Citation
Doda's birthday

Material Information

Title:
Doda's birthday the faithful record of all that befel a little girl on a long eventful day
Creator:
Ellis, Edwin John
Marcus Ward & Co
Royal Ulster Works ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London
Belfast
Publisher:
Royal Ulster Works
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
192, 23, [1] p., [6] leaves of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 18 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Birthdays -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Fatherless families -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Mothers and daughters -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Grandfathers -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Only child -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Country life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Parties -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1875 ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1875
Genre:
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Northern Ireland -- Belfast
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Date of publication based on binding indicating publication in the 1870's.
General Note:
Added title page and frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by Edwin J. Ellis.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026546695 ( ALEPH )
ALG0611 ( NOTIS )
71436673 ( OCLC )

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DODA’S BIRTHDAY;

THE FAITHFUL RECORD
OF ALL THAT BEFEL A LITTLE GIRL ON A LONG
EVENTFUL DAY.

BY

EDWIN J. ELLIS.





London :

MARCUS WARD & CO., 67, CHANDOS STREET;
Anp ROVAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST.



















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CHAP, . PAGE
l.—Titnt Breagrast-TIMe . . : 7
T].—Arrer BREAKFAST 3 . 20

IlI,—Luncaton . . : : 31

TV.—Arrer LuncHEon : : : 50
V.—In Mrs. Dryion’s GarpEn . . . 70

VIL—AFTERNOON . . . . 86

VII.—Arrernoon Tra . . : » 110

VIII.—Tue Drive a 0 . : 121

TX.—Dressine ror DINNER . . » 182
X.--Szconp Drivz to LorD WELRYTH’S . 148

XI.—Tur Dinner Parry : . . 151

XIL—A New Present : . . 165

XITI.—Home in THE Evenrne . . » 184

Se







“By Taig TImz DopA WAS ASLEEP” (p. 88) Frontispiece.

Dopa Merts ER GRANDFATHER ON THE STAIRS
‘*No; rr 1s Nero,” sarp Dopa
‘¢A Faminty Portrait”

‘*Dopa’s BIRTEDAY”



PAGE

7
46
94

159





DODA’S BIRTHDAY.



CHAP. 1.—TILL BREAKFAST-TIME.

ER name was Doda. She was just seven years

old. She woke up all suddenly in the morning,

and opened her eyes quite wide, and said, “It’s my
birthday !”

And 4 bird came, that was very round and brown,
and sat on the window, and looked in with its head
on one side.

“TY wonder if birds have birthdays,” Doda said to
herself ; “I suppose you have, you look so round and
brown. I suppose you have as many as you like,
because—because”—here the bird flew away. “Ah,
I know now,” cried Doda; “when you have done
your birthday in one place, you fly somewhere else
and have another. I wonder what mamma will say
when I go down, or what grandpapa will say, or when
it will be time to get up.”

But she lay still for a long time, and no one seemed
to think of getting up. She thought this very odd;
but really it was much too early to awake yet, only



8 Doda's Birthday.

she had pulled up her blind the night before, after
the maid had left her, so as to begin her birthday in
the morning as soon as ever it began to be light.
But this was in summer time, when the days begin
long before any one is ready for them, and never end
till nearly bed-time. So Doda waited and waited,
and no one came, and the house was quite silent.

Suddenly the bird flew back, and perched again for
a single instant, and seemed quite surprised to see

"Doda still in bed, and flew off. It was impossible
to bear this, and Doda jumped up. She determined
not to ring for any one, but to dress all by herself,
and go out; and, though some of the things were
difficult to reach, she succeeded at last. She felt
quite certain that something very wonderful and im--
portant was going to happen, for she never felt so
light and happy in her life. She opened the door,
and saw her mother’s maid in the passage, who
seemed very much surprised to see her already dressed. .
But Doda reminded the maid it was her birthday, and
said she was going out till breakfast-time. So the

maid gave her her hat, which she had PongosveD) and
she put it on and rushed away.

She looked up at her grandfather’s window as she
got into the garden, but it was shut, and the blind
was quite down. There was no one else but her
mother and grandfather, for she had no father or
brothers or sisters, and lived quite alone, and did
nearly what she liked on most days, and altogether
on her birthday.



Till Breakfast-Time. :

Their house was in the country, and there were
fields behind the garden, and a little wood with big
smooth, and big rough trees. There she ran through
the tall grass, and went to see what she should find.
The roots were all in queer shapes, twisted about
everywhere, as if the trees had been dancing all
night, and had stopped suddenly to listen to the sun-
rise, and never moved again; and the earth was all
in queer shapes too, like as the bed-clothes are when
one has been dancing on the bed.

She went on, stepping from root to root, and saying
to herself, “Oh, what is it? oh, what is it?” for she
still felt as if something very important indeed were
going to happen. But it was not behind any of the
trees, nor out in the open field beyond—where one of
the cart-horses was eating as if he could never eat
too much; so when Doda was tired of going about
and wondering, she thought it must be time to go in,
or she would be too late for breakfast.

But first she went to a place where there was a
hill in the middle of the wood. Not a big hill—only
a kind of mound—just the right size to run down,
and so steep that in running down it one nearly
stamped through the ground, or tumbled forward, or
began to float and fly away, as one does in dreams.

Doda thought she would have just one race down
this mound. There was a big tree not far off, on
the level ground, which was always the end of her
run, for it was a beech, and therefore smooth and
comfortable to run up against, and take hold of



10 Dodas Birthday.

with both arms; for when one has:a tree to do this
to, it is much easier to stop running down-hill than
if one has to stop all alone.

Having got to the top of the mound—which was
very much too steep to run up—she had to make
separate steps, and sometimes almost say, “Oh dear !”
and catch hold of the long grass—Doda looked round
at all the trees, and seemed quite near the tops of
those that grew down below. She could see down on
the garden through the branches, and the top of the
house was hardly higher than she was. The blinds
and curtains were open now in the upper windows,
as the servants slept in that part, and they always
got up first.

Having noticed this, and said to herself that she
would always get up and come out as early—for
it was much nicer to be up, and very stupid to be in
bed—Doda came to the edge of the mound, and, hav-
ing said “One! two! three!” began to run down.

She began timidly, but it was so steep and so ex-
citing, that in a few steps she was going much too
fast to be able to stop herself in any way-but by
running up against the smooth tree at the bottom.
She was going to do so, when suddenly a man crossed
the path, just between her and the tree, and she ran
up against him before she could get her arms in the
right position, or say “Oh!” or do anything.

She banged against him with all her weight, and
then for a moment she nearly fell down, and felt very
amuch hurt everywhere, but nowhere particularly, ex-



Till Breakfast-Time. 11

cept all over, and’ thought she must have hurt the
man too, most dreadfully, and wondered why he did
not nearly tumble down also.

He was only Deylon, the gardener. Doda knew
his legs directly, before she looked up at him, for he
was a great friend of hers, and often took her about;
but she always called him “ gardener,” and seldom
remembered what his name was.

“What, Miss Doda! what is the matter?” said he,
stooping down, and taking her hand to support her,
for she was giddy from having stopped so suddenly
when running so fast.

Doda said, “Oh !—gardener—I—hope—lI have not
hurt you. J was running to the tree.”

He appeared so much surprised at this, that Doda
thought his legs must be very wonderful and strong
not to be hurt at all, for her face had come right up
against them, and was still sore.

“Hurt me, Miss Doda!” he said. “No. How
could it? Are you hurt, though? You must be.
I ought to have thought of that; only you are so
brave, and never cry, that I never know.”

“Qh, no!” said Doda; “I am not hurt really—and
I do ery sometimes. You must be very strong.”

“Pretty well; not more than gardeners generally,”
said he, smiling. “Did you come to look for me?
You are up early. Will you come and see what I
Was going to do?”

Every one in the country has to have a gardener,
and Doda had seen a great many besides her own:



12 - Doda’s Birthday.

but he was the only one she liked. He was good-
natured, and wise as well, and knew everything, and
could talk much better than the others; and her
grandfather always said he was a very superior man,
which Doda was proud of, as he was her particular
friend. He was not old either—that, is, not old for
a gardener—though of course he had whiskers, and
was a great deal older than a gardener’s boy.

“TJ should like to go very much,” said Doda. She
would have told him it was her birthday, only that
had nothing to do with what he was going to do, and
it is so exciting to know it is one’s birthday when no
one else knows it.

He took her to the glass-houses, and when they
went in he shut the door, though it was very hot
inside, and then did strange things with the queer-
shaped flowers there, that are so soft and thick, and
have such soft, thick stalks, and smell so differently
to all the others that grow out of doors, so that when
one comes away into the open air their scent seems
like a dream, but if one goes back, there it is, exactly
as it was before. The gardener cut some, watered
some, and took some right out of their pots. It
was so warm in the glass-house that Doda leaned her
head against the frame, and then sat down on the
edge of a tub, and began to think she was going to
sleep again.

The gardener moved about on the red brick floor,
and sometimes he was hid by the flowers, and some-
times he came up and showed Doda a particular one.



Till Breakfast-Time. 13

She did not know quite what he was doing or what
he said, and wondered why she felt so sleepy; and
yet her eyes were not at all sore, and she did not
feel inclined to rub them or shut them, nor did she
want to yawn, nor even actually to go to sleep; but
she felt it quite impossible to keep awake, and inside
she was dreaming already, but not of anything par-
ticular.

She seemed always to be sinking down into the
tub on the edge of which she was sitting, and yet she
never did actually begin to do so. All the place ap-
peared to get very dark, the flowers no longer had any
scent, and the wood against which she was leaning
was no longer sharp and uncomfortable as it had
been, but did not seem to touch her at all—only to
keep her up by being there, in some way of its own.

Suddenly she saw the gardener, at the other end of
the hot-house, throw down a pot of flowers that he
had in his hand, and begin to run towards her. But,
though he was not very far off, and was always run-
ning, the distance got further and further, and he
never seemed to get any nearer. She thought she
must have got into a fairy story, for she was sure she
felt a stream of water or a fountain bubbling up
through the top of her head, and spouting an im-
mense distance, and disappearing. It did not make
anything or anybody wet, and Doda did not feel the
least surprised at it. She still heard the gardener
running towards her, but did not see him.

Then she noticed that she was not in the green-



14 , Doda’s Birthday.

house at all, but out on the grass on the lawn, and
her face really was wet, perhaps from the fountain.
She thought she would ask the gardener; so she
said, “Is it the fountain ?” but her lips were so stiff
she could scarcely speak—she wondered why.

“Miss Doda!” said he, in a queer voice, as if his |
lips were stiff too, and he could not speak as loud as
usual, “ Are you better? How do you feel ?”

Doda did not feel anyhow very much, and had not
been very ill; so she could not understand why he
asked her if she was better. She ded begin to feel
ill at last—that is, not exactly ill, but so tired that
her face and head and neck were as tired as the rest
of her, and she could hold up nothing.

“Have you had breakfast, Miss Doda?” he asked.

“No,” said Doda.

Then he ran away, and left her where she was, and
came back with some strawberries. She was a. great
deal too tired, without knowing what she was tired
of, to take the strawberries herself; but he put them
into her mouth one after the other, and she let him
do so, and ate them; and after eating three or four
she felt inclined to laugh, and did laugh, and found
she could lift her hands. So she took the rest of the
strawberries, and began to eat them herself, while
he sat on the grass and watched her.

When she had eaten a few more she began to won-
der what had happened, and how she was there lying
on the lawn leaning against a tree, instead of sitting
in the green-house on the edge of the tub.



Till Breakfast-Time. , 15

“Was I asleep?” she said; “I don’t feel as if I
was.”

“No,” said the gardener ; “you fainted, Miss Doda.”

“TI fainted !” said Doda, She had thought only
grown-up people could faint. She remembered hear-
ing her nurse telling a story to another servant about
some one who had fainted, and they all thought it a
very dreadful thing. But if this was what it was
like, it was nothing particular after all.

“But why did I faint? How?” she asked.

“Tt was the heat, I suppose, Miss Doda, the scent
of the flowers, and being hungry.” ;

“ But,” said Doda, “it was not very hot, and the
flowers didn’t smell much, and I am hungry now;
but I wasn’t till you brought me the strawberries.”

“ Because you fainted, and people don’t feel hunger,
I suppose, when they faint,” said he.

“Well,” said Doda, “I always thought fainting
was something very dreadful; but it is nothing at all
now, and I shall not mind it a bit.”

“That's right,” said he. “Now, can you get up ?”

He lifted her. She could scarcely stand, but felt
quite well; so she took his hand, and they walked
very slowly to the house. She was excited, and
would have jumped and sung if she could, and felt
more sure than ever that something very important
would happen that day. At any rate it was some-
thing to have actually fainted, and so found out that
it was nothing, and didn’t hurt at all, in spite of the
serious way in which her uurse had talked about it;



16 Doda's Birthday.

and perhaps all dreadful things would turn out to be
nothing when one once knew about them. Even
cows were not dreadful always, or they could never
be milked. Perhaps they need never be dreadful if
one only understood everything. Doda thought she
would like to understand everything.

When they came to the house, the gardener said,
“ Your dress is wet, Miss Doda; you had better get
it changed quick. Can you go up-stairs alone ?”

“Oh yes,” said Doda; “quite well, thank you. I
shall come back to the green-house again, and you
“must tell me all about it.”

“Very well, Miss Doda,” said he ; and she went in
and left him.

The blinds were all up now, and the glass-door of
the drawing-room was open towards the garden.
Doda knew she should find her mother in there,
writing at a particular little table in a corner; for her
mother was not like other people’s mothers, but was
very clever and very fond of science, and used to read
and write a great deal, and sometimes wrote a real
book, and had a collection of curious things, and
often went to London to hear lectures. Besides
which, she was tall, and had a very distinct side-face;
and, though she was not young, was never tired, and
always busy. She was busy now, when Doda came
into the drawing-room—in fact, so busy that she did
not know that any one was there. So Doda went up
to her where she was writing at the table, and said,
«What am I to do?”



































































































































































































































































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GRANDFATHER O







DODA MEETS HIER





Till Breakfast-Time, 17

Her mother said hastily, almost without stopping
writing, “I am very busy indeed, my dear—do aiy-
thing—do whatever you like.” And she gave her
a little kiss, as if to say, “You must really go
away ;” and then turned, and wrote more quickly
than before.

But in doing so she caught sight of Doda’s feet,
and, after writing two lines, turned back and said,
“How wet your shoes are! You must really change
them. So is your dress! Where have you been ?”

Doda said, “I was out;” but she did not the least
mind about her dress; only these words kept running
in her head—* Whatever you like !—whatever you |
like!—what must I do?—what must you do ?~—
whatever you like !—whatever you like!” And they
went to a kind of tune, and she felt that the impor-
tant thing had already happened, even though her
mother seemed to have quite forgotten it was her
birthday ; and she rushed off to change her. dress,
feeling more light and happy than ever before.

At the top of the stairs she found her grandfather,
who was standing waiting for her to come up; he had
a little gold chain in his hand, like a short, thick gold
rope, and there was a locket like a pulley at the end.

Doda knew at once it was for her, and he knew
how to give it; for, while he was wishing her many
happy returns, he had time to give her a kiss, and
put the gold chain round her neck all at once. He
never noticed that her dress was wet—in fact, it was
only splashed with clean water. He was very tall

B



18 Dodas Birthday.

and beautiful, with white hair, but no beard; and
when he stood up again to look at the locket, he
seemed such a long way off that Doda thought she
would have to run up some more stairs before she
could lean over the bannisters to thank him.

“Now,” said he, “that is the most grown-up locket
I ever saw you wear, and will do perfectly. Of
course-there is hair in it—there always is, in a locket.
If you guess whose it is, I will show you how to
open it.”

Doda put up her hand to feel; but the round,
smooth, heavy, cool chain lay all round her neck, and
the locket was more like one piece than any she had
ever felt. So she guessed, “ Yours, grandpapa.”

“Why mine ?” said he.

“Oh, because you gave it to me,” she answered.

“ Besides which,” said he, opening it, and showing
her a beautiful gleaming white wave of hair, that lay
quite flat, curled round, and shining, “you will
always keep this, and perhaps I may disappear.”

“Oh no!” said Doda. “Why, you are always
here, even when mamma is away at lectures.”

“Well, I will be here as always as I can,” said he;
“but people with white hair and granddaughters are
very movable, though they generally stay in one
place. But, in the meantime, this doesn’t matter,
and you must grow up. I think that locket will
help you, for it is quite a grown-up locket. Where
were you going just now ?”

“Oh,” said Doda, “I was going up-stairs.”



Till Breakfast-Time. 19

“ Well, call for me when you come down,” said he,
and went into the library, where he always lived.

Doda went up, and found the maid, and changed
her dress and shoes, and looked at her locket in the
glass, and felt how beautiful and soft the chain was,
and than ran down again, and knocked at the library
door very high up—for she wanted it to sound as
like a grown-up knock as she could. Her grand-
father inside called out, “Come in!” and his voice
sounded like a man in a sack, as it always does when
one calls out and the door is shut.

So she went in, and he got up and took her hand,
and they both went down together to the drawing-
room.

“Very busy?” said he, looking in. “Come, it’s
Doda’s birthday !”

Her mother got up, and put her hand on her
forehead for a moment, saying, “So it is!—I am so
busy—I didn’t sleep. Have you changed those shoes,
Doda ?”
~ “Yes,” said Doda. And then her mother wished
her many happy returns, and they all went in to
breakfast.

As they sat down, the same bird that she had seen
when she first awoke looked in. So Doda showed it
her locket, and it looked a moment with its head on
one side, as if it knew quite well how to open the
locket, and what was inside; and then flew away to
tell the other birds; and Doda and. her mother and
grandfather began Breas





CHAP. IL.—AFTER BREAKFAST.

ODA’S mother did not approve of birthday pre-
sents, perhaps because she was so fond of lec-
tures and science. But she did not absolutely forbid
them ; and it was always understood that the grand-
father’s present came partly from her—only she was
not to be thanked for it, or anything said. So Doda
only looked at her once or twice during breakfast, to
see if she saw the locket; and at last she did see it,
and said, “Very handsome indeed !—very nice! I
never wear lockets.” And then Doda understood the
subject was finished, and they went on with break-
fast as usual, and her grandfather and mother both
looked at the newspaper, as they were accustomed to
do, offered it to each other, and then dropped it on a
chair and forgot it. But Doda herself did not feel
at all as usual. She felt very old and consequential
and responsible, and as if she must go at once and
do a number of very important things. She felt as
old as her grandfather, and as busy as her mother.
So when they got up she got up, and said, “I think
I shall be out a great deal to-day; so if I am late
at dinner-time don’t wait for me.” For she remem-



After Breakfast. 21

bered hearing her grandfather say that once, when he
was away all day, and she never saw him till the
next morning; and she remembered that to-day she
might do whatever she liked.

“Very well,” said her mother ; “but don’t go far.”

So she went up to put on her things, feeling how
delicious it was to be old and able to do whatever
she liked, and thought her mother letting her do this
was even better than presents. Then she felt her
locket, and thought, “ Especially when I have the
presents as well.”

But as she was going out her mother asked,
“ Where are you going ?”

And Doda said, “I must go and pay visits; I have
a great many to pay.” And she said, “ Good-bye !”
and went out alone; for she was old now, so this
was the most natural thing to do.

As she went she wondered that her mother did not
see how old she felt, and how natural it was she
should have a great deal to do, and visits to pay;
and this reminded her that she had not at all settled
where to go. The nearest house to theirs, and which
she was now walking towards, belonged to a very
nice, very old gentleman, with hair as white as her
grandfather’s, who was said to be very wise, and who
had written a great many books. His name was Mr.
Mills; and he had always listened to Doda whenever
she wanted to speak to him, and had never sent her
away. So she resolved she would go and see him
now, and tell him that it was her birthday, and how



22 Doda's Birthday.

old she felt, but that her mother did not see it, and
she did not know if any one would.

So she went to the door, and rang the bell, and
stood waiting for a moment. When the servant
came he opened the door very wide, and seemed
astonished to see her standing there all alone, and
looked over her head and past her.to see if there
were any one else,

She asked if Mr. Mills was at home, and the ser-
vant showed her up-stairs into the drawing-room,
where for a moment she was quite alone; for Mr,
Mills lived chiefly in the library, as men who write
books generally do. He had no family, but lived
alone. Doda felt inclined to go about the room and
look at the things, but she thought this was not a
sufficiently grown-up kind of behaviour; so she went
to the arm-chair at the left side of the fire-place, and
sat down to wait. In a few minutes the servant
returned, and asked her if she would go down to the
library. So she followed him to the door, which he
opened quietly, but very suddenly and very wide, as
if he had some one he wanted to hurt, and thought
they might be behind it; and then, as Doda went in,
he said, “ Here’s Miss Doda, sir;” which she knew
was not the proper way to announce her when she
came alone to pay a visit. But she forgot this
directly she saw little old Mr. Mills, for she was very
fond of him, and they were always great friends.
He was sitting at a table, covered with almost as
many books and pieces of paper as her mother used ;



; After Breakfast, 23

but he swung round his chair as she came in, and
said, “Well, Doda—what an early visit! I’m very
glad to see you. You've got something to say to me;
come and let us talk about it.” And as he said
this, he held out both his hands, and his eyes seemed
to look straight in through hers, and to see every-
thing she was, and to like to see it, and to like her
for it.

“How wise he is!” thought Doda. “He knows
everything. Can it be from those books? I wonder
what they are, and whether I shall ever read them.”

As she thought this she went up and took hold of
his hands, and stood beside his chair. He seemed to
know quite well what she was thinking, for he
smiled, and turned half round, and looked at one of
his books as if he were very fond of it, and gave it
a push a little further on the table.

Doda did not quite know how to begin. She had
thought she would sit down about three yards off
Mr. Mills, and talk to him from there; but instead
of this she was standing by his chair, and feeling in-
clined to play with his watch-chain, and compare it
with the chain of her locket, and ask him if he liked
. lockets, which was not at all what she had come to
say. And he still sat there, and held one of her
hands, and seemed to know all she was thinking, and
to be quite comfortable till she should begin to speak.
She must begin somewhere; so she said, “It’s my
birthday !”

“JT wish you many happy returns,” said Mr, Mills ;



24 Doda’s Birthday. ‘

“J must never forget the day.” Then he took down
a little calendar from where it stood on a desk before
him, and wrote “Doda’s birthday” with a pencil
across the white part under the figures of the day.

And Doda felt that this was not at all what she
had meant either, and it was too much to make Mr.
Mills always think about her birthday; yet she was
very glad that he would, all out of his own head.
When he had put back the calendar, he turned to her
again, and said, “ How old you must feel !”

“T knew you would know!” cried Doda. “ But
why don’t the others? Grandpapa does, perhaps,
but mamma doesn’t; and your servant didn’t at all
understand, and looked quite stupid when I asked if
you were in.”

“One can’t always see what people feel,” said Mr.
Mills; “though one often hears it, for they usually
tell if they can, unless it is about a secret. Why do
you think it is that one so often does not see ?”

“T don’t know,” said Doda. “I suppose you
always do; but other people don’t. Why ?”

“Partly because they don’t look at what would
show them,” said Mr. Mills; “and partly because
they do not understand even when they see. How
old do you think my servant felt when he opened the
door for you ?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Doda. “He brushes
his hair so funnily, and has to dress for dinner in
the morning. He must feel very funny. He doesn’t
look as if he felt anything. Besides, he’s a servant.”



After Breakfast. 25

“Well then,” said Mr. Mills, “how old do I feel 2”

“Oh, I don’t know. Very, very old indeed !—ever
so old !” said Doda,

Then Mr. Mills began to laugh, and said, “ Would
you like to see how old I felt before you came in ?”

“Oh yes!” cried Doda; “so much.”

“T was reading for amusement, before I went to
my work for the day, something from a kind of story
called “The Banquet,” in Greek, by Plato; and the
people in it—especially the one that was speaking
when you came in—were large and young and strong.
They were brown with living in the sun, which al-
ways shines in Greece, or always seems to do when
one reads about it. They wore sandals, and a sort of
loose coat without sleeves, and sometimes a cloak
twisted all round. And they all ran and leaped and
played, and loved music and long talks together, and
had few clothes and few books, and many friends.
And I felt like one of them. I was one of them,
and laughed when they laughed, and was strong
because they were strong, and all their friends were
round me. I heard their voices, and listened for
everything they said. That is what I felt like when
you came.”

Mr. Mills opened another book as he spoke, and
showed her a picture of a Greek youth, such as was
at Plato’s banquet. Doda almost believed she saw
him turn into the same, for he was locking at her
and thinking it so strongly himself; but as she
looked she saw his white hair and white collar and



26 Dodas Birthday.

dark coat, and that he was sitting in his own chair
like himself, and smiling at her.

“ But,” said Doda, “ your hair is like grandpapa’s, .
and you are like—not the least like this. How
could I tell ?”

« But,” said Mr. Mills, “I don’t feel my white hair
inside. I feel myself inside; and one’s self is like
whatever one thinks of. And therefore mine is as
happy as the day is long.”

Then Doda wondered, for she remembered hearing
people who knew him call him “poor Mr. Mills,”
when they were talking about him; and when she
had asked them why they called him “ poor,” they
said because he had lost his wife and children, and
was very miserable, and she had better not ask ques-
tions like this, as she could not understand till she
was older. And even her grandfather, when she had
asked him during a particular hour on Sunday after-
noon—when she used to go to him in the library and
ask him all the most difficult things, and he used to
tell her about them—had said very nearly the same.
Of course it was quite impossible to ask Mr, Mills
himself what it meant, and trying very hard not to
ask this made her not able to think what she ought
to say instead, and she stood feeling uncomfortable
and saying nothing.

Suddenly she thought that she would look up at
his face again, instead of at his knees, against which
she was leaning as she stood; so she looked up, and
saw that he knew all that she had been thinking,



After Breakfast. 27

and knew quite well that they called him “that poor
Mr. Mills,” and even knew how nearly she had asked
him about it, but how it would not do at all if she
did. But he quite made her forget all this by say-
ing, “I should like to give you something nice on
your birthday; but I am afraid I have nothing,
especially in this room, that you would like to have.
What do you think ?”

Doda thought, “I like you, and I don’t understand
the other things.” But she looked round at the
desks, and books, and papers, and ink, and shelves,.
and little boxes, and the bust in the corner, and the
dark picture over the door, and the black marble:
clock over the fire-place, and more shelves, and the
window, and at last back to his watch-chain, which
she began to play with again, because she wanted to
say, “I like you, and I don’t see anything else I
know in the room.” But, though it was so easy to
mean the words and say them to herself, when she
tried to do so out loud she could not even begin, but
stood feeling choked and frightened, and played with
his watch-chain. But she was determined to say it,
because she meant it so much, and she wanted Mr.
Mills to know that she did, and she knew she might
never have the chance again if she missed saying it
now. So she began to try; but in her fright she
began at the wrong end, and said, “I don’t care for
anything in this room—” and there she stopped sud-
denly, feeling it was quite wrong; but then she
thought she would say “except you,” to put it right.



28 Doda's Birthday.

And she said “except—,” but could not say “you”
to his face, after the rest. That is, she thought she
could not, for she was looking at his knees again,
and she felt very red and ashamed; and he said no-
‘thing, and at last she was obliged to look up, and
then saw that he knew quite well what she was
going to say, so that indeed she need not say it at
all, which made it quite easy, and she said “except
you,” looking at him without any trouble.

“Then,” said he, smiling, “I ought to give you
myself, and I will do so as much as I can.”

Then Doda felt that another of the important
things of this birthday had just happened, and she
wished she could rush straight off and be alone some-
where, where she could jump and scream, and do
anything she liked. But before she could say any-
thing, he went on, “But what did you come to say
to me to-day ?”

And this made her quiet again, as she had to think
for a moment before she said, “I came because I felt
old, and wanted to make people understand.”

“T am very glad you came,” said he, “because I
don’t feel old; and now we both understand, and the
other people will sometimes find it out and some-
times not, and we must never mind. But we will do
what we can for each other, and next time you come
to see me my servant shall announce you properly.”

This was an opportunity for Doda to go; so she
left off leaning against the knee of Mr. Mills, and
stood before him, feeling quite grown-up, and said,



After Breakfast. 29

“Don’t be severe with the servant because of me, as
I dare say he would have done right if he had under-
stood. When may I come again to see you?” and
she held out her hand to wish him good-bye.

“ Come whenever it is a very fine day, and we can
tell each other how fine is is,” said Mr. Mills; “ or
whenever you have something to say which is too
old for the others to understand.”

“But I stop you reading and writing,” said Doda.

“But, you know, I have given myself to you for a
birthday-present,” said Mr. Mills; so you must come
and ask for me whenever you like, and some day I
will give you some of my writing and reading as well
on another birthday.”

“You must have a great many birthdays,” said
Doda.

“A great many,” said Mr. Mills; “but I forget
when they are, and every day is so like a birthday
now that I don’t know the new ones when they
come.”

“Do your birthdays come very close one after
the other?” asked Doda.

“Very close indeed.”

“Oh, I wish mine did; I should like them to do
so very much,” said Doda.

“They will some day,” said Mr. Mills.

“Oh, when 2?” asked Doda.

“When you are as young as I am, and people who
don’t understand think you are very old.”

“Will you come and see me then ?” she asked.



30 Dodas Birthday.

« Yes,” said Mr. Mills; “I shall have turned quite
into books by that time; I am turning into them
very fast now, and in that way I will come and be
with you on all your birthdays.” Then he wished
her good-bye, and laughed, so that she could not help
thinking he enjoyed the books he was going to turn
into very much. So she laughed too, but she thought
it very odd, but supposed she would understand
when she had read the books.

So she left Mr, Mills, and returned tome.







CHAP. III.—LUNCHEON.

UST as Doda got to the gate, there was a little car-
riage with two ponies standing there, and a
childish-looking groom, with pink, smooth cheeks,
and short hair, and a very large hat, looking serious,
and standing by the two ponies.

He touched his hat as Doda came up, and seemed
to expect her to get into the carriage. Doda knew
she might do so if she liked, as it belonged to Mrs.
Thoseby, whom she knew as well as Mr. Mills, and
who very often took her out when no one else had
time. She said to the groom, “Is Mrs. Thoseby
here ?”

And the groom said, “No, miss. She sent the
ponies, with a note and her love, and I was to bring
Miss Doda back in it, to have luncheon with her.”

What the groom meant was easy enough to under-
stand, though what he said might be taken in two
ways. But Doda had long ago been taught to reply
to people’s meanings, when she could see what they
meant, and leave the words to take care of them-
selves.

She answered,—* I. should like very much;” and,
as she said so, she remembered again that it was her



32 Doda's Birthday.

birthday, though Mrs. Thoseby had known better
than to send such a message as, “Many happy re-
turns!” by a groom. Doda thought for a moment
whether she should go first into the house, and tell
them before she started. Of course they ought to
know that she was going out to luncheon, or they
might expect her. But perhaps Mrs. Thoseby’s
groom had managed to give them notice. So, to
make quite sure, she asked,—*“ Did you tell them in
the house 2”

“Yes, miss, they had the note,” said the groom.

So then Doda got into the carriage at once, end
said, “Very well; Iam ready. We can go now.”

So the groom. ‘jumped In at the other side, very
briskly, but he was still quite serious. He took the
reins, and the ponies began to move away. As they
did so, Doda heard her grandfather’s big dog Nero
barking behind the house, and remembered she had
not yet been to wish him good-morning, and to tell
him it was her birthday. She looked up, and saw
her mother looking out of a window, holding a letter
in her hand. This must be the note from Mrs.
Thoseby ; so Doda nodded, to show she understood,
and her mother nodded, and waved the letter, and
went back into the room. Then Doda looked up to
the library window above, where her grandfather
appeared as he heard the carriage driving away over
the gravel; and he nodded too, and waved his great,
wonderful, grandfather’s-pocket-handkerchief, which
was as large and soft as a fairy’s flag.



Luncheon. 33

As they trotted on, Doda wondered who she should
find at Mrs. Thoseby’s; for sometimes she dined
there all alone, and sometimes there were a great
many people. She especially wondered if she would
meet a girl called Essy, whose parents, the Fairtops,
used to live near the Thoseby’s, and who was very
beautiful, but whom she had heard of always and
never seen, She supposed, at any rate, there would
be Colonel Thoseby ; and Tom Thoseby, who was a
school-boy, and for whom she did not care much;
and as she was thinking and wondering, several sol-
diers passed, and then after awhile several more—not
marching, but walking along, as if coming away from
something. She remembered that these were the
militia, who were only soldiers for a part of the year,
and are never sent abroad. She knew some of their
faces, for they belonged to the village, and to a little
town not far off, where she sometimes drove with her
mother. She wondered if Colonel Thoseby had any-
thing to do with these men.

When she arrived at the house, and was shown
into the drawing-room, there were a great many
people; and, as the door was partly open already, she
heard what two men who stood near it were saying
to each other. One of them, she afterwards heard,
was Captain Lewis, who had returned from India,
but used to know the Thosebys very well. The
other was a stranger. This is what Captain Lewis
was saying to him, as Doda came in—“ Yes, Mrs.
Thoseby is thirty-one—fine woman, isn’t she? And

c



34 Doda’s Birthday.

her mother there, Mrs. Mortlake, is forty-six—fine
woman, isn’t she? And her son there is fifteen—
fine boy, isn’t he? You see it runs in the family.”

Doda had not time to hear what it was that ran in
the family, for at that moment she found Mrs.
Thoseby, who was tall and beautiful, with nice dark
hair, and had always a nice dress, that looked as if she
never could look better in any other. She came up
quickly and quietly between the people, and bent
down and kissed Doda, and said, “Tm so glad you
have come! Many happy returns of the day!” all
in a sort of rapid whisper, but without actually
whispering.

At that moment Colonel Thoseby put his head in
at the door, and said, “ ’m horribly late—please for-
give—military exigencies,” and Doda saw he had got
a uniform on, “Vl be with you directly,” he added,
and was just going to draw back when every one
cried together, “Oh no! Do come in. Come, and
do the honours as you are.”

“Must 1?” he said. “ Very well,” and dis-
appeared.

«Will he?” said every one; and Mrs. Thoseby
assured them that he would.

Then he came back, still in the uniform, but with-
out his sword and gloves, and said, “So sorry. Fear-
ful review; but all abolished now. Lord Welryth
was there. The sight of him encouraged the troops.
Ah, Doda! Glad you’ve come. You must attend
and help us next parade.”



Luncheon. 35

Then he shook hands with every one, and all went
in to luncheon, Mrs. Thoseby leading Doda by the
hand, and taking her with her to the head of the
table.

“Stop, stop!” eried Colonel Thoseby. “ Where
are you going to run away to with Doda? She must
sit next me.”

Doda felt quite helpless ; but Mrs. Thoseby smiled,
and let go her hand, and said, “Go, then, if I am
to lose you, quickly ;’ and so she went up to Colonel
Thoseby, who looked very commanding in his uni-
form, and his grey moustache looked twice as big as
usual.

“Now Doda,” he said, giving her a chair at his
left, I am going to take care of you. I have got you
by all the laws of war, and you shall have everything
you want while I keep you.”

Doda knew he often made fun like this, or she
might have been rather frightened. So she got unto
the chair he gave her, and laughed, and said, “I
wort run away, and I’m not at all afraid.”

“ You shall have no chance,” said he. “ Essy, take
care the prisoner does not escape at your side.”

“Oh yes, Colonel Thoseby, I will take such care,”
said the young lady, and looked round, and smiled
graciously at Doda, who thought, “Then yow are
Essy, and you have come from France.”

Indeed, it was easy to believe she had come from
France, for she was small and pretty, and very skil-
ful in taking off her gloves, and in keeping them, and



36 Doda’s Birthday.

her handkerchief, and her fan, and a little bottle with
a gold stopper, and her little parasol, all in her lap
at the same time, without letting any of them fall, or
appearing to have too many things. Besides this,
her dress was the prettiest, and her hair the most
woven and entwined, and designed, and refined, that
Doda had ever seen in all her life.

At the other side of the table sat Mrs. Mortlake,
Mrs. Thoseby’s mother, who was like Mrs. Thoseby,
but with a prettier complexion and smaller lips, only
she was not at all thin, and she sometimes shut her
eyes while eating, which she did very slowly and
nicely. She took no meat; only preserve and sponge
cake, which seemed to suit her much better. She
took cream also, and strawberries, and Doda thought
perhaps she lived on them, and that was why, though
she was old enough to be Mrs. Thoseby’s mother,
her face was like that of a fair, sad child, with dark
hair, more delicate in complexion but fatter and more
handsome than most other children. She never
raised her eyes, and was gentle and majestic, but
spoke to no one.

There was the man whom Doda had heard speak-
ing about the age at which, in Mrs. Thoseby’s family,
they seemed to marry—for this was the thing that
“van in the family,” as Doda discovered, after won-
dering very hard to herself for a little while. It was
now that she heard he was Captain Lewis, as they
were sitting down to luncheon. He sat at the other
side of Essy, and said things very quietly, and not



Luncheon. 37

fast, as if he were quite sure of being listened to, and
liked, and understood, whatever he said. Doda could
see a little bit of his face beyond Essy, and almost
all when he leaned forward. When every one had
begun, and all were talking except Mrs. Mortlake
and Doda herself, who was wondering and listening
to them. all at once, he said to Colonel Thoseby, “ Was
the review nice ?”

“A real pleasure,” said Colonel Thoseby. “My
invincibles all filed past without one man tumbling
down. They are Trojans!” He said this smiling,
and Doda supposed he must be speaking of the same
men she saw with guns in the morning; for they
looked as if they must clearly knock each other
down if they walked close as proper soldiers do, for
they swung and rolled about, first on one foot and
then on the other, as workmen do when they walk
home after work. Only Doda wondered what “ Tro-
jans” were. Colonel Thoseby looked at her just
then, and saw her wondering, and offered the mus-
tard, which was not at all what she was in want of.
She thought she would ask him, so she said, “ What
are Trojans ?”

“Trojans!” said Colonel Thoseby, more surprised
than she was; “Trojans? People in Homer—that
is, in a book—who were heroes, and so forth. They
fought the Greeks, and so forth. Is that right, Essy ?
I believe you know more about it than I do.”

“Oh, Colonel Thoseby!” cried Essy, “I never
learned Greek. How could you say such a thing? I



38 Dodas Birthday.

am not a radical, you know, and I don’t understand
anything. Now, do I?”

Doda thought people who liked not understanding
things must be very funny. She wished she could
understand everything. She had looked several times
at Colonel Thoseby, and thought how immense his
grey moustache was, and wondered if he felt it inside ;
or whether he was like Mr. Mills and felt like the
Greeks; and this was the right moment to ask him,
so she said, “Do you ever feel like the Greeks ?”

“J dare say I do,” said he, smiling, “ but I don’t
know. What do you think they felt like ?”

Doda thought of all she knew about them, which
she had only learned that morning from the picture
and from Mr. Mills, that they, or at least some of
them, ran races, and were brown and strong, with
beautiful faces and short curly hair, and that they
wore cloaks and sandals, and tunics without sleeves,
and nothing else.

So she said, “I don’t know; but Mr. Mills reads
about them, and feels like them, and is perfectly
happy.”

“Tm afraid I don’t read much about them,” he
answered. “Mr. Mills is a very clever man, and has
—well, he has imagination, which we grown-up
people very seldom keep, and I’m afraid I lost mine
long ago.” Then he became suddenly grave for a
moment, and did not seem cheered, even though
Essy asked him how he could say so, and said that
he knew he was dreadfully clever, and that they were



Luncheon. 39

all quite frightened of him. He scarcely listened to
her, for he was thinking of a little volume of poems
he had written just when he entered the army, on
leaving school. In these poems the serious ones were
like Mrs. Hemans, and the exciting ones like Scott
and Lord Macaulay, and one was even like Pope, and
the worst of all, and was called, “To the Imagination.”
Doda guessed what he was thinking about, for she
had found the book once when she had been forgotten
in the library at home. It was behind a lot of other
books, and covered with dust. She had read it, but
never spoke of it to Colonel Thoseby, as no one else
ever did, and she thought it a very awful thing.

She looked round the table now, and saw in the
middle of it a great cake which had white sugar on
the top, with sugar flowers, and which was very dark
at the sides. She guessed what this was, and looked
away to Mrs. Thoseby at the other end of the table,
who smiled and nodded to her, and then spoke to a
servant, who took the cake away and cut a great
piece out of it, and brought the rest back, and then
cut the great piece up into proper-sized pieces, and
began handing them round to each person.

“Who are we to congratulate?” asked Captain
Lewis, taking his piece.

“You never told us we were to have the pleasure
of hearing of a wedding,” said some one else, whom
Doda did not know, to Mrs. Thoseby.

“A wedding!” cried Essy. “Oh no! that is quite
impossible ;” and had she been any one else, at thiy



40 Dodds Birthday.

moment either her gloves, or her fan, or her parasol,
or her handkerchief, or her little bottle, or her nap-
kin must have slipped off her lap. But they did not,
nor did they seem in any danger. Essy was like a
pussy cat, and never spilled anything.

“Tt is a birthday,” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Tt is Doda’s birthday,” said Tom Thoseby at once,
quite loud.

“And you are Doda!” cried Essy, turning round
to her. “What a dear little thing you are! And
how nice of you to have a birthday! And how clever
of you not to say anything about it, and give us alla
surprise!” Then she suddenly turned away, and
said, “ Oh, Mrs. Thoseby, how good of you to let us
have some of the treat !”

Deda could not think what to say. She had never
heard this sort of conversation before, and did not
know what it was made of, nor how to make the
answers to it. But Essy did not wait for an answer
yet; she turned and said at once, “ And what dread-
ful age have you arrived at?”

“Seven,” said Doda, still surprised and uncom-
fortable.

“Oh, what a delightful age!” cried Essy. And
then, turning to Captain Lewis, at her left side,
“Tsn’t it a delightful age ?”

“Perfectly so,” said he, in his soft voice; “de-
lightfulness begins and ends there.”

“ Oh, that’s very unkind,” said Essy. “Isn’t Cap-
tain Lewis unkind, Mrs. Thoseby? Do say some-



Luncheon. Al

thing to him. I know what I mean, but I can’t say
things.”

“Nothings are better,” Captain Lewis was heard
gently murmuring; “they require more education,
and fewer people can say them. Lord Welryth be-
lieves that in Shakespeare’s time hardly any one _
could. That is why it is so stupid to hear his things
now. It ds stupid, isn’t it?”

