was too good an
y to be lost; so, though she felt
LIi tfe cruel to remind Clara of that
:in Iher present state of mind, she
replied, with a meaning smile,
it yt. will have all the pleasure to
..i ny dear, with no one to inter-



fere with you, or rob you of your full share
of attention."
Mamma !" and Clara's cheek flushed
"Then my Clara no longer thinks it.
pleasanter to enjoy her pleasures all alone,
like a selfish little girl ?"
A shower of passionate tears answered this
question, while Clara, with burning blushes,
poured forth half inarticulate assurances--
" How very, very happy she was with Louisa,"~
" How impossible it was ariything could be
really pleasant without her to share it," and
how she hoped Mamma would not think of
her naughty selfishness any more, she was so
very sorry and ashamed, and she had been so
wrong too !"
Mrs. Selwyn was very well. satisfied, and,
seeing her little girl's distress came truly
from her heart, she tenderly folded her ia
her arms, saying-
Well, my darling, we will not allude to:
this any more; only, if you remember, it was'
agreed we should recall it once,.though A*c


A1aUZra'S "DEVORi."

ir, 11balf passed yet. MIy Clara
Ihow certainly a good heart
|iad its pleasures doubled by
i aad the sympathy of real

returned her mother's caresses
ery energetically, and there was silence
j4' *fsr isatsfl, t 'the end of which she

,I aionid likJ- to atay at home
pith Inisatery much, if I inay?.
S.The stbstance of her request was the same,
i:tW itwas put in a much more humble

S "And I should like you to do it, my
l:t4ag, if it were right, but I do not think
woldd be. Thank God, our Louisa is not
wim" 'y ill, and I don't think we have any
a iJl to disappoint your little friends of the
jksre of having one of you at least. No,
yPp t, you must go."
..cta 4ighed deeply, but she did not utter
'one rebellious murmur, and O her mother
'g$Iyrl added-



"You may stay with Louisa instead of
going for a walk this afternoon, Clara, if you
like; only don't go too near her bed, dear,
for influenza is catching, and it would be a
terrible thing," she added smiling, for you
to be invalided just as Louisa is getting well,
you know."
Oh, there's no fear of that, mamfna,"
replied Clara, dolefully; Louisa won't let
me come within a yard of her. She told me,
like you, she should give me her cold if I
did; and so she talked over Mansell to her
side, though she did not think so at first, and
I have to keep near the window all the
Mrs. Selwyn laughed. "A serious
penance, dear-very; but I hope you will
survive it. What a dear thoughtful child
Louisa is! And now go back to Miss Johna
stone, darling, and think how pleasant it will
be to tell your little friend of everything yott
see and hear to-night. I am sure it will be
of great interest to her."
Clara thought that would be but a po et

03A117KzBS DEVOIR." 81

*or seeing and hearing with her
and ears; nevertheless, the idea
ap, and after kissing her mother
-s. back to the school-room con-

*.i, W
I," ^ ^ ^. .^ ., ..' ,- ,


BEFORE Louisa was able to go out, or resume
her usual duties in the school-room, the after-
noon arrived on which Mr. Selwyn pro-
claimed himself able to take mamma to see
Mrs. West and her son Peter. Mrs. Selwyn
set off directly after luncheon,; she was to
meet her husband on the road, and proceed
directly to Snow Court.
The little.girls watched her departure from
the window with great interest, and awaited
the result of the visit with intense anxiety.
Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn only came hone
just in time to dress for dinner, and Clara
and Louisa were feeling very disappointed -
that their curiosity must wait till that meal
was over, when Rachel came in and said
with a smiling face-
"Mistress says, young ladies, if you like-
you may come into her dressing-room." .