Doda Hstened. She knew who Lord Welryth
was, because he had a house near, where he came
every year, and her grandfather often went to see
him, for they were nearly the same age, and had been
at school together, But it was Shakespeare she
wanted to know about, for she had a presentiment
that it would have something to do with her some
time, and at present there was mystery init. Her
mother had three Shakespeares, and her grandfather
five; and she used to try to read them, but never got
very far, and could never find the place again. She
knew Hamlet was there, and her mother used some-
times to say that “ Hamlet was mad ;” and her grand-
father would answer, “You mean Lear, yes;” and
then her mother would frown, and look uncomfort-
able, and go away. This was all she knew about
Shakespeare, and about his “time” she knew nothing
at all. But nothing was to be learned just now from
Essy, who only said, “I don’t know; you are very
unkind; you were much nicer before you went
away.”

Every one was talking now, and he said in the



42 Dodas Birthday.

game voice, so easy to hear, and so difficult to over-
hear, “ We were seven then, you see, which was so
delightful, and now we are only two, and growing
fewer every day.”

Essy looked down, and attended to her cake, and
said nothing to this; and no one noticed that it had
been said, except Doda, who did not understand it.
But Essy understood, and Captain Lewis understood,
and so nobody minded if Doda was puzzled. She
had time to wonder during the next few minutes,
while no one was speaking to her, whether seven
really was a nice age or not. She settled at first that
it was when one was alone, but not when there was
a lot of people; because, though one felt so old, their
way of talking sounded quite childish, one was in
reality so young that one did not know how to make
the right sort of childish answers, and wished they
would only always talk like grown-up people, which
is so much easier. But then after awhile she thought
that this was only true of people one did not like,
and that one could always talk to people one did like,
whether they were seven years old or not. So then
she supposed Essy must be one of the people she did
not like, in spite of her prettiness, and the prettiness
of her dress, and of her fan, and her gloves, and her
parasol, and little bottle, and handkerchief... Then
she began to wonder why she didn’t like her or dis-
like her either. She had just discovered that this
would be one of the most difficult wonders she ever
wondered, when Mrs. Thoseby, glancing down the



Luncheon. 48

table, saw that Mrs. Mortlake had at last finished the
birthday cake and strawberry preserve that she had
been eating slowly and prettily and silently for a long
time, and that every one else was ready to go, and
that luncheon was over; so every one moved.

“May I have Doda?” said Essy, getting up, and
cleverly gathering up all her things from her lap in
one hand, while she gave the other to Doda, adding,
“Will you come with me?”

“ Where ?” asked Doda.

Captain Lewis, at the other side, was heard to mur-
mur, “ Anywhere, anywhere, énto the world,” which
appeared to mean something to Essy, though Doda
thought it was so childish it meant nothing at all.

“Somewhere where Captain Lewis shall not find
us,” said Essy in answer; and, taking her hand, led
Doda out into the garden, through the glass-doors.
‘When they were alone, she went on, “That is Cap-
tain Lewis. Don’t mind anything he says. He is
allowed to say whatever he likes, and no one ever
minds,”

“ He seems very childish,” said Doda.

Essy laughed,-and said, “Come, let us run. I
know where there are some beautiful roses, and you
shall have the birthday ones. I know Mrs. Thoseby
won't mind.”

She ran, and, as she had hold still of Doda’s hand,
Doda ran too, but thought it very odd. Essy seemed
very fond of her. The moment when they stopped
running, she began again—“My name is Esther



Ad Dodes Birthday.

Fairtop, and every one calls me Essy, and you shall
too; and I am very fond of dear Mrs. Thoseby—
every one is; and I am seventeen; and I live in
London, in Berkeley Square, with my aunt; and I’m
an heiress, and I’m out now; and J hate London, be-
cause they ill-treat heiresses there; and I know who
you are quite well; and you are an heiress too, and
so we ought to be very fond of each other; and you
must never, never, never go to London—at least, not
with an aunt, because she watches you, and takes you
away from a ball before the end, when you were
going to dance with Captain Lewis—at least, when I
say ‘you, I mean me, and when I say Captain Lewis,
I don’t mean this one in particular, because there are
such a lot, and they are all alike, and that is why no
one minds what he says. How shall we get that
rose? I can’t reach it, even with my parasol. Don’t
you think it is very unkind of Captain Lewis not to
come and help us to get that rose? He ¢s dreadfully
unkind, you know, and one can’t do anything to him,
he’s so pachydermatous. Do you know what pachy-
dermatous means ?”

“No,” said Doda.

“You will some day,” said Essy. “You will be
educated—‘ higher education,’ you know. I go in
for it partly because it is my duty as an heiress, and
partly because my aunt hates it so. I go to lectures.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “mamma goes to lectures, when
she is in London.”

“ Does she take you?” asked Essy.



Luncheon. 45

“Oh, no,” said Doda; “I stay here with grand-
papa, and we have such fun! He draws pictures for
me, and puts me on the chimney-piece, so that I
can’t get down, and teaches me the piano, and plays
in the evening after bed-time, and rides with me, and
puts me into the big round jar, as big as a tub, where
the rose-leaves are, in the drawing-room, and then
he sends Nero to look for me. I mean that is what
we used to do when I was young—I mean when I
was little—I mean last spring.”

“Do you feel very old now ?”

“Yes, it is my birthday,” said Doda, beginning to
think Essy understood her.

Essy asked, “Have you always lived with your
grandfather ?”

“ Always,” said Doda, feeling that this made her
much older.

“Then,” said Essy, unexpectedly, “you must be
very young for your age, and quite a child. You
don’t understand a word I say when I talk to you—
do you 2”

“ No,” said Doda.

“That is why I think you so nice,” said Essy. “I
should hate you if you understood me, because it
would be so absurd. How nicely you are dressed !
Do you like my dress? Do you like old people? I
am sure you do. You hate me—don’t you ?”’

“No,” said Doda; “I don’t understand you.”

“What fun you are!” said Essy. “There, those
roses will do, and they will look very nice. Now,



46 Doda’s Lirthday.

come and let us look for the other people, as they
won't look for us. It is so stupid to be out here all
alone.”

Just then they saw several people coming along,
with Captain Lewis among them, and from behind
him Nero rushed out, and charged down the path
towards Doda.

“Qh,” cried Essy, trying to get out of the way,
“what an awful creature! He’s not muzzled, and it
is July, and I’m sure he has hydrophobia.”

“No; it is Nero!” said Doda, “and he never has
anything. Nero, poor boy!” and she caught him and
seized hold of his neck.

“Oh, look!” cried Essy; “he has been swimming,
and he is all wet, and he will spoil me if he comes
near me. Jo keep him away. Oh, Captain Lewis,
what shall I do?”

“Nero,” said Captain Lewis, gently and sadly,
“explain to Miss Fairtop, with all the dumb elo-
quence you possess, that her nerves betray her. You
have neither been swimming nor indulging in any
other hydrophobiac symptoms ; and then bow, Nero,
and retire; but don’t go near her and spoil her, as
all her friends have already done so, ever since she
can remember.”

“Ob, Captain Lewis, now you are unkind, and I°
won't stay,” cried Essy; and she actually ran away,
looking as pale as her gloves, for she really was
afraid of Nero, and thought his unkindness a great
deal more formidable than that of Captain Lewis.













































Luncheon. AT

“She’s afraid,” said Tom Thoseby, with contempt.

“Yes,” said Captain Lewis, to whom Tom had
spoken, “so am I; but on account of my profession
I have scruples about showing it. Nero is very
terrible. Were you never afraid of Nero, Miss—ah
—Doda ?”

“2?” said Doda; “why, I’m older than he is;” at
which every one laughed.

Doda thought that people were odder to-day than
she had ever noticed they were before.

“T wonder,” said Mrs. Mortlake, who had come up
a little after the others, “I wonder, Doda, how you
can let a dog lick your face. I consider it not at all
nice. Come, and give me your hand. The servant
is come, and you must go; but you shall have another
piece of cake.”

So Doda gave her hand, and let herself be led
away, but she kept fast hold of Nero with the other
hand. It took a long time to get in with Mrs. Mort-
lake, and Doda often wanted to run on; but Mrs.
Mortlake, though she was always alittle out of breath
when she walked, and could not talk, kept hold of
Doda the whole way.

As they got near the house they saw Mrs. Thoseby,
who had been saying “good-bye” to some of the people
who had just gone away. She said, “ Ah, Doda, I am
so sorry I have not been able to have you for a
moment; but now I am free, and we can do whatever
we like.”

“ A servant has come for her,” said Mrs. Mortlake,



48 Doda's Birthday.

“and she is to go home; but I have promised she
shall have a piece more cake, as it is her birthday.”

Mrs. Thoseby smiled a little, perhaps because she
was not so fond of cake as other people, and said,
“Very well, mamma; while you give her the cake I
will get ready. I must really have a little of you,
Doda; so we will order the ponies, and I will drive
you home.”

Then they all went into the dining-room together,
and Mrs. Thoseby rang the bell and went out, spoke
to the servant as she crossed the hall, and then went
up-stairs to dress. Then the servant came in, and
Mrs. Mortlake ordered three cups of tea and the cake
from luncheon. ‘Then the servant went out, and
Mrs. Mortlake, without a word, closed her eyes, and
slept peacefully as she sat upright on a chair.

Doda sat still, holding Nero for protection, for Mrs.
Mortlake’s silent manner of going to sleep suddenly,
without moving from the position in which she sat,
frightened her more than anything.

At last the man came with the cups and the cake.
Mrs. Mortlake opened her eyes without moving, and
said, “Cut the-cake, Brewster.” He did so. This
took another minute. Doda could hear the pony-
carriage being brought round to the door.

«Take some cake, Doda,’ said Mrs. Mortlake,
softly.

Doda took a piece.

Nero was switching the floor with his tail as he
sat, and putting both his ears forward, while he



Luncheon. 49

looked at Doda’s piece of cake with an air of beseech-
ment that would move even a biscuit. For fear of
disturbing Mrs. Mortlake, Doda whispered to him,
“Now, dear boy, this is my birthday, and I am older
than you are, so I shall allow you to have this piece
of cake. Now—catch !”

She threw a little piece up. Nero caught it. The
snapping of his jaws sounded in the awful silence of
the room like the clapping of the hugest sheers.

“Doda!” said Mrs. Mortlake, in a voice not loud,
but very clear and alarming, “that dog is a great deal
too large to be allowed cake. He ought not to have
come into the room. Do you know that many poor
people would be glad of that piece you are wasting
now ? How dare you 2?”

Her eyes were wide open, and the expression,
which was the first Doda ever saw on her face, made
her unable to speak or breathe.

At this moment Mrs. Thoseby came into the room,
dressed, ready to start. “Never mind this time,
mamma,” said she. “It is Doda’s birthday, and she
may do whatever she likes,”







CHAP. IV.—AFTER LUNCHEON.

RS. THOSEBY put Doda into the carriage, and
then got in at the other side, after patting the
ponies, and saying something to each of them. Then
she told the serious, but apple-faced little groom that
he might stay behind, as they should not need him.
Then they began to drive off, and Nero began to bark
and roar and leap about; and all Colonel Thoseby’s
dogs, out of sight in the yard, heard it, and began to
bark, and shake their bars, and yell, and cry, and
make such torrents of noise that at first nobody could
speak. "When the carriage got into the road, and
Nero galloped away, and the other dogs were left be-
hind, Doda thought she ought to say something, to
make up for the way in which she had run from Mrs.
Mortlake.

Mrs. Thoseby seemed busy with the ponies at first,
and Doda had only her side-face to tall to. How-
ever she began, and had got as far as saying, “ Mrs.
Thoseby—I—am. very sorry about that. I hope you
don’t—I mean I hope I didn’t hurt Mrs. Mortlake.
Will you get her to forgive me?” when Mrs. Thoseby



After Luncheon. 51

began to smile, and turned to her, and said, “ Don’t
think about it. How did you get on with Essy? I
suppose Miss Fairtop told you her name was Essy ?”

“Yes,” said Doda, “ when she took me away it was
the first thing she said.”

“But what did you think of her?” said Mrs.
Thoseby.

“T don’t know,” said Doda, “She was afraid of
Nero.”

“Oh, you must forgive her for that,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “She lives so much in London, and was
at school in Paris, and is not used to big dogs like
Nero, and doesn’t know what he means when he
opens his mouth. She mixes him up in her mind,
perhaps, with the wolf in ‘ Little Red Ridinghood.’”

“Qh, please, don’t say that!” cried Doda.

“May not 1? What does it remind you of ?” said
Mrs. Thoseby. . =

“T think it is ¢rwe,” said Doda, frightening herself,
Indeed, she never could bear the story of “ Little Red
Ridinghood.” Once one of the servants had told her
the story to “amuse” her, when her mother was ill
and her grandfather was away, and she was ordered
to be kept quiet. And the servant, who knew the
story very well, told it all through without a mistake.
And that night Doda cried and cried, till she went to
sleep full of misery, and she thought the servant
frightfully cruel to smile over the story, and that she
must think her very wicked to expect her to be amused
by it. And, besides, she thought they had not told



52 Dotas Birthday.

her all, because, after it had eaten Little Red Riding-
hood, what did the wolf do next? It must have
done something, and perhaps just as bad. Then they
came and told her it wasn’t true, at least not exactly
true; and what was called the wolf was really some-
thing else. Then she asked them what it meant, and
they got impatient, and said it meant that “ Little
girls should not loiter,” and would say no more. Then
she knew that she could never know what she wanted
till she was grown up, and as for loitering, how could
she help it? She could not be eight any sooner by
being in a hurry to be eight. She had never thought
before, and now no one helped her. They even told
her it was very ungrateful to ery all night, and then
ask silly questions when the servant had told her a
nice story to amuse her. The housekeeper said that.
She was very fat, and had dreadful eyes, like glass
and slate-pencil, though she was not at all blind.
And this made Doda more miserable still. And then
they sent her to take some toast in to her mother’s
bed-room, and go and say “ good morning.” And as
she knocked at the door, the housekeeper in the
passage behind her said, “ Pull the bobbin, and the
latch will go up,” just as the wolf in the story does to
Little Red Ridinghood. Then when she went into
the room, there was. her mother sitting wp in bed in
a night-cap, as the wolf does, and she said as Doda
came in, “Ah, I’m glad you brought the toast, or I
should have had to eat you!” which was meant in
fun, only for a moment Doda was so full of the story



After Luncheon. 53

that she took it in earnest, and did not find out till
her mother began to laugh.

“But,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “did they not tell you
that it never happened really and truly, with a real
four-legged wolf, and a real grandmother, and a real
Little Red Ridinghood? It is only a kind of story,
with a meaning.”

“Then why do they tell it?” said Doda. -

_ “Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “when they had once
begun, you remember you could not help letting them
go on till they got to the end, even though you did
not like it. The story says, doesn’t it, that after
speaking to Little Red Ridinghood in the road, the
wolf went on first to the cottage, and got in, and ate
up the grandmother, and got into the bed, and pulled
the bed-clothes up to his chin, and when Doda—when
Little Red Ridinghood got to the door and knocked,
he cried, ‘Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up,
just as the grandmother had to him. Then little Red
Ridinghood went in with her basket, knowing she
was much too late, and saw her grandmother, for she
did not think it could possibly be the wolf, sitting up
in bed, looking even more impatient than usual.
And she looked at her, and could not help saying—-
what did she say ?”

“«What very long ears you have, grandmamma,’”
said Doda, wondering that the beginning of that
awful conversation did not frighten her so much in
the pony carriage, when she was close to Mrs.
Thoseby, and the two fat little ponies were trotting



BA Doda’s Birthday.

on in front, and the sun shone, and Nero rushed about
the hedges—as it did when she used to hear it whis-
pered by all kinds of voices alone in the night, when
there was no one anywhere.

“ And then,” continued Mrs. Thoseby, “the wolf
replied—”

“The better to hear you with, my dear,’
Doda.

“And then,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “Little Red
Ridinghood came near the bed, and saw the wolf’s
claws on the coverlid, and said—”

“«What very odd hands you have,” answered
Doda, when Mrs. Thoseby waited.

“To which,” she now went on, “the wolf replied—”

“ ing the conversation.

“But in saying this,” continued Mrs. Thoseby, “the
wolf could not help smiling, and Little Red Riding-
hood saw all his great, greedy fangs, and cried out in
a terrible fright—

« «What very large teeth you have, grandmamma !’”
recited Doda, faithfully.

“Then,” said Mrs. Thoseby, taking up the story
and conversation together, and making a rush for the
end, “the wolf answered, ‘ The better to eat you with,
my dear,’ and with that he jumped out of the bed,
and—”

“Oh, don’t—don’t—don’t!” cried Doda, “I can’t
bear that part !”

“ Well, we won’t mind the rest,” said Mrs. Thoseby,

»

said



After Luncheon. 55

“T see they have told you the story the same way
they told it to me, when I was six years old.”

“Oh, said Doda, but you can’t have been six years
old 2?”

“Why not?” said Mrs. Thoseby, laughing, “ You
were six years old once, were not you ?”

“Oh, yes,” said Doda; “but that is different.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “I was six years old
once, but then it was different too; for I was some-
body else.”

This explanation seemed to Doda more reasonable,
and she was satisfied with it; so she said, “ But
what did you do when they told you the story ?”

“Well, it was at night,” said Mrs, Thoseby, “after
I had gone to bed, and they told it to me to make
me go to sleep; and I shut my eyes at the end, to
‘make them go away. So they went away, but they
took the candle too, and when they were gone it was
quite dark. So I opened my eyes when there was
no one to see, and cried all night.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “I think every one does.”

“No,” said Mrs. Thoseby; “a great many people
would like it very much, and sleep quite comfortably
after.”

“ But they must be very cruel people,” said Doda.
“What becomes of them after they are grown-up ?”

She was thinking of an awful story that Tom
Thoseby said once had been told him when he was
a little boy—because he was killing flies—of an
Emperor of Rome, with a queer name beginning with



56 Doda's Birthday.

a V, who killed flies after he was grown up, and
killed all his friends too, and was so cruel that when
a stranger came to ask for him, he was told he would
find the Emperor alone, for not even a fly would go
near him.

“They are not always very cruel people,” said Mrs.
Thoseby, “for liking to hear Little Red Ridinghood,
because they don’t really hear it at all, because they
don’t imagine it properly, only half properly, just
enough to make themselves feel a little, which they
like.”

“ But,” said Doda, “what do they do when they
grow up 2?”

“ Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “they read the news-
papers,”

“The newspapers!” cried Doda, opening her eyes
very wide, because she had seen every one reading
newspapers at different times, even Colonel Thoseby
and Mr. Mills.

“J mean,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “a particular part;
because newspapers, you know, are so big that they
are about all kinds of things: one part about one
thing, and another part about something quite dif
ferent, which no one need read unless they like; and
there is always a particular part about nothing but
horrid things, much worse than Little Red Riding-
hood, ever so much worse, and sometimes quite true,:
and not “once upon a time,” but really yesterday.
Then they read that part, while other sorts of people
_read quite other parts of the paper.”

1?



After Luncheon. 57

“ But,” said Doda, remembering what her grand-
father had once told her mother she had for break-
fast instead of treacle, “ what sort of things ?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “ horrid things.”

. “Fires, with conflagration and great loss of life ?”
asked Doda.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Thoseby, astonished. “How
did you know ?”

“And murders, with atrocious something, and
trials, and adjournments?” went on Doda.

“Yes; how can you know 2?” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Why,” said Doda, “that is what grandpapa tells
mamma she has to breakfast instead of treacle.”

Mrs. Thoseby suddenly turned away to look at
something at the other side of the road, and at that
moment her whip dropped and fell out of the carriage,
so they had to stop and piek it up.

Doda did this, and they had not been able to stop
quite directly, as they were going very fast, so she
had to go back a little way to get it. Mrs. Thoseby
had been blushing, for when Doda returned she was
still a little red, and said, “Really it was very
awkward of me to do that—thank you—I am quite
ashamed.”

When they were comfortably settled, and trotting
on again, she said, “I was going to tell you why they
made up the story of Little Red Ridinghood. Well,
it was for children to have instead of newspapers,
because it is very awful; but it isn’t true, and yet
there is a wolf, so they have their little fright all for



58 Dodds Birthday.

nothing, and no one is hurt after all. This is what
they like.”

“ But I don’t like it,” said Doda.

“No more do J,” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Well, tell me a new story—a nice one,” said Doda.

“Shall it be sense, or nonsense?” asked Mrs.
Thoseby.

“Oh, sense, of course,” said Doda.

“Well, then,” began Mrs. Thoseby, obediently,
“there was once upon a time a man who had two
backs to his head.”

“Where was his face?” asked Doda.

“Tn the usual place,” answered Mrs. Thoseby ; “he
only had one back to his head at once. But the two
were quite different. He did not take off one to put
on the other, but he used: to make the back of his
natural one into whichever he liked, by brushing his
hair differently. “When he brushed it downwards, it
was brown and straight; but when he brushed it up,
it was grey and curly. In this way he used to de-
ceive people, so that they often thought he was some-
body else.”

“ But they would see his face,” said Doda.

“ Of course they did, when he was walking towards
them, but not when he was walking away from them,”
answered Mrs. Thoseby; “and that was why they
used to think they did not know him, for they were
sure of his face till he got past, and when they looked
at his back, and noticed that it was quite different to
what they had expected; then they would suppose



After Luncheon. 59

they had made a mistake, and would be quite sure
now that he must be some one else; and they would
say to each other, ‘What a very extraordinary like-
ness !—really, from his face, we were quite sure he
must be the very man!’ But by this time he would
be a long way off, and quite safe from being run
after, and looked at again. It never occurred to any-
one that he could possibly have two backs to his
head, and in this way he was taken for some one else
quite as often as for himself. In this way he used to
deceive people.”

“He must have been a very wicked man,” said
Doda.

“Oh, no—a very good man ; he never did anybody
any harm on purpose in all his life,” answered Mrs.
Thoseby.

“Well,” said Doda, “but he did deceive them 2?”

“But then,’ went on Mrs. Thoseby, “there was
another thing, which I had not come to yet. He did
not know that he had two backs, and, though he very
much wished to have the use of them, he never under-
stood how it was that things turned out so well.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “then it was not his fault—was
it?”

“Not in the least,” said Mrs. Thoseby. “ Well,
one day he was in Spain. Spain is very hot, and very
cold, and very dry and dusty, and very rainy and
miserable ; but it is not all these things at once, as
England is, but each has its time; and while one lasts
it seems as if all the country was going to be like



60 Dodds Birthday.

that always. In some parts the sun stays longest,
and there the roads are made of dust, and there are
very small trees, and the people are very brown, and
wear dresses of queer shapes and colours, as you have
seen them in pictures, with short jackets and flat hats,
and sashes round their waists, and big knives. And,
like most people with dark complexions, they are
very furious indeed when they are in love; and if
everything does not happen exactly as they want it,
they kill themselves or each other, and are in such
a rage that they don’t think that is half enough, and
wish they could do a great deal more.”

“What horrid people!” said Doda, trying to ima-
gine them.

“But then,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “they are not
always doing that, and at other times they are more
clever and polite to each other, and much quicker in
understanding each other and in doing things nicely
than most people are here; so that, if one of the
peasants from there comes over and gets among our
country people, he thinks them so rude to each other
that he wonders why they do not all kill each other,
to teach themselves better manners.”

« And what do we think of him?” asked Doda.

“Oh, we think him a bowing, scraping, knife-
bearing, grinning, monkey-hearted foreigner, and that
he ought to be soused in a mill-pond to teach him
manliness and simplicity.”

Doda was silent for a moment, trying to think
which was right. Mrs. Thoseby saw what she was



After Luncheon. 61

meditating, and went on; “ Well, they are both right
in their way, only they don’t understand each other ;
and poor people, and others who are always working
and busy, never have time to understand any one
different to themselves ; and besides that, they never
travel, so they do not even know properly what there
is to understand. They think it doesn’t matter, and
that foreigners were only made to be written about
in books. But I was going to tell you what hap-
pened to the man with two backs to his head. When
he was travelling alone in Spain, he came once to a
village where every one was a thief. Thieves are
not all alike, you know; some of them in Spain treat
each other quite nicely, though they do not always
show the same kindness to us. Well, while he was
in the village, he never had the least suspicion that
all the people were thieves. There were a lot of
handsome men in dirty clothes of gay colours, some-
thing like those you see in pictures of Spanish shep-
herds. They all had dark faces, bright brown eyes,
and black hair. They had among them their wives
and children and grandmothers. The only thing that
made them not quite like shepherds was that when
you were not looking at them they looked at you
with an odd expression, as if they were calculating
what could be done with you, and not putting the
slightest consideration of how you would like it into
their sum; just as a man looks at a tree to guess
whether there is enough timber in it to serve for the
planks he wants, before he decides whether he will



62 Doda’s Birthday.

cut it down. That is the way thieves look at a
traveller before they rob him in Southern countries.
Of course England, where we are, is quite different.
Well, one of the girls in the thieves’ village was very
beautiful, and she looked at the man I am telling you
about, and he looked at her, and they both liked each
other; and then, without saying anything, she held
out a bunch of grapes to him, which she had just
plucked. So he came up, and took one off the bunch,
and éat it. Then she took off another, and eat it, and
held the bunch out to him. So he took another.
When they had done this a few times, they began
passing the bunch backwards and forwards more and
more quickly, and both began to laugh, as people do
when they race for fun. All the others in the village
stood about, and resolved that, as soon as they got
him alone, they would kill him for making fun with
one of their girls.”

“ Oh,” said Doda, with perfect frankness, “I don’t
like this story !”

“You forget,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “that the man
had two backs to his head.”

Feeling that this contained an immeasurable source
of safety against everything that would happen to
him, Doda was re-comforted, and prepared to go on
listening.

Mrs. Thoseby continued—* Well, when he went
away in the afternoon, to return by a long, lonely
walk over a hill to the town where he was staying,
and which he had left early in the morning, two men



After Luncheon. 63

from the village crept away, and ran to a place in the
road where they thought he would be sure to pass,
and where they meant to attack him. But as they
were afraid to meet him face to face, they resolved
to let him go by, and then hit him from behind.”

“T hate them!” said Doda.

“Never mind; they live a long way olf,” said Mrs.
Thoseby, and then went on—* But, though he was
going to pass this part of the road, before he reached
it he was very tired, and lay down on a bank to
watch the sunset. Here he thought about the girl
who had given him the grapes, and how nice she was,
and what queer-looking people she lived amongst.
And as he thought, he slipped a little further down
the bank, and rubbed all his hair the other way, so
that only the grey back to his head showed now.
When he at last got up and went on with his walk,
he forgot to put on his hat, which he carried in his
hand without noticing what it was. So he came to
the place where the men were hid who meant to jump
out and attack him. They were both brothers of the
girl, and both: very young. They chiefly wanted to
kill him because their sister liked him, and wanted
to marry him instead of some one else whom they
wanted her to marry. So they waited till he had
gone past, and then they jumped out, and were just
going to kill him when they saw that the back of his
head was that of an old man. At this they both
began to laugh, and he turned round. It was too
dark to see faces well, but he saw they were robbers.



64 Dodds Birthday.

However, they both made him a bow, and requested
him, in the name of their sister, for a lock of his hair.
He thought it best to take them at their words. So
he pulled out a little pair of travellers’ scissors which
he had, and cut off some hair from the back of his
head. He chose the underneath part, so that the
place where he cut it might not show. When he
held out the hair, he saw it was white. This asto-
nished him more than anything he had ever seen.
He thought, ‘Can I possibly have been so frightened
at meeting these men in the wood that my hair has
turned white ?’ for he had read of people to whom
that happened. But he had not been particularly
frightened ; so he could not understand it. They took
the hair, with a great many bows and thanks, and,
assuring him that all they possessed was his—which
was their way of being polite—they left him and re-
turned home, where they showed the white hair to
their sister, and laughed at her for wanting to marry
a grandfather. ‘This made her so angry, that she
changed her mind, and married the other man they
wanted her to have—and that was how Lord Welryth
discovered once that he had two backs to his head.”

“Oh, was it Lord Welryth?” cried Doda.

«Yes, really; he told me himself,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “But he has only one back to his head
now, for he is grey all over. He was younger then.
The moral of the story is, that some people gain as
much by loitering on a bank as other people lose, and
that, because it did so much harm to Little Red



After Luncheon. 65

Ridinghood, that is no reason why it should be
equally bad for every one else. That is philosophy.”
“Ts it?” said Doda. “I understand it quite easily.”
“Why not?” said Mrs. Thoseby. “It is much
easier to understand than anything else. Gurls are
expected to find it out for themselves. That is why
they are not taught it.”

“Then what does ‘ pachydermatous’ mean ?” asked
Doda.

Mrs. Thoseby was so astonished at this question
coming unexpectedly, that Doda had to explain that
Essy had used the word, and told her it was a part
of “higher education.” So Mrs. Thoseby explained
it, and said that it was scientific, and that Essy used
it in fun, because she thought scientific words funny,
because the people who went about using them when
they ought not, in ordinary conversation, never see
how funny they appear; and Essy did see, which
made her feel a great deal wiser than they were. ©

“ But 7s she wiser ?” asked Doda.

“We are going into very deep subjects,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “Yes, in some ways she is. She has man-
ners of a certain kind, which she can make to suit
the people she is with; and manners are a kind of
wisdom.” “Have I manners?” asked Doda.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Thoseby, smiling. “But then
you are used to it, and you always notice what people
expect each other to do; and we are all such old
friends here, that it is the best manners in the world
to like each other as much as we choose, and—”

E



66 Dodas Birthday.

Here Mrs. Thoseby stopped a moment. Then, as
if she meant to say all the rest in two words, and end
the subject, she went on— and not treat each other
worse than we would treat strangers, though people
who like each other often do. They think that is the
privilege which liking gives them.”

“But how do we treat strangers better?” asked
Doda. .

“We have gone far enough for once,” answered
Mrs. Thoseby. “ Wait till we have another birthday.”

So they went on for a little without saying any-
thing, and Doda thought how pretty Mrs. Thoseby
was, and yet she was as wise as Mr. Mills, and said
everything rightly, and she thought it would be worth
while not being seven years old if one could become
like that. Then she thought how nice the carriage
was, and how like a shield the black-shiney leather
thing in front of them, and how funny the backs of
the two little ponies looked beyond it, bobbing up
and down quickly as they trotted, like the little
leather things inside a grand piano do, if you look
in while some one is playing. The road was very
pretty where they were driving, the hedges made queez
shapes, and the trees were tall, and the bank was
higher in some places than in others, with flowers on
it, and in the brown part the roots of the trees coming
through like the hands of some one who was just
going to come up out from under the earth. And
beyond were the hills, and everywhere there was
summer, and the wonderful feeling of the warm air



After Luncheon. 67

that seems alive. Doda wished they could trot on
and on for ever, but they were near the village now,
and her own home was still nearer. She saw the
garden-gate, and the trees, and the house through
them, and then Mrs. Thoseby pulled up.

“Oh,” cried Doda, “is that all?”

“ All for the present,” said Mrs. Thoseby; “ but
we will have another drive whenever you like.”

So Doda had to come out of her silence, which she
had liked so much; for with Mrs. Thoseby near her
she liked it quite as well sometimes as talking. She
had to get off the carriage, and say the right things,
as it was her own house they had come to; and so
she said, “ Won’t you come in ?”

“T have left the groom,” said Mrs. Thoseby; “so
I am afraid not, as there would be no one to look
after the ponies.”

“Our groom would,” said Doda.

“Perhaps your grandfather wants him,” said Mrs.
Thoseby, “and then I would be giving trouble. So
I will come another time. What a pretty locket
that is!” .,

“Oh! said Doda, “I forgot. Grandpapa gave it
to me.”

“How nice of him!” said Mrs. Thoseby. Then
she drew out a parcel, looking like a box, but done
up in brown paper. It was not very big, but not
very small—bigeer than a jewel-case, and smaller
than a desk. She gave it to Doda, and said, “This
is my present. Now good-bye;” and leaning down,



68 Doda’s Birthday.

gave her a kiss as well, and the next moment had
rattled away again, the two ponies trotting faster
than ever; and Doda was left alone at the gate with
her present.

So she went inside, and sat down on a little place
where there was a seat in a bush, and undid the
brown paper. The box was a long narrow one,
covered with beautiful dark browney-red leather, and
it was locked, with a little key hanging by a piece of
silk. So she opened it, and the lid had scissors and
thimble, and everything to sew, all very small, that
went under little leather bridges, and so was lifted
up with the lid; and there was in the box a new
photograph of Mrs. Thoseby, in a little frame that
would stand up when you took it out; and under the
photograph were new gloves—some of light kid and
some dark—all the way to the bottom of the box.
There were twelve pairs, all the size Doda wore.

Doda sat looking at the box a long time, opening
it and shutting it, and taking out the little pointed
scissors with handles like wreaths, and opening and
shutting them in the air. And the more she looked
at everything the prettier she thought it: and then,
it was such a grown-up present. She scarcely knew
whether she liked it or the locket best.

Suddenly she heard some one coming down the
path, and she locked the box and put the key in her
pocket, and waited to see who it was. It was her
mother’s maid, who told her she had been sent for,
and wanted to know where she had been, and whether



After Luncheon. 69

she had had dinner. Doda said she had had dinner,
and had been at Mrs. Thoseby’s. The maid said they
supposed she must be there, and then seemed to ex-
pect Doda was going to come into the house with her.
Doda did not want to do so at all, so she gave the
new glove-box, safely locked, to the maid, and said it
was a present from Mrs. Thoseby, and asked the maid
to put it in her bedroom, as she was not going in just
yet. Then, as soon as she was alone, she rushed out
of the garden and stood in the lane, wondering for a
moment where she should make up her mind to go
next, feeling with one hand the key of her dear box
safe in her pocket.





e







N











CHAP. V.—IN MRS. DEYLON’S GARDEN.

HILE she wondered she began to walk slowly
down towards the village.

The sun was shining in the way that makes very
old people in villages come out and sit before their
cottages, in their little gardens, where there is always
a seat, and generally far too many flowers round it
and beside the one path, so that the flowers tumble
over each other if the least wind blows.

At the first cottage to which Doda came there was
an. old woman sitting. “I wonder what she is think-
ing of,” said Doda to: herself, but she did not quite
succeed in finding out. The old woman, in fact,
though she sat in the sun, and flowers were about
her, was thinking of her teeth, and wondering how
long the remaining ones would last her; at the same
time she was thinking of her grandchildren, and of
how different to them she was at their age; and how
foolish it was of the eldest boy to save money to buy
a watch, when she had lived, and in good health, to
her time of life without ever a watch to bless herself
with ; and she had known other people younger than
she that had had watches, and yet they were dead,
and there she was still.



In Mrs. Deylows Garden. 71

' Doda could not quite discover all this, as she did
not know the old woman’s history, or what she was
likely to think about it; so she wondered at her
wrinkled, brooding face, and went on.

Then she saw an old man sitting before his door,
with his hand on the head of a big dog that sat be-
side him, and which he patted now and then, but
scarcely looked at. His face was not like the wo-
man’s, and he half smiled to himself, and was not
unhappy for the time. He was thinking—though
Doda did not know it—that the dog beside him was
another that he had had forty years before, when he
himself was a newly-married man, and had just come
to the cottage. It had been summer-time then, as
it was now; and he sat leaning back in the sunshine,
and making believe to himself that now was still the
same summer, till it seemed almost as good’as if it
had been really true.

Then, as she went on, she came to a number of
children, all running and playing in the road and on
the grass and pathway. These were thinking many
different things not at all shown in their faces. Some
were thinking that they would be called soon, and
must play quickly. Some were thinking how un-
fairly the others played, and what a shame it was,
and wishing they were strong enough and big enough
to fight the ones they were angry with. Some thought
of nothing but the cricket, and of where the ball was
then, and where it might be struck next, and how
well they would stop it, and how hard they would



72 Dodas Birthday.

throw it if it came their way. And one was thinking
of a punishment which he was told he should have
in the evening when his father came home, and was
wishing something would make his father change his
mind, and not come home for ever and ever.

As Doda passed through, the game stopped for a
moment, and they all looked at her, which was natu-
ral, as she was pretty, and well-dressed, and alone;
and any one seeing her coming down the lane in the
sunshine would have stopped a moment to look at
her.

Then, when she had passed them, she met a cow,
which frightened her, for it went fast and was very
big ; but it did not look at her. And then she met
a little boy running, who did not frighten her, but
who frightened the cow. _

And then she saw a cat steal out of a garden, where
it had hid till the cow got past, and rush across to
its own garden, which was at the other side of the
road. Here it leaped up unto the lap of an old wo-
man, who sat there reading, and she put down her
book, and received the cat, and made it comfortable
in her lap.

And Doda looked at this old woman, and thought
she looked very nice, and not at all like the other.
For she was nicely dressed, and had bright eyes,
and a head shaped more like that of a lady; and her
white hair was nice, and she had only three clear
lines on her forehead, and had a handsome face, and
she wore a white handkerchief fastened round her



ln Mrs. Deylon's Garden. 73

neck by a brooch. Besides which, her hands were
nice, and long, and white; and then, too, the flowers
in her garden were not too many for the garden.

Doda did not know her at all, but the old woman
looked as if she knew her quite well, and had often
seen her, and would not be the least surprised if she
came up and spoke to her. And while Doda was
thinking this, she had already stopped at the gate
without noticing that she did so, and the old woman
and she were looking straight into each other's eyes,
so that some one must say something. The old wo-
man said,—* Will you not come in? Would you like
some flowers ?”

Then Doda remembered, for the first time, that she
had left the flowers that Essy had given her on the
table when she had had cake and tea with Mrs.
Mortlake, but she thought she should like these much
better, and would not leave them anywhere, for she
did not know yet how many new things she would
have to wonder about, before the day was over.

She said, “I should like some flowers very much,
if I may.”

“Come in, then; I am Mrs. Deylon,” said the old .
woman, “ Are you alone ?”

“Yes, quite alone,” said Doda. “It is my birth-
day.”

“T wish you many happy returns of the day, Miss
Doda,” said Mrs. Deylon; so that Doda knew for
certain that she was known. Then she remembered
that Deylon was the name of their gardener, who was



74 Doda's Birthday.

very nice, and whom she always called “ gardener,”

and had thought it funny that her grandfather called
him sometimes “ gardener,” and sometimes “ Deylon.”
She supposed he must be this Mrs. Deylon’s grand-
son; so she said, “ Does your grandson do your gar-
den as well as ours ?”

And then Mrs. Deylon knew that Doda knew now
who she was too, and said,—“ He does the hard work,
and I do the rest. Which flowers are you fondest of?”

Doda chose which she liked, and they made a
bouquet. Doda picked the ones that grew near the
ground, so that Mrs. Deylon was not obliged to stoop,
and Mrs. Deylon picked those that grew high up on
the wall, where Doda could not reach. Then they
tied them up, and cut the loose ends off, and both
washed their hands in the watering-can.

Then Mrs. Deylon gave Doda the flowers, and
seemed to expect that she would go, but not to want
her to go; and, as Doda did not want to go either,
and in this garden they were very quiet, and no one
saw them or disturbed them, she thought she should
like to stay. So when she had thanked Mrs. Deylon
for the flowers, she stopped a moment, and said, “I
have kept you away from your book a long time.”

“No,” said Mrs. Deylon, “it was pussy that made
me put my book down, and I do not think I shall
go on with it just now.”

«What shall you do?” asked Doda.

“T think I shall sit here and tell myself stories till
my grandson, your gardener, comes home.”



Ln Mrs. Deylon's Garden. 75

“May I hear one of the stories?” asked Doda.

“Yes, certainly, Miss Doda,” said Mrs. Deylon;
“which shall it be ?”

“Oh, any one,” said Doda; “but not Little Red
Ridinghood.”

“Why not Little Red Ridinghood?” said Mrs.
Deylon.

“Oh, I can’t bear the wolf,” said Doda. “Make it
about something quite different.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Deylon, “ what shall it be about
then 2?”

Doda thought a moment, but at last gave up trying
to think of anything new, and said, “ About some one
whose birthday it is.”

“Tt is my birthday,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“Your birthday!” cried Doda, in astonishment.
Then she thought, might she wish Mrs. Deylon many
happy returns, and then decided that she might, and
did so, and then Mrs. Deylon was pleased ; and then
Doda thought she would like to ask her how old she
was, but did not like to do so straight out, as she
seemed so very old; so she said, “I am seven years
old to-day.”

Mrs. Deylon smiled, and said, “I remember being
seven years old too. That was sixty-eight years
ago.”

“What happened then?” asked Doda; adding, to
herself, “Then you must be seventy-five now.”

“ Then,” said Mrs. Deylon, after thinking a moment,
“my father became a Roman Catholic, and so did my



76 Dodds Birthday.

mother, and I had to learn a fresh set of prayers, and
forget the ones I had before.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “that must be dreadful. Did
you quite forget them ?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Deylon, “but I remember them
now, and sometimes I like them best.”

“What did your father do,” asked Doda, * when he
became a Roman Catholic?”

“ He died,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“ Oh,” said Doda, trying to draw that question back,
and give another instead, “but what was he before ?”

« A clergyman—a curate,” said Mrs. Deylon.

. They were silent, and Doda added up the story in
her head, as if it were a sum, and saw that the result
was why Mrs. Deylon was poor, and yet did not talk
quite like other poor people. But still it did not
show yet why her grandson was a gardener, so she
said, “ And then I suppose you lived alone with your
mother and grandfather?” to make her go on with
the story, and tell the rest.

“No,” said Mrs. Deylon, “my grandfather was not
there, and my mother was young, and married a rich
man, who was very good to us. He was a merchant
gardener, and his partner was Mr. -Deylon, who
married me afterwards. Then my son had the busi-
ness afterwards when we were left alone, and he
married, and brought his wife home; but she never
liked it, and persuaded him not to like it. But my
grandson always did, and used to be all day working
and talking with the gardeners.



In Mrs. Deylon’s Garden. Tf

“ But where is the garden ?” asked Doda.

“Tt was bought for a railway, because it was near
London,” said Mrs. Deylon; “and then they wanted
to go to London, and we lived there a short time till
we lost almost all the money, and then we were un-
happy; and the end was that I came back with my

grandson to live here where my father used to be
~ eurate when I was seven years old, and I used to
wish then that this cottage belonged to me, for it was
the oldest of all the village, and now I live in it.”

Doda did not ask what became of the rest of the
people, as she supposed they were all dead. She sat
silent.

“ Now I have told you a story,” said Mrs. Deylon,
“which was about some one whose birthday it is, and
was not about Little Red Ridinghood.”

“No,” said Doda.

“ And there was no wolf in it,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“ And yet,” said Doda to herself, “the garden is
gone, and the money is gone, and all the people are
dead.” And she thought, after she had sat silent a
little longer, that some stories without a wolf were
worse than some stories with a wolf, and she won-
dered how Mrs. Thoseby would have told Mrs. Dey-
lon’s story; so she said, “May I tell this to Mrs.
Thoseby ?”

“Mrs. Thoseby knows it already,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“May I ask you some more things?” said Doda,
looking up. “I will never talk about it afterwards,
except to Mrs. Thoseby.”



78 Dodds Birthday.

“Yes; what are the things? Ask anything,” said
Mrs. Deylon.

So Doda said, “Is that all your story ?”

“Yes, all,” said Mrs. Deylon.

Doda remained looking at her, and thought how like .
a picture of Marie Antoinette she was, that her grand-
father had, only her eyes were brighter. And Doda
said, almost without meaning to do so, “ Your eyes
are very beautiful, and you are like Marie Antoinette.”

Mrs. Deylon smiled, and blushed slightly. Doda
blushed a great deal, for she never knew before that
an old woman could blush, or have the feeling that
goes with blushing. But they can, and some old men
can also, as Doda found out afterwards from Lord
Welryth. But now she thought she must say some-
thing at once, to get over the uncomfortableness ;
and, looking about for something, she saw Mrs. Dey-
lon’s book lying on the bench, and said, “May I see
what you were reading ?”

“Tt is a book written by Mr. Mills, which I have
had for a long time,” said Mrs. Deylon, “and I think
I am now beginning to understand it.”

“Do you like it very much?” asked Doda.

“ Very much indeed,” said Mrs. Deylon; “it is one
of my favourite books.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “do you think I could under-
stand it 2”

“ Some of it, perhaps,” said Mrs. Deylon. Did you
understand my story ?”

“No,” said Doda, “not quite all, but you said I



Ln Mrs. Deylon’s Garden. 79

might ask Mrs. Thoseby; but I always understand
Mr. Mills, and he understands everything, and I am
so fond of him, and I know him quite well, and he
reads about the Greeks, and people call him ‘ poor
Mr. Mills,” which is such nonsense, like ” she
stopped short.

“Tike when they call me ‘poor Mrs. Deylon,’ said
Mrs. Deylon.

“Yes,” said Doda, blushing again at having be-
trayed this.

Mrs. Deylon did not blush, but smiled, and took
up the book.

“ What are ‘ Essays’?” asked Doda, looking at the
title.

“Short things, not much longer than a story, but
not stories, only all about somethine—what it is like,
and what people think of it, and why they think it,”
said Mrs. Deylon. “Then they make one think too,
even if one knew about the thing before. - Indeed, if
one knew nothing about it, one could never read the
essay.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “I’m afraid I don’t know any-
thing. But do read me some, because it is Mr. Mills’;
any part will do—where you were reading just now.”

“But that is a very difficult part, indeed,” said
Mrs. Deylon. “It is about the changes different
people go through after they are grown up. You
could never understand it.”

“ Never mind,” said Doda; “let me try.”

Mrs. Deylon smiled, but made Doda settle herself





80 Dodds Birthday.

comfortably on the bench, leaning on her shoulder,
with her feet tucked wp. “Then, taking up the book,
she went on reading from where she had left off and
what she read was this :-—

“There is a time in a man’s life when what he does
is the whole of himself, and action is the whole of his
life; and sometimes this time lasts during all his best
years, and then he is known as the man of action, and
this appears to him the greatest thing in the world.
But there was most probably a time when he was
younger, when what he felt seemed much more im-
portant to him than what he did, and action only
seemed worth while when it was caused by feeling,
or brought feeling for its result. He was then a
lover, or enthusiast, proud of his passion, and humble
about the deeds, even if they were heroic, which the
passion or enthusiasm made him do. He used then
to look upon a man who praises action because it is
action, and thinks that this is reality, as being a kind
of machine—a thing with much motion, but no real
life of its own, and not even knowing what reality
was. Perhaps when he was younger still there was
a time when what he was, even without feeling and
action, appeared to him to be complete, and to be
really himself, and feeling and action appeared dis-
tractions that would hurry him away, and cheat him
out of his attention to the reality of being. His own
body and hands, his face, his name, his rank, and the
thought of his soul, seemed to him to be himself.
This is a stage in life which generally only detains a



In Mrs. Deylon’s Garden. 81

man for a short time, but remains often with a beau-
tiful girl until she falls in love, and sometimes longer,
if her beauty happens to be great, and her experience
of life little. To this stage a man often returns when
he is very old, and his feelings are worn out, his
actions gone away from him, and, with all his mind
still conscious, he sees his last hour come patiently
and wisely, and unhindered by any distractions. If
he has been well educated, and hag read a little of
the poets and philosophers, and has been abroad and
seen the works of the artists, then probably there was
another time in his life when it seemed to him that
his mere being and his name were not himself at all,
but only the space he lived in, and that action was
only necessary because there were things that wanted
doing, unfortunately, and he felt obliged to do them
merely because he could, and therefore might not
leave his power unused or wasted; but this was not
himself either, nor at all the great reality of life.
Even his feelings—the great passion of love itself—
seemed then like half a distraction from life, although
afterwards found to have been necessary in giving a
complete preparation. Yet at the time it was a thing
apart, a madness under whose motive he would have
gladly given away his life and died, before indeed
knowing what life was; for now it seemed that
thought was the chief thing, and that true feeling of
being mature, only belonged to the man who found
in his imagination the power to make reality out of
the feelings, action, and self, that were like the tissue

F



82 Doda’s Birthday.

and cloth from which it might be pieced and put to-
gether. This is the fourth stage, and the one in which
artists and thinkers of all sorts spend their lives when
they have had all the other changes, just as rulers and
workers aud fighters spend it in the stage of action,
lovers in the stage of feeling, and no one, except,
perhaps, the sleeping princess of the fairy-story, alto-
gether in the stage of merely existing as a passive
self with a name.

“Every one knows these four stages, and many who
cannot enter fully into them will choose one to imi-
tate, that they may have the praises, and plead for
their faults the excuses, which belong to it. In adopt-
ing the title of a quarter of life, they persuade them-
selves that their want of the other three quarters is
the result of the choice they have made, and not of
their incapacity to go further. Even the part they
select is only a shadow and imitation, but they do
their best to persuade themselves and every one who
sees them that, though they are not like some of the
great ones of the earth, of whom we may have read
the ‘lives, that at least they are like others. They
bustle, and demand that this shall be called ‘action;
their want of aim is ‘many-sidedness ;’ their coldness
is ‘self-control;’ their timidity is ‘sensitiveness.’
Then selfishness supposes, often falsely, it has a self
to be selfish about, and thoughts are stolen, imagina-
tion is made of brooding, art is imitated by rule, and
in this way the counterfeit people of the world, call-
ing themselves by the names of the real ones, bring



lu Mrs. Deylows Garden. 83

the four stages of life and the four types of men into
disgrace, and cause these to share with them the
derision and contempt that belongs only to them-
selves, while stealing in exchange half the reputation
and indulgence that belong to the names they have
assumed.”

By this time Doda was asleep.

Then she had a queer dream—a dream about a
dream ; for she dreamed she sat on a chair, and a big
book was brought and opened, and held up for her to
read; and it was all about her dream, which, some-
how, she was to be allowed to read about, though she
might not absolutely dream it. She looked at the
book, and there were all kinds of words, like those
she had been listening to, and the names of the people
she had been seeing that day. She tried to read, and
it began, “This is about the four stages—action,
thinking, feeling, and being yourself,—now you are
Doda—that is the stage of being oneself—and Cap-
tain Lewis and Essy are lovers—that is the stage of
feeling or experiencing ;’—and she dreamed she said,
“Oh, I never knew that,” and that some one said,
“Look at them again next time you see them.” It
was the dream speaking; and she answered, “ When
shall I see them again?” and it said, “To-day.—
Who is in the stage of thinking?” And she said,
“Oh, I don’t know—I suppose Mr. Mills, but it —
seems very funny to think of him in any stage; he
used always to seem Mr. Mills, and that was all.”
Then, when she had wondered a long time over this,



84 Doda's Birthday.

the dream said, “And Colonel Thoseby ?” But she
could not think. And the dream said, “ You know,
people always say, ‘What a great deal of good
he does here !—what a man of action he is!” “So
they do,” said Doda; “I have heard them often, only
I always forget what people say, unless it is a story.”
“Or a dream,” said the dream. “Oh, I am afraid I
sometimes forget that when I am awake.” “Or a
book,” said the dream, “ like that Mrs. Deylon is read-
ing.” “Who is Mrs. Deylon ?” asked Doda, and with
that she heard a great noise, and awoke.

A carriage with two horses drove down the lane
and disappeared.

It awoke Doda, who leaped off the bench, and said,
“Oh, I am afraid I was asleep. I didn’t mean to go
to sleep, but I had such a queer dream, that came
and talked about the four stages. May I get up
again, and go on reading? I think I do understand
it, though I couldn’t tell, and it is so funny, and I
never knew any of it before.”

“Tt is getting late in the afternoon,’ said Mrs.
Deylon. “Are they not expecting you somewhere ?”

« Perhaps,” said Doda, thinking that, besides, she
should like to get away, and be alone, and think
about the dream; for she had been just enough asleep
to hear voices and remember things she forgot when
she was more awake, or more asleep; and it seemed
to her as if some one had come and spoken to her,
while she was really making it up to herself the
whole time without knowing how.



[n Mrs. Deylow's Garden. 85

She picked up the flowers, which she had knocked
down in jumping up so suddenly when she awoke.

“Why not come again some other time, and hear
the rest,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“Oh, I should like that so much!” said Doda. “I
want to hear everything he ever wrote. But do
people really go and have stages ?”

“ Really and truly,” said Mrs. Deylon, smiling.

“Well,” said Doda, “I hope you don’t mind my
going to sleep.”

“ Not a bit,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“Then I will go,” said Doda; “but you will let
me come back; and thank you very much for the
flowers,”

She got on the bench, and gave Mrs. Deylon a kiss,
because her face was nice, and she was like Marie
Antoinette, and was not like other people. Then she
said “ sood-bye,” and ran away.











CHAP, VI.—AFTERNOON,.

HEN Doda ran away from the cottage of Mrs.
Deylon, she did not run home, because she
could have got home in two minutes by running, and
she wanted to think a very great deal first about what
she had heard, and wonder whether, when she grew
up, she should think most of what she did (stage
No. 1), what she felt (stage No. 2), what she was
(stage No. 3), or what she invented or thought (stage
No. 4), if she ever invented anything. And this
went round and round in her head, till all the world
seemed like a ladder of four steps, which people ran
up and down till they were grown up, trying each
step. And then when they were grown up, she sup-
posed they sat down on the step that suited them
best, unless they were not good enough for any of
them; and then she supposed they went to the sham
ladder with the counterfeit steps, and became coun-
terfeits themselves, to sit on them.

So she went on walking aud thinking till she left
the village behind, and came to the edge of a very
large park, which belonged to a very large house, and
which she knew belonged to old Lord Welryth, whom
her grandfather often went to see. and she thought



Afternoon. 87

he might be at home. This made her suddenly think
she should like to go and see him, for she had not
seen him since the year before, and then only for a
moment, and before that she hardly could remember
when, but she was so young that then it was quite
different.

There were big gates, and a little house near them ;
and the gates were open, and a nice-looking girl was
sitting outside the house doing some kind of work.
Doda thought she really would go in, though if it
had not been her birthday she would no more have
had the courage to do so than to stop at Mrs. Deylon’s
garden, But to-day she might do whatever she
liked; so she went in. The girl, who was knitting,
seemed as if she was going to speak ; so Doda went
up to her, and said, “ Are they out ?”

“Yes, miss, out driving,” said the girl.

Then Doda remembered the carriage with two
horses that had passed when she was on the bench
with Mrs. Deylon, but she had not seen who was in it.

“Ts there no one at all?” she asked.

“Yes, miss, there’s his lordship,” said the girl.

Doda thought that was all she wanted, as she knew
no one else, and did not even know who the others
were, and so was very glad that they were safely out
driving, She now determined to go to the house;
but she suddenly thought;—suppose she had grown so
much that Lord Welryth did not know her; or sup-
pose he was different, and she did not know him.
This idea made her stop for a moment.



88 Dodds Birthday.

Just then she heard a carriage coming up the road.
It had not the heavy roll and loud stamping of a
carriage like the one that passed before, but the’
quick tread and light rattle of the one in which Mrs.
Thoseby used to drive the two ponies. Very soon
the ponies appeared, and Mrs. Thoseby, who pulled
up, very much surprised to see Doda, whom she
thought she had left at home an hour before.

“What, Doda!” she said. “Did I leave you at
thas gate?”

“No,” said Doda, “you left me at my own gate,
and I had no time to thank you for the box; but it
is beautiful, and so are the gloves, and the photograph,
and the key” (here she plunged her hand into her
pocket, and felt the key); “but I have done a great
deal since, and now I am here.”

“That is a very clear explanation,” said Mrs.
Thoseby ; “and I am very glad you liked the box and
the key. But what are you going to do here ?”

“I was going to think about such a number of
things!” said Doda, whose ideas went back to Mrs.
Deylon and the book; but then, remembering her last
project of the call, she came quite close, so that the
girl from the lodge might not hear, and said, “Do
you know Lord Welryth ?”

« Yes,” said Mrs. Thoseby, rather surprised.

“Crandpapa does, but I am afraid I don’t,” said
Doda.

« Well?” said Mrs. Thoseby.

« And I want to know him, if I may,” said Doda.



Afternoon. 89

“Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, smiling, ‘come with
me. I was just going to see him, and we will go to-
gether.” So Doda got into the carriage again, and
the ponies turned in at the gate, and rattled away
down the long, open drive, that went from the lodge
all the way across the park and up to the garden.

“And what makes you want to know Lord Wel-
ryth ?” asked Mrs. Thoseby.

“T don’t know,” said Doda. “I want to know
everybody.”

“No other reason ?” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Why,” said Doda, “I don’t know, This is so
nice, and the house looks so nice, and grandpapa used
to go so often, and I have always thought I should
come to have something to do with Lord Welryth
some day.”

“You have presentiments already!” said Mrs.
Thoseby.

“What is that?” asked Doda.

“Knowing things that are going to happen,” said
Mrs. Thoseby ; “or, at least, feeling before something
happens as if something were going to happen.”

“Oh, yes,” said Doda; “always and always.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “ Lord Welryth is very
nice; but he will say a great many things to you
you won’t understand, on purpose for you not to quite
understand them. But you must remember and ask
me afterwards if there is anything you want to know
about, because he does not like to be asked what he
means.”



90 . Dodas B erthaday.

“Well,” thought Doda, “he can’t mean anything
-worse than the “four stages,” and I understood that,
or I think I did, only I can’t quite remember it now.”

While Doda was wondering that she had already
forgotten so much, they trotted along across the park,
down one slope, away from the lodge, and up the
other slope towards the house. The park was very
wide at both sides of the road, with large trees grow-
ing in different places, some very old, and in queer
shapes. In one place, round a very big tree, but
quite a long way off, there were a lot of deer, most
of them lying down. While Doda was looking at
these, the ponies trotted on and on; and so, without
knowing how, she found suddenly that she had ar-
rived at another gate that stood open, where from
each side hedges stretched away to right and left,
and that in front were gravel paths winding among
ereab bushes, with dark, smooth leaves; and so in a
moment, as soon as they had passed through the
gate, they were out of sight of the park, and were
winding along quite a shaded path.

Suddenly they left the winding path and the big
bushes, and trotted out mto an open gravel space,
where they saw the house standing up right in front
of them, with its large door in the middle, from which
two flights of steps went down, one to each side, while
between them was a bronze fountain always playing.
To the left of the house was a wall that shut in the
garden on that side, but which had gates in it through
which the carriages could drive away towards the



Afternoon. Ot

yard and stables, and to the right was the open gar-
den, with grass, and flowers, and everything. They
were so high on the hill that they could see over
the tops of the bushes in the lower part of the garden,
and away beyond to the park, where the deer could
be seen still round the old tree, only now further off
than before.

Mrs. Thoseby stopped the ponies without driving
right wp to the house, and said, “ Here he is.”

“Where?” said Doda.

“There,” said Mrs. Thoseby, getting out of the car-
riage. Then Doda saw Lord Welryth coming towards
them from the garden, and she knew him directly.
He was a tall old man, almost as tall as her grand-
father, and more upright. He walked quickly and
easily, and when Doda looked at his face she could
scarcely help laughing, for his eyes twinkled with
amusement, and his long, queer mouth, that had such
a funny, mischievous shape, looked as if it could
scarcely help talking from morning till night about
all the queer things it knew, and wanted to laugh at.
He had short, light-grey whiskers, and short hair, and
a long face, very wide at the top, but pointed at the
chin, and altogether rather like a kite, only that it
had such funny eyes and such a funny mouth, and
such a hooked nose.

“He really is not,’ began Lord Welryth in a loud,
comfortable voice, before he came near. Then he
went on, taking Mrs. Thoseby’s hand, “ No, my dearest
friend, he really is not here, upon my sacred honour



92 Doda’s Birthday.

and that of all my fathers. I know whom you have
come to look for. Why did you not come yesterday,
or on Sunday morning, or on Wednesday night, or on
Tuesday afternoon ? He was here then.”

“T have not come to look for Colonel Thoseby,”
began Mrs. Thoseby, as they shook hands, laughing.

“What! will you try subtilties with me?” said
Lord Welryth, stepping back. “Totally useless;
absolutely profitless. I haven’t got him. Now you
don’t believe me.” He turned away. “But you may
look!” said he, coming back suddenly. “You may
search. My house, my garden, my desk, my piano,
my pockets, and my park shall never be closed to
you. Wander about freely, and conjure for Colonel
Thoseby. If you find half a spur—”

“But really, Lord Welryth,” said Mrs. Thoseby,
interrupting him in despair, “upon my honour I did
not come to look for any one but you. Colonel
Thoseby is with his militia.”

“J forgive his militia,” said Lord Welryth, kindly,
just as if they were somewhere out of sight, but close
by, among the bushes, where they could hear him.

Then he turned towards Doda, and said, “Is this—
is this—?” He looked at Mrs. Thoseby, who said,
“Yes, this is Doda. It is her birthday to-day, and
she wanted to come and see you.”

“My dear Doda,” said he, taking her hand, “I am
delighted to find that, though so young, you already
know how, even on your birthday, to combine instruc-
tion with amusement. You could not possibly have



Afternoon. 93

done more wisely than to come and see me. But
tell me one thing. Now you have seen me, do you
feel most amused or most instructed ?”

He looked so funny as he stooped down to say this,
with his big, kite-like face expressing all kinds of
hidden mysteries at once, Doda could not help laugh-
ing, and she said, “I like you very much.”

“Upon my honour,” said Lord Welryth, laughing,
and standing upright again, “I never in my life knew
what to say to a child, but this one knows perfectly
what to say to me. My dear Doda,” he went on,
bending towards her again, and looking as grave as
he could with at least half his face, “I am very much
obliged to you, and I return your affection. I mean
I am very much obliged to you for returning mine,
for I was first, but of course was silent till you en-
couraged me.”

Doda thought he had a very funny way of being
silent.

“Did you bring me those flowers ?” he asked next.

“Mrs. Deylon gave them to me,” said Doda.

“Mrs. Deylon is the best woman in the world,”
said Lord Welryth. “What shall I give you? Some
cake 2”

“Oh no, please don’t!” cried Doda. “1 had lun-
cheon with Mrs. Thoseby a little while ago; but I
should so much like to see some of your things, if I
may.”

“You are perfectly charming,” said Lord Welryth.
“Give me your hand, and, if Mrs. Thoseby will come



94 Doda’s Birthday.

with us and take care of us, we will go and see every-
vhing I have.”

Mrs. Thoseby laughed, and said, “I am afraid you
want a great deal of taking care of ;” and they all went
in together.

Inside the door the ‘passage was very large and
wide, and the staircase that went up from the end,
and turned and went on, going up at the two sides,
was very wide as well. The next thing that Doda
saw were the enormous eyes of a huge stuffed fish in
a glass-case on a marble table against the wall.

«A family portrait,’ said Lord Welryth, seeing
Doda fascinated by the awful fish, “ We have many
family portraits, each like a particular member of the
family, and which the housekeeper describes. This
one is more or less like all the family, and the house-
keeper would be quite at a loss to describe it. I may
add that I myself am the first of my race to show no
personal resemblance to it.”

Doda would certainly not have known this unless
he had said so. She looked from Lord Welryth to
the fish, and from the fish back again, and thought
they were growing more like each other every moment.

She said, “Oh, do let us come away, and look at
something else.”

They moved on. She did not see Lord Welryth
and Mrs. Thoseby glance at each other over her head ;
but they did so. Lord Welryth’s look said, “TI shall
get further than I wish if I talk this kind of nonsense
any longer.” And Mrs. Thoseby’s look, which was



Full Text


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DODA’S BIRTHDAY.

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DODA’S BIRTHDAY;

THE FAITHFUL RECORD
OF ALL THAT BEFEL A LITTLE GIRL ON A LONG
EVENTFUL DAY.

BY

EDWIN J. ELLIS.





London :

MARCUS WARD & CO., 67, CHANDOS STREET;
Anp ROVAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST.
















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CHAP, . PAGE
l.—Titnt Breagrast-TIMe . . : 7
T].—Arrer BREAKFAST 3 . 20

IlI,—Luncaton . . : : 31

TV.—Arrer LuncHEon : : : 50
V.—In Mrs. Dryion’s GarpEn . . . 70

VIL—AFTERNOON . . . . 86

VII.—Arrernoon Tra . . : » 110

VIII.—Tue Drive a 0 . : 121

TX.—Dressine ror DINNER . . » 182
X.--Szconp Drivz to LorD WELRYTH’S . 148

XI.—Tur Dinner Parry : . . 151

XIL—A New Present : . . 165

XITI.—Home in THE Evenrne . . » 184

Se




“By Taig TImz DopA WAS ASLEEP” (p. 88) Frontispiece.

Dopa Merts ER GRANDFATHER ON THE STAIRS
‘*No; rr 1s Nero,” sarp Dopa
‘¢A Faminty Portrait”

‘*Dopa’s BIRTEDAY”



PAGE

7
46
94

159


DODA’S BIRTHDAY.



CHAP. 1.—TILL BREAKFAST-TIME.

ER name was Doda. She was just seven years

old. She woke up all suddenly in the morning,

and opened her eyes quite wide, and said, “It’s my
birthday !”

And 4 bird came, that was very round and brown,
and sat on the window, and looked in with its head
on one side.

“TY wonder if birds have birthdays,” Doda said to
herself ; “I suppose you have, you look so round and
brown. I suppose you have as many as you like,
because—because”—here the bird flew away. “Ah,
I know now,” cried Doda; “when you have done
your birthday in one place, you fly somewhere else
and have another. I wonder what mamma will say
when I go down, or what grandpapa will say, or when
it will be time to get up.”

But she lay still for a long time, and no one seemed
to think of getting up. She thought this very odd;
but really it was much too early to awake yet, only
8 Doda's Birthday.

she had pulled up her blind the night before, after
the maid had left her, so as to begin her birthday in
the morning as soon as ever it began to be light.
But this was in summer time, when the days begin
long before any one is ready for them, and never end
till nearly bed-time. So Doda waited and waited,
and no one came, and the house was quite silent.

Suddenly the bird flew back, and perched again for
a single instant, and seemed quite surprised to see

"Doda still in bed, and flew off. It was impossible
to bear this, and Doda jumped up. She determined
not to ring for any one, but to dress all by herself,
and go out; and, though some of the things were
difficult to reach, she succeeded at last. She felt
quite certain that something very wonderful and im--
portant was going to happen, for she never felt so
light and happy in her life. She opened the door,
and saw her mother’s maid in the passage, who
seemed very much surprised to see her already dressed. .
But Doda reminded the maid it was her birthday, and
said she was going out till breakfast-time. So the

maid gave her her hat, which she had PongosveD) and
she put it on and rushed away.

She looked up at her grandfather’s window as she
got into the garden, but it was shut, and the blind
was quite down. There was no one else but her
mother and grandfather, for she had no father or
brothers or sisters, and lived quite alone, and did
nearly what she liked on most days, and altogether
on her birthday.
Till Breakfast-Time. :

Their house was in the country, and there were
fields behind the garden, and a little wood with big
smooth, and big rough trees. There she ran through
the tall grass, and went to see what she should find.
The roots were all in queer shapes, twisted about
everywhere, as if the trees had been dancing all
night, and had stopped suddenly to listen to the sun-
rise, and never moved again; and the earth was all
in queer shapes too, like as the bed-clothes are when
one has been dancing on the bed.

She went on, stepping from root to root, and saying
to herself, “Oh, what is it? oh, what is it?” for she
still felt as if something very important indeed were
going to happen. But it was not behind any of the
trees, nor out in the open field beyond—where one of
the cart-horses was eating as if he could never eat
too much; so when Doda was tired of going about
and wondering, she thought it must be time to go in,
or she would be too late for breakfast.

But first she went to a place where there was a
hill in the middle of the wood. Not a big hill—only
a kind of mound—just the right size to run down,
and so steep that in running down it one nearly
stamped through the ground, or tumbled forward, or
began to float and fly away, as one does in dreams.

Doda thought she would have just one race down
this mound. There was a big tree not far off, on
the level ground, which was always the end of her
run, for it was a beech, and therefore smooth and
comfortable to run up against, and take hold of
10 Dodas Birthday.

with both arms; for when one has:a tree to do this
to, it is much easier to stop running down-hill than
if one has to stop all alone.

Having got to the top of the mound—which was
very much too steep to run up—she had to make
separate steps, and sometimes almost say, “Oh dear !”
and catch hold of the long grass—Doda looked round
at all the trees, and seemed quite near the tops of
those that grew down below. She could see down on
the garden through the branches, and the top of the
house was hardly higher than she was. The blinds
and curtains were open now in the upper windows,
as the servants slept in that part, and they always
got up first.

Having noticed this, and said to herself that she
would always get up and come out as early—for
it was much nicer to be up, and very stupid to be in
bed—Doda came to the edge of the mound, and, hav-
ing said “One! two! three!” began to run down.

She began timidly, but it was so steep and so ex-
citing, that in a few steps she was going much too
fast to be able to stop herself in any way-but by
running up against the smooth tree at the bottom.
She was going to do so, when suddenly a man crossed
the path, just between her and the tree, and she ran
up against him before she could get her arms in the
right position, or say “Oh!” or do anything.

She banged against him with all her weight, and
then for a moment she nearly fell down, and felt very
amuch hurt everywhere, but nowhere particularly, ex-
Till Breakfast-Time. 11

cept all over, and’ thought she must have hurt the
man too, most dreadfully, and wondered why he did
not nearly tumble down also.

He was only Deylon, the gardener. Doda knew
his legs directly, before she looked up at him, for he
was a great friend of hers, and often took her about;
but she always called him “ gardener,” and seldom
remembered what his name was.

“What, Miss Doda! what is the matter?” said he,
stooping down, and taking her hand to support her,
for she was giddy from having stopped so suddenly
when running so fast.

Doda said, “Oh !—gardener—I—hope—lI have not
hurt you. J was running to the tree.”

He appeared so much surprised at this, that Doda
thought his legs must be very wonderful and strong
not to be hurt at all, for her face had come right up
against them, and was still sore.

“Hurt me, Miss Doda!” he said. “No. How
could it? Are you hurt, though? You must be.
I ought to have thought of that; only you are so
brave, and never cry, that I never know.”

“Qh, no!” said Doda; “I am not hurt really—and
I do ery sometimes. You must be very strong.”

“Pretty well; not more than gardeners generally,”
said he, smiling. “Did you come to look for me?
You are up early. Will you come and see what I
Was going to do?”

Every one in the country has to have a gardener,
and Doda had seen a great many besides her own:
12 - Doda’s Birthday.

but he was the only one she liked. He was good-
natured, and wise as well, and knew everything, and
could talk much better than the others; and her
grandfather always said he was a very superior man,
which Doda was proud of, as he was her particular
friend. He was not old either—that, is, not old for
a gardener—though of course he had whiskers, and
was a great deal older than a gardener’s boy.

“TJ should like to go very much,” said Doda. She
would have told him it was her birthday, only that
had nothing to do with what he was going to do, and
it is so exciting to know it is one’s birthday when no
one else knows it.

He took her to the glass-houses, and when they
went in he shut the door, though it was very hot
inside, and then did strange things with the queer-
shaped flowers there, that are so soft and thick, and
have such soft, thick stalks, and smell so differently
to all the others that grow out of doors, so that when
one comes away into the open air their scent seems
like a dream, but if one goes back, there it is, exactly
as it was before. The gardener cut some, watered
some, and took some right out of their pots. It
was so warm in the glass-house that Doda leaned her
head against the frame, and then sat down on the
edge of a tub, and began to think she was going to
sleep again.

The gardener moved about on the red brick floor,
and sometimes he was hid by the flowers, and some-
times he came up and showed Doda a particular one.
Till Breakfast-Time. 13

She did not know quite what he was doing or what
he said, and wondered why she felt so sleepy; and
yet her eyes were not at all sore, and she did not
feel inclined to rub them or shut them, nor did she
want to yawn, nor even actually to go to sleep; but
she felt it quite impossible to keep awake, and inside
she was dreaming already, but not of anything par-
ticular.

She seemed always to be sinking down into the
tub on the edge of which she was sitting, and yet she
never did actually begin to do so. All the place ap-
peared to get very dark, the flowers no longer had any
scent, and the wood against which she was leaning
was no longer sharp and uncomfortable as it had
been, but did not seem to touch her at all—only to
keep her up by being there, in some way of its own.

Suddenly she saw the gardener, at the other end of
the hot-house, throw down a pot of flowers that he
had in his hand, and begin to run towards her. But,
though he was not very far off, and was always run-
ning, the distance got further and further, and he
never seemed to get any nearer. She thought she
must have got into a fairy story, for she was sure she
felt a stream of water or a fountain bubbling up
through the top of her head, and spouting an im-
mense distance, and disappearing. It did not make
anything or anybody wet, and Doda did not feel the
least surprised at it. She still heard the gardener
running towards her, but did not see him.

Then she noticed that she was not in the green-
14 , Doda’s Birthday.

house at all, but out on the grass on the lawn, and
her face really was wet, perhaps from the fountain.
She thought she would ask the gardener; so she
said, “Is it the fountain ?” but her lips were so stiff
she could scarcely speak—she wondered why.

“Miss Doda!” said he, in a queer voice, as if his |
lips were stiff too, and he could not speak as loud as
usual, “ Are you better? How do you feel ?”

Doda did not feel anyhow very much, and had not
been very ill; so she could not understand why he
asked her if she was better. She ded begin to feel
ill at last—that is, not exactly ill, but so tired that
her face and head and neck were as tired as the rest
of her, and she could hold up nothing.

“Have you had breakfast, Miss Doda?” he asked.

“No,” said Doda.

Then he ran away, and left her where she was, and
came back with some strawberries. She was a. great
deal too tired, without knowing what she was tired
of, to take the strawberries herself; but he put them
into her mouth one after the other, and she let him
do so, and ate them; and after eating three or four
she felt inclined to laugh, and did laugh, and found
she could lift her hands. So she took the rest of the
strawberries, and began to eat them herself, while
he sat on the grass and watched her.

When she had eaten a few more she began to won-
der what had happened, and how she was there lying
on the lawn leaning against a tree, instead of sitting
in the green-house on the edge of the tub.
Till Breakfast-Time. , 15

“Was I asleep?” she said; “I don’t feel as if I
was.”

“No,” said the gardener ; “you fainted, Miss Doda.”

“TI fainted !” said Doda, She had thought only
grown-up people could faint. She remembered hear-
ing her nurse telling a story to another servant about
some one who had fainted, and they all thought it a
very dreadful thing. But if this was what it was
like, it was nothing particular after all.

“But why did I faint? How?” she asked.

“Tt was the heat, I suppose, Miss Doda, the scent
of the flowers, and being hungry.” ;

“ But,” said Doda, “it was not very hot, and the
flowers didn’t smell much, and I am hungry now;
but I wasn’t till you brought me the strawberries.”

“ Because you fainted, and people don’t feel hunger,
I suppose, when they faint,” said he.

“Well,” said Doda, “I always thought fainting
was something very dreadful; but it is nothing at all
now, and I shall not mind it a bit.”

“That's right,” said he. “Now, can you get up ?”

He lifted her. She could scarcely stand, but felt
quite well; so she took his hand, and they walked
very slowly to the house. She was excited, and
would have jumped and sung if she could, and felt
more sure than ever that something very important
would happen that day. At any rate it was some-
thing to have actually fainted, and so found out that
it was nothing, and didn’t hurt at all, in spite of the
serious way in which her uurse had talked about it;
16 Doda's Birthday.

and perhaps all dreadful things would turn out to be
nothing when one once knew about them. Even
cows were not dreadful always, or they could never
be milked. Perhaps they need never be dreadful if
one only understood everything. Doda thought she
would like to understand everything.

When they came to the house, the gardener said,
“ Your dress is wet, Miss Doda; you had better get
it changed quick. Can you go up-stairs alone ?”

“Oh yes,” said Doda; “quite well, thank you. I
shall come back to the green-house again, and you
“must tell me all about it.”

“Very well, Miss Doda,” said he ; and she went in
and left him.

The blinds were all up now, and the glass-door of
the drawing-room was open towards the garden.
Doda knew she should find her mother in there,
writing at a particular little table in a corner; for her
mother was not like other people’s mothers, but was
very clever and very fond of science, and used to read
and write a great deal, and sometimes wrote a real
book, and had a collection of curious things, and
often went to London to hear lectures. Besides
which, she was tall, and had a very distinct side-face;
and, though she was not young, was never tired, and
always busy. She was busy now, when Doda came
into the drawing-room—in fact, so busy that she did
not know that any one was there. So Doda went up
to her where she was writing at the table, and said,
«What am I to do?”
































































































































































































































































=

NK
A







N THE STAIRS.

GRANDFATHER O







DODA MEETS HIER


Till Breakfast-Time, 17

Her mother said hastily, almost without stopping
writing, “I am very busy indeed, my dear—do aiy-
thing—do whatever you like.” And she gave her
a little kiss, as if to say, “You must really go
away ;” and then turned, and wrote more quickly
than before.

But in doing so she caught sight of Doda’s feet,
and, after writing two lines, turned back and said,
“How wet your shoes are! You must really change
them. So is your dress! Where have you been ?”

Doda said, “I was out;” but she did not the least
mind about her dress; only these words kept running
in her head—* Whatever you like !—whatever you |
like!—what must I do?—what must you do ?~—
whatever you like !—whatever you like!” And they
went to a kind of tune, and she felt that the impor-
tant thing had already happened, even though her
mother seemed to have quite forgotten it was her
birthday ; and she rushed off to change her. dress,
feeling more light and happy than ever before.

At the top of the stairs she found her grandfather,
who was standing waiting for her to come up; he had
a little gold chain in his hand, like a short, thick gold
rope, and there was a locket like a pulley at the end.

Doda knew at once it was for her, and he knew
how to give it; for, while he was wishing her many
happy returns, he had time to give her a kiss, and
put the gold chain round her neck all at once. He
never noticed that her dress was wet—in fact, it was
only splashed with clean water. He was very tall

B
18 Dodas Birthday.

and beautiful, with white hair, but no beard; and
when he stood up again to look at the locket, he
seemed such a long way off that Doda thought she
would have to run up some more stairs before she
could lean over the bannisters to thank him.

“Now,” said he, “that is the most grown-up locket
I ever saw you wear, and will do perfectly. Of
course-there is hair in it—there always is, in a locket.
If you guess whose it is, I will show you how to
open it.”

Doda put up her hand to feel; but the round,
smooth, heavy, cool chain lay all round her neck, and
the locket was more like one piece than any she had
ever felt. So she guessed, “ Yours, grandpapa.”

“Why mine ?” said he.

“Oh, because you gave it to me,” she answered.

“ Besides which,” said he, opening it, and showing
her a beautiful gleaming white wave of hair, that lay
quite flat, curled round, and shining, “you will
always keep this, and perhaps I may disappear.”

“Oh no!” said Doda. “Why, you are always
here, even when mamma is away at lectures.”

“Well, I will be here as always as I can,” said he;
“but people with white hair and granddaughters are
very movable, though they generally stay in one
place. But, in the meantime, this doesn’t matter,
and you must grow up. I think that locket will
help you, for it is quite a grown-up locket. Where
were you going just now ?”

“Oh,” said Doda, “I was going up-stairs.”
Till Breakfast-Time. 19

“ Well, call for me when you come down,” said he,
and went into the library, where he always lived.

Doda went up, and found the maid, and changed
her dress and shoes, and looked at her locket in the
glass, and felt how beautiful and soft the chain was,
and than ran down again, and knocked at the library
door very high up—for she wanted it to sound as
like a grown-up knock as she could. Her grand-
father inside called out, “Come in!” and his voice
sounded like a man in a sack, as it always does when
one calls out and the door is shut.

So she went in, and he got up and took her hand,
and they both went down together to the drawing-
room.

“Very busy?” said he, looking in. “Come, it’s
Doda’s birthday !”

Her mother got up, and put her hand on her
forehead for a moment, saying, “So it is!—I am so
busy—I didn’t sleep. Have you changed those shoes,
Doda ?”
~ “Yes,” said Doda. And then her mother wished
her many happy returns, and they all went in to
breakfast.

As they sat down, the same bird that she had seen
when she first awoke looked in. So Doda showed it
her locket, and it looked a moment with its head on
one side, as if it knew quite well how to open the
locket, and what was inside; and then flew away to
tell the other birds; and Doda and. her mother and
grandfather began Breas


CHAP. IL.—AFTER BREAKFAST.

ODA’S mother did not approve of birthday pre-
sents, perhaps because she was so fond of lec-
tures and science. But she did not absolutely forbid
them ; and it was always understood that the grand-
father’s present came partly from her—only she was
not to be thanked for it, or anything said. So Doda
only looked at her once or twice during breakfast, to
see if she saw the locket; and at last she did see it,
and said, “Very handsome indeed !—very nice! I
never wear lockets.” And then Doda understood the
subject was finished, and they went on with break-
fast as usual, and her grandfather and mother both
looked at the newspaper, as they were accustomed to
do, offered it to each other, and then dropped it on a
chair and forgot it. But Doda herself did not feel
at all as usual. She felt very old and consequential
and responsible, and as if she must go at once and
do a number of very important things. She felt as
old as her grandfather, and as busy as her mother.
So when they got up she got up, and said, “I think
I shall be out a great deal to-day; so if I am late
at dinner-time don’t wait for me.” For she remem-
After Breakfast. 21

bered hearing her grandfather say that once, when he
was away all day, and she never saw him till the
next morning; and she remembered that to-day she
might do whatever she liked.

“Very well,” said her mother ; “but don’t go far.”

So she went up to put on her things, feeling how
delicious it was to be old and able to do whatever
she liked, and thought her mother letting her do this
was even better than presents. Then she felt her
locket, and thought, “ Especially when I have the
presents as well.”

But as she was going out her mother asked,
“ Where are you going ?”

And Doda said, “I must go and pay visits; I have
a great many to pay.” And she said, “ Good-bye !”
and went out alone; for she was old now, so this
was the most natural thing to do.

As she went she wondered that her mother did not
see how old she felt, and how natural it was she
should have a great deal to do, and visits to pay;
and this reminded her that she had not at all settled
where to go. The nearest house to theirs, and which
she was now walking towards, belonged to a very
nice, very old gentleman, with hair as white as her
grandfather’s, who was said to be very wise, and who
had written a great many books. His name was Mr.
Mills; and he had always listened to Doda whenever
she wanted to speak to him, and had never sent her
away. So she resolved she would go and see him
now, and tell him that it was her birthday, and how
22 Doda's Birthday.

old she felt, but that her mother did not see it, and
she did not know if any one would.

So she went to the door, and rang the bell, and
stood waiting for a moment. When the servant
came he opened the door very wide, and seemed
astonished to see her standing there all alone, and
looked over her head and past her.to see if there
were any one else,

She asked if Mr. Mills was at home, and the ser-
vant showed her up-stairs into the drawing-room,
where for a moment she was quite alone; for Mr,
Mills lived chiefly in the library, as men who write
books generally do. He had no family, but lived
alone. Doda felt inclined to go about the room and
look at the things, but she thought this was not a
sufficiently grown-up kind of behaviour; so she went
to the arm-chair at the left side of the fire-place, and
sat down to wait. In a few minutes the servant
returned, and asked her if she would go down to the
library. So she followed him to the door, which he
opened quietly, but very suddenly and very wide, as
if he had some one he wanted to hurt, and thought
they might be behind it; and then, as Doda went in,
he said, “ Here’s Miss Doda, sir;” which she knew
was not the proper way to announce her when she
came alone to pay a visit. But she forgot this
directly she saw little old Mr. Mills, for she was very
fond of him, and they were always great friends.
He was sitting at a table, covered with almost as
many books and pieces of paper as her mother used ;
; After Breakfast, 23

but he swung round his chair as she came in, and
said, “Well, Doda—what an early visit! I’m very
glad to see you. You've got something to say to me;
come and let us talk about it.” And as he said
this, he held out both his hands, and his eyes seemed
to look straight in through hers, and to see every-
thing she was, and to like to see it, and to like her
for it.

“How wise he is!” thought Doda. “He knows
everything. Can it be from those books? I wonder
what they are, and whether I shall ever read them.”

As she thought this she went up and took hold of
his hands, and stood beside his chair. He seemed to
know quite well what she was thinking, for he
smiled, and turned half round, and looked at one of
his books as if he were very fond of it, and gave it
a push a little further on the table.

Doda did not quite know how to begin. She had
thought she would sit down about three yards off
Mr. Mills, and talk to him from there; but instead
of this she was standing by his chair, and feeling in-
clined to play with his watch-chain, and compare it
with the chain of her locket, and ask him if he liked
. lockets, which was not at all what she had come to
say. And he still sat there, and held one of her
hands, and seemed to know all she was thinking, and
to be quite comfortable till she should begin to speak.
She must begin somewhere; so she said, “It’s my
birthday !”

“JT wish you many happy returns,” said Mr, Mills ;
24 Doda’s Birthday. ‘

“J must never forget the day.” Then he took down
a little calendar from where it stood on a desk before
him, and wrote “Doda’s birthday” with a pencil
across the white part under the figures of the day.