1" cried both girls. "Just
.-L "How good of Mrs. Sel-

lthe window- seat, into which
been squeezed, they jumped, and
M, Mrs. Selwyn's dressing-room.
Well, my dears," she said, as they
f_:thfught I must have compassion
you about Peter now, or you
our dinner was going to

Is a good mother-now please
Wit :bsot it," cried Clara, pushing
tone corner of her mother's sofa,
hlrself into the other, that
iture being in a remarkably
1it seeing and hearing Mrs.
dt dressingg table.
iAie 'begin at the beginning, and
yu call a real story, Clara,
fli my hair ?"
e nmamma; it can't be too

i ltrnt know what papa might
K .'. 2



say about that; he may be rather hungry,
you know, and not quite subscribe to that
"Oh, I forgot; but please do begin,
there's a dear mamma."
So Mrs. Selwyn began without further
"We found Mrs. West living in Snow
Court, as the girl told us, in one room, with
little Peter; and the girl, whose name is
Martha Crouts, lives in another room next
door to them. They all seem very poor, but
honest, and papa thinks Mrs. West a true
object of charity. She had lived all her
life in a little Northamptonshire village,
till about two years ago. She had lost her
husband a few months before, and found
it hard work to support herself and little
Peter down there, without going into the
workhouse, which she had a great horror
of doing. Then. her brother, who was a
London workman, wrote to tell her he
thought he could find her plenty of work
if she would come up to town and live with



offer seemed a tempting one, so
6 West came--"
I without her little boy?" asked
416 dismay.
a._ without Peter. She told me she
i ld of' bringing him up to such a
Mg, wicked town,' knowing that she
Il-ld be out all day working or charming,
Irl one to leave little Peter with.
-her brother doing pretty well as
s labourer; but I am afraid,
it she let drop, he was not a very
p man. However, they lived together
1 feow Court, and she made a tolerable
,Lg~ going out every day to work;
I ndeede had put a little money by,
rthAt she night be able to have her little
i 'with her again, and send himr to

." where was he all this time ?' asked
": Who took care of him ?"
a. -i in of hers down in the village
vlw-s. born, and where he was very
~~i all his old companions to play



with, and where every one knew him and
were kind to him."
".I would rather have been with my
mother though," said Louisa, half aloud;
and Clara echoed energetically--
And so would I, I am sure."
He had not the choice, my dears," re-
turned Mrs. Selwyn, "and I think Mr,
West judged very rightly, poor woman, in
not having him up to London till he was
old enough to go to school and take some
care of himself. Remember, she was out
early and home late, and had her brother
to see to besides. Little Peter must have
taken care of himself, and very.hard work
he would have found it. Mrs. West did
quite right, though I dare say it was a hard
trial to her to live separated from her only
'Yes, mamma; well?" Clara was not
fond of any interruptions but her own to the
thread of a story.
Things went on so for nearly a year ;
then Mrs. West began to think she might




snow COURT. 87

venture on hiring a room all to herself, and
send for little Peter, when her brother fell
ill very suddenly. He got from bad to
worse, and she had to nurse him very closely.
She lost a great deal of her own work from
not being able to attend to it properly. Her
brother had not been at all provident; he
belonged to. no club, and had not saved any
money, and his illasa was- of a very explen-
i eWt oe r B 14 mWeat spent all her own
S sai s upon lbm, and when at last he died
she had hardly enough left to pay the rent
of the room. However, she began to work
again; some few of the people she had gone to
were willing to have her again; and after a
few weeks she got on so well that she thought
.she'might send for Peter. She did so long to
have him, she said, it seemed more lonesome
than ever without him now her brother was
S" And she wrote, and they sent him up
by the railroad, and you met him. But,
Smamma, how came they to send him alone?"
( You jump to conclusions, Clara; but


in this case you are right. She did write,
and her cousin sent him off very carefully
by the train, which his mother had agreed to
meet at London Bridge. Therewas no one
to go with him, and no money to pay an
extra fare if there had been; so his cousin
was obliged to send him alone."
"But how came his mother not to meet
him ?-how wicked of her."
N Not so fast, my dear. You ask me for
a long story, and yet have not patience to
listen to half of it. If you interrupt me
much more, the dinner-bell will ring before
I can finish."
Well, mamma, I won't-please go on.
But why didn't she meet him ?"
"The very morning she expected him,
the poor woman fell down some steps and
broke her leg. She was carried to the
hospital, and for some time lay there quite
insensible; for, besides breaking her leg, she
had struck her head against a sharp stone,
and had suffered a slight concussion of the
brain. The people she was with knew no-



thing of her expecting little Peter, and her
neighbours in the court concluded she had
gone to meet him, as she had told them she
should. When she came to herself, her first
anxiety was about Peter. The hospital nurse
was a kind-hearted woman, and seeing the
distress she was in, she sent off a messenger
to Snow Court, who brought back word that
little Peter was safe with the Crouts, though
broken-hearted not to see his mother.
SThanks to Jem, the conductor, he had
arrived there safely about an hour before,
Sand put Martha and her mother in a 'great
taking,' as they called it, about what could
have happened to his mother. She, poor
woman, stopped in the hospital till she was
cured, Martha Crouts taking little Peter
to see her every visitors' day, and being
very good to him all along; and directly
Mrs. West came out and understood how little
Peter got home, and saw my card, she sent
him to see me, under his friend Martha's care."
': "And who tacked the direction on to
S him ?" asked Louisa.



The cousin-very fortunately, as it turned
out. Mrs. West said she and her neigh-
bours would have made 'a sight of fun of it if
it hadn't proved such providence like to the
poor boy;' and now they thought it quite a
a miracle of care. Peter would never have
thought of Snow Court by himself she is
sure, and perhaps she would never have
seen him again, and then, poor woman, she
began to cry and express her gratitude."
And what will she do now, mamma ?"
"Papa means to try and get her some
employment at home till she is strong enough
to go out again, which I hope she soon will
be now. She will get plenty of work and do
very well, I hope. But there is the belL
Now I must go down, my dears; and Mrs..
Selwyn hurried away, leaving her young lis-
teners quite contented with her full history,
to talk over little Peter and his mother to
their hearts' content.



TIE passed rapidly on. Clara and Louisa
were both nearly, a year older than when
they first heard they were to live together
for-awhil.; and now they had so gfown into
each other's habits, and were so fondly at-
tached to one another, that they could hardly
realise the time when they were strangers to
S each other.
The hot breath of summer was upon
London, heating the roofs of the houses
till they seemed as if they had just come out
of a furnace, parching up the trees in the
park till their poor leaves were of a slate
colour, and making every one who was so
happy as ever to have seen them, long
S fr shady country lanes and cool country
S streams.
It was during this hot weather that Mr.
USwyn suddenly asked _Clara, one day, if

I-.. '


she remembered her last year's anxiety to
see hops and hop-picking?
"Oh, yes, papa." I
"And is the longing as great still, or
has something else succeeded, and deposed
that year's old Queen of Wishes from. her
throne ?"
"No, papa," returned Clara, laughing,
"she is still in possession-no usurper has
even attempted to displace her."
"Well, then, shall we go hopping, or
shall we go picking up shells and seaweed ?
What say you, Louisa? Put it to the
Louisa looked up brightly. She had never
been by the sea-side, and had a great desire
to go there; besides, she always fancied
she should be nearer mamma, if she were
close by that sea which divided them. She
had not quite heard what had been said
before, as she had been reading, and was
now on the point of exclaiming "The sea,
please," when she caught Clara's dismayed l
face. She paused for a moment, and then