And Doda felt that this was not at all what she
had meant either, and it was too much to make Mr.
Mills always think about her birthday; yet she was
very glad that he would, all out of his own head.
When he had put back the calendar, he turned to her
again, and said, “ How old you must feel !”

“T knew you would know!” cried Doda. “ But
why don’t the others? Grandpapa does, perhaps,
but mamma doesn’t; and your servant didn’t at all
understand, and looked quite stupid when I asked if
you were in.”

“One can’t always see what people feel,” said Mr.
Mills; “though one often hears it, for they usually
tell if they can, unless it is about a secret. Why do
you think it is that one so often does not see ?”

“T don’t know,” said Doda. “I suppose you
always do; but other people don’t. Why ?”

“Partly because they don’t look at what would
show them,” said Mr. Mills; “and partly because
they do not understand even when they see. How
old do you think my servant felt when he opened the
door for you ?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Doda. “He brushes
his hair so funnily, and has to dress for dinner in
the morning. He must feel very funny. He doesn’t
look as if he felt anything. Besides, he’s a servant.”
After Breakfast. 25

“Well then,” said Mr. Mills, “how old do I feel 2”

“Oh, I don’t know. Very, very old indeed !—ever
so old !” said Doda,

Then Mr. Mills began to laugh, and said, “ Would
you like to see how old I felt before you came in ?”

“Oh yes!” cried Doda; “so much.”

“T was reading for amusement, before I went to
my work for the day, something from a kind of story
called “The Banquet,” in Greek, by Plato; and the
people in it—especially the one that was speaking
when you came in—were large and young and strong.
They were brown with living in the sun, which al-
ways shines in Greece, or always seems to do when
one reads about it. They wore sandals, and a sort of
loose coat without sleeves, and sometimes a cloak
twisted all round. And they all ran and leaped and
played, and loved music and long talks together, and
had few clothes and few books, and many friends.
And I felt like one of them. I was one of them,
and laughed when they laughed, and was strong
because they were strong, and all their friends were
round me. I heard their voices, and listened for
everything they said. That is what I felt like when
you came.”

Mr. Mills opened another book as he spoke, and
showed her a picture of a Greek youth, such as was
at Plato’s banquet. Doda almost believed she saw
him turn into the same, for he was locking at her
and thinking it so strongly himself; but as she
looked she saw his white hair and white collar and
26 Dodas Birthday.

dark coat, and that he was sitting in his own chair
like himself, and smiling at her.

“ But,” said Doda, “ your hair is like grandpapa’s, .
and you are like—not the least like this. How
could I tell ?”

« But,” said Mr. Mills, “I don’t feel my white hair
inside. I feel myself inside; and one’s self is like
whatever one thinks of. And therefore mine is as
happy as the day is long.”

Then Doda wondered, for she remembered hearing
people who knew him call him “poor Mr. Mills,”
when they were talking about him; and when she
had asked them why they called him “ poor,” they
said because he had lost his wife and children, and
was very miserable, and she had better not ask ques-
tions like this, as she could not understand till she
was older. And even her grandfather, when she had
asked him during a particular hour on Sunday after-
noon—when she used to go to him in the library and
ask him all the most difficult things, and he used to
tell her about them—had said very nearly the same.
Of course it was quite impossible to ask Mr, Mills
himself what it meant, and trying very hard not to
ask this made her not able to think what she ought
to say instead, and she stood feeling uncomfortable
and saying nothing.

Suddenly she thought that she would look up at
his face again, instead of at his knees, against which
she was leaning as she stood; so she looked up, and
saw that he knew all that she had been thinking,
After Breakfast. 27

and knew quite well that they called him “that poor
Mr. Mills,” and even knew how nearly she had asked
him about it, but how it would not do at all if she
did. But he quite made her forget all this by say-
ing, “I should like to give you something nice on
your birthday; but I am afraid I have nothing,
especially in this room, that you would like to have.
What do you think ?”

Doda thought, “I like you, and I don’t understand
the other things.” But she looked round at the
desks, and books, and papers, and ink, and shelves,.
and little boxes, and the bust in the corner, and the
dark picture over the door, and the black marble:
clock over the fire-place, and more shelves, and the
window, and at last back to his watch-chain, which
she began to play with again, because she wanted to
say, “I like you, and I don’t see anything else I
know in the room.” But, though it was so easy to
mean the words and say them to herself, when she
tried to do so out loud she could not even begin, but
stood feeling choked and frightened, and played with
his watch-chain. But she was determined to say it,
because she meant it so much, and she wanted Mr.
Mills to know that she did, and she knew she might
never have the chance again if she missed saying it
now. So she began to try; but in her fright she
began at the wrong end, and said, “I don’t care for
anything in this room—” and there she stopped sud-
denly, feeling it was quite wrong; but then she
thought she would say “except you,” to put it right.
28 Doda's Birthday.

And she said “except—,” but could not say “you”
to his face, after the rest. That is, she thought she
could not, for she was looking at his knees again,
and she felt very red and ashamed; and he said no-
‘thing, and at last she was obliged to look up, and
then saw that he knew quite well what she was
going to say, so that indeed she need not say it at
all, which made it quite easy, and she said “except
you,” looking at him without any trouble.

“Then,” said he, smiling, “I ought to give you
myself, and I will do so as much as I can.”

Then Doda felt that another of the important
things of this birthday had just happened, and she
wished she could rush straight off and be alone some-
where, where she could jump and scream, and do
anything she liked. But before she could say any-
thing, he went on, “But what did you come to say
to me to-day ?”

And this made her quiet again, as she had to think
for a moment before she said, “I came because I felt
old, and wanted to make people understand.”

“T am very glad you came,” said he, “because I
don’t feel old; and now we both understand, and the
other people will sometimes find it out and some-
times not, and we must never mind. But we will do
what we can for each other, and next time you come
to see me my servant shall announce you properly.”

This was an opportunity for Doda to go; so she
left off leaning against the knee of Mr. Mills, and
stood before him, feeling quite grown-up, and said,
After Breakfast. 29

“Don’t be severe with the servant because of me, as
I dare say he would have done right if he had under-
stood. When may I come again to see you?” and
she held out her hand to wish him good-bye.

“ Come whenever it is a very fine day, and we can
tell each other how fine is is,” said Mr. Mills; “ or
whenever you have something to say which is too
old for the others to understand.”

“But I stop you reading and writing,” said Doda.

“But, you know, I have given myself to you for a
birthday-present,” said Mr. Mills; so you must come
and ask for me whenever you like, and some day I
will give you some of my writing and reading as well
on another birthday.”

“You must have a great many birthdays,” said
Doda.

“A great many,” said Mr. Mills; “but I forget
when they are, and every day is so like a birthday
now that I don’t know the new ones when they
come.”

“Do your birthdays come very close one after
the other?” asked Doda.

“Very close indeed.”

“Oh, I wish mine did; I should like them to do
so very much,” said Doda.

“They will some day,” said Mr. Mills.

“Oh, when 2?” asked Doda.

“When you are as young as I am, and people who
don’t understand think you are very old.”

“Will you come and see me then ?” she asked.
30 Dodas Birthday.

« Yes,” said Mr. Mills; “I shall have turned quite
into books by that time; I am turning into them
very fast now, and in that way I will come and be
with you on all your birthdays.” Then he wished
her good-bye, and laughed, so that she could not help
thinking he enjoyed the books he was going to turn
into very much. So she laughed too, but she thought
it very odd, but supposed she would understand
when she had read the books.

So she left Mr, Mills, and returned tome.




CHAP. III.—LUNCHEON.

UST as Doda got to the gate, there was a little car-
riage with two ponies standing there, and a
childish-looking groom, with pink, smooth cheeks,
and short hair, and a very large hat, looking serious,
and standing by the two ponies.

He touched his hat as Doda came up, and seemed
to expect her to get into the carriage. Doda knew
she might do so if she liked, as it belonged to Mrs.
Thoseby, whom she knew as well as Mr. Mills, and
who very often took her out when no one else had
time. She said to the groom, “Is Mrs. Thoseby
here ?”

And the groom said, “No, miss. She sent the
ponies, with a note and her love, and I was to bring
Miss Doda back in it, to have luncheon with her.”

What the groom meant was easy enough to under-
stand, though what he said might be taken in two
ways. But Doda had long ago been taught to reply
to people’s meanings, when she could see what they
meant, and leave the words to take care of them-
selves.

She answered,—* I. should like very much;” and,
as she said so, she remembered again that it was her
32 Doda's Birthday.

birthday, though Mrs. Thoseby had known better
than to send such a message as, “Many happy re-
turns!” by a groom. Doda thought for a moment
whether she should go first into the house, and tell
them before she started. Of course they ought to
know that she was going out to luncheon, or they
might expect her. But perhaps Mrs. Thoseby’s
groom had managed to give them notice. So, to
make quite sure, she asked,—*“ Did you tell them in
the house 2”

“Yes, miss, they had the note,” said the groom.

So then Doda got into the carriage at once, end
said, “Very well; Iam ready. We can go now.”

So the groom. ‘jumped In at the other side, very
briskly, but he was still quite serious. He took the
reins, and the ponies began to move away. As they
did so, Doda heard her grandfather’s big dog Nero
barking behind the house, and remembered she had
not yet been to wish him good-morning, and to tell
him it was her birthday. She looked up, and saw
her mother looking out of a window, holding a letter
in her hand. This must be the note from Mrs.
Thoseby ; so Doda nodded, to show she understood,
and her mother nodded, and waved the letter, and
went back into the room. Then Doda looked up to
the library window above, where her grandfather
appeared as he heard the carriage driving away over
the gravel; and he nodded too, and waved his great,
wonderful, grandfather’s-pocket-handkerchief, which
was as large and soft as a fairy’s flag.
Luncheon. 33

As they trotted on, Doda wondered who she should
find at Mrs. Thoseby’s; for sometimes she dined
there all alone, and sometimes there were a great
many people. She especially wondered if she would
meet a girl called Essy, whose parents, the Fairtops,
used to live near the Thoseby’s, and who was very
beautiful, but whom she had heard of always and
never seen, She supposed, at any rate, there would
be Colonel Thoseby ; and Tom Thoseby, who was a
school-boy, and for whom she did not care much;
and as she was thinking and wondering, several sol-
diers passed, and then after awhile several more—not
marching, but walking along, as if coming away from
something. She remembered that these were the
militia, who were only soldiers for a part of the year,
and are never sent abroad. She knew some of their
faces, for they belonged to the village, and to a little
town not far off, where she sometimes drove with her
mother. She wondered if Colonel Thoseby had any-
thing to do with these men.

When she arrived at the house, and was shown
into the drawing-room, there were a great many
people; and, as the door was partly open already, she
heard what two men who stood near it were saying
to each other. One of them, she afterwards heard,
was Captain Lewis, who had returned from India,
but used to know the Thosebys very well. The
other was a stranger. This is what Captain Lewis
was saying to him, as Doda came in—“ Yes, Mrs.
Thoseby is thirty-one—fine woman, isn’t she? And

c
34 Doda’s Birthday.

her mother there, Mrs. Mortlake, is forty-six—fine
woman, isn’t she? And her son there is fifteen—
fine boy, isn’t he? You see it runs in the family.”

Doda had not time to hear what it was that ran in
the family, for at that moment she found Mrs.
Thoseby, who was tall and beautiful, with nice dark
hair, and had always a nice dress, that looked as if she
never could look better in any other. She came up
quickly and quietly between the people, and bent
down and kissed Doda, and said, “Tm so glad you
have come! Many happy returns of the day!” all
in a sort of rapid whisper, but without actually
whispering.

At that moment Colonel Thoseby put his head in
at the door, and said, “ ’m horribly late—please for-
give—military exigencies,” and Doda saw he had got
a uniform on, “Vl be with you directly,” he added,
and was just going to draw back when every one
cried together, “Oh no! Do come in. Come, and
do the honours as you are.”

“Must 1?” he said. “ Very well,” and dis-
appeared.

«Will he?” said every one; and Mrs. Thoseby
assured them that he would.

Then he came back, still in the uniform, but with-
out his sword and gloves, and said, “So sorry. Fear-
ful review; but all abolished now. Lord Welryth
was there. The sight of him encouraged the troops.
Ah, Doda! Glad you’ve come. You must attend
and help us next parade.”
Luncheon. 35

Then he shook hands with every one, and all went
in to luncheon, Mrs. Thoseby leading Doda by the
hand, and taking her with her to the head of the
table.

“Stop, stop!” eried Colonel Thoseby. “ Where
are you going to run away to with Doda? She must
sit next me.”

Doda felt quite helpless ; but Mrs. Thoseby smiled,
and let go her hand, and said, “Go, then, if I am
to lose you, quickly ;’ and so she went up to Colonel
Thoseby, who looked very commanding in his uni-
form, and his grey moustache looked twice as big as
usual.

“Now Doda,” he said, giving her a chair at his
left, I am going to take care of you. I have got you
by all the laws of war, and you shall have everything
you want while I keep you.”

Doda knew he often made fun like this, or she
might have been rather frightened. So she got unto
the chair he gave her, and laughed, and said, “I
wort run away, and I’m not at all afraid.”

“ You shall have no chance,” said he. “ Essy, take
care the prisoner does not escape at your side.”

“Oh yes, Colonel Thoseby, I will take such care,”
said the young lady, and looked round, and smiled
graciously at Doda, who thought, “Then yow are
Essy, and you have come from France.”

Indeed, it was easy to believe she had come from
France, for she was small and pretty, and very skil-
ful in taking off her gloves, and in keeping them, and
36 Doda’s Birthday.

her handkerchief, and her fan, and a little bottle with
a gold stopper, and her little parasol, all in her lap
at the same time, without letting any of them fall, or
appearing to have too many things. Besides this,
her dress was the prettiest, and her hair the most
woven and entwined, and designed, and refined, that
Doda had ever seen in all her life.

At the other side of the table sat Mrs. Mortlake,
Mrs. Thoseby’s mother, who was like Mrs. Thoseby,
but with a prettier complexion and smaller lips, only
she was not at all thin, and she sometimes shut her
eyes while eating, which she did very slowly and
nicely. She took no meat; only preserve and sponge
cake, which seemed to suit her much better. She
took cream also, and strawberries, and Doda thought
perhaps she lived on them, and that was why, though
she was old enough to be Mrs. Thoseby’s mother,
her face was like that of a fair, sad child, with dark
hair, more delicate in complexion but fatter and more
handsome than most other children. She never
raised her eyes, and was gentle and majestic, but
spoke to no one.

There was the man whom Doda had heard speak-
ing about the age at which, in Mrs. Thoseby’s family,
they seemed to marry—for this was the thing that
“van in the family,” as Doda discovered, after won-
dering very hard to herself for a little while. It was
now that she heard he was Captain Lewis, as they
were sitting down to luncheon. He sat at the other
side of Essy, and said things very quietly, and not
Luncheon. 37

fast, as if he were quite sure of being listened to, and
liked, and understood, whatever he said. Doda could
see a little bit of his face beyond Essy, and almost
all when he leaned forward. When every one had
begun, and all were talking except Mrs. Mortlake
and Doda herself, who was wondering and listening
to them. all at once, he said to Colonel Thoseby, “ Was
the review nice ?”

“A real pleasure,” said Colonel Thoseby. “My
invincibles all filed past without one man tumbling
down. They are Trojans!” He said this smiling,
and Doda supposed he must be speaking of the same
men she saw with guns in the morning; for they
looked as if they must clearly knock each other
down if they walked close as proper soldiers do, for
they swung and rolled about, first on one foot and
then on the other, as workmen do when they walk
home after work. Only Doda wondered what “ Tro-
jans” were. Colonel Thoseby looked at her just
then, and saw her wondering, and offered the mus-
tard, which was not at all what she was in want of.
She thought she would ask him, so she said, “ What
are Trojans ?”

“Trojans!” said Colonel Thoseby, more surprised
than she was; “Trojans? People in Homer—that
is, in a book—who were heroes, and so forth. They
fought the Greeks, and so forth. Is that right, Essy ?
I believe you know more about it than I do.”

“Oh, Colonel Thoseby!” cried Essy, “I never
learned Greek. How could you say such a thing? I
38 Dodas Birthday.

am not a radical, you know, and I don’t understand
anything. Now, do I?”

Doda thought people who liked not understanding
things must be very funny. She wished she could
understand everything. She had looked several times
at Colonel Thoseby, and thought how immense his
grey moustache was, and wondered if he felt it inside ;
or whether he was like Mr. Mills and felt like the
Greeks; and this was the right moment to ask him,
so she said, “Do you ever feel like the Greeks ?”

“J dare say I do,” said he, smiling, “ but I don’t
know. What do you think they felt like ?”

Doda thought of all she knew about them, which
she had only learned that morning from the picture
and from Mr. Mills, that they, or at least some of
them, ran races, and were brown and strong, with
beautiful faces and short curly hair, and that they
wore cloaks and sandals, and tunics without sleeves,
and nothing else.

So she said, “I don’t know; but Mr. Mills reads
about them, and feels like them, and is perfectly
happy.”

“Tm afraid I don’t read much about them,” he
answered. “Mr. Mills is a very clever man, and has
—well, he has imagination, which we grown-up
people very seldom keep, and I’m afraid I lost mine
long ago.” Then he became suddenly grave for a
moment, and did not seem cheered, even though
Essy asked him how he could say so, and said that
he knew he was dreadfully clever, and that they were
Luncheon. 39

all quite frightened of him. He scarcely listened to
her, for he was thinking of a little volume of poems
he had written just when he entered the army, on
leaving school. In these poems the serious ones were
like Mrs. Hemans, and the exciting ones like Scott
and Lord Macaulay, and one was even like Pope, and
the worst of all, and was called, “To the Imagination.”
Doda guessed what he was thinking about, for she
had found the book once when she had been forgotten
in the library at home. It was behind a lot of other
books, and covered with dust. She had read it, but
never spoke of it to Colonel Thoseby, as no one else
ever did, and she thought it a very awful thing.

She looked round the table now, and saw in the
middle of it a great cake which had white sugar on
the top, with sugar flowers, and which was very dark
at the sides. She guessed what this was, and looked
away to Mrs. Thoseby at the other end of the table,
who smiled and nodded to her, and then spoke to a
servant, who took the cake away and cut a great
piece out of it, and brought the rest back, and then
cut the great piece up into proper-sized pieces, and
began handing them round to each person.

“Who are we to congratulate?” asked Captain
Lewis, taking his piece.

“You never told us we were to have the pleasure
of hearing of a wedding,” said some one else, whom
Doda did not know, to Mrs. Thoseby.

“A wedding!” cried Essy. “Oh no! that is quite
impossible ;” and had she been any one else, at thiy
40 Dodds Birthday.

moment either her gloves, or her fan, or her parasol,
or her handkerchief, or her little bottle, or her nap-
kin must have slipped off her lap. But they did not,
nor did they seem in any danger. Essy was like a
pussy cat, and never spilled anything.

“Tt is a birthday,” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Tt is Doda’s birthday,” said Tom Thoseby at once,
quite loud.

“And you are Doda!” cried Essy, turning round
to her. “What a dear little thing you are! And
how nice of you to have a birthday! And how clever
of you not to say anything about it, and give us alla
surprise!” Then she suddenly turned away, and
said, “ Oh, Mrs. Thoseby, how good of you to let us
have some of the treat !”

Deda could not think what to say. She had never
heard this sort of conversation before, and did not
know what it was made of, nor how to make the
answers to it. But Essy did not wait for an answer
yet; she turned and said at once, “ And what dread-
ful age have you arrived at?”

“Seven,” said Doda, still surprised and uncom-
fortable.

“Oh, what a delightful age!” cried Essy. And
then, turning to Captain Lewis, at her left side,
“Tsn’t it a delightful age ?”

“Perfectly so,” said he, in his soft voice; “de-
lightfulness begins and ends there.”

“ Oh, that’s very unkind,” said Essy. “Isn’t Cap-
tain Lewis unkind, Mrs. Thoseby? Do say some-
Luncheon. Al

thing to him. I know what I mean, but I can’t say
things.”

“Nothings are better,” Captain Lewis was heard
gently murmuring; “they require more education,
and fewer people can say them. Lord Welryth be-
lieves that in Shakespeare’s time hardly any one _
could. That is why it is so stupid to hear his things
now. It ds stupid, isn’t it?”

Doda Hstened. She knew who Lord Welryth
was, because he had a house near, where he came
every year, and her grandfather often went to see
him, for they were nearly the same age, and had been
at school together, But it was Shakespeare she
wanted to know about, for she had a presentiment
that it would have something to do with her some
time, and at present there was mystery init. Her
mother had three Shakespeares, and her grandfather
five; and she used to try to read them, but never got
very far, and could never find the place again. She
knew Hamlet was there, and her mother used some-
times to say that “ Hamlet was mad ;” and her grand-
father would answer, “You mean Lear, yes;” and
then her mother would frown, and look uncomfort-
able, and go away. This was all she knew about
Shakespeare, and about his “time” she knew nothing
at all. But nothing was to be learned just now from
Essy, who only said, “I don’t know; you are very
unkind; you were much nicer before you went
away.”

Every one was talking now, and he said in the
42 Dodas Birthday.

game voice, so easy to hear, and so difficult to over-
hear, “ We were seven then, you see, which was so
delightful, and now we are only two, and growing
fewer every day.”

Essy looked down, and attended to her cake, and
said nothing to this; and no one noticed that it had
been said, except Doda, who did not understand it.
But Essy understood, and Captain Lewis understood,
and so nobody minded if Doda was puzzled. She
had time to wonder during the next few minutes,
while no one was speaking to her, whether seven
really was a nice age or not. She settled at first that
it was when one was alone, but not when there was
a lot of people; because, though one felt so old, their
way of talking sounded quite childish, one was in
reality so young that one did not know how to make
the right sort of childish answers, and wished they
would only always talk like grown-up people, which
is so much easier. But then after awhile she thought
that this was only true of people one did not like,
and that one could always talk to people one did like,
whether they were seven years old or not. So then
she supposed Essy must be one of the people she did
not like, in spite of her prettiness, and the prettiness
of her dress, and of her fan, and her gloves, and her
parasol, and little bottle, and handkerchief... Then
she began to wonder why she didn’t like her or dis-
like her either. She had just discovered that this
would be one of the most difficult wonders she ever
wondered, when Mrs. Thoseby, glancing down the
Luncheon. 48

table, saw that Mrs. Mortlake had at last finished the
birthday cake and strawberry preserve that she had
been eating slowly and prettily and silently for a long
time, and that every one else was ready to go, and
that luncheon was over; so every one moved.

“May I have Doda?” said Essy, getting up, and
cleverly gathering up all her things from her lap in
one hand, while she gave the other to Doda, adding,
“Will you come with me?”

“ Where ?” asked Doda.

Captain Lewis, at the other side, was heard to mur-
mur, “ Anywhere, anywhere, énto the world,” which
appeared to mean something to Essy, though Doda
thought it was so childish it meant nothing at all.

“Somewhere where Captain Lewis shall not find
us,” said Essy in answer; and, taking her hand, led
Doda out into the garden, through the glass-doors.
‘When they were alone, she went on, “That is Cap-
tain Lewis. Don’t mind anything he says. He is
allowed to say whatever he likes, and no one ever
minds,”

“ He seems very childish,” said Doda.

Essy laughed,-and said, “Come, let us run. I
know where there are some beautiful roses, and you
shall have the birthday ones. I know Mrs. Thoseby
won't mind.”

She ran, and, as she had hold still of Doda’s hand,
Doda ran too, but thought it very odd. Essy seemed
very fond of her. The moment when they stopped
running, she began again—“My name is Esther
Ad Dodes Birthday.

Fairtop, and every one calls me Essy, and you shall
too; and I am very fond of dear Mrs. Thoseby—
every one is; and I am seventeen; and I live in
London, in Berkeley Square, with my aunt; and I’m
an heiress, and I’m out now; and J hate London, be-
cause they ill-treat heiresses there; and I know who
you are quite well; and you are an heiress too, and
so we ought to be very fond of each other; and you
must never, never, never go to London—at least, not
with an aunt, because she watches you, and takes you
away from a ball before the end, when you were
going to dance with Captain Lewis—at least, when I
say ‘you, I mean me, and when I say Captain Lewis,
I don’t mean this one in particular, because there are
such a lot, and they are all alike, and that is why no
one minds what he says. How shall we get that
rose? I can’t reach it, even with my parasol. Don’t
you think it is very unkind of Captain Lewis not to
come and help us to get that rose? He ¢s dreadfully
unkind, you know, and one can’t do anything to him,
he’s so pachydermatous. Do you know what pachy-
dermatous means ?”

“No,” said Doda.

“You will some day,” said Essy. “You will be
educated—‘ higher education,’ you know. I go in
for it partly because it is my duty as an heiress, and
partly because my aunt hates it so. I go to lectures.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “mamma goes to lectures, when
she is in London.”

“ Does she take you?” asked Essy.
Luncheon. 45

“Oh, no,” said Doda; “I stay here with grand-
papa, and we have such fun! He draws pictures for
me, and puts me on the chimney-piece, so that I
can’t get down, and teaches me the piano, and plays
in the evening after bed-time, and rides with me, and
puts me into the big round jar, as big as a tub, where
the rose-leaves are, in the drawing-room, and then
he sends Nero to look for me. I mean that is what
we used to do when I was young—I mean when I
was little—I mean last spring.”

“Do you feel very old now ?”

“Yes, it is my birthday,” said Doda, beginning to
think Essy understood her.

Essy asked, “Have you always lived with your
grandfather ?”

“ Always,” said Doda, feeling that this made her
much older.

“Then,” said Essy, unexpectedly, “you must be
very young for your age, and quite a child. You
don’t understand a word I say when I talk to you—
do you 2”

“ No,” said Doda.

“That is why I think you so nice,” said Essy. “I
should hate you if you understood me, because it
would be so absurd. How nicely you are dressed !
Do you like my dress? Do you like old people? I
am sure you do. You hate me—don’t you ?”’

“No,” said Doda; “I don’t understand you.”

“What fun you are!” said Essy. “There, those
roses will do, and they will look very nice. Now,
46 Doda’s Lirthday.

come and let us look for the other people, as they
won't look for us. It is so stupid to be out here all
alone.”

Just then they saw several people coming along,
with Captain Lewis among them, and from behind
him Nero rushed out, and charged down the path
towards Doda.

“Qh,” cried Essy, trying to get out of the way,
“what an awful creature! He’s not muzzled, and it
is July, and I’m sure he has hydrophobia.”

“No; it is Nero!” said Doda, “and he never has
anything. Nero, poor boy!” and she caught him and
seized hold of his neck.

“Oh, look!” cried Essy; “he has been swimming,
and he is all wet, and he will spoil me if he comes
near me. Jo keep him away. Oh, Captain Lewis,
what shall I do?”

“Nero,” said Captain Lewis, gently and sadly,
“explain to Miss Fairtop, with all the dumb elo-
quence you possess, that her nerves betray her. You
have neither been swimming nor indulging in any
other hydrophobiac symptoms ; and then bow, Nero,
and retire; but don’t go near her and spoil her, as
all her friends have already done so, ever since she
can remember.”

“Ob, Captain Lewis, now you are unkind, and I°
won't stay,” cried Essy; and she actually ran away,
looking as pale as her gloves, for she really was
afraid of Nero, and thought his unkindness a great
deal more formidable than that of Captain Lewis.







































Luncheon. AT

“She’s afraid,” said Tom Thoseby, with contempt.

“Yes,” said Captain Lewis, to whom Tom had
spoken, “so am I; but on account of my profession
I have scruples about showing it. Nero is very
terrible. Were you never afraid of Nero, Miss—ah
—Doda ?”

“2?” said Doda; “why, I’m older than he is;” at
which every one laughed.

Doda thought that people were odder to-day than
she had ever noticed they were before.

“T wonder,” said Mrs. Mortlake, who had come up
a little after the others, “I wonder, Doda, how you
can let a dog lick your face. I consider it not at all
nice. Come, and give me your hand. The servant
is come, and you must go; but you shall have another
piece of cake.”

So Doda gave her hand, and let herself be led
away, but she kept fast hold of Nero with the other
hand. It took a long time to get in with Mrs. Mort-
lake, and Doda often wanted to run on; but Mrs.
Mortlake, though she was always alittle out of breath
when she walked, and could not talk, kept hold of
Doda the whole way.

As they got near the house they saw Mrs. Thoseby,
who had been saying “good-bye” to some of the people
who had just gone away. She said, “ Ah, Doda, I am
so sorry I have not been able to have you for a
moment; but now I am free, and we can do whatever
we like.”

“ A servant has come for her,” said Mrs. Mortlake,
48 Doda's Birthday.

“and she is to go home; but I have promised she
shall have a piece more cake, as it is her birthday.”

Mrs. Thoseby smiled a little, perhaps because she
was not so fond of cake as other people, and said,
“Very well, mamma; while you give her the cake I
will get ready. I must really have a little of you,
Doda; so we will order the ponies, and I will drive
you home.”

Then they all went into the dining-room together,
and Mrs. Thoseby rang the bell and went out, spoke
to the servant as she crossed the hall, and then went
up-stairs to dress. Then the servant came in, and
Mrs. Mortlake ordered three cups of tea and the cake
from luncheon. ‘Then the servant went out, and
Mrs. Mortlake, without a word, closed her eyes, and
slept peacefully as she sat upright on a chair.

Doda sat still, holding Nero for protection, for Mrs.
Mortlake’s silent manner of going to sleep suddenly,
without moving from the position in which she sat,
frightened her more than anything.

At last the man came with the cups and the cake.
Mrs. Mortlake opened her eyes without moving, and
said, “Cut the-cake, Brewster.” He did so. This
took another minute. Doda could hear the pony-
carriage being brought round to the door.

«Take some cake, Doda,’ said Mrs. Mortlake,
softly.

Doda took a piece.

Nero was switching the floor with his tail as he
sat, and putting both his ears forward, while he
Luncheon. 49

looked at Doda’s piece of cake with an air of beseech-
ment that would move even a biscuit. For fear of
disturbing Mrs. Mortlake, Doda whispered to him,
“Now, dear boy, this is my birthday, and I am older
than you are, so I shall allow you to have this piece
of cake. Now—catch !”

She threw a little piece up. Nero caught it. The
snapping of his jaws sounded in the awful silence of
the room like the clapping of the hugest sheers.

“Doda!” said Mrs. Mortlake, in a voice not loud,
but very clear and alarming, “that dog is a great deal
too large to be allowed cake. He ought not to have
come into the room. Do you know that many poor
people would be glad of that piece you are wasting
now ? How dare you 2?”

Her eyes were wide open, and the expression,
which was the first Doda ever saw on her face, made
her unable to speak or breathe.

At this moment Mrs. Thoseby came into the room,
dressed, ready to start. “Never mind this time,
mamma,” said she. “It is Doda’s birthday, and she
may do whatever she likes,”




CHAP. IV.—AFTER LUNCHEON.

RS. THOSEBY put Doda into the carriage, and
then got in at the other side, after patting the
ponies, and saying something to each of them. Then
she told the serious, but apple-faced little groom that
he might stay behind, as they should not need him.
Then they began to drive off, and Nero began to bark
and roar and leap about; and all Colonel Thoseby’s
dogs, out of sight in the yard, heard it, and began to
bark, and shake their bars, and yell, and cry, and
make such torrents of noise that at first nobody could
speak. "When the carriage got into the road, and
Nero galloped away, and the other dogs were left be-
hind, Doda thought she ought to say something, to
make up for the way in which she had run from Mrs.
Mortlake.

Mrs. Thoseby seemed busy with the ponies at first,
and Doda had only her side-face to tall to. How-
ever she began, and had got as far as saying, “ Mrs.
Thoseby—I—am. very sorry about that. I hope you
don’t—I mean I hope I didn’t hurt Mrs. Mortlake.
Will you get her to forgive me?” when Mrs. Thoseby
After Luncheon. 51

began to smile, and turned to her, and said, “ Don’t
think about it. How did you get on with Essy? I
suppose Miss Fairtop told you her name was Essy ?”

“Yes,” said Doda, “ when she took me away it was
the first thing she said.”

“But what did you think of her?” said Mrs.
Thoseby.

“T don’t know,” said Doda, “She was afraid of
Nero.”

“Oh, you must forgive her for that,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “She lives so much in London, and was
at school in Paris, and is not used to big dogs like
Nero, and doesn’t know what he means when he
opens his mouth. She mixes him up in her mind,
perhaps, with the wolf in ‘ Little Red Ridinghood.’”

“Qh, please, don’t say that!” cried Doda.

“May not 1? What does it remind you of ?” said
Mrs. Thoseby. . =

“T think it is ¢rwe,” said Doda, frightening herself,
Indeed, she never could bear the story of “ Little Red
Ridinghood.” Once one of the servants had told her
the story to “amuse” her, when her mother was ill
and her grandfather was away, and she was ordered
to be kept quiet. And the servant, who knew the
story very well, told it all through without a mistake.
And that night Doda cried and cried, till she went to
sleep full of misery, and she thought the servant
frightfully cruel to smile over the story, and that she
must think her very wicked to expect her to be amused
by it. And, besides, she thought they had not told
52 Dotas Birthday.

her all, because, after it had eaten Little Red Riding-
hood, what did the wolf do next? It must have
done something, and perhaps just as bad. Then they
came and told her it wasn’t true, at least not exactly
true; and what was called the wolf was really some-
thing else. Then she asked them what it meant, and
they got impatient, and said it meant that “ Little
girls should not loiter,” and would say no more. Then
she knew that she could never know what she wanted
till she was grown up, and as for loitering, how could
she help it? She could not be eight any sooner by
being in a hurry to be eight. She had never thought
before, and now no one helped her. They even told
her it was very ungrateful to ery all night, and then
ask silly questions when the servant had told her a
nice story to amuse her. The housekeeper said that.
She was very fat, and had dreadful eyes, like glass
and slate-pencil, though she was not at all blind.
And this made Doda more miserable still. And then
they sent her to take some toast in to her mother’s
bed-room, and go and say “ good morning.” And as
she knocked at the door, the housekeeper in the
passage behind her said, “ Pull the bobbin, and the
latch will go up,” just as the wolf in the story does to
Little Red Ridinghood. Then when she went into
the room, there was. her mother sitting wp in bed in
a night-cap, as the wolf does, and she said as Doda
came in, “Ah, I’m glad you brought the toast, or I
should have had to eat you!” which was meant in
fun, only for a moment Doda was so full of the story
After Luncheon. 53

that she took it in earnest, and did not find out till
her mother began to laugh.

“But,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “did they not tell you
that it never happened really and truly, with a real
four-legged wolf, and a real grandmother, and a real
Little Red Ridinghood? It is only a kind of story,
with a meaning.”

“Then why do they tell it?” said Doda. -

_ “Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “when they had once
begun, you remember you could not help letting them
go on till they got to the end, even though you did
not like it. The story says, doesn’t it, that after
speaking to Little Red Ridinghood in the road, the
wolf went on first to the cottage, and got in, and ate
up the grandmother, and got into the bed, and pulled
the bed-clothes up to his chin, and when Doda—when
Little Red Ridinghood got to the door and knocked,
he cried, ‘Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up,
just as the grandmother had to him. Then little Red
Ridinghood went in with her basket, knowing she
was much too late, and saw her grandmother, for she
did not think it could possibly be the wolf, sitting up
in bed, looking even more impatient than usual.
And she looked at her, and could not help saying—-
what did she say ?”

“«What very long ears you have, grandmamma,’”
said Doda, wondering that the beginning of that
awful conversation did not frighten her so much in
the pony carriage, when she was close to Mrs.
Thoseby, and the two fat little ponies were trotting
BA Doda’s Birthday.

on in front, and the sun shone, and Nero rushed about
the hedges—as it did when she used to hear it whis-
pered by all kinds of voices alone in the night, when
there was no one anywhere.

“ And then,” continued Mrs. Thoseby, “the wolf
replied—”

“The better to hear you with, my dear,’
Doda.

“And then,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “Little Red
Ridinghood came near the bed, and saw the wolf’s
claws on the coverlid, and said—”

“«What very odd hands you have,” answered
Doda, when Mrs. Thoseby waited.

“To which,” she now went on, “the wolf replied—”

“ ing the conversation.

“But in saying this,” continued Mrs. Thoseby, “the
wolf could not help smiling, and Little Red Riding-
hood saw all his great, greedy fangs, and cried out in
a terrible fright—

« «What very large teeth you have, grandmamma !’”
recited Doda, faithfully.

“Then,” said Mrs. Thoseby, taking up the story
and conversation together, and making a rush for the
end, “the wolf answered, ‘ The better to eat you with,
my dear,’ and with that he jumped out of the bed,
and—”

“Oh, don’t—don’t—don’t!” cried Doda, “I can’t
bear that part !”

“ Well, we won’t mind the rest,” said Mrs. Thoseby,

»

said
After Luncheon. 55

“T see they have told you the story the same way
they told it to me, when I was six years old.”

“Oh, said Doda, but you can’t have been six years
old 2?”

“Why not?” said Mrs. Thoseby, laughing, “ You
were six years old once, were not you ?”

“Oh, yes,” said Doda; “but that is different.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “I was six years old
once, but then it was different too; for I was some-
body else.”

This explanation seemed to Doda more reasonable,
and she was satisfied with it; so she said, “ But
what did you do when they told you the story ?”

“Well, it was at night,” said Mrs, Thoseby, “after
I had gone to bed, and they told it to me to make
me go to sleep; and I shut my eyes at the end, to
‘make them go away. So they went away, but they
took the candle too, and when they were gone it was
quite dark. So I opened my eyes when there was
no one to see, and cried all night.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “I think every one does.”

“No,” said Mrs. Thoseby; “a great many people
would like it very much, and sleep quite comfortably
after.”

“ But they must be very cruel people,” said Doda.
“What becomes of them after they are grown-up ?”

She was thinking of an awful story that Tom
Thoseby said once had been told him when he was
a little boy—because he was killing flies—of an
Emperor of Rome, with a queer name beginning with
56 Doda's Birthday.

a V, who killed flies after he was grown up, and
killed all his friends too, and was so cruel that when
a stranger came to ask for him, he was told he would
find the Emperor alone, for not even a fly would go
near him.

“They are not always very cruel people,” said Mrs.
Thoseby, “for liking to hear Little Red Ridinghood,
because they don’t really hear it at all, because they
don’t imagine it properly, only half properly, just
enough to make themselves feel a little, which they
like.”

“ But,” said Doda, “what do they do when they
grow up 2?”

“ Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “they read the news-
papers,”

“The newspapers!” cried Doda, opening her eyes
very wide, because she had seen every one reading
newspapers at different times, even Colonel Thoseby
and Mr. Mills.

“J mean,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “a particular part;
because newspapers, you know, are so big that they
are about all kinds of things: one part about one
thing, and another part about something quite dif
ferent, which no one need read unless they like; and
there is always a particular part about nothing but
horrid things, much worse than Little Red Riding-
hood, ever so much worse, and sometimes quite true,:
and not “once upon a time,” but really yesterday.
Then they read that part, while other sorts of people
_read quite other parts of the paper.”

1?
After Luncheon. 57

“ But,” said Doda, remembering what her grand-
father had once told her mother she had for break-
fast instead of treacle, “ what sort of things ?”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “ horrid things.”

. “Fires, with conflagration and great loss of life ?”
asked Doda.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Thoseby, astonished. “How
did you know ?”

“And murders, with atrocious something, and
trials, and adjournments?” went on Doda.

“Yes; how can you know 2?” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Why,” said Doda, “that is what grandpapa tells
mamma she has to breakfast instead of treacle.”

Mrs. Thoseby suddenly turned away to look at
something at the other side of the road, and at that
moment her whip dropped and fell out of the carriage,
so they had to stop and piek it up.

Doda did this, and they had not been able to stop
quite directly, as they were going very fast, so she
had to go back a little way to get it. Mrs. Thoseby
had been blushing, for when Doda returned she was
still a little red, and said, “Really it was very
awkward of me to do that—thank you—I am quite
ashamed.”

When they were comfortably settled, and trotting
on again, she said, “I was going to tell you why they
made up the story of Little Red Ridinghood. Well,
it was for children to have instead of newspapers,
because it is very awful; but it isn’t true, and yet
there is a wolf, so they have their little fright all for
58 Dodds Birthday.

nothing, and no one is hurt after all. This is what
they like.”

“ But I don’t like it,” said Doda.

“No more do J,” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Well, tell me a new story—a nice one,” said Doda.

“Shall it be sense, or nonsense?” asked Mrs.
Thoseby.

“Oh, sense, of course,” said Doda.

“Well, then,” began Mrs. Thoseby, obediently,
“there was once upon a time a man who had two
backs to his head.”

“Where was his face?” asked Doda.

“Tn the usual place,” answered Mrs. Thoseby ; “he
only had one back to his head at once. But the two
were quite different. He did not take off one to put
on the other, but he used: to make the back of his
natural one into whichever he liked, by brushing his
hair differently. “When he brushed it downwards, it
was brown and straight; but when he brushed it up,
it was grey and curly. In this way he used to de-
ceive people, so that they often thought he was some-
body else.”

“ But they would see his face,” said Doda.

“ Of course they did, when he was walking towards
them, but not when he was walking away from them,”
answered Mrs. Thoseby; “and that was why they
used to think they did not know him, for they were
sure of his face till he got past, and when they looked
at his back, and noticed that it was quite different to
what they had expected; then they would suppose
After Luncheon. 59

they had made a mistake, and would be quite sure
now that he must be some one else; and they would
say to each other, ‘What a very extraordinary like-
ness !—really, from his face, we were quite sure he
must be the very man!’ But by this time he would
be a long way off, and quite safe from being run
after, and looked at again. It never occurred to any-
one that he could possibly have two backs to his
head, and in this way he was taken for some one else
quite as often as for himself. In this way he used to
deceive people.”

“He must have been a very wicked man,” said
Doda.

“Oh, no—a very good man ; he never did anybody
any harm on purpose in all his life,” answered Mrs.
Thoseby.

“Well,” said Doda, “but he did deceive them 2?”

“But then,’ went on Mrs. Thoseby, “there was
another thing, which I had not come to yet. He did
not know that he had two backs, and, though he very
much wished to have the use of them, he never under-
stood how it was that things turned out so well.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “then it was not his fault—was
it?”

“Not in the least,” said Mrs. Thoseby. “ Well,
one day he was in Spain. Spain is very hot, and very
cold, and very dry and dusty, and very rainy and
miserable ; but it is not all these things at once, as
England is, but each has its time; and while one lasts
it seems as if all the country was going to be like
60 Dodds Birthday.

that always. In some parts the sun stays longest,
and there the roads are made of dust, and there are
very small trees, and the people are very brown, and
wear dresses of queer shapes and colours, as you have
seen them in pictures, with short jackets and flat hats,
and sashes round their waists, and big knives. And,
like most people with dark complexions, they are
very furious indeed when they are in love; and if
everything does not happen exactly as they want it,
they kill themselves or each other, and are in such
a rage that they don’t think that is half enough, and
wish they could do a great deal more.”

“What horrid people!” said Doda, trying to ima-
gine them.

“But then,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “they are not
always doing that, and at other times they are more
clever and polite to each other, and much quicker in
understanding each other and in doing things nicely
than most people are here; so that, if one of the
peasants from there comes over and gets among our
country people, he thinks them so rude to each other
that he wonders why they do not all kill each other,
to teach themselves better manners.”

« And what do we think of him?” asked Doda.

“Oh, we think him a bowing, scraping, knife-
bearing, grinning, monkey-hearted foreigner, and that
he ought to be soused in a mill-pond to teach him
manliness and simplicity.”

Doda was silent for a moment, trying to think
which was right. Mrs. Thoseby saw what she was
After Luncheon. 61

meditating, and went on; “ Well, they are both right
in their way, only they don’t understand each other ;
and poor people, and others who are always working
and busy, never have time to understand any one
different to themselves ; and besides that, they never
travel, so they do not even know properly what there
is to understand. They think it doesn’t matter, and
that foreigners were only made to be written about
in books. But I was going to tell you what hap-
pened to the man with two backs to his head. When
he was travelling alone in Spain, he came once to a
village where every one was a thief. Thieves are
not all alike, you know; some of them in Spain treat
each other quite nicely, though they do not always
show the same kindness to us. Well, while he was
in the village, he never had the least suspicion that
all the people were thieves. There were a lot of
handsome men in dirty clothes of gay colours, some-
thing like those you see in pictures of Spanish shep-
herds. They all had dark faces, bright brown eyes,
and black hair. They had among them their wives
and children and grandmothers. The only thing that
made them not quite like shepherds was that when
you were not looking at them they looked at you
with an odd expression, as if they were calculating
what could be done with you, and not putting the
slightest consideration of how you would like it into
their sum; just as a man looks at a tree to guess
whether there is enough timber in it to serve for the
planks he wants, before he decides whether he will
62 Doda’s Birthday.

cut it down. That is the way thieves look at a
traveller before they rob him in Southern countries.
Of course England, where we are, is quite different.
Well, one of the girls in the thieves’ village was very
beautiful, and she looked at the man I am telling you
about, and he looked at her, and they both liked each
other; and then, without saying anything, she held
out a bunch of grapes to him, which she had just
plucked. So he came up, and took one off the bunch,
and éat it. Then she took off another, and eat it, and
held the bunch out to him. So he took another.
When they had done this a few times, they began
passing the bunch backwards and forwards more and
more quickly, and both began to laugh, as people do
when they race for fun. All the others in the village
stood about, and resolved that, as soon as they got
him alone, they would kill him for making fun with
one of their girls.”

“ Oh,” said Doda, with perfect frankness, “I don’t
like this story !”

“You forget,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “that the man
had two backs to his head.”

Feeling that this contained an immeasurable source
of safety against everything that would happen to
him, Doda was re-comforted, and prepared to go on
listening.

Mrs. Thoseby continued—* Well, when he went
away in the afternoon, to return by a long, lonely
walk over a hill to the town where he was staying,
and which he had left early in the morning, two men
After Luncheon. 63

from the village crept away, and ran to a place in the
road where they thought he would be sure to pass,
and where they meant to attack him. But as they
were afraid to meet him face to face, they resolved
to let him go by, and then hit him from behind.”

“T hate them!” said Doda.

“Never mind; they live a long way olf,” said Mrs.
Thoseby, and then went on—* But, though he was
going to pass this part of the road, before he reached
it he was very tired, and lay down on a bank to
watch the sunset. Here he thought about the girl
who had given him the grapes, and how nice she was,
and what queer-looking people she lived amongst.
And as he thought, he slipped a little further down
the bank, and rubbed all his hair the other way, so
that only the grey back to his head showed now.
When he at last got up and went on with his walk,
he forgot to put on his hat, which he carried in his
hand without noticing what it was. So he came to
the place where the men were hid who meant to jump
out and attack him. They were both brothers of the
girl, and both: very young. They chiefly wanted to
kill him because their sister liked him, and wanted
to marry him instead of some one else whom they
wanted her to marry. So they waited till he had
gone past, and then they jumped out, and were just
going to kill him when they saw that the back of his
head was that of an old man. At this they both
began to laugh, and he turned round. It was too
dark to see faces well, but he saw they were robbers.
64 Dodds Birthday.

However, they both made him a bow, and requested
him, in the name of their sister, for a lock of his hair.
He thought it best to take them at their words. So
he pulled out a little pair of travellers’ scissors which
he had, and cut off some hair from the back of his
head. He chose the underneath part, so that the
place where he cut it might not show. When he
held out the hair, he saw it was white. This asto-
nished him more than anything he had ever seen.
He thought, ‘Can I possibly have been so frightened
at meeting these men in the wood that my hair has
turned white ?’ for he had read of people to whom
that happened. But he had not been particularly
frightened ; so he could not understand it. They took
the hair, with a great many bows and thanks, and,
assuring him that all they possessed was his—which
was their way of being polite—they left him and re-
turned home, where they showed the white hair to
their sister, and laughed at her for wanting to marry
a grandfather. ‘This made her so angry, that she
changed her mind, and married the other man they
wanted her to have—and that was how Lord Welryth
discovered once that he had two backs to his head.”

“Oh, was it Lord Welryth?” cried Doda.

«Yes, really; he told me himself,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “But he has only one back to his head
now, for he is grey all over. He was younger then.
The moral of the story is, that some people gain as
much by loitering on a bank as other people lose, and
that, because it did so much harm to Little Red
After Luncheon. 65

Ridinghood, that is no reason why it should be
equally bad for every one else. That is philosophy.”
“Ts it?” said Doda. “I understand it quite easily.”
“Why not?” said Mrs. Thoseby. “It is much
easier to understand than anything else. Gurls are
expected to find it out for themselves. That is why
they are not taught it.”

“Then what does ‘ pachydermatous’ mean ?” asked
Doda.

Mrs. Thoseby was so astonished at this question
coming unexpectedly, that Doda had to explain that
Essy had used the word, and told her it was a part
of “higher education.” So Mrs. Thoseby explained
it, and said that it was scientific, and that Essy used
it in fun, because she thought scientific words funny,
because the people who went about using them when
they ought not, in ordinary conversation, never see
how funny they appear; and Essy did see, which
made her feel a great deal wiser than they were. ©

“ But 7s she wiser ?” asked Doda.

“We are going into very deep subjects,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “Yes, in some ways she is. She has man-
ners of a certain kind, which she can make to suit
the people she is with; and manners are a kind of
wisdom.” “Have I manners?” asked Doda.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Thoseby, smiling. “But then
you are used to it, and you always notice what people
expect each other to do; and we are all such old
friends here, that it is the best manners in the world
to like each other as much as we choose, and—”

E
66 Dodas Birthday.

Here Mrs. Thoseby stopped a moment. Then, as
if she meant to say all the rest in two words, and end
the subject, she went on— and not treat each other
worse than we would treat strangers, though people
who like each other often do. They think that is the
privilege which liking gives them.”

“But how do we treat strangers better?” asked
Doda. .

“We have gone far enough for once,” answered
Mrs. Thoseby. “ Wait till we have another birthday.”

So they went on for a little without saying any-
thing, and Doda thought how pretty Mrs. Thoseby
was, and yet she was as wise as Mr. Mills, and said
everything rightly, and she thought it would be worth
while not being seven years old if one could become
like that. Then she thought how nice the carriage
was, and how like a shield the black-shiney leather
thing in front of them, and how funny the backs of
the two little ponies looked beyond it, bobbing up
and down quickly as they trotted, like the little
leather things inside a grand piano do, if you look
in while some one is playing. The road was very
pretty where they were driving, the hedges made queez
shapes, and the trees were tall, and the bank was
higher in some places than in others, with flowers on
it, and in the brown part the roots of the trees coming
through like the hands of some one who was just
going to come up out from under the earth. And
beyond were the hills, and everywhere there was
summer, and the wonderful feeling of the warm air
After Luncheon. 67

that seems alive. Doda wished they could trot on
and on for ever, but they were near the village now,
and her own home was still nearer. She saw the
garden-gate, and the trees, and the house through
them, and then Mrs. Thoseby pulled up.

“Oh,” cried Doda, “is that all?”

“ All for the present,” said Mrs. Thoseby; “ but
we will have another drive whenever you like.”

So Doda had to come out of her silence, which she
had liked so much; for with Mrs. Thoseby near her
she liked it quite as well sometimes as talking. She
had to get off the carriage, and say the right things,
as it was her own house they had come to; and so
she said, “ Won’t you come in ?”

“T have left the groom,” said Mrs. Thoseby; “so
I am afraid not, as there would be no one to look
after the ponies.”

“Our groom would,” said Doda.

“Perhaps your grandfather wants him,” said Mrs.
Thoseby, “and then I would be giving trouble. So
I will come another time. What a pretty locket
that is!” .,

“Oh! said Doda, “I forgot. Grandpapa gave it
to me.”

“How nice of him!” said Mrs. Thoseby. Then
she drew out a parcel, looking like a box, but done
up in brown paper. It was not very big, but not
very small—bigeer than a jewel-case, and smaller
than a desk. She gave it to Doda, and said, “This
is my present. Now good-bye;” and leaning down,
68 Doda’s Birthday.

gave her a kiss as well, and the next moment had
rattled away again, the two ponies trotting faster
than ever; and Doda was left alone at the gate with
her present.

So she went inside, and sat down on a little place
where there was a seat in a bush, and undid the
brown paper. The box was a long narrow one,
covered with beautiful dark browney-red leather, and
it was locked, with a little key hanging by a piece of
silk. So she opened it, and the lid had scissors and
thimble, and everything to sew, all very small, that
went under little leather bridges, and so was lifted
up with the lid; and there was in the box a new
photograph of Mrs. Thoseby, in a little frame that
would stand up when you took it out; and under the
photograph were new gloves—some of light kid and
some dark—all the way to the bottom of the box.
There were twelve pairs, all the size Doda wore.

Doda sat looking at the box a long time, opening
it and shutting it, and taking out the little pointed
scissors with handles like wreaths, and opening and
shutting them in the air. And the more she looked
at everything the prettier she thought it: and then,
it was such a grown-up present. She scarcely knew
whether she liked it or the locket best.

Suddenly she heard some one coming down the
path, and she locked the box and put the key in her
pocket, and waited to see who it was. It was her
mother’s maid, who told her she had been sent for,
and wanted to know where she had been, and whether
After Luncheon. 69

she had had dinner. Doda said she had had dinner,
and had been at Mrs. Thoseby’s. The maid said they
supposed she must be there, and then seemed to ex-
pect Doda was going to come into the house with her.
Doda did not want to do so at all, so she gave the
new glove-box, safely locked, to the maid, and said it
was a present from Mrs. Thoseby, and asked the maid
to put it in her bedroom, as she was not going in just
yet. Then, as soon as she was alone, she rushed out
of the garden and stood in the lane, wondering for a
moment where she should make up her mind to go
next, feeling with one hand the key of her dear box
safe in her pocket.


e







N











CHAP. V.—IN MRS. DEYLON’S GARDEN.

HILE she wondered she began to walk slowly
down towards the village.

The sun was shining in the way that makes very
old people in villages come out and sit before their
cottages, in their little gardens, where there is always
a seat, and generally far too many flowers round it
and beside the one path, so that the flowers tumble
over each other if the least wind blows.

At the first cottage to which Doda came there was
an. old woman sitting. “I wonder what she is think-
ing of,” said Doda to: herself, but she did not quite
succeed in finding out. The old woman, in fact,
though she sat in the sun, and flowers were about
her, was thinking of her teeth, and wondering how
long the remaining ones would last her; at the same
time she was thinking of her grandchildren, and of
how different to them she was at their age; and how
foolish it was of the eldest boy to save money to buy
a watch, when she had lived, and in good health, to
her time of life without ever a watch to bless herself
with ; and she had known other people younger than
she that had had watches, and yet they were dead,
and there she was still.
In Mrs. Deylows Garden. 71

' Doda could not quite discover all this, as she did
not know the old woman’s history, or what she was
likely to think about it; so she wondered at her
wrinkled, brooding face, and went on.

Then she saw an old man sitting before his door,
with his hand on the head of a big dog that sat be-
side him, and which he patted now and then, but
scarcely looked at. His face was not like the wo-
man’s, and he half smiled to himself, and was not
unhappy for the time. He was thinking—though
Doda did not know it—that the dog beside him was
another that he had had forty years before, when he
himself was a newly-married man, and had just come
to the cottage. It had been summer-time then, as
it was now; and he sat leaning back in the sunshine,
and making believe to himself that now was still the
same summer, till it seemed almost as good’as if it
had been really true.

Then, as she went on, she came to a number of
children, all running and playing in the road and on
the grass and pathway. These were thinking many
different things not at all shown in their faces. Some
were thinking that they would be called soon, and
must play quickly. Some were thinking how un-
fairly the others played, and what a shame it was,
and wishing they were strong enough and big enough
to fight the ones they were angry with. Some thought
of nothing but the cricket, and of where the ball was
then, and where it might be struck next, and how
well they would stop it, and how hard they would
72 Dodas Birthday.

throw it if it came their way. And one was thinking
of a punishment which he was told he should have
in the evening when his father came home, and was
wishing something would make his father change his
mind, and not come home for ever and ever.

As Doda passed through, the game stopped for a
moment, and they all looked at her, which was natu-
ral, as she was pretty, and well-dressed, and alone;
and any one seeing her coming down the lane in the
sunshine would have stopped a moment to look at
her.

Then, when she had passed them, she met a cow,
which frightened her, for it went fast and was very
big ; but it did not look at her. And then she met
a little boy running, who did not frighten her, but
who frightened the cow. _

And then she saw a cat steal out of a garden, where
it had hid till the cow got past, and rush across to
its own garden, which was at the other side of the
road. Here it leaped up unto the lap of an old wo-
man, who sat there reading, and she put down her
book, and received the cat, and made it comfortable
in her lap.

And Doda looked at this old woman, and thought
she looked very nice, and not at all like the other.
For she was nicely dressed, and had bright eyes,
and a head shaped more like that of a lady; and her
white hair was nice, and she had only three clear
lines on her forehead, and had a handsome face, and
she wore a white handkerchief fastened round her
ln Mrs. Deylon's Garden. 73

neck by a brooch. Besides which, her hands were
nice, and long, and white; and then, too, the flowers
in her garden were not too many for the garden.

Doda did not know her at all, but the old woman
looked as if she knew her quite well, and had often
seen her, and would not be the least surprised if she
came up and spoke to her. And while Doda was
thinking this, she had already stopped at the gate
without noticing that she did so, and the old woman
and she were looking straight into each other's eyes,
so that some one must say something. The old wo-
man said,—* Will you not come in? Would you like
some flowers ?”

Then Doda remembered, for the first time, that she
had left the flowers that Essy had given her on the
table when she had had cake and tea with Mrs.
Mortlake, but she thought she should like these much
better, and would not leave them anywhere, for she
did not know yet how many new things she would
have to wonder about, before the day was over.

She said, “I should like some flowers very much,
if I may.”

“Come in, then; I am Mrs. Deylon,” said the old .
woman, “ Are you alone ?”

“Yes, quite alone,” said Doda. “It is my birth-
day.”

“T wish you many happy returns of the day, Miss
Doda,” said Mrs. Deylon; so that Doda knew for
certain that she was known. Then she remembered
that Deylon was the name of their gardener, who was
74 Doda's Birthday.

very nice, and whom she always called “ gardener,”

and had thought it funny that her grandfather called
him sometimes “ gardener,” and sometimes “ Deylon.”
She supposed he must be this Mrs. Deylon’s grand-
son; so she said, “ Does your grandson do your gar-
den as well as ours ?”

And then Mrs. Deylon knew that Doda knew now
who she was too, and said,—“ He does the hard work,
and I do the rest. Which flowers are you fondest of?”

Doda chose which she liked, and they made a
bouquet. Doda picked the ones that grew near the
ground, so that Mrs. Deylon was not obliged to stoop,
and Mrs. Deylon picked those that grew high up on
the wall, where Doda could not reach. Then they
tied them up, and cut the loose ends off, and both
washed their hands in the watering-can.

Then Mrs. Deylon gave Doda the flowers, and
seemed to expect that she would go, but not to want
her to go; and, as Doda did not want to go either,
and in this garden they were very quiet, and no one
saw them or disturbed them, she thought she should
like to stay. So when she had thanked Mrs. Deylon
for the flowers, she stopped a moment, and said, “I
have kept you away from your book a long time.”

“No,” said Mrs. Deylon, “it was pussy that made
me put my book down, and I do not think I shall
go on with it just now.”

«What shall you do?” asked Doda.

“T think I shall sit here and tell myself stories till
my grandson, your gardener, comes home.”
Ln Mrs. Deylon's Garden. 75

“May I hear one of the stories?” asked Doda.

“Yes, certainly, Miss Doda,” said Mrs. Deylon;
“which shall it be ?”

“Oh, any one,” said Doda; “but not Little Red
Ridinghood.”

“Why not Little Red Ridinghood?” said Mrs.
Deylon.

“Oh, I can’t bear the wolf,” said Doda. “Make it
about something quite different.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Deylon, “ what shall it be about
then 2?”

Doda thought a moment, but at last gave up trying
to think of anything new, and said, “ About some one
whose birthday it is.”

“Tt is my birthday,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“Your birthday!” cried Doda, in astonishment.
Then she thought, might she wish Mrs. Deylon many
happy returns, and then decided that she might, and
did so, and then Mrs. Deylon was pleased ; and then
Doda thought she would like to ask her how old she
was, but did not like to do so straight out, as she
seemed so very old; so she said, “I am seven years
old to-day.”

Mrs. Deylon smiled, and said, “I remember being
seven years old too. That was sixty-eight years
ago.”

“What happened then?” asked Doda; adding, to
herself, “Then you must be seventy-five now.”

“ Then,” said Mrs. Deylon, after thinking a moment,
“my father became a Roman Catholic, and so did my
76 Dodds Birthday.

mother, and I had to learn a fresh set of prayers, and
forget the ones I had before.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “that must be dreadful. Did
you quite forget them ?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Deylon, “but I remember them
now, and sometimes I like them best.”

“What did your father do,” asked Doda, * when he
became a Roman Catholic?”

“ He died,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“ Oh,” said Doda, trying to draw that question back,
and give another instead, “but what was he before ?”

« A clergyman—a curate,” said Mrs. Deylon.

. They were silent, and Doda added up the story in
her head, as if it were a sum, and saw that the result
was why Mrs. Deylon was poor, and yet did not talk
quite like other poor people. But still it did not
show yet why her grandson was a gardener, so she
said, “ And then I suppose you lived alone with your
mother and grandfather?” to make her go on with
the story, and tell the rest.

“No,” said Mrs. Deylon, “my grandfather was not
there, and my mother was young, and married a rich
man, who was very good to us. He was a merchant
gardener, and his partner was Mr. -Deylon, who
married me afterwards. Then my son had the busi-
ness afterwards when we were left alone, and he
married, and brought his wife home; but she never
liked it, and persuaded him not to like it. But my
grandson always did, and used to be all day working
and talking with the gardeners.
In Mrs. Deylon’s Garden. Tf

“ But where is the garden ?” asked Doda.

“Tt was bought for a railway, because it was near
London,” said Mrs. Deylon; “and then they wanted
to go to London, and we lived there a short time till
we lost almost all the money, and then we were un-
happy; and the end was that I came back with my

grandson to live here where my father used to be
~ eurate when I was seven years old, and I used to
wish then that this cottage belonged to me, for it was
the oldest of all the village, and now I live in it.”

Doda did not ask what became of the rest of the
people, as she supposed they were all dead. She sat
silent.

“ Now I have told you a story,” said Mrs. Deylon,
“which was about some one whose birthday it is, and
was not about Little Red Ridinghood.”

“No,” said Doda.

“ And there was no wolf in it,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“ And yet,” said Doda to herself, “the garden is
gone, and the money is gone, and all the people are
dead.” And she thought, after she had sat silent a
little longer, that some stories without a wolf were
worse than some stories with a wolf, and she won-
dered how Mrs. Thoseby would have told Mrs. Dey-
lon’s story; so she said, “May I tell this to Mrs.
Thoseby ?”

“Mrs. Thoseby knows it already,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“May I ask you some more things?” said Doda,
looking up. “I will never talk about it afterwards,
except to Mrs. Thoseby.”
78 Dodds Birthday.

“Yes; what are the things? Ask anything,” said
Mrs. Deylon.

So Doda said, “Is that all your story ?”

“Yes, all,” said Mrs. Deylon.

Doda remained looking at her, and thought how like .
a picture of Marie Antoinette she was, that her grand-
father had, only her eyes were brighter. And Doda
said, almost without meaning to do so, “ Your eyes
are very beautiful, and you are like Marie Antoinette.”

Mrs. Deylon smiled, and blushed slightly. Doda
blushed a great deal, for she never knew before that
an old woman could blush, or have the feeling that
goes with blushing. But they can, and some old men
can also, as Doda found out afterwards from Lord
Welryth. But now she thought she must say some-
thing at once, to get over the uncomfortableness ;
and, looking about for something, she saw Mrs. Dey-
lon’s book lying on the bench, and said, “May I see
what you were reading ?”

“Tt is a book written by Mr. Mills, which I have
had for a long time,” said Mrs. Deylon, “and I think
I am now beginning to understand it.”

“Do you like it very much?” asked Doda.

“ Very much indeed,” said Mrs. Deylon; “it is one
of my favourite books.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “do you think I could under-
stand it 2”

“ Some of it, perhaps,” said Mrs. Deylon. Did you
understand my story ?”

“No,” said Doda, “not quite all, but you said I
Ln Mrs. Deylon’s Garden. 79

might ask Mrs. Thoseby; but I always understand
Mr. Mills, and he understands everything, and I am
so fond of him, and I know him quite well, and he
reads about the Greeks, and people call him ‘ poor
Mr. Mills,” which is such nonsense, like ” she
stopped short.

“Tike when they call me ‘poor Mrs. Deylon,’ said
Mrs. Deylon.

“Yes,” said Doda, blushing again at having be-
trayed this.

Mrs. Deylon did not blush, but smiled, and took
up the book.

“ What are ‘ Essays’?” asked Doda, looking at the
title.

“Short things, not much longer than a story, but
not stories, only all about somethine—what it is like,
and what people think of it, and why they think it,”
said Mrs. Deylon. “Then they make one think too,
even if one knew about the thing before. - Indeed, if
one knew nothing about it, one could never read the
essay.”

“Oh,” said Doda, “I’m afraid I don’t know any-
thing. But do read me some, because it is Mr. Mills’;
any part will do—where you were reading just now.”

“But that is a very difficult part, indeed,” said
Mrs. Deylon. “It is about the changes different
people go through after they are grown up. You
could never understand it.”

“ Never mind,” said Doda; “let me try.”

Mrs. Deylon smiled, but made Doda settle herself


80 Dodds Birthday.

comfortably on the bench, leaning on her shoulder,
with her feet tucked wp. “Then, taking up the book,
she went on reading from where she had left off and
what she read was this :-—

“There is a time in a man’s life when what he does
is the whole of himself, and action is the whole of his
life; and sometimes this time lasts during all his best
years, and then he is known as the man of action, and
this appears to him the greatest thing in the world.
But there was most probably a time when he was
younger, when what he felt seemed much more im-
portant to him than what he did, and action only
seemed worth while when it was caused by feeling,
or brought feeling for its result. He was then a
lover, or enthusiast, proud of his passion, and humble
about the deeds, even if they were heroic, which the
passion or enthusiasm made him do. He used then
to look upon a man who praises action because it is
action, and thinks that this is reality, as being a kind
of machine—a thing with much motion, but no real
life of its own, and not even knowing what reality
was. Perhaps when he was younger still there was
a time when what he was, even without feeling and
action, appeared to him to be complete, and to be
really himself, and feeling and action appeared dis-
tractions that would hurry him away, and cheat him
out of his attention to the reality of being. His own
body and hands, his face, his name, his rank, and the
thought of his soul, seemed to him to be himself.
This is a stage in life which generally only detains a
In Mrs. Deylon’s Garden. 81

man for a short time, but remains often with a beau-
tiful girl until she falls in love, and sometimes longer,
if her beauty happens to be great, and her experience
of life little. To this stage a man often returns when
he is very old, and his feelings are worn out, his
actions gone away from him, and, with all his mind
still conscious, he sees his last hour come patiently
and wisely, and unhindered by any distractions. If
he has been well educated, and hag read a little of
the poets and philosophers, and has been abroad and
seen the works of the artists, then probably there was
another time in his life when it seemed to him that
his mere being and his name were not himself at all,
but only the space he lived in, and that action was
only necessary because there were things that wanted
doing, unfortunately, and he felt obliged to do them
merely because he could, and therefore might not
leave his power unused or wasted; but this was not
himself either, nor at all the great reality of life.
Even his feelings—the great passion of love itself—
seemed then like half a distraction from life, although
afterwards found to have been necessary in giving a
complete preparation. Yet at the time it was a thing
apart, a madness under whose motive he would have
gladly given away his life and died, before indeed
knowing what life was; for now it seemed that
thought was the chief thing, and that true feeling of
being mature, only belonged to the man who found
in his imagination the power to make reality out of
the feelings, action, and self, that were like the tissue

F
82 Doda’s Birthday.

and cloth from which it might be pieced and put to-
gether. This is the fourth stage, and the one in which
artists and thinkers of all sorts spend their lives when
they have had all the other changes, just as rulers and
workers aud fighters spend it in the stage of action,
lovers in the stage of feeling, and no one, except,
perhaps, the sleeping princess of the fairy-story, alto-
gether in the stage of merely existing as a passive
self with a name.

“Every one knows these four stages, and many who
cannot enter fully into them will choose one to imi-
tate, that they may have the praises, and plead for
their faults the excuses, which belong to it. In adopt-
ing the title of a quarter of life, they persuade them-
selves that their want of the other three quarters is
the result of the choice they have made, and not of
their incapacity to go further. Even the part they
select is only a shadow and imitation, but they do
their best to persuade themselves and every one who
sees them that, though they are not like some of the
great ones of the earth, of whom we may have read
the ‘lives, that at least they are like others. They
bustle, and demand that this shall be called ‘action;
their want of aim is ‘many-sidedness ;’ their coldness
is ‘self-control;’ their timidity is ‘sensitiveness.’
Then selfishness supposes, often falsely, it has a self
to be selfish about, and thoughts are stolen, imagina-
tion is made of brooding, art is imitated by rule, and
in this way the counterfeit people of the world, call-
ing themselves by the names of the real ones, bring
lu Mrs. Deylows Garden. 83

the four stages of life and the four types of men into
disgrace, and cause these to share with them the
derision and contempt that belongs only to them-
selves, while stealing in exchange half the reputation
and indulgence that belong to the names they have
assumed.”

By this time Doda was asleep.

Then she had a queer dream—a dream about a
dream ; for she dreamed she sat on a chair, and a big
book was brought and opened, and held up for her to
read; and it was all about her dream, which, some-
how, she was to be allowed to read about, though she
might not absolutely dream it. She looked at the
book, and there were all kinds of words, like those
she had been listening to, and the names of the people
she had been seeing that day. She tried to read, and
it began, “This is about the four stages—action,
thinking, feeling, and being yourself,—now you are
Doda—that is the stage of being oneself—and Cap-
tain Lewis and Essy are lovers—that is the stage of
feeling or experiencing ;’—and she dreamed she said,
“Oh, I never knew that,” and that some one said,
“Look at them again next time you see them.” It
was the dream speaking; and she answered, “ When
shall I see them again?” and it said, “To-day.—
Who is in the stage of thinking?” And she said,
“Oh, I don’t know—I suppose Mr. Mills, but it —
seems very funny to think of him in any stage; he
used always to seem Mr. Mills, and that was all.”
Then, when she had wondered a long time over this,
84 Doda's Birthday.

the dream said, “And Colonel Thoseby ?” But she
could not think. And the dream said, “ You know,
people always say, ‘What a great deal of good
he does here !—what a man of action he is!” “So
they do,” said Doda; “I have heard them often, only
I always forget what people say, unless it is a story.”
“Or a dream,” said the dream. “Oh, I am afraid I
sometimes forget that when I am awake.” “Or a
book,” said the dream, “ like that Mrs. Deylon is read-
ing.” “Who is Mrs. Deylon ?” asked Doda, and with
that she heard a great noise, and awoke.

A carriage with two horses drove down the lane
and disappeared.

It awoke Doda, who leaped off the bench, and said,
“Oh, I am afraid I was asleep. I didn’t mean to go
to sleep, but I had such a queer dream, that came
and talked about the four stages. May I get up
again, and go on reading? I think I do understand
it, though I couldn’t tell, and it is so funny, and I
never knew any of it before.”

“Tt is getting late in the afternoon,’ said Mrs.
Deylon. “Are they not expecting you somewhere ?”

« Perhaps,” said Doda, thinking that, besides, she
should like to get away, and be alone, and think
about the dream; for she had been just enough asleep
to hear voices and remember things she forgot when
she was more awake, or more asleep; and it seemed
to her as if some one had come and spoken to her,
while she was really making it up to herself the
whole time without knowing how.
[n Mrs. Deylow's Garden. 85

She picked up the flowers, which she had knocked
down in jumping up so suddenly when she awoke.

“Why not come again some other time, and hear
the rest,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“Oh, I should like that so much!” said Doda. “I
want to hear everything he ever wrote. But do
people really go and have stages ?”

“ Really and truly,” said Mrs. Deylon, smiling.

“Well,” said Doda, “I hope you don’t mind my
going to sleep.”

“ Not a bit,” said Mrs. Deylon.

“Then I will go,” said Doda; “but you will let
me come back; and thank you very much for the
flowers,”

She got on the bench, and gave Mrs. Deylon a kiss,
because her face was nice, and she was like Marie
Antoinette, and was not like other people. Then she
said “ sood-bye,” and ran away.








CHAP, VI.—AFTERNOON,.

HEN Doda ran away from the cottage of Mrs.
Deylon, she did not run home, because she
could have got home in two minutes by running, and
she wanted to think a very great deal first about what
she had heard, and wonder whether, when she grew
up, she should think most of what she did (stage
No. 1), what she felt (stage No. 2), what she was
(stage No. 3), or what she invented or thought (stage
No. 4), if she ever invented anything. And this
went round and round in her head, till all the world
seemed like a ladder of four steps, which people ran
up and down till they were grown up, trying each
step. And then when they were grown up, she sup-
posed they sat down on the step that suited them
best, unless they were not good enough for any of
them; and then she supposed they went to the sham
ladder with the counterfeit steps, and became coun-
terfeits themselves, to sit on them.

So she went on walking aud thinking till she left
the village behind, and came to the edge of a very
large park, which belonged to a very large house, and
which she knew belonged to old Lord Welryth, whom
her grandfather often went to see. and she thought
Afternoon. 87

he might be at home. This made her suddenly think
she should like to go and see him, for she had not
seen him since the year before, and then only for a
moment, and before that she hardly could remember
when, but she was so young that then it was quite
different.

There were big gates, and a little house near them ;
and the gates were open, and a nice-looking girl was
sitting outside the house doing some kind of work.
Doda thought she really would go in, though if it
had not been her birthday she would no more have
had the courage to do so than to stop at Mrs. Deylon’s
garden, But to-day she might do whatever she
liked; so she went in. The girl, who was knitting,
seemed as if she was going to speak ; so Doda went
up to her, and said, “ Are they out ?”

“Yes, miss, out driving,” said the girl.

Then Doda remembered the carriage with two
horses that had passed when she was on the bench
with Mrs. Deylon, but she had not seen who was in it.

“Ts there no one at all?” she asked.

“Yes, miss, there’s his lordship,” said the girl.

Doda thought that was all she wanted, as she knew
no one else, and did not even know who the others
were, and so was very glad that they were safely out
driving, She now determined to go to the house;
but she suddenly thought;—suppose she had grown so
much that Lord Welryth did not know her; or sup-
pose he was different, and she did not know him.
This idea made her stop for a moment.
88 Dodds Birthday.

Just then she heard a carriage coming up the road.
It had not the heavy roll and loud stamping of a
carriage like the one that passed before, but the’
quick tread and light rattle of the one in which Mrs.
Thoseby used to drive the two ponies. Very soon
the ponies appeared, and Mrs. Thoseby, who pulled
up, very much surprised to see Doda, whom she
thought she had left at home an hour before.

“What, Doda!” she said. “Did I leave you at
thas gate?”

“No,” said Doda, “you left me at my own gate,
and I had no time to thank you for the box; but it
is beautiful, and so are the gloves, and the photograph,
and the key” (here she plunged her hand into her
pocket, and felt the key); “but I have done a great
deal since, and now I am here.”

“That is a very clear explanation,” said Mrs.
Thoseby ; “and I am very glad you liked the box and
the key. But what are you going to do here ?”

“I was going to think about such a number of
things!” said Doda, whose ideas went back to Mrs.
Deylon and the book; but then, remembering her last
project of the call, she came quite close, so that the
girl from the lodge might not hear, and said, “Do
you know Lord Welryth ?”

« Yes,” said Mrs. Thoseby, rather surprised.

“Crandpapa does, but I am afraid I don’t,” said
Doda.

« Well?” said Mrs. Thoseby.

« And I want to know him, if I may,” said Doda.
Afternoon. 89

“Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, smiling, ‘come with
me. I was just going to see him, and we will go to-
gether.” So Doda got into the carriage again, and
the ponies turned in at the gate, and rattled away
down the long, open drive, that went from the lodge
all the way across the park and up to the garden.

“And what makes you want to know Lord Wel-
ryth ?” asked Mrs. Thoseby.

“T don’t know,” said Doda. “I want to know
everybody.”

“No other reason ?” said Mrs. Thoseby.

“Why,” said Doda, “I don’t know, This is so
nice, and the house looks so nice, and grandpapa used
to go so often, and I have always thought I should
come to have something to do with Lord Welryth
some day.”

“You have presentiments already!” said Mrs.
Thoseby.

“What is that?” asked Doda.

“Knowing things that are going to happen,” said
Mrs. Thoseby ; “or, at least, feeling before something
happens as if something were going to happen.”

“Oh, yes,” said Doda; “always and always.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Thoseby, “ Lord Welryth is very
nice; but he will say a great many things to you
you won’t understand, on purpose for you not to quite
understand them. But you must remember and ask
me afterwards if there is anything you want to know
about, because he does not like to be asked what he
means.”
90 . Dodas B erthaday.

“Well,” thought Doda, “he can’t mean anything
-worse than the “four stages,” and I understood that,
or I think I did, only I can’t quite remember it now.”

While Doda was wondering that she had already
forgotten so much, they trotted along across the park,
down one slope, away from the lodge, and up the
other slope towards the house. The park was very
wide at both sides of the road, with large trees grow-
ing in different places, some very old, and in queer
shapes. In one place, round a very big tree, but
quite a long way off, there were a lot of deer, most
of them lying down. While Doda was looking at
these, the ponies trotted on and on; and so, without
knowing how, she found suddenly that she had ar-
rived at another gate that stood open, where from
each side hedges stretched away to right and left,
and that in front were gravel paths winding among
ereab bushes, with dark, smooth leaves; and so in a
moment, as soon as they had passed through the
gate, they were out of sight of the park, and were
winding along quite a shaded path.

Suddenly they left the winding path and the big
bushes, and trotted out mto an open gravel space,
where they saw the house standing up right in front
of them, with its large door in the middle, from which
two flights of steps went down, one to each side, while
between them was a bronze fountain always playing.
To the left of the house was a wall that shut in the
garden on that side, but which had gates in it through
which the carriages could drive away towards the
Afternoon. Ot

yard and stables, and to the right was the open gar-
den, with grass, and flowers, and everything. They
were so high on the hill that they could see over
the tops of the bushes in the lower part of the garden,
and away beyond to the park, where the deer could
be seen still round the old tree, only now further off
than before.

Mrs. Thoseby stopped the ponies without driving
right wp to the house, and said, “ Here he is.”

“Where?” said Doda.

“There,” said Mrs. Thoseby, getting out of the car-
riage. Then Doda saw Lord Welryth coming towards
them from the garden, and she knew him directly.
He was a tall old man, almost as tall as her grand-
father, and more upright. He walked quickly and
easily, and when Doda looked at his face she could
scarcely help laughing, for his eyes twinkled with
amusement, and his long, queer mouth, that had such
a funny, mischievous shape, looked as if it could
scarcely help talking from morning till night about
all the queer things it knew, and wanted to laugh at.
He had short, light-grey whiskers, and short hair, and
a long face, very wide at the top, but pointed at the
chin, and altogether rather like a kite, only that it
had such funny eyes and such a funny mouth, and
such a hooked nose.

“He really is not,’ began Lord Welryth in a loud,
comfortable voice, before he came near. Then he
went on, taking Mrs. Thoseby’s hand, “ No, my dearest
friend, he really is not here, upon my sacred honour
92 Doda’s Birthday.

and that of all my fathers. I know whom you have
come to look for. Why did you not come yesterday,
or on Sunday morning, or on Wednesday night, or on
Tuesday afternoon ? He was here then.”

“T have not come to look for Colonel Thoseby,”
began Mrs. Thoseby, as they shook hands, laughing.

“What! will you try subtilties with me?” said
Lord Welryth, stepping back. “Totally useless;
absolutely profitless. I haven’t got him. Now you
don’t believe me.” He turned away. “But you may
look!” said he, coming back suddenly. “You may
search. My house, my garden, my desk, my piano,
my pockets, and my park shall never be closed to
you. Wander about freely, and conjure for Colonel
Thoseby. If you find half a spur—”

“But really, Lord Welryth,” said Mrs. Thoseby,
interrupting him in despair, “upon my honour I did
not come to look for any one but you. Colonel
Thoseby is with his militia.”

“J forgive his militia,” said Lord Welryth, kindly,
just as if they were somewhere out of sight, but close
by, among the bushes, where they could hear him.

Then he turned towards Doda, and said, “Is this—
is this—?” He looked at Mrs. Thoseby, who said,
“Yes, this is Doda. It is her birthday to-day, and
she wanted to come and see you.”

“My dear Doda,” said he, taking her hand, “I am
delighted to find that, though so young, you already
know how, even on your birthday, to combine instruc-
tion with amusement. You could not possibly have
Afternoon. 93

done more wisely than to come and see me. But
tell me one thing. Now you have seen me, do you
feel most amused or most instructed ?”

He looked so funny as he stooped down to say this,
with his big, kite-like face expressing all kinds of
hidden mysteries at once, Doda could not help laugh-
ing, and she said, “I like you very much.”

“Upon my honour,” said Lord Welryth, laughing,
and standing upright again, “I never in my life knew
what to say to a child, but this one knows perfectly
what to say to me. My dear Doda,” he went on,
bending towards her again, and looking as grave as
he could with at least half his face, “I am very much
obliged to you, and I return your affection. I mean
I am very much obliged to you for returning mine,
for I was first, but of course was silent till you en-
couraged me.”

Doda thought he had a very funny way of being
silent.

“Did you bring me those flowers ?” he asked next.

“Mrs. Deylon gave them to me,” said Doda.

“Mrs. Deylon is the best woman in the world,”
said Lord Welryth. “What shall I give you? Some
cake 2”

“Oh no, please don’t!” cried Doda. “1 had lun-
cheon with Mrs. Thoseby a little while ago; but I
should so much like to see some of your things, if I
may.”

“You are perfectly charming,” said Lord Welryth.
“Give me your hand, and, if Mrs. Thoseby will come
94 Doda’s Birthday.

with us and take care of us, we will go and see every-
vhing I have.”

Mrs. Thoseby laughed, and said, “I am afraid you
want a great deal of taking care of ;” and they all went
in together.

Inside the door the ‘passage was very large and
wide, and the staircase that went up from the end,
and turned and went on, going up at the two sides,
was very wide as well. The next thing that Doda
saw were the enormous eyes of a huge stuffed fish in
a glass-case on a marble table against the wall.

«A family portrait,’ said Lord Welryth, seeing
Doda fascinated by the awful fish, “ We have many
family portraits, each like a particular member of the
family, and which the housekeeper describes. This
one is more or less like all the family, and the house-
keeper would be quite at a loss to describe it. I may
add that I myself am the first of my race to show no
personal resemblance to it.”

Doda would certainly not have known this unless
he had said so. She looked from Lord Welryth to
the fish, and from the fish back again, and thought
they were growing more like each other every moment.

She said, “Oh, do let us come away, and look at
something else.”

They moved on. She did not see Lord Welryth
and Mrs. Thoseby glance at each other over her head ;
but they did so. Lord Welryth’s look said, “TI shall
get further than I wish if I talk this kind of nonsense
any longer.” And Mrs. Thoseby’s look, which was














































DFA.
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(iy YJ LL LAL,
LIE AE Gy
(LOU tt (ly Ft





AIT.

TR

A FAMILY POR
Afternoon. 95

also a smile, said, “ You may talk sense if you like.
Doda can understand as much as you will be able to
collect for her.”

“T withdraw what I said about the fish,” said Lord
Welryth then, aloud, with as much calmness as if he
were in Parliament, withdrawing a political expres-
sion. “It is not the least like any human being. I
never knew till this moment that I have hated that
fish for a long time, and now I am surprised that I
never had it taken away before. It has been there
ever since I was a child, and I used to be afraid of
it, and to think it looked after me when I went up or
down stairs.” Then he turned round, seeing a servant
who had just come up, and was standing a little way
off, and said, “Have this packed, with its case, in a
box directly, and let some one be ready to take it to
the station to-morrow morning.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the man. “Where shall it be
directed to ?”

“TI will give you the address before dinner,” said
Lord Welryth, and they went on up-stairs.

“T did not know you had any enemies,” said Mrs.
Thoseby. “I am now learning new sides to your
character.”

Lord Welryth laughed, and said, “ You are wrong.
The difficulty is that I have no enemies; and if I
had, I have no vindictiveness. I have not the faintest
idea to whom I shall send the fish, and when the man
asked me I did not know what to say to him. I com-
mit the disposal of it entirely to you.”
96 —— Doda's Birthday.