asked what Clara was so interested about.
That young lady instantly gave her the
whole detail of the hopping, word for word,
as nearly as she could remember, as she had
received it from her mother.
Louisa listened attentively; but the ideal
picture did not win her fancy so quickly as
it had Clara's. She still longed in her own
inmost heart for the sea-side, and was sorely
tempted to say so, as she thought of mamma,
S and the charms beside of bathing, boating,
picking up shells-all she had heard so much
S about, but never shared in. But Louisa was
the most unselfish of little girls; and though
it cost her a sharp inward struggle, by the
time Clara's glowing descriptions were ended
she had won her victory over herself, and
could say, quietly, but cheerfully, I should
like to see this hop-picking very much, I
Now, this was very good of Louisa, for to
be by the sea-side had been an early dream
of hers, and for many years had she coveted
this special pleasure, which was just offered


her now, only for her to feel it right to turn
away from it.
"Well," said Mr. Selwyn, then that
is settled. I know mamma's taste," he
added, looking with a smile at his wife;
" and what's more, I believe I know of a
snug farm-house, very near the place where
mamma used to live, where we hallRbe able
to get lodgings."
Oh, how delightful that will be !" cried
Clara, full of pleasure, and looking eagerly
to Louisa for her ready sympathy--for she
had not seen the change on her friend's face,
and was quite ignorant of what had passed
in her mind. Louisa smiled assent, and
nobody knew the great sacrifice she had
made; buit she was herself rewarded for it,
even at the time, by the feeling of having
acted as she ought, and as her mamma would
have had her act. So the disappointment
was soon smoothed away, and she was join-
ing as usual in Clara's eager anticipations and
The farm-house lodgings proved to be avail-



Page 55.


: able. Mr. Selwyn took them, and about a
week or two before hopping began, they found
themselves comfortably settled in a pretty
village on the Surrey borders of Hampshire,
f uI of hop-gardens, and, what was more,
&. e gardens themselves full of hops; for it
was a good year, and the people were looking
forward to their hop-harvest with great satis-
I-abift on.
.i, the many delights of the real country
to a little girl who has lived all her life in
London Clara was in what seemed to her
-enchanted ground, and Louisa was hardly less
h iappy. Though she had been in the country
abroad, that was very different from the real
english lanes, and fields, and homesteads.
S hie almost ceased to think about the sea,
that great joy which she had only just
'_~ery day brought some fresh wonder
vf :delight to the young ladies, and Mansell,
*who thought London, in spite of the heat, a
Ar more comfortable home-than Green Hol-
-itw, with its fresh breezes and sweet smells,



sometimes thought her darling child was
gone quite crazy with the cows, and children,
and things.
And it must be confessed Clara sometimes
acted as if she was a little beside herself; but
it was all so fresh and attractive, and altogether
charming, that there surely was some little
excuse for her.
The first time Mrs. Selwyn walked with
them into a hop garden, among the elegant
festoons of leaves and fruit, the raptures of
both the girls were boundless. Clara stod
almost speechless with delight, holding one
beautiful drooping bunch in her hand, as if
doubting its reality, while Louisa, clasping
hers, exclaimed in French, as was her habit
when much moved, Ah! qu'ils ressemblent
a mes vignes."
"Only we can't eat their grapes," said
Mr. Selwyn, demurely, more's the pity."
A daily visit to the hop gardens was now
a matter of course, and the girls hardly
knew whether they most wished for or
dreaded the time when the spoliation of their



beautiful favourites would begin. They
were very curious to see the process, but
then it would be so grievous to see the poles
down and the gardens bare.
Every day brought an event for the chil-
dren in this new life at the homestead, where
there were so many living things of all sorts
beside themselves.
One glorious afternoon, when the sun
S seemed to have quite forgotten that it was
not midsummer time still, and that he
must go to bed a minute or two earlier
that night than he had the night before, the
girls were standing by the sitting-room win-
dow, looking out into a well-stocked flower-
garden, no* inhaling the sweet breath of
the autumn honeysuckle, now watching the
bees as they busily hummed from one border
to'ahother and back again, as if they could
no-how expect to finish their business
before night, let them work as hard as they
I wish papa had not been obliged to go
to tbwn to-day," observed Clara; it will be


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