“T am just as helpless,” said Mrs. Thoseby ; “ for
I have no enemies either.”

“Well then,” said Lord Welryth, “I put it in the
hands of Doda, and it shall be sent wherever she
likes.”

“I think mamma would like it,” said Doda, re-
membering the little locked room at home, which was
called “the collection,” and where, though she was
never allowed to go in, the maid told her there were
all kinds of ugly things, even skeletons.

She had scarcely spoken when Lord Welryth
dropped her hand, pulled out his handkerchief, and
suddenly covered his face. Mrs. Thoseby turned
away, and said nothing,

“Have I said anything wrong?” asked Doda, al-
most frightened.

“Not the least—why ?” said Lord Welryth, turn-
ing back to her. Then, without giving her time to
speak, he went on—“ It shall be sent at once. I will
speak about it now,” and he went suddenly down
stairs.

“He is very kind and thoughtful,” said Mrs.
Thoseby.

“ Yes, very,” said Doda, wishing that dreadful fish
might never arrive at her house, or that she might go
on having a birthday, and not go home again for ever.

“Where were we going?” said Lord Welryth,
coming up the stairs again. “To see the portraits ?
I hope not. Come to my room. Here is the door.
This is where I live all by myself.”
Afternoon. 97

It was a wonderful room. It was very long and
high, and like a church, for there was an organ in it;
and like a hall, for there were two figures of men in
armour—one on each side of the organ;—and like a
dining-room, for there was a long table; and like a
drawing-room, for there was a round seat in the
middle, with a little column of cushions for people to
lean their back against as they sat all round; and
there were little tables and all sorts of chairs, and it
was like a library, for big portfolios stood between the
windows, each locked, and standing upright in its
holder, like a piece of toast in a rack ; and there were
book-shelves, and there were books, and paper, and
pens and ink every where; and there was a little
fiddle and a very big fiddle, and little music stands
near the organ end; and there were big pictures, and
down the long wall opposite the windows there were
two fire-places.

“This is a great honour,” said Mrs. Thoseby, as
they went in. “I was never admitted here before.”

“What do you think of it, Doda?” said Lord
Welryth.

Doda was thinking what a wonderful room it was,
and what the pictures could be in those portfolios,
and whether the people in the house went to church
here on wet Sundays, and if so, wasn’t it very diffi-
cult for them not to look at the pictures and the two
men in armour during prayers, and whether these men
were fastened to the little pillars they stood on, or
Whether they could come down. _ She was also won-

G
98 Dodws Birthday.

dering what Lord Welryth wrote with all those pens
and paper, and whether it was like what her mother
wrote, which she never read, or what her grandfather
wrote, which she never read either, and whether they
read what each other wrote, or what they wrote them-
selves, and why they did it, and whether she should
do it too when she grew up; but then she thought
perhaps she need not, as Mrs. Thoseby did not.

She could not say all this to Lord Welryth, so she
tried to think what she could say instead. She looked
round again at all the portfolios, and all the books,
and papers, and the organ, and the big fiddle, and the
little fiddle, and said in despair, “ How busy you must
always be here!”

At which Lord Welryth laughed so much that he
was obliged to hold for a moment the back of a big
chair. Suddenly he became perfectly grave, and
said, “That is the bitterest reproach I ever received
in my life.”

“Why,” said Doda, not quite understanding.

“TJ have been very busy being idle,” said he, “and
have nearly done two-thirds of everything. Why did
no one reproach me before? I dare say they did.”

“No,” said Mrs. Thoseby, to comfort him, “I don’t
think they could have.”

But he pretended he thought it meant that she did
not think they could have done so, because if they
had he could not possibly have gone on in that way
so long.

“yen you?” he said.
Afternoon. 99

“T did not,” she answered. “Why should you,
when no one else reproaches you? Why should we
be so hard on ourselves ?”

“Tt is a luxury,” said he, “like hair shirts, and has
the same disadvantage of this and all other self-indul-
gence, such as fasting, penance, wooden beds, and so
forth. Look at Doda.”

Doda was wondering what this meant.

“This is as bad as Little Red Ridinghood,” said
‘Mrs. Thoseby: “we ought to talk of something else.”

“No,” said Doda, “only I did not quite under-
stand—” and there she stopped, remembering that
Lord Welryth did not always like to be asked what
he meant, go she had better do it, if she wanted to,
afterwards.

“What would you like to do,” said he. “We have
this time altogether for our own. The others are
taking a drive, and will not be back for an hour.”
He unlocked a big portfolio, and made the case stand
so as to hold it open. He pulled a few books out of
a shelf and dropped them in an arm-chair. He took
up a violin (the little fiddle) and looked about for the
bow, which he did not see, so he put the violin down
again, after touching the strings with his fingers and
making a funny little dance of notes, as sharp as a
bird’s beak, jump out. Then he put his hand on the
organ-keys, but they gave no sound. Then he touched
some papers that were on the writing-table, but put
them aside.

When he opened the portfolio Doda thought he
100 Doda’s Birthday.

was going to take something out. When he took
down the books, she thought he was going to open
them. Then she thought he was going to play, and
when he touched the written papers that he was going
to read. But at the end of all, he put up his eye-
brows with a funny lost look, and said, turning to
Mrs. Thoseby, “Decide for us.”

“Té is Doda’s birthday, you know,” said Mrs.
Thoseby.

“Doda,” he cried, suddenly becoming full of life
again, “I never wished you many happy returns.
How old are you? Seven? Yes, of course you are.
Stay and have dinner with me, and I will give you
all you desire, even to the half of my kingdom.
Would you like a knight in armour? He is yours.
He is the biggest doll I possess, but I never play with
him now. But you must stay to dinner. Or would
you like a picture? It is yours if you will stay to
dinner. Orahorse? I have a real one down stairs.
He is yours (not to eat) if you will stay to dinner.
What does it feel like to be seven years old? I-would
give anything to be seven years old. Then I should
have a chance of being properly brought wp.”

«This is worse and worse,” said Mrs. Thoseby.
«Tell us a story.”

Lord Welryth took up a decanter and poured out a
glass of wine. Then he rang the bell. ‘Then he stood
by the fire-place, looking out through the window.
Doda watched his uncertain movements, expecting
new wonders every moment. A servant came with
Afternoon. 101

two cups of tea. Mrs. Thoseby took one—Doda
refused the other. They all sat down.

Lord Welryth had changed all his face again, and
now it did not look too big, but very grave, and rather
handsome. He leaned his elbow on the arm of his
chair, and leaned his chin on his hand, and sat for a
moment bending forward, looking at Doda as if he
were finding out all about her. She sat ona stool
beside Mrs. Thoseby.

“Will you promise,” said he, “if I tell you a story,
to understand everything I say ?”

“Ves” said Doda, determined she would.

“Then,” gaid he, “I will tell youa true one. You
know that in this room I live alone, and here I do
anything I like. I never let any one come in but
very clever men, and you, who may always come now,
and Mrs. Thoseby, if she likes my story. Once I had
a sort of ghost in it. There are all sorts of ghosts.
There are those that don’t exist, and so frighten people
more than if they did, and those by night, and those
by day. There is also one’s own ghost; and things
have ghosts as well as people. Are you afraid of
ghosts ?”

“Yes,” said Doda, “when I am alone.”

“Quite right,” said Lord Welryth. “They frighten
people, and that makes them ill, and every one ought
to be afraid of what frightens them and makes them
ill, whether it exists or not. Should you be more
afraid of a dog that would not bite, but that was wet
and covered with mud, and would run up against you,
102 Doda's Birthday.

or a dog that was quite clean and nice, but you did
not know whether he would bite or not ?”

“But,” said Doda, “I know dogs quite well. I
am not frightened of any dogs.”

“And J,” said Lord Welryth, “know ghosts quite
well, but I am frightened of several kinds.”

“What is a ghost ?” asked Doda.

“Tt is part of what a person feels like,” said Lord
Welryth, “left about in the air, so that other people,
coming where it is, suddenly get the feeling too, or
think they see the person having it. The only feel-
ings that are thick enough to be left about in the air
without getting mixed up with other ones are generally
so dreadful that any one who catches them feels dread-
ful too, and that is why most ghosts, especially old
ghosts, are dreadful, and so are so many old places
and old rooms, and big old beds. Old wardrobes are
dreadful, too; because long ago it sometimes happened
‘that people used to use them to hang up there the
clothes they had on when they were doing something
dreadful, and they shut the wardrobe doors, so that the
dreadfulness which had gone from themselves to their
clothes then slowly faded out of the clothes into the
cupboard, and there, when people sleep in the room,
is a ghost. You have had nothing to do with this yet,
but perhaps you may read about it, and now you
know what it is. Ghosts are more talked about at
night than by day, because it is easier to feel them
then, when there is nothing else to feel. A new room
where nothing ever happened, and no one ever came,
Afternoon. 103

is just the same at night as at day, except being dark,
and any time you could shut the shutters and make
it dark, and then it would be exactly the same; and
so are a great many old rooms, only some are dread-
ful, and people who don’t like to feel it are quite
tight to be frightened, and not sleep there.”

“Not with a dog?’ said Doda.

“The dog,” said he, “ unless it were stupid, or very
old, would probably be frightened first if there was
really anything, or if it were not, it would lie there as
uselessly as a foot-stool.”

“Tg there a haunted room in this house ?” asked
Mrs. Thoseby.

“Several,” said Lord Welryth. “Would you like
to sleep in one ?”

“Oh, thank you!” said she; “no, not at all. But
what were you going to tell us? Let it be some-
thing philosophic.”

“Tt shall be,” said Lord Welryth. “The sort of
ghost I found when I came into this room one day
was not the ghost of anybody, or of anything parti-
cular that had happened, but was the presence of the
room itself. It said, “I am an uncomfortableness,
and I will seize you, just as you have done two-thirds
of everything. You will never do anything complete
here, so the best things you will do are those of which
two-thirds are most good without the other third.”
So I said, ‘What are those things? It said, ‘Ex-
planations” I said, ‘To whom shall I explain? It
said, ‘To imagination” I said, ‘What is imagina-
104. Dodas Birthday.

tion? It said, ‘Think of everything, and it vanished,
and I have been thinking of everything ever since.
Do not you 2”

- “Oh, yes,” said Doda; “ always. Then, do you
explain things too ?”

“Does anyone else, already ?” he asked.

“Mr. Mills,” said Doda.

“He shall dine with me to-day,” said Lord
Welryth.

“And Mrs. Thoseby ?” said Doda, squeezing her
hand.

“She will dine with me, I hope,” said he, “also.”

“And my dream ?” said Doda.

“There shall be place at table for your dream,”
said he, gravely.

“But can you explain anything ?’ asked Doda.

“While we are in this room, try me,” said he.
“I would like to test my own power. What do you
want to understand? If I can’t explain it, I will
explain two-thirds of it.”

“Oh, but I am sure you can,” said Doda. “I was
only going to ask you what you meant, just now, by
reproach, and hair shirts.”

“T am to be humiliated, you see,” said Lord
Welryth, looking across to Mrs. Thoseby, with his
eyebrows up again, and smiling; “but my word is
passed, and I will suffer. Therefore, Doda, to begin
with—I am an old man, and have always been an
amateur. When I was young, I said to myself I
would paint, and play, and read, and write, and under-
Afternoon. 105

stand, and imagine things in a way that no one I ever
saw could, and very few who were likely to hear of
me. The only thing they expected me to do, when
they brought me up, was to grow up harmlessly, if I
could, and fashionably, and marry properly, and have
ason. Therefore, people said that for me to want to
do all these other things as well was something won-
derful. I believed in the wonderfulness till I was
grown up, and then I found I could not do quite
what I thought I could. This finding out is the
principal thing in becoming grown up. Then I gave
up the attempt, and people said again that this also
was very wonderful.”

“What people?” asked Doda.

“People about me,—polite people—kind people,”
said Lord Welryth. “Then I married, and had my
boy, and lived with him, and enjoyed life, chiefly in
Paris, and made jokes, and told good stories for twenty
years. Then there were some changes, and since that
I have lived alone.” _

“Oh,” thought Doda, “everyone died, I suppose,
like with Mrs. Deylon. There is a wolf again in this
story.”

“So,” went on Lord Welryth, getting up and lean-
ing against the chimney-piece, “I live here and amuse
myself in this way” (he looked round at the papers,
and books, and the organ and violin); “but it is too
late to do anything well. In the beginning part of
my life I was distracted by myself from my name,
then my name distracted me from myself, and now
106 Doda’s Birthday.

there is nothing left of either of these but the other,
and they will both be swept away soon; and now
that it is too late for them to do any good here, one
reproaches one’s self, which is idiotic, and if one went
further and made one’s self uncomfortable with hair
shirts, and rods, and so forth, on purpose to be able
to say to one’s self, ‘How this hurts —how you are
punishing yourself !—how brave and religious of you!
—you may have missed making music, and pictures,
and poems, and such mountebankery, but your soul
was always great !—at which thought one is inspired
to increase the punishment, and to say, as one winces
a little, ‘That is the soul! Ah, how it triumphs
over the body? and may mix up that with venting
one’s ill-humour and self-contempt on the wooden
beds, and the ropes, and the shirts, and one’s own
back. Then, with all this machinery to raise one’s
mind, what would one have been thinking about all
the time ?”

“QOne’s self, I suppose,” said Doda, feeling very
awful.

“ Of course,” said he, turning suddenly towards her;
“and why ?”

“ Because one repented,” said Doda.

“For what?” he asked,

“Not having done right,” she almost whispered.

“Perfect,” said he; “and on adding that up, you
see that for having been bad one goes on thinking of
nothing but one’s self. Now, you know if anything
else is bad, and its badness is all over, and not to be put
Afternoon 107

right again, one gives up thinking of it as soon as one
can; and when one’s self is over, one had better do the
same, if one is not satisfied with it; but the worse it
is the more one wants to brood over it and find some
way to hoist it wp so as to be proud of it after all; and
now you see what I mean by saying that for me to
use penance and wooden beds, and everything else, as
the ascetics do, it would be self-indulgence—Is it
explained ?”

“Yes; I understand now, { think,” said Doda, look-
ing at him, and wondering at him.

“T have kept my promise,” said he, with another
queer and sad look towards Mrs. Thoseby. Then he
poured out a glass of wine again, and drank it.

Mrs. Thoseby half looked at the wine, and then
looked away.

“Medicinally, on my honour,” said he, as if in
answer to what she might be saying to herself.“ This
conversation is exhausting, the subject being ex-
hausted, and I being the subject.”

He tried to smile again, but scarcely succeeded, and
with his face looking twenty years older than it dida
little while before, he walked slowly across to a win-
dow, and leaned against it.

Doda looked at Mrs. Thoseby, who was very grave,
and said nothing.

“They all died, I suppose?” she whispered.

“Yes,” whispered Mrs. Thoseby.

“Yes,” said Lord Welryth, without turning. “They
have nothing to reproach themselves with, however,
108 Dodas Birthday.

in that. They had no time to fail, or to remember
having failed.

“Then he heard,” thought Doda. She did not know
that people almost always hear when they are being
talked about, and sometimes when they are only being
thought about.

Suddenly Lord Welryth came away from the win-
dow and rang the bell. When the servant appeared,
he said, “ Wind.”

Doda expected to see the man go and open the
doors and windows, but instead of that he went into
a little cupboard with a glass door, at one side of the
organ, and shut himself in, and began to work very
hard at something. Then Lord Welryth sat down to
the organ and began to play, and a great tune came
out and rushed about the room, and shook the win-
dows, and made the air rebound. And Doda’s heart
beat, and she felt herself carried about and flung to
and fro by five strong dreams at once, and to be at
ease and quite natural, and not forced against her will.
She got her breath after the first few minutes, and was
in the chief of delight, when a carriage drove up to
the front door. She would not have heard the sound
of the wheels but that Lord Welryth did, and stopped
playing so suddenly that the organ, and all the wood,
and pedals, and rods rattled as they were checked.

He swung round on the seat, and said to Mrs,
Thoseby, “Here they come. Even my fugue, you
see, only has two-thirds of a life. Let us go out and
be decorous. I never receive here.”
A fiernoon. 109

He opened the door and led them out on to the land-
ing. Doda again left her flowers behind. This was
a day so wonderful that she forgot even flowers; yet,
when she came to the place where the staircase went
straight down to the hall, she noticed that the fish had
gone. She was dizzy with the music that still beat
in her head, and with the return of the string of
thoughts about all that Lord Welryth had said, and
which now came rushing back, and some people were
coming up from the garden, and in through the great
door. She scarcely saw at first whether she knew or
did not know who they were.

S


CHAP. VII.—AFTERNOON-TEA.

IRST came two ladies, and one was Essy and the
other was a widow, whom Doda had not seen

before, but who reminded her of photographs of the
Queen, only that she was taller and thinner. She
was not very like the Queen herself, for her face was
white, and thin, and firm ; but Doda had never seen
the Queen. She felt at this moment suddenly in-
clined to run back to the room she had left and shut
herself in. She half stopped as they were going down
stairs, and whispered to Lord Welryth, “Who is it ?

Perhaps it would have been better to have said,
“ Who is she 2” if she had meant, “ Who is this lady ?”
but she rather meant, “Who is this apparition, with
steel-grey eyes and a smile on purpose ”

Lord Welryth bent down and said, “That is Lady
Ethel, my sister.”

“Please don’t,” began Doda in the same voice.

«Don’t what ?” asked Lord Welryth, still bending
down.

«Ob !’ said Doda, “if you don’t mind, please don’t
tell her it’s my birthday.”

«J will try not,” said Lord Welryth, smiling ; and
they ran down stairs.
A fternoon-Tea. 111

What made Doda ask that Lady Ethel might not
be told it was her birthday was, that Mrs. Thoseby
went down first, and Lady Ethel came up and kissed
her, and Doda thought she would rather be kissed.
by a new pair of scissors than by Lady Ethel.

“What, Essy !” cried Lord Welryth, meeting Essy
in the hall, “is this possible? What has London
done to you that you turn it out of town at the be-
ginning of July? Where shall it find a refuge? I
am delighted to see you. The top of the morning to
you—the very highest, cloudiest peak of the top, and
the weather-cock on the top of that.” :

“Oh, Lord Welryth,” said Essy, “I never can
bear the tops of places, it always makes me giddy.”

“ And besides,” said Lord Welryth, pretending to
be grave, “real height, after all, is depth. From the
bottom of my heart, from the lowest landing of my
staircase, and to the ground-floor of my poor house,
I welcome you. How did you come?”

“Lady Ethel so very kindly brought me,” said
Essy, who was used to Lord Welryth, having seen
him often with the Thosebys in London. “She in-
sisted on bringing me, by force—really quite by
force.”

“ Quite right,” said Lord Welryth ; “ perfectly right.
She never treats me in any other manner. We, my
dear Essy, must be treated by force. We do not be-
long to those lower intelligences that may be ruled by
kindness. Force is for us. It is our breath, our at-
mosphere, our thunder-storms, our daily life, our pet
112 Doda's Birthday.

page of the Zimes—in fact, our births, deaths, and
matriages. I did not mean to become moral, but the.
seriousness of the subject led me away. Do you not
take sugar ?”

Essy had just received a cup of tea from a ser-
vant, who had brought it in answer to a bell rung by
Lady Ethel whilst her brother was rattling on to
Essy, and now Essy was letting the man go away
with the sugar.

“JT do generally take it,” said she, for the first
time in her life a little drowned by Lord Welryth’s
flow of words, “but forgot while you were speaking.”

Such a compliment as this Lord Welryth had not
received since before the Queen’s reign ; and he went
straight to the middle table, took out a large bouquet
of flowers from a vase in the middle, and presented
them at once to Essy. Lady Ethel looked on disap-
provingly, and half murmured, “ Rupert !” Doda
remarked to herself that this was Lord Welryth’s
name, as she had never heard it before. She also
thought of her flowers now, forgotten up-stairs, but
felt how impossible it was to ask leave to go back
into that particular room now, when Essy and Lady
Ethel were present, who never went there. She half
glanced at Lady Ethel and thought, “ I am so glad
she has not seen me,” and she kept as much behind
Mrs. Thoseby as she could.

But Lady Ethel had seen her; and now, to take off
attention from Lord Welryth, she said to Mrs.
Thoseby, “ Who is this very nice little child ?”
A fiernoon-Tea. 113

“This is Doda,” said Mrs. Thoseby.

-“Of course,” said Lady Ethel, in a polite voice.
““T do not usually like children. Come here, Doda.”

Doda felt inclined not to come, but also felt that,
though Lady Ethel was so gentle, something awful
would happen to anybody that did not do what she
told them. She glanced at Lord Welryth to see if
he would be any protection, but he was still attend-.
ing to Essy, and did not look at her. Fortunately, as
she came forward Essy saw her instead, and cried out,
“Why, Doda, you are everywhere. What a fairy!
We shall be charmed! Oh, what shall we do ?”

“Counter-charm us and save us,” said Lord
Welryth. “Then you know Doda as well ?”’

“T 2” said Essy. “Why, we are an eternal friend-
ship ;—we are inseparable—we are confidants.” She
still held her flowers, and gathering up her fan, and
gloves, and handkerchief (her bottle was pocketed,
because Lady Ethel carried one, too, like it), came
across and dropped into a seat at the other side of
Lady Ethel, so that Doda now stood between them.

“What were you doing at Mrs. Deylon’s ?” Lady
Ethel said to Doda, with sweet severeness, but as if
she had a right to completely take possession of her
and decide what was proper for her to do.

“ At Mrs. Deylon’s ?” said Lord Welryth, wonder-
ing how his sister had managed to see Doda there,
only everybody to-day seemed to come across every
one else whenever they moved, as people do in a
quadrille,

H
114 Dodds Birthday.

“Yes,” said Lady Ethel, as indifferently as if she
were reading out of a book, and not saying anything
for herself. “We saw Doda sleeping on a bench
beside Mrs. Deylon in an exceedingly familiar man-
ner. It is quite right to visit the poor when one is
in the country ; and indeed Mrs. Deylon is certainly
a very superior person, but children ought not to be
allowed to do such things until they are old enough
to distinguish.”

“My dear Ethel,” said Lord Welryth, “that is
quite true, and shall be properly spoken about. But
tell me now, where did you find Essy 2”

Lady Ethel and Essy both looked up as if to
answer, and then Lady Ethel looked away, and made
Essy speak, who said, “Oh! it wassoabsurd. Iwas
driving with Mrs. Thoseby, who came back for me
after carrying off Doda, and we met Lady Ethel, who
stopped us, and really tore me out of the carriage,
and made me come with her, so that I was really
obliged to yield, and there where we stood I had to
get out and change carriages.”

“Change carriages!” said Lord Welryth. “Oh!
Essy, Essy ! what a railway expression !”

“T can’t help it,” said Essy. “We run about so
much, and one is obliged to be always talking railway ;
put next time you see me coming to one of those
words you must put up a danger-signal to warn me.”

“There again!” cried Lord Welryth. “Even in
the country it is impossible in conversation to get
out of that train of thought.”
A fternoon- Tea. 115

“That what of thought, my lord?’ said Essy,
taking a little red rose-bud out of her bouquet and
solemnly, but with intention of mischief, presenting
it to Lord Welryth.

“T deserve it,” said he, meekly ; “but deal gently
with me. Crown me with rank fumiter and meadow
weeds. I am a very foolish, fond old man, and to
deal plainly with you, I fear I am not in my perfect
mind.”

“ Rupert !” said Lady Ethel. “Really !”

“ Look at Doda,” said Lord Welryth.

Doda supposed she must have been looking very
much surprised, for every one looked at her; and
Essy cried, “Oh, my sweetest, most glorious Deda,
do not be frightened. Lord Welryth is not the least
mad, only he sometimes talks Shakspeare when we
are alone, which is the only thing in the world more
dreadful than talking railway.”

“ Spare me—spare me!” said Lord Welzyth.

“Tam fulfilling a public duty,” said Essy. It is
my mission in life to explain everything you say to
everyone who does not understand it, and to Doda
especially. In fact, the only person Doda is not to
understand when they speak, is me. That is our
pact, and I shall explain everyone else to her with-
out compunction.”

“Upon my word and honour,” cried Lord Welzyth,
“you shall dine with me to-day.”

Lady Ethel looked a reproof at him.

“T have set my mind on it,” said Lord Welryth,
116 Doda’s Birthday.

“and I am altogether unmanageable when I do that.
Everyone that has explained anything to Doda to-day
shall dine with me. No cards ;—no refusals. My
dear Ethel, you have done me an immense service by
going out into the hedges and compelling them to
come in. I will send for the rest at once.”

“My lord,” said Lady Ethel, “you are not calm.”

‘This certainly ought to have made him so, but it
did not. His voice and manner only were reduced,
but his ideas remained where they were. “Of course
not,” he answered quietly. “It is Doda’s birthday.
I was obliged to tell, you see,” he added, turning to
Doda.

“T think the notice taken of birthdays is very
absurd,” said Lady Ethel, still full of gentleness.

“Why? Why?” said Lord Welryth. “ Explain
to Doda. She is here for instruction as well as
amusement.”

“Dear Doda,” said Lady Ethel, “children never
understand anything. They ought not to have things
explained to them. It is an absurd practice, and
does a great deal of harm. Birthdays ought not to
be allowed. They make children very self-important,
and more in the way than they otherwise would be.
I am sure, after what I have said, you have too
much good sense to desire me to wish you many
happy returns, or to give you anything.

“No—no,” said Doda, quite sincerely. “Indeed
Thad much rather not.”

“My dear Ethel,” said Lord Welryth, “you ex-
A fternoon-Tea. 117

plain things better than any of us. With your help
this dinner will be a success.”

“My dear Rupert,” said Lady Ethel, in a low
voice, turning aside to Lord Welryth, who now stood
almost behind her chair, “are you not a little incon-
siderate ? Think for a moment what a child this is.”

Essy moved away, so as not to be in the conver-
sation, and joined Doda and Mrs, Thoseby at the
other side of the table. She began to say in a quiet
voice how very absurd it had been for every one to
meet every one else in that way, and to ask if it was
not quite zoo delightful of Lord Welryth to think of
giving then such a funny dinner. Doda tried to
listen to this, and much more of the same kind that
Essy poured out; but every word Lady Ethel said
came through the air and would make her hear it,
quite distinctly. Lord Welryth’s answers were not
so easy to hear, but she could see his face, and he
seemed very much amused, and trying not to laugh,_—
Doda could not understand why, for Lady Ethel said
nothing funny. This was what she went on with:—

“ But, in fact, though I do not wish to speak of
these things just now, it is a pity to be so very im-
pulsive. Consider how intimate we shall have to be
with her people afterwards.”

“T was at school with her people,” answered Lord
Welryth, and then said something Doda could not
hear,

“That is quite different,” said Lady Ethel; “but
think of the other side ?”
118 Dodas Birthday.

“TJ sent the fish to the other side, by Doda’s special
request, and I hope, besides, that she will dine with
us as well,” replied Lord Welryth, as if what he
meant was quite clear.

“You were always fond of such odd people,” mur-
mured Lady Ethel, and then looked as if the subject
was over.

“But it is Doda’s birthday,” answered Lord
Welryth, as if that made everything clear.

“You are incorrigible, Rupert,” answered Lady
Ethel, and smiled gently, as if she had known him a
long time, and he had always been the same.

Doda was made a little uncomfortable by this.
She felt what it was to be in a room with people
who are so very much older friends of each other
than she was of any of them, that they could talk
in this separate way, and she could hear them do
so without being able either to join them or to know
what they meant. She did not understand till some
time after what had been the matter, but she found
it quite impossible to listen to what Essy was chari-
tably saying to take up her attention, and felt she
wished she might go up to Lady Ethel, and say,
“Which side of my family has not been at school
with Lord Welryth ?” and ask whether it must be
her mother, and whether she was “odd,” and what
this could really mean; for Lady Ethel seemed to
her much odder than any one else.

Mrs. Thoseby saw what she was thinking of, and
thought that it would be more comfortable if they
A fternoon-T ea. 119

left then, as Lady Ethel wowld go on talking as if
Doda was no one, or was not in the room; so she
got up and said she was afraid she must be going, as
Colonel Thoseby would have returned again from the
field, and she might be sought for.

“Colonel Thoseby ?” said Lady Ethel. “He is here.
We found him at the gate, and brought him with
us.”

Lord Welryth slipped out. The next moment
they heard his voice and Colonel Thoseby’s laughing
together in the passage.

One thing that had been puzzling Doda was this—
Who had been driving out with Lady Ethel before
she met Essy 2? She could not have been alone, as
Lord Welryth had said “they” were out. But now
she understood ; for after Colonel Thoseby a tall boy,
with the airs and expression of a man, came into the
room and shook hands with Mrs. Thoseby. He was
partly like Lord Welryth and partly like Lady Ethel.

“T have explained our dinner to Thoseby,” said
Lord Welryth, “and he promises to fulfil the con-
ditions. Hal” (here he turned to the tall boy), “be
introduced to Doda ;—Doda, this is my nephew ;—
and now explain something to her immediately. It
is her birthday, and she dines with me, in considera-
tion of the instruction and amusement she finds
here ; but no one dines with us who does not explain
something to her. You know the rules, now.—
Begin.”

“T am very glad to be introduced, and to wish you
120 Dodds Birthday.

many happy returns,” said he at once to Doda; “and
T will explain that I should have had this pleasure
before, but my patriotism kept me outside talking on
the steps with Colonel Thoseby about his gallant
fellows.”

“Very -well, Hal,’ said Lord Welryth, “your
dinner is earned. I am glad to see you are acquir-
ing the family aptitude.”

Then he took a great deal of pains to explain to
everyone that he was quite in earnest about this
dinner. He wrote a note, and gave it to Doda to
‘give to her grandfather. Then she was allowed to
drive home with Mrs. Thoseby and Colonel Thoseby,
who were made to promise to bring Mrs. Mortlake.
Essy was kept a prisoner, and a dog-cart was sent for
Sher maid and her things. The groom who drove
also took a note for Mr. Mills and Captain Lewis.
Lord Welryth managed all this as quickly as a
general, when on a campaign, despatches his orders.

Doda thought it all very wonderful, and felt to be
almost in a dream as she drove back im the same
little carriage, through the same park, and saw, round
-the big tree, the same herd of deer.


CHAP, VIII.—THE DRIVE,

ODA was not quite comfortable in the carriage.

There was something hard and with corners to
it behind her which ran into her back. At last she
felt for it and pulled it out. It was a book. She
opened it. The inside was written, not printed, but
it was quite as easy to read it as if it had been
printed, and all the paragraphs were properly ar-
ranged, and the full-stops and commas were all there,
and the margin was always the same size. She
looked at the back to see what was the name of the
book, as the chapters had numbers, and not names,
written over them; and the numbers were not re-
gular—sometimes going straight from seven to nine,
and from fourteen to twenty-three, and from there to
thirty, and from there to much further on, but not
getting above seventy. The title of the book was
“Numbers of the Dissolving Books.” Doda read it
over and over to herself, but was altogether unable
to understand it. At last she looked up at Colonel
Thoseby, who was laughing.
122 Doda's Birthday.

“That is a book by Lord Welryth,” he said,
“ written long ago, when he pretended to be a bit of
a maniac.”

“A maniac!” said Doda, who had always heard
people were frightened of maniacs, and that they
were shut up in asylums.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Thoseby, as if explaining the
word, “some one who does not think quite like other
people.”

“But,” said Doda, “mamma does not think like
other people, and I don’t know whether grand-papa
does either. Does any one 2?”

Mrs. Thoseby smiled. She did not smile much—
not more than one may in a photograph; but she
looked as if it was as difficult not to laugh as people
before the camera do, when the man takes the round
brass cap off the tube, and says, “ Vow, if you please,
perfectly steady, and a cheerful expression.”

“But what did he think about?” asked Doda,
beginning again.

“Tn this book, you mean ?” said Colonel Thoseby.

“Yes,” said Doda, doubtful for a moment whether
one could say of any one that they thought in a
book, and then deciding one might.

“He writes about his other books chiefly, and
what they seemed like to him as he was growing up,
and read again when he was at one age the books
that he used to read at another age.”

Doda felt very curious about age, as she had
thought so deeply about it that day; but she had
The Drive. 123

never hoped to hear Colonel Thoseby talk seriously
about it to her. She had never believed she could
make him see that if he did she could understand
him. He used always to speak of people more by
describing the things they did not understand than
by any other quality about them. He used to de-
scribe new friends who were going to come to the
house as “a man who did not understand military
matters,” or “who did not understand horses,” or
“gardening,” or “ politics,” or whatever else he was
not to be talked to about too much, when he came.
He did not speak of every one in this way—only of
strangers, important persons, or else any one whom
he thought ridiculous. Doda remembered once hear-
ing him speak of Miss Fairtop as a young lady who
“did not understand light comedy ;” and that Mrs.
Thoseby had said, when asked, that he meant, “ she
had been to school in France, and to holiday in a
novel.” These descriptions had remained in her
mind because she had not understood them. One
always remembers what grown-up people say when
one does not understand it, and one wonders if they
know that. They seem not to. Colonel Thoseby
had said once to her that not understanding things
was a thing he knew a great deal about, as there
were so many he did not understand himself. She.
remembered this for long afterwards, till she was old
enough to understand it, after which she generally
forgot it.

“T remember Welryth saying once that he had a
124 Dodds Birthday.

shelf of what he called ‘dissolving books,” Colonel
Thoseby went on, more to enjoy his ‘recollections by
uttering them aloud than to say anything that Doda
was likely to understand or enjoy. “These books,
he declared, in his odd way, went in and out like the
men and women in a ‘ weather cottage,’ and some of
them, which were very wise when one was young,
were nonsense later, and then became sense again
when one got older still. So he used to write on the
backs of them numbers for his own age at the time
he could read them. I remember getting hold of
one with 7,...70 on the back, and he vowed to me
that, clearly as I could see the type now, for sixty-
three years it was blank paper—that he read it
when he was seven, and then all the type began to
fade, and when he was fourteen it was only a grey
mass, and by the time he was eighteen, perfectly
white, and had remained so, he thought, till the day
I found him with it.”

“What was the book ?” asked Dodie

“The book ?” said Colonel Thoseby ; * only some
nonsense for children: Little Red Ridinghood, you
know, and so forth.”

Mrs. Thoseby began to laugh, and Colonel Thoseby,
suddenly remembering that, as he was talking to a
child, his last remarks had not been very polite,
recovered his manners by turning the laugh against
himself, saying he was afraid he was not a good
judge of what was in the book, as he was labouring
through the sixty-three years of blank paper, and
7: he Drive. 125

then he promised to give a better account of it if -
Doda would remind him of the subject when he was
seventy, which he undertook to be as soon as he
could.

Then, as they were driving under some trees, a’
little brown leaf that had been fluttering and spinning
and swimming down through the air suddenly dived
into the carriage. Doda, clapping her hands, caught
it between them.

“An autumn leaf!” she cried. “I am so glad I
caught it. J am so fond of autumn leaves.”

“We are much obliged,” said Colonel Thoseby.

“Thank you, Hubert,” said Mrs. Thoseby.

Then they both laughed, Colonel Thoseby at him-
self, Mrs. Thoseby at him, and Doda did not quite
understand the joke, not seeing that Colonel Thoseby,
in making it seem that he had spoken for both, when
taking Doda’s affection for the autumn leaves for
himself, had as good as called Mrs. Thoseby this to
her face, which would not have been the right thing
for him to say of such a face at any time, and the
wrongest thing in the world when it was there beside
him.

But this belongs to a way of thinking about age
which Doda had not at all arrived at; for she only
thought of it as it feels, and not at all as it makes to
look. The grown-up people and old people whom
she knew had looked just the same ever since she
could remember, which was not long. She knew
that old people looked quite different to other people ;
126 Dodas Birthday.

but that they had become so by growing old, and
could not help becoming go, she did not know at all;
for, like everything else, it may be told often, and
not known in the least till something of its kind has
been actually seen to compare it with and understand
it by. Therefore, what a withered leaf and an old per-
son had to do with each other she did not in the least
know; for she had seen that a withered leaf was a leaf
that had become withered, but had never seen that an
old person is a person who has become old any more
than she knew that a clergyman was a man who had
become a clergyman, or that Colonel Thoseby was a
man who had become a colonel, and might have be-
come a clergyman. She thought of these things as
she saw them, and time had nothing to do with
them; for time meant from morning till day, or till
evening, or till to-morrow, or a long time, quite long,
till the flowers came, or till some one came who had
promised to come, or perhaps it might even mean till
next birthday; but this was too much for time only.
This was a thing or a place, or whatever a birthday
is, quite out of the reach of time, and was never,
never coming, till suddenly there it was! And when
it was gone it was immediately as far beyond Time’s
reach backwards as it ever had been forwards, for it
was certainly quite impossible to get to it either way
—no, not if one cried about it, and seized the pillow
with both hands when one ought to be asleep, and
thrust it into both one’s ears, as one does sometimes,
to stop that perpetual sound of two pats, two patis,
The Drive. 127

and a poff that goes on in a kind of whisper over and
over again when one lies in bed very long without
moving, and which is the beating of one’s heart,
making the bed-clothes give little slips over one’s ears,
but which w7/ keep sounding like some one breathing
close by who never goes to sleep; only it can’t be
that, for however much one begs it to go away, just
as one is quite quiet and almost safe it begins again—
pat,—paff— paff, — put,— poff,— pat, —paff,— paff 5
but if you jump up and throw down the Dececmes
it is no where.

It was absurd that this should come into Doda’s
head again now in the pony carriage. It had often
frightened her out of her wits at night, and kept her
awake until she was so tired that sleep fell on her
just when she least thought she was going to fall
asleep, and when she was notin the right position, but
all crooked on her back, with her head down under
the pillow, over the edge of the bed, where the bad
dreams are, but where one need never have anything
to do with them if one makes one’s self up into the
tight shape, and goes to sleep not caring about any-
thing but yesterday and to-morrow, which is the best
way after all; for if one is tossing about thinking
things in the dark it gets full of horrid shapes, and
lasts for years and years. If one is rolled up remem-
bering things and wondering things, so that one can
remember and wonder and sleep all together, then it
only lasts just the right time, and either way when
morning dawns, there one ¢s, and there is the bed, and


128 Doda’s LBirthiéay.

one has to get out of it. So the best way is to be
good friends with night while it is there too, for then
it does nice things to one, and all goes well.

But thinking of night made Doda think of sleep,
and this reminded her how she went to sleep on
Mrs. Deylon’s bench, and that she wanted to ask
Mrs. Thoseby some thines about Mrs. Deylon’s story ;
so she tried to remember the story, but it seemed so
long since she had heard it, and so much had hap-
pened since at the house of Lord Welryth, that she
had almost forgotten, and began in a doubting voice—

“There was something I wanted to ask.”

“What was it?” asked Colonel Thoseby; “ any-
thing about a dog ?”

“No,” said Doda, remembering now; “about a
wolf.” ;

“ What—again ?” said Mrs. Thoseby. “I thought
we had finished the wolf.”

“ But,” said Doda, “Mrs. Deylon told me a story
about herself which was worse than a wolf story.
She had a father and prayers, and he was a curate,
and he became a Roman Catholic, and he died, and
she lost the prayers; and then there was a gardener
and a railway, and he lost his garden and got money,
and then went to London and lost the money, and
‘got nothing ; and at the end everybody was dead but
Mrs. Deylon and our gardener, and she lives in the
village and reads Mr. Mills, and people call her
‘poor Mrs. Deylon ; and there was no wolf; and I
don’t know if I have told the story right ; but—”
The Drive. 129

“ What is the matter?” asked Colonel Thoseby.

“When I heard the story—” said Doda, and
stopped again.

“Well,” said Colonel Thoseby, “did you under-
stand it? You have told it very well. I wish I had
you for a witness sometimes when I am on the
bench,”

“TIT was frightened,” said Doda, turning to Mrs.
Thoseby ; “but I am not frightened when you are
there, so I thought I would ask you—”

After this, all were silent for a moment. Then
Mrs. Thoseby said—

“T suppose you want to know—whether—there—
was anything to be frightened of or not.”

She hesitated a little, and was evidently still
thinking how far to go in explaining the story.

“Frightened ?” said Colonel Thoseby. “ What
should there be to be frightened of ?”

“But, then,” said Doda, “they always say, ‘ poor
Mrs. Deylon.’”

To which Colonel Thoseby replied—

“What should there be to be frightened about ?
There’s nothing in the world to be frightened at ;—
there never was—there can’t be.”

“Were you never frightened?” asked Doda. “I
suppose not.”

' “Yes, I have been,” said Colonel Thoseby. “TJ
was once afraid of posting a letter, after having been
brave enough to write it, and I was once afraid of
the answer I might get to a question after having

I
130 Dodas Birthday.

been bold enough to ask it; but you will never be
frightened in that way ;—quite the contrary. . There
was another time I was frightened. I remember
when I had to go and tell one of my oldest friends
of something that had happened to his son. I was a
whole day trying to do it, and went away just as I
was going to; but he found it out for all that. I
knew he would.”

Doda looked up at Mrs. Thoseby, who smiled, and
said—

« Always a wolf, you see; but it will be a great
many birth-days to come before you have anything to
do with this one. It is the same as Mrs. Deylon’s, and
you will never meet him all at once, but bit by bit,—for
his name is Time, and you never see more than a
hair of him at once, and it takes a minute to see
each. So, it is no use looking for him, for it takes
years, and years, and years to see as much of him as
Mrs. Deylon or Lord Welryth, and before that you
will find out much more than I could tell you.
Besides, it would be no use to you to know, as you
will only see a hair of him to-morrow, and a hair the
next day; and if he will ever be seen all at once, I
don’t know; but if we ever do see him, we shall not
be at all afraid of him chen, I feel sure ; so I think we
can get on quite well if we try, without making our-
selves afraid now.”

“Of course, that’s it,” said Colonel Thoseby.
“People make themselves afraid,—they really do,—
and what is the use of them then? Nonsense. If
The Drive. 131

you can’t help feeling frightened, feel it, but don’t be
afraid, you know. Do you see what I mean ?”

“Oh, yes,” said Doda. “Mr. Mills explained to
me how different it is to feel a thing and be it ;—
like feeling hurt is different to being hurt, and feeling
il is different to being ill, and feeling angry to being
angry, and feeling wise to being wise, and feeling old
to being old, and alot more. Oh, I have been think-
ing about it so much !”

Doda was going to have said a great deal more
without meaning to talk at all, but at this moment
they arrived at her home, and the ponies were pulled
up at the gate,




CHAP. IX.—DRESSING FOR DINNER.

“{XOOD-bye till dinner,” said they to Doda, as she

jumped out and ran up the path into her own
house, from which she felt to have been away ever
since she was a little child.

Her mother was showing a lace cap to her grand-
father, and be was talking over it with her, and look-
ing at it as if nothing could be more natural than
that he should be consulted about lace caps. Doda
stopped at the door. They were both standing in a
window, and did not see her. The table was covered,
as usual, with big pieces of paper all written over,
and Doda wondered if, when these were printed, they
would become “dissolving books.” This was some
of the talk she heard as she stood near the door—

“ Certainly,” said her grandfather ; “dress as well
as you can: it shows talent. Emerson remarks
of the English people that it is astonishing how
much talent goes into manners. Dress is a part of
manners.”

“TI wish we never had to think of it,” said her
mother. “J think I really will give up going out to
Dressing for Dinner. 133

dinner. I’m sure they don’t want me, and I know I
look ridiculous in these caps.”

Doda wondered very much what this meant, for
she did not know that there are many people in the
world who want to be like something that they are
not like in the least ; and the more they grow old the
more this gets stronger, till they almost think people
can see them thinking it when they look at them,
and are saying to themselves, “If he, or she, only
knew what they really look like! Rather different
from what they think they would be if they could
make themselves!” and are then laughing at them.
And if such people live much alone this makes them
so uncomfortable when they have to go into public
that they are never quite like other people. The
despondent ones don’t take care of their dress, and
often not even of their words, unless everyone is
listening at once, when they rouse themselves up and
try to make a speech that shall make everyone feel
something, and make themselves feel that at least
they have power! And the other sort dress too care-
fully, and use a wrong expression, and are always
doing little propitiative things at the wrong time, as
if to make an excuse for being like what they are;
and some of them get cross and make everyone do
as much for them as they can, in order to show them-
selves that even they, though they may not be quite
what they could fancy they might have been, can at
least show other people that it is no business of
theirs, and that they need not despise them for that.
134 Dodas Birthday.

Doda’s mother was sometimes like the first and
sometimes like the second of these sorts, but generally
she got rid of all her feelings by writing books. And
then grandpapa was always there, and he always
knew the right thing to say, for he had been brought
up with Lord Welryth, and could get in and out of
every dilemma that the most unskilful talker could
get him or anyone else into.

When Doda heard her mother say she thought she
would never go out to a dinner party again, she
wondered if she would come to Lord Welryth’s; so
she went up and said—

“ Here is a letter from Lord Welryth—”

“ About going to dinner,” said her grandfather, just
as if he had read the letter.

“Yes,” said Doda; “we are all to come this
evening.”

“Tf it is a party—” began her mother.

“Let us read the note,” said her grandfather, and
read—*‘ Doda’s birthday has made us all seven years
old up here; so we have got up a kind of juvenile
party at an hour’s notice, and we expect you to come
and join it, and help to keep us young. Doda is
already engaged. Bring Madame, if she will forgive
my eccentricities, and join a practical joke for once
that will hurt no one. You had no idea I was Doda’s
oldest and dearest friend. But come and see. This
ig not an invitation, so it cannot have a refusal. I
expect you in an hour’

“Just like him!” said her grandfather. “Doda,
Dressing for Dinner. 135
what have you been doing to my old and most noble
friend? Pray, have you known him for the last
sixty years? He says you have, you know, but you
never told us, However, we have found it out now.”
Then turning to her mother, he added—* Of course,
we don’t go?”

“Tt will be a very nice thing for Doda,” said her
mother; “and besides, Lord Welryth is different.
Would you order the carriage for us?” (She rang
the bell as she spoke.) “Doda, come up and dress.
We have no time.” ,

But as they were going up-stairs they heard some
one drive up, and then the bell rang, and they looked
out, and saw a groom of Lord Welryth taking a long
white box from the back of a dog-cart which stood at
the gate. Doda remembered the fish, but said nothing.
The groom brought in the box and laid it in the hall,
and went down to the kitchen, after saying that he
had no note, only his lordship’s compliments.

Doda’s mother went down and found the box was
directed to her, and she had it opened, and found the
fish, and remained for a moment unable to believe
what she saw. At last the idea occurred to her that
Doda must be in the secret, so she said—

“Doda, what is the meaning of this ?”

And Doda said—

“Tts the fish,” for she did not know in the least
what to say or what more could be said. At last she
added, “It’s a present.”

“Tt’s a new kind of doll—a birthday present for
136 Dodas Birthday.

you,” suggested her grandfather. “Does it open and
‘shut it’s eyes? It opens them, at any rate. I only
wonder they contrived to shut the box when the eyes
were so wide open inside. JZ should have been
frightened.”

“ Is it for you, Doda ?” said her mother.

“They asked me if I would like it,’ said Doda;
“but I thought you would, so I said so, and he said
he would send it. It used to be in the hall. It
would do for the collection.”

“Tam very much obliged,” said her mother, “ but
don’t collect fish. I shall send it down to the
kitchen.”

« And the cook will boil it and send it wp again,”
said the grandfather. “No, that won't do. Jt must
be given to some one. I will write a label for it.”

So he wrote on a piece of card—* Ancient Pike,
200 years old, formerly the property of Lord Welryth,
supposed not to be the one alluded to in Pepys’
Diary, and afterwards seen and weighed by Dr.
Johnson.” He fastened this to the glass case.

Doda read the label with awe, and, though she was
so old, she did not understand it.

“Now,” said her grandfather, “who shall we
address it to ?”

“You are as absurd as Lord Welryth,” said her
mother; and taking Doda by the hand, added, “ come
up stairs and dress at once.”

When he was left alone with a rebuke, Doda’s
grandfather grew mischievous. He had learned it
- Dressing for Dinner. 137

from Lord Welryth, and was always the same. In
this respect they had both been always the same for
sixty years, and in that space the example of each
must have done a great deal to corrupt the other.
This time a bright idea occurred to the grandfather.
He took the fish out of the glass case, and put it on a
chair, and rang the bell. When the servant came he
said, “ Open the front door, and send up Nero ;” and
when Nero came he pointed to the fish and said,
“Take it back.” Nero, after a look which made him
know it again, for he had always seen it at Lord
Welryth’s, and hated it, seized it by the middle, gave
it a shake, and galloped out at the front door, and
through the still open gate. It was just as the work-
people were going home from hay-making ; and when
they saw the big dog rush out they all started back ;
but when they caught the glassy eye of the pike and
saw its mouth open as if to cry for help, they all
uttered a whoop, and men, and women, and children
ran, like wild mile-stones past an express train, and
chased Nero as the Roman citizens chased the emperor
called by that name in the old time, before Doda’s
first birthday.

Doda, whose room had windows that looked on to
the garden and fields behind the house, saw nothing
of this, and allowed herself to be dressed, wondering
all the time what her grandfather was doing.

While she was being dressed, she had time to
wonder about several other things as well; for the
maid who brushed her hair never did so quickly, but
138 Dodds Birthday.

seemed to try and take as long as possible. But, to-
day, Doda did not feel inclined to hurry her. Jt was
rather comfortable to have a little time to rest during
a day when there had been so many new things to
think of, and they were quite different to ordinary
things which one only sees, because one can think of
these afterwards without really thinking at all. One
only has to sit, and half shut one’s eyes, and they all
come back.

But Doda soon found that thinking is something
quite different to this; for, when she tried to let the
things she had heard come back of themselves they
would not come alone, but brought all kinds of ques-
tions with them. The “four stages” seemed especially
funny, for she had never heard before of anything like
that way of arranging ideas of things in heaps, just as
if thoughts were wools, and could be sorted by colour.
Perhaps it would have made no difference to her,
being philosophic—but that all her family had been
philosophic, too—so that she was ready, before-hand,
to puzzle herself about anything that came in that
sort of way.

Besides that, she had never noticed before the way
in which people go on together, who are very old
friends, but not of the same family. Colonel Thoseby,
and her grandfather, and Lord Welryth, all seemed
to play together as if they were quite new to each
other, and still had never quarrelled. Doda had
seldom seen any children, as she lived so much alone,
except Tom Thoseby, and he was a big boy now, and
Dressing for Dinner. 139

getting to the age when boys become stupid ; and she
knew, by this time, everything that he was going to
say or do, and that he never understood anything that
she said or did.

While wondering at this, she twisted some hair-
pins into shapes like those she had seen drawn on
some of her grandfather’s papers and books, with big
letters of the alphabet at the corners of the shapes,
and a lot of funny writing on the opposite page,
which looked like poetry at a distance, because all
the lines were of different lengths, and seldom began
or ended quite at the edge of the page. But it was
not poetry, and grandpapa said it was mathematics,
and perhaps Essy could read it, who knew what
pachydermatous meant; but Doda had tried, and
was obliged to give up, because—though almost all
the words were short and easy to read, like “then,”
“is” “and,” “because,” and so on—there were so
many big letters which had no words to them at all,
and which she supposed were the beginnings of them,
like when people sign their initials instead of all their
name. Of course it was impossible for any one to
read unless they knew what words these stood for,
and Doda had never asked her grandfather, even on
Sunday, partly because she was afraid he would
laugh, and partly because she thought they would be
a lot of long words, quite as impossible to understand
after one knew them as before.

However, at last she was interrupted in thinking
about this, for the maid found what she was doing
140 Dodas Birthday.

with the hair-pins, and made a great noise about it,
and said it was a horrid trick and most unladylike,
and that she had never known Miss Doda do such a
thing before.

But Doda said it was her birthday, and she might
do whatever she liked, and that she had never
thought of doing it before; but that she had had so
many things to think of that day—more than in her
whole life—that she forgot.

This explanation satisfied the maid, who said that
if Miss Doda would promise only to do that on her
birthday, she would say nothing more about it; and
then she went and got Doda’s dress, which was a new
one, and nicer to put on, and prettier, than any she
had ever had before. When it was on, Doda looked
at herself in the big glass, and thought she had often
wished to be like that, as she saw herself, but never
knew she could be. However, she was very glad
now, and felt as if she could dance about, and fly
away like a bird.

The maid said she looked lovely, but must not jump
about. Doda had not been going to give more than
one little jump, bub she made even that one shorter
than she had intended, and ran and got out of the
pocket of her other dress the little key of the glove-
box, that Mrs. Thoseby had given her. She got out
a pair of white gloves; and then—as she had already
put on the locket, and the maid had put on every-
thing else for her—she was ready at last and went
down. The door was shut, her grandfather gone, the
Dressing for Dinner. 141

box gone, and the servant sweeping up the loose bits
of straw that had been spilt. She asked where was
the fish ? but the servant had seen no fish. Where
was the box? Given to the gardener. Was it shut?
No. Was there nothing init? A glass case. What
in the case? Nothing.

The fish, then, after making eyes in that glass case
ever since Doda could remember, had at last got out,
and this had happened on her birthday. She thought
deeply about it. While she was thinking, her grand-
father appeared, dressed, and ready to go. He looked
so innocent, and hummed a tune so naturally, that
she said at once—

“ Grandpapa, you have got the fish ?”

“No, on my honour.”

“You have hidden it ?”

ce No.”

“ Made some one else take it away ?”

“No,” (You see a dog is no one, so he spoke the
truth.)

«Where was it when you touched it last ?”

“ Here.”

“ But you know where it is ?”

“No; but I dare say we shall find it has escaped
and gone home again.”

Doda was exhausted with asking questions, but she
tried one more.

“ Are you quite sure none of the servants, or that
groom, or any one touched it after you did, or carried
it, or took it away by pulling it, or rolling it ?”
142 Dodas Birthday.

“You ought to be a magistrate,” said her grand-
father; “but I am quite sure none of these things

happened.”

“Then how did it go ?”

The man came to say the carriage was ready, and
Doda’s grandfather said—

“ Let us follow it and see.”

So they started, Doda more thoughtful than ever.




CHAP, X.—SECOND DRIVE TO LORD WELRYTH'S.

HE sun had set now, and all the soft woolly

clouds were the colour of the pink part of a dress,
when it is white with pink trimmings, and Doda was
trying to see as much of this as she could out of the
carriage, for it was a close one, with a single big
stamping horse, when her mother said—

“There is something between my feet. I believe
it isa stone. Those servants are exceedingly careless.
I feel sure it is a stone—a big stone, and probably
dirty ; one never knows what these things may have
been in. It had better be taken away. Will you
stop the carriage a moment, papa?” This was done,
and the servant was told that there was a stone in it.
He looked shocked and began to feel about with his
hand. Jn a moment his eyes gleamed. Whatever
was there he had caught it. He stood up and handed
a little closed ink-bottle.

“Oh, it’s mine!” cried Doda, and the next moment
wished she had not spoken, for she suddenly remem-
bered some childish follies belonging to the time long
ago—quite a week before her birthday. For she had
determined at that time to write a book; but had
wanted no one to know, so she had taken paper, and
144 Dodas Birthday.

a pen, and a little closed ink-bottle into the carriage |
once, when she went out with her mother to pay some
visits in the town, which was several miles off, and
where people lived whom her mother used to call
on, leaving her in the carriage. She had often been
very tired of being left with nothing to do during
these visits, but never, till she had determined to
write a book, had she thought that any use could be ~
_ made of the time. In fact she had always been rather
dull while waiting, except once, and that was when
a poor woman. came and begged and she found she had
very little money, but she gave it all, and the woman
blessed her so much it made her cry afterwards
without knowing why. She did not discover then
that she cried because she was ashamed of having
been blessed for having done so little. ;

She half remembered that this woman had got into
the beginning of her book, and that other things she
chad seen out of the carriage window were in it, and
that she had tried to put something very deep in it
as well, like Mr. Mill’s books; and, what was worse,
she remembered that she had put the writing into the
pocket of the carriage door, and left it and forgot.

The servant was on the box, and the carriage driv-
ing on now. Would her grandfather discover the
paper? She had cried out that the ink-bottle was
hers and felt she had betrayed all. Her grandfather
said at once—

“The ink-bottle, for fear of accidents, is kept low,
in fact under the mat, where there is not so much
° Second Drive to Lord Welryth’s, 145

danger of spilling it. Doda, you are a great contriver,
and thoughtful beyond your years; but where is the
manuscript ?”

Terrified lest he should find out by his wonderful
way of seeing things before he was told, Doda felt
herself half glance at the pocket as if to beg it to
keep her secret.

Her grandfather saw the look, and went on as if
not discovering, but merely remembering again some-
thing that he had known quite well but forgotten for
a moment,—

“The manuscript is in the pocket of the carriage.”

In a moment he opened the pocket and drew it
out, Part was in ink, part in pencil; some was
rubbed, some smudged, and all had erent damp by
being left in the carriage house.

«A dissolving book!” he cried, holding it up.
Doda thought for a moment he was going to read it,
but he handed it to her saying, “ Shall I take care of
it till we get home, or will you? If we leave it here
the coachman will read it.”

“Oh!” said Boda, “ will -you tear it up, or scratch
‘it out, or throw it away, or burn it, or something.”
“Yes, if you like,” he said ; “but may I read it

first 2?”

Doda said, “Oh yes, but not loud.”

It was quite easy to talk in this carriage without
talking loud, if one had a proper sort of voice, for the
carriage was big and made a deep humming noise
when it rolled, which did not at all prevent anyone

K
146 Doda's Birthday.

speaking or hearing: they could even hear the horse
outside stamping as he swung down the quiet lanes,
or shaking his head and snorting.

The grandfather began to read the manuscript, and
Doda thought that if she had not remembered writing
it, and what she had been thinking of at the time, it
would not have seemed to mean very much. It
began—

“Chap. I. This is a story —It was a bright morn-
ing, a little after luncheon time, when Lotty, who was
a girl, was sitting in a carriage like this.”

Here the grandfather said it was fortunate they
were reading it in the carriage, as a great deal of
description was saved. He went on—

«Then a woman came and was hungry, and she
gave her one-and-ninepence. So several things hap-
pened and the woman went away.”

The several things had been the blessing and the
crying, but Doda had been too shy to write that down
ina book. In fact she was afraid that as it was she
had much too nearly done so, and that her grandfather
would be certain to find it out.

He only said, “Most concise—not a word wasted,”
and went on reading—

“Then the woman went on and on till she came
to two men, who seemed thoughtful, in a hedge.”

Doda’s grandfather stopped suddenly, and then went
on in a hoarse and broken voice—

“So she went up to one of them and said—I have
got one-and-ninepence’—and he looked at her so that
Second Drive to Lord Welryth’s. 47

she gave it him; and then he said—‘Oh, bless your
kind eyes, Lord bless your dear, good heart, and the
blessed saints care for you my little lady, may you
never feel the want of it but go warm all your blessed
life’ ”

Of course this was what that real woman had said
to her. Doda had forgotten she had written that part,.
but it had gone in in spite of her; but it seemed not
to be so near if she made a man say it, as if she had
made the woman say it to Lotty at the beginning.
But it made her feel very red, and hot, and ashamed
when her grandfather read it.

He went on—

“Then she cried; and I suppose he had something
to eat.” At which he could read no more;and Doda
thought he was certainly going to ery too, but he
suddenly leaned back and laughed so much that her
mother said—

“How can you laugh at this, papa? It is ridicu-
lous. I am sure Doda would much rather it was
torn up and forgotten.”

“Yes, indeed I would,” said Doda. So she and her
grandfather tore it together, and then he took the
pieces and put them in his waistcoat pocket, saying—

“Oh Doda, this teaches us all a lesson. No one
writes like this. It is alost art. Iwish I could. I
am too old now. My girl” (this was to her mother,
whom he always called “my girl” when he wanted
to soothe het), “beware of Doda. She will be an
authoress. Teach her to forget to write. Give her
148 Dodas Birthday.

nothing but the Saturday Review to read. Teach
her to play the violin. Get her a place in the Tele-
graph office. All will be useless, She will be an
authoress.”

After saying this exactly like Lord Welryth he
closed his eyes and went to slep suddenly, like Mrs.
Mortlake.

While he slept, Doda thought to herself: this was
the first time she had discovered that she had ever
done anything ridiculous. It would not have occurred
to her yet that “ridiculous” was the word to use to it,
but that her mother had said so, and her grandfather
had laughed, although she had meant what she had
written not to make people laugh at all, but to make
them feel like one feels when one reads a book that
one can’t stop reading unless one is really made.
Had he been any one else but her grandfather she
would have been very anery. Yet she supposed that
even if he had been anyone else he would have
laughed just the same. She made up her mind that
she would find out why people laughed, and what it
always meant, for she had become certain that it
meant quite different things, besides the nothing-at-
all that it means when one laughs because one is
tickled, or because one very nearly caught somebody
one was running after, or because a lot of people have
tumbled down on the ice in winter. She also felt
that she herself would never, and could never, laugh
again. But, fortunately, she soon forgot both her re-
solution and this dreadful feeling, for had she made








Second Drive to Lord Welryth's. 149

the discovery, and found out why people laugh, she
would have had to find out so many reasons for so
many laughs that the list would have taken her years
to make, and would have been worth nothing at all
when she had made it.

As they drove through the park they saw the deer
moving about suddenly in the fading light, and several
ran right across the road in front of the carriage.
Doda put out her head to see them, and saw that
much further on there was another carriage driving
the same way. This had Colonel and Mrs. Thoseby
in it, and Mrs. Mortlake, and arrived first, but only
by a minute, so that ib was going away from the door
just as Doda came up, and as she got into the house
the two parties met in the passage. Mrs. Thoseby and
Mrs. Mortlake had just taken off their shawls and were
going towards the drawing-room. They stopped a
moment and everyone talked a little. Doda looked
at Mrs. Mortlake, who seemed quite young and beau-
tiful, for her complexion and features were always
perfect, and the thought of a peculiarly nice dinner
made her radiant with happiness.

“Tt was a very pretty idea,” she said. “Lord
Welryth is always so charmingly sudden. This is
the first time you dine here love? If you sit where
you can see me, and watch what I do, you will miss
none of the right things.”

The last part was said in a low voice to Doda who
did not at all understand it till she found that many
more things were handed to each person at a dinner-
150 Doda's Birthday.

party than anyone wanted, and each took a few, but
not all the same; and Mrs. Mortlake, who always
learnt the list of the dishes by heart first from the
little paper on which it was written, and made up her
mind thoroughly on what she should do, now offered
to be Doda’s guide through the confusion, so that she
might obtain from it the best choice and not send
away anything good through not knowing what it
was, or not wanting any more. This service was one
Mrs. Mortlake was quite able to do for Doda, and
though it cost her nothing, was the kindest she
knew how to perform, and at this moment she felt so
amiable that there was no virtue she did not feel
capable of at the same price.




CHAP. XI.—THE DINNER PARTY.

N the drawing-room they found everyone already

gathered together. Lord Welryth came forward,
first to welcome Doda’s mother. He poured out a
hundred words at once. “This is really kind I
hardly hoped you would have been persuaded to join
such child’s play as ours, but I could not resist the
temptation of attempting to draw you in. We use-
less people always try to make our betters waste a
little time in our way when we can, Their useful-
ness reproaches us when they never unbend, so we
try and bring them down to our level that we
may have a short triumph, and, when they allow us
to succeed, we are not ungrateful, believe me, we are
not ungrateful. How is the great work ?”

Doda noticed that her mother was going to have
said something which she had prepared. But Lord
Welryth ran on so fast that she had no time for a
word until the end, when she was obliged to answer
his question about the things she was writing, Per-
haps Lord Welryth saw this too, and talked out of
fright, for though young people are silent when they
152 Doda's Birthday.

are frightened of what some one is going to say, old
people generally chatter and chatter themselves, so as
to prevent anyone else thinking, But children never
can think of what they want to say when they are in
a fright, and if they could it would not be of much
use, because, though old people are listened to when
they talk fast, no one would attend to a child that
chattered. They would think of what they were
going to say next themselves, and when they had
thought of it they would begin, whether the child
had finished or not.

But Doda’s mother was not altogether stopped by
Lord Welryth in saying what she had prepared, for
when she had answered his question about her writ-
ings, she went on in a slightly different voice—

“T mustnot forget though, in talking about myself,
to thank you for a present which: ”

« Non nobis !” cried Lord Welryth, holding up his
hands. “I mean, do not thank me I gave it to
Doda. Doda thought of sending it on. If you thank
me I shall hide behind Doda. Doda, come and help
me. I must really have some one to save me, J am
in danger of being thanked. That always makes me
what Essy calls ‘ pusillanimous.’”

“Oh, Lord Welryth |” cried Essy.

«Why not ?” said Lord Welryth. “T believe the
word is American, and was invented in a railway
train. Surely, modern education takes into account
such claims to respectability ? What says Carlyle?”
_ “Carlyle says that if I am to be maltreated I shall


Lhe Dinner Party. 153

go away again and not have any dinner,” answered
Essy ; and Doda could not help thinking how odd it
was that she could remember so quickly a sentence
that fitted so well.

“You quote admirably,” said Lord Welryth. “I
remember the passage quite perfectly. It goes on to
say that when you threaten anyone in that dreadful
manner they immediately fall on their knees, where-
ever and whoever they may be, and refuse to get up
till you have forgiven them.”

“No—no! please don’t!” cried Essy. “Doda, do
tell him not to fall on his knees to me, it always
makes me what Lord Welryth calls, pusey—some-
thing.”

“Lanimous,” he continued in a serious manner, but
looking mischievous. “Yes. I beg your pardon. I
had forgotten. Iremember now. Always.”

While Lord Welryth and Essy had been making
fun of each other in this way, Lady Ethel had come
forward and had led away Doda’s mother. Her grand-
father now took Lord Welryth by the hand and said,
“T congratulate you. To tell the truth, I looked on
you already as a thanked man. It was a stroke of
genius that does honour to the whole peerage to have
thought of calling in Essy as an ally to the enemy and
changing the battle field) There was a good deal of
gratitude ready for you.”

“Yes, I am afraid my victory will cost me dear
though,” answered Lord Welryth; “but I hope my
sister will make things as they ought to be, and I will
154 Doda’s Birthday.

try and deserve forgiveness when the game season
comes on.”

“There is not much danger,” said Doda’s grand-
father ; “ your character is too far gone already for this
trifle to make much difference; and I have implicated
myself too, so you will have only half the blame.”

“Generous friend!” answered Lord Welryth, with
a smile, and then turned to Colonel Thoseby and
began to talk about the militia in an ordinary manner,
and without the undercurrent of mischief with which
he amused himself among people who could enjoy
this and understand it.

Doda would have understood that he had been.
rather anxious that his joke of sending the fish should
not offend her mother, as jokes often lead to quarrels,
especially in the country, but she had not heard the
last few words, for Essy had called her to her side, as
soon as she was free, and whispered—

“Doda, my dearest little love, those flowers in your
hair are exactly like you, and absolutely perfect.
You ought to have dressed here and I should have
been able to lend you some of mine, or you could
have lent me some of those. You see they are the
same, only that stupid maid did not bring me half.
These are perfect scraps.” Essy gave a little move-
ment of her head as she spoke to show how few
flowers she had on.

“T think they look quite right,” said Doda; “ but
you can have these.”

She half raised her hand as if she was going to take
The Dinner Party. 155

them out then and there, but Essy seized her fingers
with a little squeeze and said—

“Hush—don’t be absurd—tI have a heap more up-
stairs. So you really think these look right? Whata
word. I am almost afraid it is American; but you
are a darling.”

Mr. Mills and Captain Lewis were talking together,
-and Doda had just time to see them and wonder how
they had come so quickly, when a servant came in
and said something in a low voice, and everyone be-
gan to move. The youngest man, who had been
called “Hal” by Lord Welryth in the afternoon, came
up and gave his arm to Doda, Lord Welryth had
given his to her mother, and her grandfather gave his
to Mrs. Mortlake, Mr. Mills gave his to Mrs. Thoseby,
Captain Lewis took Essy, and Colonel Thoseby, Lady
Ethel. They all followed each other to the dining-
room, passing out in the right order, as if accidently,
and finding their way to the right places at table in
the same soft and even manner, just as if it had been
all practised before.

When they had sat down, and grace had been said,
and first course handed round, Doda glanced at the
other side of the table and saw all the men do the
same thing. Each took up the spoon for his soup,
dipped it in the plate, seemed to forget for a moment
that he had meant to eat anything, and then, as if he
had just recalled something that he had forgotten but
had once been very interested in, turned and mur-
mured a few words to the lady next him. They did
156 Dodas Birthday.

this in different ways, as they themselves were differ-

ent, but all did the same. Doda stole a glance at
Hal. His spoon was in his plate, but he left it to
break a piece of bread with his fingers, while turning
slightly towards her, and said—*I hear you were in
my uncle’s peculiar room this morning.”

“Yes,” said Doda, “but I scarcely saw anything,
there were so many things. Do you often go there ?”

“Always. I don’t count; but he never sees any-
one there. You seem to have taken him by storm.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “He did every-
thing.”

“He always does,” said Hal, smiling; and then
they both ate some soup, and then their plates van-
ished, and fish came, and that reminded Doda of the
fish. She wanted to ask about it, but did not know
if Hal would know what she meant. At last she
began—

“You know the fish ?”

“Of course—salmon; it is pink. One always
knows it.”

“Oh, not this one—the fish, not to eat—the one in
the glass case that got out.”

“Perfectly, but it will never get in again. Nero
appeared with a mouthfal of it this afternoon, and
seemed not to like the taste, and wanted some water.
A few minutes after a workman came with half the
face, including one eye. He had not tasted it, but
wanted a glass of beer. A woman and a boy brought
the other eye and the tail-half of the body. She was
The Dinner Party. 157

not thirsty, but wanted to tell a long story. From
what she said I think we shall find the rest in a kind
of trail from here to your house, on the different
hedges. You should have seen my uncle when the
servant brought in the eyes and tail on a tray and
tried to explain.”

“Then it was Nero ?” said Doda,

“Yes—didn’t you know ?”

“T understand now,” said Doda, and thought, or
tried to think, why, after all the questions she had
asked her grandfather, she had never thought of one
that would have made him obliged to confess it was
Nero, for of course she saw quite well it must be her
grandfather’s doing, but it was provoking not to have
found out, when she had been allowed to ask him as
many questions as she liked, and he had answered
them all.

While she was thinking this, for a moment, the din-
ner came and went, plates moved about, wine got
into the glasses, and Doda let it all go on without
noticing, till suddenly she felt some one was looking
at her just as a servant was offering her a dish.
She saw Mrs. Mortlake at the other side make a
little mouth at her, as if to say, “No-o-0,” so she
let the dish go, though she was not at all sure if
any more would come in its place. But even if
this were so she would not have minded the least;
in fact, she had so much to think of that perhaps she
would not even have found it out. But more dishes
came and more yet, in fact so many that she was
= abS - Doda’s Birthday:

grateful to Mrs. Mortlake for letting her off with so
few, and making her little sign of “No-o-o at the
others.

“T see you are a consummate diner-out,” said Hal
at last. “This is not the first time you have steered
safely through the perils of a long journey of courses.”

“Mrs. Mortlake tells me what to do,” said Doda.

“By the bye,” said Hal, “we were all to explain
something to you to-day to earn our dinner, What
did Captain Lewis explain ?”

“T don’t know,” said Doda—* nothing I think.”

“T will explain anything,” said Captain Lewis, who
had been at the other side of her all the time, but
whom she had not looked up at till now, “anything
you like.”

“But,” said Doda, “I don’t know anything that
wants explaining.”

“Then I will explain that,” said Captain Lewis.
“You have just dined with Lord Welryth. No one
who has just done so ever wanted anything explaining.
Things are enough as they are. The world is perfect.
All our friends are going to do what we want, and we
could understand anything we liked if we cared to
think about it, but to-morrow will do for that. This
is because you have had a dinner. There is a great
difference between dinner, and a dinner. The first
comes to us. The second we give, or go to. The first
is nothing. The second is something very serious to
invent and very easy to submit to. You have heard
people talk of it, but always seriously.”


























































































































































= ii ER SSS



“ DODA’S BIRTHDAY,”

SAID LORD WELRYTH.



Ze
The Dinner Party. 159

“Yes,” said Doda, “ but I don’t understand :

“You will find the rest,” said Captain Lewis, “in
books, any books, all books. I have read the books
and remember it all, and some day you will know
how difficult it is to find a book with nothing about a
dinner in it. We are to have a toast now I see.”

Doda did not know till then that a toast meant
saying something, and drinking something, and eating
nothing, but she did now. Fruit was on the table,
and new glasses, and different wine, and the servants
who had been everywhere were now nowhere. Lord
Welryth took up his glass and said, “Doda’s Birth-
day,’ and drank it. Everyone else did the same, ex-
cept Doda, who did not need Mrs. Mortlake this time
to tell her not to. Everyone looked at her as they
spoke, those at her own side of the table leaning for-
ward to de so. Doda felt she was blushing and did
not in the least know what to do. She whispered
something but never knew what it was, and then
Lady Ethel looked at her mother and everyone got
up and began to go out of the room,

When they got to the drawing-room Doda was
astonished, as she looked round, neither to see Hal,
nor Lord Welryth, nor her grandfather, nor Mr. Mills
to whom she had not been able to speak a word yet,
nor Captain Lewis, nor Colonel Thoseby. For a
moment she thought they must be hiding, but they
could not ali hide, it would be absurd. Then she
thought she must have come to a wrong room, but
Lady Ethel was here, and so was her own mother, and


160 Dodas Birthday.

Essy, and Mrs. Mortlake, and Mrs. Thoseby. Then
she remembered that, ever so long ago, when she was
young, and they had dinner-parties at their own
house, that the ladies all came upstairs first. She
was very much ashamed at having forgotten this, and
was glad when Essy went and sat down at the piano
and called her to come and say what she should play.
So she went and stood there, and saw from her safe
corner her mother talking to Mrs. Mortlake, who did
not look the least anes now, and Lady Ethel and
Mrs. Thoseby together looking at some ferns. Then
Lady Ethel went and talked to her mother, who
seemed, at first, not pleased, for she listened without
saying anything, and opened and shut her fan twice.
Doda could hear the words, “fish,” and then her own
name, and then, “Rupert,” and then her mother
gradually smiled and seemed satisfied, so Doda sup-
posed that dreadful fish would not be said anything
more about. However, she still thought she should
like to find out why she had not found out that it
had really been Nero had at last torn it up and
relieved everyone of it. Perhaps her grandfather
would tell her now. She watched the door to see when
he would come.

It seemed a long time. Essy played a great many
tunes, all with a slow part, and a quick part, and a
soft part, and a loud part, and runs, and triumph at
the end. Then Lady Ethel came up and asked if
they might not have one song. Then a black roll was
opened and Essy sang. Doda found a seat, which was
The Dinner Party. 161

a box with music inside, and a cushion at the top.
She rolled herself up on this in the corner, and watched
Essy, who sang on and on. She sang that she was a
bird, that she was blind, that the people she liked best
were dead, that the person she liked better still was
alive, and much else, chiefly about herself. Some-
times she was a man, sometimes a child, sometimes
asleep and dreaming. She also sang in unknown
languages, but probably still about what she was.
At last Doda began to think that she had sung for a
year, that this was the next birthday, and she herself
was now eight ; that everyone was very old, and that
Nero lived in the glass case where the fish had been.
Essy turned into Lord Welryth, and he complained
bitterly that he never could play his organ now, for
it was always singing. Suddenly it stopped. She
looked up, and found her eyes had been shut. Every-
one was in the room now, and had tea-cups in their
hands. Lord Welryth was carrying one to different
parts of the room, and asking where was Doda. Doda
thought how glad she was she had Jooked up in time,
or it might have seemed as if she had been asleep.
She came out and received her cup of tea, and sat on
a wonderful chair, only the height of a stool, but very
deep, and with a back and arms. Lord Welryth sat
on a chair just as low beside her.

“Well, Doda,” said he, “your mother and my sister
have agreed that it is a very foolish custom to give
people presents on their birthdays, but I have got
leave for a change this time. Upon my honour, if

L
162 Dodds Birthday.

no one had given me anything when I was seven, I
should never have lived to tell the tale.”

“Oh, what should you have done?” asked Doda.

“Something awful,” said he; “something more
awful than—more awful than—than a fish! which
reminds me that my first attempt at a birthday pre-
sent was not a success. In fact, it came back again—
at least, a per-centage, which means an unexpected
quantity, came back. The failure has not discouraged
me. I was not prepared for it, certainly, but it was
broken to me, in the most delicate manner, by Nero.”

“The fish?” said Doda’s grandfather, who was
standing over them.

“The failure,” said Lord Welryth. “It is the same
thing.”

“T sent it,” said the grandfather.

«7 might have known,” said Lord Welryth. “This
is not the first act of kindness I owe you. St. Nero
and the Dragon. I will have a medal struck, and
cannon fired, and an order of knighthood instituted ;
or, rather, Doda, I would if I were King.”

“But, grandpapa,” said Doda, “you never said you
sent it.”

“Nor did you ask me if I had sent it; you only
asked if anyone had taken it, and several other ques-
tions about rolling and pulling, as if anyone would
have the courage to be so disrespectful to such an
-open-eyed mummy ; so I got safely out of the exami-
nation, and kept my secret.”

“ But I asked everything I could think,” said Doda.
The Dinner Party. 163

“Except one thing,” said her grandfather. “ You
never asked what you wanted to know, and what you
were sure I knew. If you had said—‘ How did the
fish go ?’? I should have been obliged to tell.”

“ How stupid of me!” cried Doda.

“ Not at all,” said her grandfather ; “ they were the
best set of leading questions I ever heard. You know
those are called leading questions, because they try
to lead the answers, and generally do so till they lead
clear out of the subject, and into the land of guess-
work. Now, Welryth, I see by your face you are
just going to ask a leading question, too.”

“Ves, I was,” said Lord Welryth, laughing “It
was about the birthday present; but I will take a
lesson, and see if I can learn what I want to know.
What shall I give you, Doda ?”

Doda felt as if it was quite impossible to say any-
thing. She had a tea-cup in her hand, but she could
scarcely ask for that; and all the other things which
she saw on the tables and on the chimney-piece,
though a great many could have been’ taken away
quite easily, belonged just as much to the room now
they were once there as to Lord Welryth, and the
room did not care whose birthday it was, for it had
anybody in it that it liked. They all had birthdays,
so it took no notice of anyone’s. While she was
thinking this, Lord Welryth was waiting for her to
speak, and so was her grandfather, and so was Colonel
Thoseby, who stood near, and so was Mr. Mills, who
came up now, and who had promised to give her
164 Dode's Birthday.

himself, and who said he was going to turn into books
very soon. Then she suddenly remembered that
everyone gave books to everyone; her grandfather
and mother even often received books, and sometimes
gave them ; so a book would be a perfectly safe thing,
so she said,—* May I have a book ?”

“ A dissolving book,” said Colonel Thoseby.

Lord Welryth blushed ; but, finding by looking out
at the sides and back of his head, shutting his eyes
nearly to do so, that Mr. Mortlake was not attending,
nor Doda’s mother, nor his sister, he got up and
said,—* Of course; come to the library and help me to
find one. Hal, is the walking lamp there? This is
a birthday game,” said he, turning to the others—“a
kind of forfeits which must be arranged with the
utmost secrecy. We shall return as soon as the rules
of the game allow.”

He took Doda’s hand, and began to lead her out.
As she went, she half looked back, and saw Essy at
the piano again, and Captain Lewis in the corner
where she had been; but, though he was not looking
up, he did not seem at all asleep. She remembered
the dream on Mr. Deylon’s bench, which had told her
that she should see them both again that evening,
and should notice that they were in love; so she did
notice, and resolved that the dream was probably
right, but that she could not have found it out unless
she had been told, for they had been quite different
m the morning.
CHAP, XII.—A NEW PRESENT.

N the passage, when the door was shut, Lord Wel-
ryth took up the walking lamp. It had a back
and sides like an arm-chair, in which the flame was
sitting, so that it made everything very light in front
as one walked, but quite dark behind.

He led the way to the top of the first flight of
stairs, and opened the door of the room which was so
wonderful, and where Doda had been that morning,
and said :—

“ Everyone meets everyone twice to-day, even this
room you see, Doda—not more changed in the time
than most of us. Hal, will you light the side-lights
over the books ?”

Hal took a long stick, with a taper at the end, and
lighted a row of lights that were along the ceiling
over the book-shelves, but screened, so that they only
lighted the books, and not the room.

“T have brought back your catalogue,” said Colonel
Thoseby, showing the book Doda had found in the
carriage, “I don’t understand it, you know, though
166 Doda’s Birthday.

I have explained it to Doda. She discovered it in
the back of the pony carriage.”

“Very odd,” said her grandfather to Doda, “every-
body seems to be finding books in carriages to-day.”

“ Oh, don’t,” she cried, seeing him look mischievous
— please don’t.” _

He glanced down at the pocket where he had the
remains of her poor manuscript, and said :—

“ Your secret shall be respected.”

“Well, Doda,” said Lord Welryth, running the
curtain aside that hung over a large book-case, “ what
sort of book shall it be? This is a shelf that never
dissolved at all. Take any one you like, another will
grow in its place in not longer than it takes me to
write to London and get an answer. I suppose she
may have anything you let her ?”

“ Of course,” said her grandfather. “She may read
whatever she likes. She never lives much with
children, and if she did would never talk to them
about what they are not supposed to know. I ex-
plain that to her on Sunday afternoons, and she is a
proficient.”

“Ts she permitted: to tell other children she is a
proficient ? asked Lord Welryth.

“ Of course not,” said her srandfather. That word
belongs to people like me, and to the books, and may
nd more be taken away from where it belongs than
our clothes, and covers, and names.”

“Doda,” said Lord Welryth, “if you know already
what not to say to children, you must teach me, for I
A New Present. 167

never knew what not to say to any one till after I had
said it. Will you have a book with pictures or with-
out? Choose freely.”

Doda had been locking all down the shelf. There
were a great many names she remembered in her
grandfather’s shelves, and which she knew were the
poets, though she had read very little of them.
Colonel Thoseby’s poems were not there, She sup-
posed they had dissolved and got put somewhere
else. Shakespeare and Shelley were there, and
Spenser and Chaucer and Milton, And there were
Greek books and Latin books and Italian books, all
not very big, in fact Shakespeare was the biggest,
Dante was the smallest, and beyond Dante was
another nearly as small, called Apocrypha, which Doda
thought was not anyone’s name, but a word which her
grandfather had once explained to her, but which she
had forgotten.

When Doda had looked at all the backs of the
books she felt it was quite impossible to choose any
of them. There were some she knew she should like,
and some she wished she could like.

“T can’t choose,” she said at last in despair, looking
at the long rows. “I don’t know what they are like
inside.”

“ Choose one by the outside,” suggested Hal, “as we
choose friends, or—” he was going to have said “wives,”
but stopped himself, and drew out the smallest
book, adding, “here is Dante. I will go over the
advantages of it, so as to save uncle his blushes.”
168 Dodds Birthday.

“What blushes ?” asked Doda.

“Those of modesty in hearing his own gift praised,”
answered Hal. “To begin, then: of all the books you
see here, Dante is the smallest, because they printed
him small, so as to be able to carry him about better,
It is a way they have in Rome, where, I suppose, this
came from, partly because it has a new white vellum
cover, and partly because the first page says it was
printed in Florence.”

Then he opened the little book, and showed her, at
the bottom of the title-page, the word “ Firenze,” which
is the Italian way of writing Florence. .

“But I don’t know Italian,” said Doda, peeping
into the pages, which looked tempting and mysterious,
as great poems always do.

“Then the book would last all the longer before you
got to the end of it,” said Hal, as if this were an
advantage.

“Forgive my interrupting you, Hal,” said Lord
Welryth, “but I see a point where your enthusiasm
leads you too far. I don’t wish to give Doda anything
which she will use up in a week; but if she has not
even begun it for a year, what is she to have next
birth-day ?”

“T am afraid there is something in that,” said
Hal. “Dante must go to his circle again, and
wait for Time, instead of Virgil, to come and deliver
him.”

“What is it about?” asked Doda.

“Dante? A dream,” said Lord Welryth.
A New Present. 169

“Ts all that one dream ?” asked Doda. “ It looks
like poetry.”

“It is a grown-up dream,” answered her grand-
father, “and grown-up dreams often are poetry. I
will tell you more about that if you remember to ask
me on Sunday afternoon.”

Doda immediately thought of the mysterious little
book of Colonel Thoseby’s poetry, and wondered
whether that was a dream too. But instinct again
prevented her asking about it.

“Come, Mills,” said Lord Welryth, “help us witha
suggestion.” .

« A book of birds would be nice,” said Mr. Mills;
“but they are not on this shelf”

“Oh, I have books of birds,” said Doda; “but
birds are so dry in books. It is all about their habits,
and nothing about what they really think themselves.”

“T have no more suggestions,” said Mr. Mills,
“unless a book of fishes would do better.”

Doda began to think she was being laughed at, as
the three old gentlemen glanced at each other, and
evidently thought of the dreadful creature Nero had
brought back. She turned to the shelves again, and
said—' I don’t want to do anything wrong, but I
haven’t read these books.”

“ And we who have?” said Lord Welryth, with a
grimace, which was only a natural look of his when
he meant a great deal: it was a way of smiling, while
his eyebrows darted up for a moment and made all
his funny wrinkles appear and go again. Doda could
170 Doda's Birthday.

not understand his face yet, for it takes a great deal
of practice to know how much old people who are
clever can say to each other with their faces, because
there are so many lines in them; all the lines mean
something, which they know quite well amongst them-
selves, but she understood when Lord Welryth turned
back to the books and began running over them with
his finger.

“You will want all these,” said he, “as time goes
on, because these are the poets. You will want
Milton, not to read on Sunday, but because he is the
greatest poet, and therefore the greatest comfort to
one’s bones. You will know what I mean in due
season. Spenser, of course. No one ought to live -
alone without Spenser, and no one ought to live at all
who does not some times live alone. Besides that,
Spenser is full of green leaves and summer all the
year round. One gets to like summer. It is an
acquired taste, no doubt. Shelly—well, you must
have Shelly—in time; not for his politics, but his
music. Music is another acquired taste. When I
was a boy, people had not acquired so much of it as
they seem to now. You will find the poets they used
to like then, in that corner. Never mind their names.
They are dissolved now—Pope, and so forth. Hal
wants them to practise at with a horse-pistol of the
game period, but I prefer to leave them where they
are to settle their account with the spiders in their
own way. Come, willno one help me? What next ?
There is Keats—you may have him any day ; we will
A New Present. 171

not make a birth-day matter of Keats: we can’t do
without him, though, altogether. What is this /—
Swinburne? Hal, that is a book of yours. Take it
away. Don’t look indignant. He is a charming poet
for you, and won’t do anyone any harm ; but he doesn’t
suit Doda’s or my time of life. What next ?—Chaucer?
Too long for the moment; a later birth-day for him.
Herrick ?—Pretty, but not enough of him. Who shall
we have ?”

“You will overwhelm Doda with such an array of
poets,” said her grandfather, smiling.

“Not a bit,” said Lord Welryth; “these poets
never overwhelm anybody, so long as they read them
alone. It is Thomson’s Seasons, and Polyolbion, and
Young’s Night Thoughts, and Cowper’s Task, and all
the works of good, industrious, second-rate nuisances
that make us stupid before our time. I know Doda
is safe from those under your protection.”

“ She is indeed,” said her grandfather. °

“Then the rest will not hurt her,” said Lord
Welryth. “Take Shakespeare.”

“Tt is the biggest,’ said her grandfather, as if that
were a reason.

“But,” said Doda, “I tried Shakespeare long ago,
and it never tells you what the people are like or
anything, and there is only half their names at the he-
ginning of what they say, so that I don’t know what
it means, except erandpapa says ‘ Hamlet was mad.’”

“You mean ‘ Lear,” said her grandfather; “the old
king.”
172 Dodi Birthiay.

“Oh, yes,” said Doda, “so I do; you always say so
to mamma, but I always thought Lear was a girl’s
name.”

“T see,” said Lord Welryth, “that you know quite
as much about Shakespeare as you need already, but
if you would like to have a book as a possession, it is
the best, because everybody has one, and no one will
ever ask if you have read it, so you never read until
you want to, and know the names of the people well
enough for half of them at the beginning of the
speeches to be enough. Shakespeare has it.”

With which words he pulled out and opened
the folio. It was the re-print, as they call it, of a
very old edition, and was big, and bound in brown,
and had “ Shakespeare, 1623,” on the back, and no-
thing more. In the inside was a brown portrait of
Shakespeare, and on the page behind this Lord Wel-
ryth wrote Doda’s name and his own and the date,
and then gave it to her and said, “I am afraid we
must go back now to the drawing-room, or they will
think we play at this game too much. I wonder what
they will say to your forfeit.” And, talking in this
way, he led her out. She gave him one hand, and
clung to the big book with the other, though it was
almost too big to carry, unless in one’s arms; and she
very nearly dropped it all down stairs.

Her grandfather said nothing, but when they got
to the drawing-room he went straight to her mother
and spoke for a moment, and her mother spoke for a
moment to Lady Ethel, and Lady Ethel said, in her
A New Present. 173

kind voice that always frightened Doda, “ Come here,
Doda—What is that big book ?”

“Shakespeare,” said Doda, feeling quite proud al-
ready ; “Lord Welzyth gave it to me.”

Lady Ethel took it, and looked at the beginning,
where the names were written, and seemed as if she
were going to say something about this not being a
book likely to amuse a little girl. But that had no-
thing to do with it. Doda did not want amusement ;
she wanted Shakespeare, because Lord Welryth had
given it to her, and now it was her very own. Per-
haps Lady Ethel thought this, or perhaps she saw it
in her brother’s face, who turned towards her, for she
said, instead of what she had meant to say, “ Shake-
speare is a very curious book, and very difficult to
understand. When you are old enough you will read
it very seldom. I never do—that is, not now. I
hope you have thanked Lord Welryth very much in-
deed for giving you this handsome present.”

Now Doda was afraid she had not thanked him at
all, because at first it had been too awful, and he
pulled the book down and wrote in it, and she had
not been able to speak while he was writing, and then
he had talked while he put it into her hand and led
her out; and “ Oh, thank you;” had not been enough
to say, nor had it been possible to say any more, and
on the staircase she so neatly dropped the book that
she had felt if she spoke it must really tumble down.
Besides, it is so difficult to thank people for what is
really something, though it is so easy when it is
174 Dotas Birthday.

scarcely anything. Doda felt very much ashamed,
and glanced up at Lord Welryth. We was standing
near the fire-place with one hand on the chimney-
piece, and seemed to wait for her; so she went up
and said, but almost without any voice, “I didn’t
thank you, but I do so very much, and I like Shake-
gpeare very much.”

He smiled, and gave her a kiss, and said, “I am
very glad, indeed. I hope you will come here on all
your birthdays, and as often between as you can.”

And Doda said she would, really and truly, and
asked if she might (this was quite in a whisper) al-
ways come into the room.

« Always,” said Lord Welryth. “I have been
alone there enough. If you come here and don’t find
me you can always go there till I come; and if I am
busy, Hal will show you everything. But whenever
you come, and I am not ready at first, don’t go away
again without seeing me at all, if you can help it.
Promise.”

“Oh yes, I promise, I really promise !” cried Doda,
and she hugged Shakespeare, as if to make him re-
member. :

Essy was still at the piano, and Captain Lewis was
still beside her. She was playing nothing particular,
but he took a song and opened it, and put it on the
stand, and she made the nothing particular that she
was playing change into the part at the first page of
the song before the words, and having played it, she
began to sing. The song was English, and Doda heard
A New Present. 173,

every word. Essy sang it with such voice and sweet-
ness that everyone listened, and even Lady Ethel, who
did not take much interest in songs, only moved her
fan once, and rattled her bracelets against the arm of
her chair twice, while it was being sung. These were
the words — ,
“Where is the wind that blew by me?
Where is the wave I once heard ?

Where are the trees that grew nigh me ?
Where is the song of the bird ¢

The wind bore thy breath and my sigh, love ;
The wave danced for joy, and the tree

Still whispered thy name to the sky, love ;
Where the bird sung of thee, love, of thee.

But now thou art gone, thou art gone, love—
The forest is leafless, the sea

Rolls mournfully, mournfully on, love,
Till the angels shall call me to thee.”

The end of this was so sad, that though Captain
Lewis was there the whole time, and it required no
angels to call Essy to him, the tears came into Doda’s
eyes, and she almost thought Essy was really desolate
and alone. Not being so, and having sung her song,
she rose from the piano and began to put on a
bracelet that she had taken off to play. Captain
Lewis said something to her hastily; she glanced at
him, and went past straight to Mrs. Thoseby, by
whom she sat down, and Doda saw her grandfather
and Lord Welryth half look at each other, and then
look away, and then both smile a little separately.
She held her Shakespeare hard, and thought to be
176 Dodas Birthday.

able to sing like that, and to be in love, must be the
next most wonderful thing in the world to having a
birthday.

Mrs. Thoseby gave Essy the ferns to look at, and
Captain Lewis came towards the fireplace, looking
down a little, but did not seem unhappy.

Every one murmured that the song had been
charming, and Lord Welryth went over to Essy, and
seemed to say a great many kind things, for she
smiled, and sometimes looked up and sometimes
down, and turned over the book of ferns, sometimes
forwards, and sometimes backwards.

Captain Lewis came to Doda, and said—

“You play a little, of course ?”

Doda did play the piano a great deal when she was
alone, and knew the notes in a printed piece of
music quite well, and could almost speak to some
when she saw them, she felt so inclined to tell them
how well she knew what they sounded like, though
they could never make any one know it that was
not looking at them, without a piano or something
to help. The ones she was still a little strange with
were those that were tied together in printed music,
like the octaves, that were often very nice, only so
tall that it was very difficult to tall to them all at
once, and one had to say what one meant sometimes
up to their very faces, and sometimes down at their
feet. But Doda was getting taller herself now, and
the octaves were not very difficult to play on, the
black notes at anyrate, though on the others, the








A New Present. 177

corner of the note inside would get in the way and
catch the edge of her little finger.

She could not say all this to Captain Lewis, so she
only said she was very fond of playing, and then was
very much surprised when he asked her at once to
play something on Lord Welryth’s piano, which she
never thought of daring to do, and could not think why
he thought of it. But she was so glad to have Shake-
Speare, and so excited and happy with everything,
that she suddenly thought she would like to play a
tune that she knew by heart, and that she always
played on fine days, when both her grandfather and
mother were out and she and Nero were left alone.
But she thought it would be quite different now, and
she said—

“T only play it alone, when no one is there but
Nero.”

“What do you only play alone?” Captain Lewis
asked.

“T mean the tune I was thinking of,” said Doda.

“Do you play it without the book?” he asked.

“Qh, yes,” said Doda, “I do always.”

“Won't you play it to me now?” he said; “I am so
fond of music, and you know I would play everything
to you if I knew anything. And I really did explain
something at dinner, and I will explain anything
else,”

Doda very nearly asked him to explain about Essy,
but she just stopped in time, and, lest she should say
Something else that would not do she went with him

M
178 Dodas Birthéay.

to the piano, and put down Shakespeare on the music-
stool and climbed up on it, and was just going to
begin when she said, “ But if I play, every one will
hear.”

“Never mind,” said Captain Lewis; “play it to
me, the tune you were thinking of just now, and then
the other people don’t count.”

Doda could not have helped playing it, now she had
once got to the piano. The notes seemed to cry out
to be played; so she plunged into the tune, and let it
play itself. The piano seemed twice as loud as the
one at home, and as big and strong as their great car-
riage; but it was very easy to play on, and made all
tunes sound more like tunes than they did on any
other piano... Doda was delighted, and added some
notes with the left hand to what she usually played
for the pleasure of the sound. When she came to the
end she was quite sorry, and wished she could take
the piano home, and play-it all the way. She was
rather frightened when every one cried out that it
was beautiful, and would she play them some more?
And she felt ashamed, and almost as if she ought to
explain that she had forgotten them, and had played
to the notes that wanted to hear themselves, and to
the tune that came among them, and would go on
when it was once begun. But she felt it was impos-
sible to say so, and as there was another tune she
remembered that she wanted to try, she began that,
but it sounded so differently that, when she came to
the part where it changes, she made a wrong note,
A New Present. 179

and then another, and then found she had forgotten the
tune, and she’ was so ashamed that she cried, “ Oh, I
have forgotten it all!” and ran away to an arm-chair,
and got in, and thought she would never dare to come
out again, and forgot Shakespeare too, whom she had
left on the music-stool.

But Captain Lewis picked Shakespeare up quite
easily with one hand, and came after with him, and
thanked her for what she had played, and said the
beginning was very pretty, and he hoped she would
remember the end some other time. But she was too’
much ashamed to look up at him, and only took the
Shakespeare and pulled it in beside her into the arm-
chair, and bent her face into the back, and felt very
nearly crying. But suddenly she heard something
which she could scarcely believe. The piano seemed
going on all by itself with the part of the tune she
had forgotten. She looked round at it almost fright-
ened, and saw Mrs. Thoseby playing, who smiled, and
beckoned to her to come. So Doda went and leaned
beside her, and Mrs. Thoseby put her right arm round
her, and finished the tune with her left hand only,
without losing a note either above or below.

“Oh, how did you know it?’ said Doda, when it
was over,

“ From hearing you,” said Mrs. Thoseby. Did I do
it right ?”

“Oh yes,” said Doda; “quite, quite right. Do go

”

So Mrs, Thoseby took both hands now, and played

on.
180 Dodas Birthday.

wonderful tunes, that made Doda feel as if they knew
everything she had ever felt, and could do what they
liked with her, so that as each part ended she hardly
knew where she stood, or how she had escaped with-
out crying out or jumping up, or why she was able
not to breathe without being out of breath after it.

“ Oh,” cried Essy, at the end of all, “ how perfectly
lovely! I am so fond of Beethoven, but I never
dare to play bim.”

And Doda felt that she ought to have been fonder
of Essy than she was.

“We are all charmed,” said Lady Ethel. “Itisa
wonderful gift.”

Doda felt as if she ought to have been fonder of
Lady Ethel also.

“T am really grateful,” said Lord Welryth, coming
up, and not speaking across the room from where he
sat, as the others had done, which is the usual way to
people who have just played music; “I am really
erateful. I am too old to play it now, but I shall
look for all you have left in the piano and live on it
for a long time.”

But while he was saying this, Doda’s mother had
said something to her grandfather about going away
now, and they came up to say good night. Doda was
obliged to do so too, though she felt that this was not
at all the end of everything, and she would have liked
to see and hear and know a great deal more about it
all, and besides, Mr. Mills had not said a word to her
yet, and besides, there was more about Essy and
A New Present. 181

Captain Lewis that she did not know, and besides,
saying good night to any one made the day seem over
at last, and she had been go old and heard such new
things, and she was afraid lest to-morrow she should
hear old things, and be young and childish again
herself,

But her mother had already begun to say good-
night, and she was obliged to do so too. Mrs.
Thoseby said, as she bent down to kiss her, “You
must remember that we have got to go and see
Colonel Thoseby’s parade to-morrow. I will come
‘ for you in the pony carriage.” This made the end of
the day feel not quite so like the end of everything,
as it was very nearly going to, and Doda whispered
back that she should like it so much, and then the
dreadful good-night-wishing went on better.

Essy gave her a great many kisses, and said she
played divinely, and must come some day and play
to her when they were both in London. She did not
say where Doda was to come, but Captain Lewis
seemed to know, for he stood near, smiling to him-
self, and when Essy looked up and met his eye, she
suddenly blushed and nearly dropped her handker-
chief, but caught it again before it had slipped to the
ground. This was the nearest approach to an acci-
dent which Doda ever saw happen to Essy, either
then or afterwards,

Captain Lewis said good-night next, and then
Doda found that there was Lady Ethel sitting close
by ina chair, looking as if she saw no one, and that
182 Dodas Birthday.

there was no one else in the room who had to be
-wished good-night.. Lady Ethel gave her a serious
kiss, and then Doda looked round and found her
Shakespeare was gone, with the people, and was not
on the chair where she left it.

“We shall find them in the passage,” said Captain
Lewis, and bent down to give her his arm. Doda
took it and went out with him. LEssy and Lady
Ethel were left together for a moment, not saying
anything, but every one was such an old friend of
every one else, that this did not matter so much.

In the hall, Colonel Thoseby was saying something
to Doda’s grandfather. Mrs. Thoseby was speaking
to her mother. A maid was putting cloaks on Mrs.
Mortlake. Mr. Mills was putting on his coat, helped
by Lord Welryth. Hal came forward to Doda with
her Shakespeare in one hand and her cloak in the
other.

“T thought you would find it easier to say good-
night without these,” he said, and then gave her the
book, which she held tight, while he put her cloak on
her shoulders and fastened it round her neck.

The front door was open now, and every one was
moving. “Come Doda,” said her mother, looking
round,

The carriage roof was there shining in the dark
night. She could see it over the balustrade of the
high place outside the door, from which the two
flights of steps ran down to the right and left, and
curved, and almost met in the middle again down on
A New Present. 183

the ground. It looked even more wonderful by
night than by day to come out upon steps like those.

“Good-night, Doda; remember your promise,” said
Lord Welryth.

“JT will come back!” she answered, and the next
moment she was out in the night, and Hal was
leading her down the steps to the carriage.

Mr. Mills was there, as well as her mother and
grandfather, He would not get in till she had, and
then the door was shut, and the carriage began to
move. Hal disappeared from the window, and Doda
gave one look up and saw Lord Welryth in the moon-
light, bending over the balustrade and waving his
hand, and behind him the sides of the great house
looked like a fairy palace, which no one had built up,
and no one could ever remember not being there, but
which was only seen by moonlight, and would always
be only seen by moonlight for ever.

She saw it so for one glance, and then the carriage
turned down among the “dark shadows of the trees on
each side of the drive. Doda leaned back and drew
a long breath, and tasted all the wonderfulness of the
day over again in that last moment.




CHAP XITIL—HOME IN THE EVENING.

T first Mr. Mills @vho sat opposite Doda) turned
to her mother, and asked if he should pull up the
glass on his side; but the night was so warm she re-
fused, and suggested the glass that was already up
should be left, and the other remain open. Just at
that moment they drove out from the shade of the
bushes of the garden into the park, and the moon was
rising, and the space seemed of the size that can be
seen but has no boundaries; and the grass was covered
with sparkling drops of water, and the dark trees
stood up silently, each as if silent for a purpose.
Doda seized her grandfather’s arm, and some of the
music that Mrs. Thoseby had played seemed still to be
played somewhere where one could hear but not feel
sure one heard.

As they drove past the lodge at the gate of the
park, Nero rushed out, leaping and sending great
barks up into the air, and he returned with them,
triumphing all the way home, and delighting in the
treat of being out so late, in the smell of the sum-
mer night, and the hedges, and the hay in the fields.

It would take at least half-an-hour to drive home.
Doda knew that, for she had walked the same way
Home in the Evening. 185

once, and driven once with Mrs. Thoseby, and once in
the carriage where she was now. In half-an-hour one
can dream of all kinds of things when one has a nice
place to dream in, and not too much to look at.

The noise of the carriage did not stop the music
that was running in Doda’s head, but made it go on
all the more, and even seemed to change when the
music changed on purpose to suit it. She wondered
when she should be able to play like Mrs. Thoseby,
and to sing like Essy. She remembered some of the
last. song, only she was sure that she must have got
the words into her head in the wrong order.

‘* Where were the trees flew by me?”

She hummed to herself, because as the carriage drove
on and they passed the trees, it really did look as if
the trees were going the other way, and blew by
them. But Essy had not sung in a carriage, so that
could not be right.

Suddenly she thought of asking Mr. Mills, so she
bent quite close to him and said—

“ What was it that Miss Fairtop was singing ?”

“Tn which song?” asked Mr, Mills.

“The one about ‘Where is’ everything; I can’t
remember what it was that was ‘where?’ and how ib
ended.”

“T am afraid it ended unhappily—dn the song,” said
Mr. Mills, smiling.

“Then there was some more afterwards that she
did not sing ?” asked Doda.
186 Dodas Birthday,

“Oh yes! a great deal;” said Mr. Mills; “in fact
more after than before.”

“Then that was not the end?” asked Doda.

“No,” said Mr. Mills. “That song was one that
Miss Fairtop composed herself; she showed the
music to me to have the bass put right, but I think
the end was not in it.”

“Then where was it?” asked Doda.

“Oh, in real life,” said Mr. Mills, “and it has not
come yet. It will go on, and on, and on, as you say
in stories.”

“Ts it nice?” asked Doda.

“Very nice indeed,” said Mr. Mills.

“Ah!” thought Doda; “then I understand ;” and
for a while she did not say any more, but she felt
very proud of having noticed what had happened be-
tween Essy and Captain Lewis after the song, and so
being able to understand what Mr. Mills meant by
saying that it went on in real life,

So she sat thinking of this, and watching the trees
in the moonlight for some time. The others in the
carriage were silent.

While they were driving on and on in this way,
they suddenly came to a place where there were some
gipsies beside the road, who had drawn their carts
and houses-on-wheels on to an empty piece of grass,
and there they had set out all their things, and had
lit a fire, and were melting lead or making soup over
it. Two of the little children of the gipsies had taken
long sticks and set them on fire and made torches of
Home in the Evening. 187

them. They were pretending to fight with these
torches in the middle of the road, but they were
obliged to run out of the way as the carriage came,
for they had not heard it, and were only just in time
to save themselves from beingrun over. They shouted
and danced about beside the road, and whirled their
burning sticks round and round, and knocked them
together, so that little bits flew off into the air, and
the whole night seemed full of falling sparks.

Doda leaned to look, and thought how delicious
and odd the fire and the leaping boys looked in the
pale moonlight; but she had only a moment to see
this, for suddenly the carriage gave such a swing to
one side that she slipped down, and should have
tumbled to the bottom had she not seized hold of her
erandfather’s knees.

She scrambled up by his help, but still the carriage
kept swinging, so that she wanted something to hold
on to. Mr. Mills bent forward, and slipped his arm
round her waist, as she was now standing upright,
leaning between his knees.

Something very awful was happening, but at first
Doda could not make out what it was. They were
going on as if all were right, but her mother was
gasping as if she could not breathe, her grandfather
was holding her hands in one of his and preventing
her opening the carriage door, and Mr. Mills was
speaking in a low, quick voice, as if he had a whole
book to say and only a moment to say it all’ in.

She could not hear his words, because they were
188 Doda's Birthday.

driving so fast now that the carriage made a noise
almost as loud as a train, and the stamping of the
horse’s feet outside came so quickly that it sounded
like the noise a clock makes when the pendulum is
taken off and all the works run down at once.

Doda looked out, and saw they were passing the
trees and hedges just as one does in a train, only
that they did not go straight, but swung first to one
side and then to the other, so that the sticks of the
hedges scratched the sides of the carriage, and several
times the wheels must have gone into the ditch, for
it seemed as if one side had got so low that they must
all tumble over; but somehow they came up again,
and whirled on. “Each time this happened, Mr. Mills
put his hand firmly on one side of the carriage, to
prevent himself falling against it, while with the
other arm he held Doda. Her grandfather did the
same with her mother. :

After the first few moments no one spoke, and
every one seemed to hold their breath.

Still on they went like a train, and still they heard
the horse’s feet outside clattering and clattering as if
he were galloping in a race down the hard road.

At last Doda could not help saying, “ Grandpapa,
need Coachman drive so fast? May I call to him to
stop?”

Her grandfather smiled and said, “No; let him go
on. He will stop as soon as he can. Stand still anc
keep hold of Mr. Mills when we tumble.” a

« Ave we to tumble?” she asked.
Home in the Evening. 189

At that moment there was another jolt, but still
they whirled on.

“Ves, I think s0,” shouted Doda’s grandfather
smiling, “but we had better keep fast hold of each
other, or we shall hurt ourselves.”

“But can’t we stop?” asked Doda.

“Presently,” answered Mr. Mills; “hold fast.”

Suddenly they came to a place where there was no
road, and all the ground seemed made of hills, and
hay came into the carriage windows, and it swung
about now more than before, only it made no noise
with the wheels, but creaked like a loudly-creaking
boot, The windows were as open as they could be,
for Mr. Mills had let down all the glass at the
beginning of the race, while Doda’s grandfather was
keeping her mother from opening the door.

At last the carriage gave a greater swing than ever
and fell over quite softly, and they all fell upon each
other, and no one knew what was happening, for they
were all in a heap, and the hay was in their eyes, and
the horse outside was kicking the carriage now as if
it had been a box. And when they opened the upper
door, immediately Nero jumped in on the top of
them with his tongue out, and his weight nearly
smothered Mr. Mills and Doda who were undermost,
and they would not even have known what it was
that had come on them, but that he began licking
their necks and faces, and trying to dig them out of
the carriage with his fore-paws, as if he were digging
a stone out of a hole.
190 Dodas Birthday.

At last, after a great deal of struggling, in which
Doda only got a little hurt, for Mr. Mills seemed to
to be round her on all sides preventing thines
tumbling on. her, they contrived to get out, the coach-
man helping. When they were free, and in the open
air again, Doda saw the carriage lying on its side
among a lot of little heaps of hay in a hay-field. The
shafts were broken off, and the horse was standing
trembling, tied to the carriage by his head only. He
seemed. very hot, and was steaming in the moonlight
like damp towels held too near a fire.

“Well; that was an escape, and very well managed,”
said Doda’s grandfather. “How did you land us
here ?”

“Through the hedge, sir,” said the coachman. “I
knew a place where it wasn’t much to go through,
and I just got somehow to put him at it in time, so
we let ourselves down pretty softly at the end, sir. T
thought we was all going the wrong way, though, for
a bit. I never was so near having an accident, sir;
notin all my life.”

At this Mr. Mills and Doda’s grandfather smiled,
but Doda could not understand it at all. Her head
hurt her a little, and all her clothes were crooked,
and her arms hurt, and her hair and Nero’s hairs
were in her mouth, and hay was in the neck of her
dress, and her mother was sitting on a hay-cock,
laughing and crying like a baby, but pretending to
only laugh.

She looked round to see where they were, and saw
flome in the Evening. 191

their own house close by in the dark, and found they
were at the back of it, just beyond the garden, and
in their own hay-field.

She cried,—* Oh! do let us go home!”

“Can you run home?” said her grandfather.

“Oh yes!” she cried.

“Then run,” said he, “and send the servants to us
here, and stay and go to bed. We will come to you
as soon as We can.”

She ran straight across the field, though it seemed
further than it had ever been before, and she tumbled
down twice, and once nearly came back instead of
going on, when she remembered that she had left
Shakespeare in the carriage. But she thought he was
too heavy to run with, and at last she got to the
garden-gate, and then to the house, and then all the
servants screamed when they saw her, and when she
told them what had happened, they seized bottles of
wine and bottles of water, and all ran off to the hay-
field together.

So she went upstairs alone, and undressed and
washed, all by herself, and crawled into bed, though
she felt so stiff and sleepy she could scarcely move.

Presently the maid came and brought Shakespeare,
and her grandfather's and mother’s loves, and Mr.
Mill’s Jove, and they all said good-night, but could
not come up just then.

So she sent “good-night” down to them all, and
closed her eyes, and thought, “Not another birthday
for a year, and not another ever the same as this.”
192 Dodds Birthday.

All the things she had seen floated about in
her mind, yet she could think of none rightly.
She felt she had a great deal to ask about different
things, but that she should be certain to forget to
ask it. She supposed, however, that the answers
would come of themselves in time, like every-
thing else. She half wished the day was a book,
so that one could read it again, and see any-
thing one had missed, yet she thought another day
would do. Then she felt for Shakespeare, that she
had taken up to bed with her, and had got leave
to put under the pillow; and the music suddenly
returned again and she gave up thinking, and listened
to it, and it seemed she had got back to Lord
Welryth’s, and that it was agreed that no one was
ever to say good-night to any one, but that Mrs.
Thoseby should play on always and always, and so
with this she slept, and when suddenly the bright sun
on the window-blind made her awake, a new day had
begun, and she was in the full swing of being in the
fresh year, but felt it was no longer her birthday.

COLLOICS©



Marcus Ward & Co., Printers, Belfast.














PUBLISHED BY

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ILLUSTRATED HISTORIES FOR YOUNG CHILDREN.

AUNT CHARLOTTE’S Stories of English History

FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
of ‘The Heir of Redclyffe,” &c.

By CHARLOTTE M. Yoncr, Author

In Fifty easy Chapters, with a Half

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Square octavo, Cloth
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upon the whole, as neutral between
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IN THE PRESS—BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

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UNT CHARLOTTE’S Stories of French History

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In easy Chapters, profusely

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THE GARLAND OF THE YEAR; or, The Months:

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tastefully bound. Is compiled
with considerable literary judgment.
The drawing and colouring of the
floral illustrations are admirable.” —
Northern Whig.



Small octavo, Bevelled Boards, Cloth Elegant, Gilt

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

‘* A very elegant little volume, con-
taining twelve chromo-lithographs of
flowers, one for each month, upon a
ground of gold, with a verse of suit-
able poetry inscribed in illuminated
text, on the same ground. With each
month’s floral emblem, the editor
has connected a brief notice of the
month's natural and social history,
and a few passages selected from
the best English poets.” —/dlustrated
London News.

‘Contains some brief but interest-
ing and instructive descriptions of
the months, together with selections
of appropriate poems from the best
authors. An eligible gift-book or
birth-day present.” —Morning Post.

“ Far above the average pictures in
Christmas books. The designs are
most graceful, and the colouring ex-
quisite.”"—Gloée.

‘‘A bijou Christmas book of a
choice kind, suitable for girls of al-
most any age. It is beautifully
printed. . . . Great credit is due
both to the editor and artist for such
a delicate bit of bookmaking.’’—
Manchester Guardian.

‘We turned over the volume to
see which portrayal of floral beauty
was worthy of note, and finding we
could not fix on any one, we say—
‘all are best.’""— The Lrish Echo.

“Tt is a perfect little gem, and ad-
mirably adapted as a gift-book for
this, and, indeed, for any festive
season.’ —Belfast News-Letter.



London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 5



KATTY LESTER: A Book for Girls,—

By Mrs. GEORGE CuppLes. With Twelve Chromographs of Animals,
after HARRISON WEIR. Foolscap Quarto, Cloth Extra, Bevelled Boards,

Price 5/-

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

‘Tis young readers will hardly
know which to admire most—the
beautiful pictures of dogs, ducks,
pigeons, chickens, and half the do-
mestic animal creation, or the pretty
stories told by Uncle Peter about
them to his little niece during her
stay in his country home.”— Dazly
News.

“ Harrison Weir's illustrations are
excellent, and some of the pictures
of animal life, such as ‘Dog saving
Charlie's life,’ are almost as beautiful
as water-colours.""—£cho.

‘* A book for girls, by Mrs. George
Cupples, who has judged her readers
well, and whose text is illustrated by
the excellent chromo-lithographs in
imitation of water-colours by Mr.
Harrison Weir.” —Staxdard.

' * A very pleasantly-told little story
for children, illustrated, or rather,
perhaps, we should say accompanied
by numerous charming sketches in
colour, from the facile pencil of Mr.
Harrison Weir. A very pretty
story, not troubling itself about plot,
but relating little every-day incidents
of child life, just in the way in which
children like to have them related.”
—TLhe Hour.

‘* A capital book for girls. . .
The tone of the book is fresh and
wholesome. The illustrations are
very fine chromographs, after Harri-
son Weir.""—Glode,

‘Is deserving of high commenda-
tion for its artistic beauty.”"—Figero.

“There are twelve chromographs
of animals, after Harrison Weir, and
they are without doubt perfect gems.”
—Edinburgh Courant.

‘It is a pretty story of country life ;
but its chief charm will, no doubt, be
the twelve chromo-lithographs by Mr.
Harrison Weir, which serve as illus-
trations. They are very finely done.”
— Scotsman.

‘‘An interesting story for girls.
The chromo-lithographs, after Har-
rison Weir, are, several of them at
least, worthy of good frames, and to
be hung up in a drawing-room.” —-
The City Press.

‘‘A pleasant and sensible story of
life in an English rural home, sur-
rounded by the familiar objects of the
country—sheep and cattle, horses and
dogs, birds and bees and butterflies,
trees, grass, corn, and wild flowers,
not to speak of the red deer of Ex-
moor.”:-—lilustrated London News,

‘tA charming gift-book for chil-
dren, Nothing more acceptable than
the farm-yard and domestic scenes
Mr. Weir has added to Mrs. Cupples’
pretty story.”—Bookseller.

‘©Contains chromographs, mostly
of animals. They are cleverly and
agreeably sketched. The text con-
sists of sensibly- written, rational
stories, which develope one from the
other in a simple way, with a running
narrative to connect them,’’— @une.

‘‘The stories are interesiing, but
they are far exceeded in value by the
numerous chromograph illustrations
of animals by Mr. Harrison Weir.”
—Manchester Guardian.

‘* A delightful collection of stories
for little girls, adorned with a dozen
capital chromographs, after Harrison
Weir.” — Times.



And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
6 List of Illustrated Works



JHE LITTLE FLOWER-SEEKERS ; or, The Adven-

TURES OF TROT & DAISY IN A WONDERFUL GARDEN

BY MOONLIGHT.—By RosA MULHOLLAND.
graphs of Flowers, after various Artists.

Bevelled Boards. Price 5/-

With Twelve Chromo-
Foolscap Quarto, Cloth Extra

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

‘‘A pretty story. The book will
charm many a girl and boy. The
chromographic illustrations are com-
posed of capital pictures of flowers,
brilliantly and richly coloured after
nature, and executed with a large
amount of skill and taste. In them-
selves, and as works of art, these pic-
tures are a great deal better than the
gaudy and coarse designs of figures
which we so often see in gift-books.”
—Atheneum.

‘These illustrations are among

’ the very best of an unusually prolific
period.” —Morning Post.

“In the child-world of literature,
few events of equal importance to the
publication of this volume have oc-
curred since ‘Alice in Wonderland’
saw the white rabbit pull its watch
out of its waistcoat pocket." —Dudlin
Evening Post.

‘« A dainty and delightful book.
The text, of course, is mainly a struc-
ture on which to hang pictures, and
very beautiful the pictures are. 2
Reproduced with a closeness to the
originals simply astonishing.” —AZan-
chester Guardian,

‘A little gem of a book, with a
number of very prettily told stories
and a series of really exquisite chro-
mographic pictures of flowers, beau-
tifully drawn and reproduced with
extraordinary fidelity. One of the
most graceful efforts of the season.”
The Hour.

‘‘Contains some of the finest
coloured plates of flowers ever pub-
lished, and the story is in itself telling
and fresh.” —Standard.

‘‘Another most attractive book.
The stories told by the flowers are
fanciful and pretty ; but the illustra-
tions of the flowers are better still.
This, at least, will be the judgment
of grown-up people; but we should
not be surprised if the little ones, for
whom these tales are written, will pre-
fer them to the chromographs, bright-
looking as they are. A prettier book
for young children we have not seen
for a long while.""-Pall Mall Gazette.

“A charming volume.” — Daily
News.

‘“The Little Flower-Seekers tells
the adventures which befel Trot and
Daisy in a wonderful moonlit garden,
among talking apples, hyacinths and
honeysuckles, which find a tongue on
Midsummer Eve. ‘The coloured pic-
tures are very good indeed." — Zames,

“Whilst juveniles will be pleased
with the adventures of Trot and Daisy
in their wonderful garden by moon-
light, they can scarcely fail to be
charmed with the very choice chro-
mographs of flowers with which the
book is furnished.”"— The City Press.

“This is undoubtedly a charming
work,” —Adinburgh Courant.

‘““The book is charmingly written,
a strong suppressed element of poetry
runs through it, it has the delicate
wildness of a child’s dream, and is
altogether one of the most fascinating
contributions to the juvenile literature
of the season.” —Freeman’'s Fournal.

‘This charming story cannot fail
to please our little ones. It is ex-
quisitely illustrated with chromo-
graphs.""—Belfast News-Letter.



London: 67,68 Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 7



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS—Continued.

“The illustrations are singularly
beautiful, and have high artistic ex-
cellence, Indeed, together with the
stories, they make up a volume which
it would be difficult to overpraise.""—
Scotsman.

“The chromographs are exquisite
in grouping and colour. . These
stories are the gems of the book, even
pictorially they are rich in pure
imagination, and overflowing with
poetic thought.” —/résh ALonthdy.

[HE CHILDREN’S VOYAGE; or, a Trip in the

WATER FAIRY.—By Mrs. GEORGE CUPPLES.
Chromographs of Ships, Boats, and Sea Views, after
Foolscap Quarto, Cloth Extra, Bevelled Boards.

With Twelve
EDWARD DUNCAN.
Price 5/-



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

‘The voyage is to Scotland, the
‘Water Fairy’ is a yacht, and the
passengers consist of the children of
two families, with nurse, governess,
one papa, &c., all bent upon seeking
health and enjoyment in a pleasant
sea trip. Mrs. Cupples unites—as
she is bound to do on such an occa-
sion, for is there not a governess on
board? —instruction with entertain-
ment; and Mr. Grogan, the skipper,
a jolly, good-hearted tar, is her prin-
cipal mouth-piece. Miss Dalby, the
governess, does her duty also; and
those who have been in the habit of
sailing or steaming from the Thames
to Granton, will be amused to find
how much is made out of the voyage.
Mrs. Cupples deserves to be congra-
tulated on a success, and so assuredly
does the artist.”--Pall Mall Gazette.

“‘This pretty little volume is em-
bellished with chromographs, a novel
form of illustration.”—Daély News.

“It is illustrated with excellent
chromographs, from originals in
water-colours by Mr. Edward Dun-
can.” —AMorning Post.

‘©The Children's Voyage contains
some excellent coloured lithographs
of marine views, after Mr. E. Duncan,
and the story is well adapted to the
comprehension of children.”—-Séax-
dard.

And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.

“Mrs. Cupples has not, as one
might fancy from the title, carried
her little friends away into the realms
of the supernatural, but has taken
them for a safe and pleasant voyage
in their papa’s sailing-yacht, from the
Thames to the port of Edinburgh.
The artist who has in this instance
made drawings for the chromo-litho-
grapher is Mr. Edward Duncan, an
esteemed member of the Society of
Painters in Water-colours.’”—J//lis-
trated London News.

‘Fine chromographs also illustrate
The Children's Voyage. "The scenes
visited by the ‘Water Fairy’ will
abide in the memory of every young
reader. Next to joining the merry
group in their trip is the pleasure of
following their adventures in this
charming volume.’ —G/ode.

“Ttis sure to become acceptable
with all youths nautically inclined,
giving, as it does, a graphic descrip-
tion of a yachting expedition in which
Frank and Cicely were delighted par-
ticipators, discovering in this, their
first sea voyage, many of the hidden
treasures of the deep, witnessing novel
sights hitherto unknown to them, and
also becoming, for the first time,
fully aware of the dangers to which
sailors are exposed." —Bedfast News-
Letter.


8 List of Illustrated Works



H. RUTHERFURD RUSSELL,

fom: The History of a very Little Boy.
By

Coloured Frontispiece and Illuminated Title-page.

Gold and Black. Price 2/6.

With Five Full Page Illustrations,
Small octavo, Cloth,

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

‘* Almost as good, in its way, as
Mr. Carroll's ‘Alice in Wonderland,’
though it has less of humorous fancy.
Parents and lovers of childhood will
like it much, as the childish reader is
sure to do.”—Jilustrated London
News.

‘‘Shows how a child may, by the
precept and example of an excellent
mother, learn to become good, from
the birthday of the Child Jesus.”—
Morning Post.

‘«Tn every way certain to give satis-
faction to the happy juvenile who
may have the good luck to receive it
as a present.”-~-Norihern Whig.

‘Ts sure to become a favourite with
all good little boys who may be for-
tunate enough to secure it as a
Christmas or New Year's gift. The
story is pleasingly told, and contains
many useful lessons.’’—Mews-Letter.

“Tts tendency is quite unexcep-
tionable.”—Standard.

“Told in large print and easy
words, which alone must make it de-
lightful reading for the little ones,
even were Tom's adventures less
amusing than they are.” — Daily
News.

‘CA very good story for boys.’’—
Globe.

PoDa’s BIRTHDAY: The faithful Record of all

THAT BEFEL A LITTLE GIRL ON A LONG, EVENTFUL
DAY.—By EpwIn J. Eviis. With Five Full Page Illustrations, Coloured
Frontispiece and Illuminated Title-page. Small octavo, Cloth, Gold and

Black. Price 2/6.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

‘The book purports to be ‘the
faithful record of all that befel a little
girl on a long eventful day,’ and it is
what it professes to be. Perhaps
some people may think that within
such narrow limits not much is pos-
sible. They have only to read this
little volume to come to a different
conclusion. The story is throughout
interesting, and the book in that re-
spect as pleasant a one as could be
given to any little girl.” —Scotsman.

‘©A most suitable book for girls,
and one that will delight the little
misses immensely. The frontispiece
in colours is really very pretty.”—
Edinburgh Courant,

“Deals a good deal with childish
adventures in the fields, childish
sports with animals, and childish ex-
periences and utterances in drawing-
rooms and daisy dells. This book is
handsomely illustrated.""—Freeman’s
Fournal,

‘* Will be found interesting to those
who wish to enjoy a portion of second
childhood without its senility.’’"—
Morning Post.

“A very nice little volume, exactly
adapted for a gift-book.”"—orthern

Whig.

‘A charming book.’'-Dazly News.

‘'The story is told in a pleasing
style."— The City Press.



London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 9



[HE MARKHAMS OF OLLERTON : A Tale

CIVIL WAR, 1642-1647. By ELIZABETH GLAISTER.

of the

With Five

Full Page Illustrations, Coloured Frontispiece and Illuminated Title-page.

Smail octavo, Cloth, Gold and Black.

Price 2/6.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

“A tale of the civil war, and abounds
with thrilling incidents of that event-
ful period. It appears to be composed
by a close adherent to historical fact,
and will compare favourably with
some of the many sombre pages which
Sir Walter Scott has indited respect-
ing the same period.”"-—Jorning Post

‘*A most readable little volume,

comprising in.a well-told tale an his-
torical sketch of the period indicated,
written in an interesting and instruc-
tive manner, and suitably illustrated.”
—Belfast News-Letter.
’ A very interesting story, told in
a most interesting way. The coloured
illustrations are above the average,”
—Edinburgh Courant.

‘A well-written story of the civil
war, from 1642 to 1647,""—Scotsman.

‘‘The story of Charles I. is one
that never loses its charm, and when
so pleasantly and colloquially told,
and embellished by such pretty and
characteristic pictures as we have .
here, it will be sure to find a large
and appreciative audience.”—Daily
News.

‘‘A capitally-written story of the
great civil war, founded on a well-
developed plot, told in spirited lan-

‘guage, full of incident, and preserv-

ing to the close that historical se-
quence which is so indispensable and
so infrequent a quality in narratives
professing to illustrate notable events.
The illustrations, too, are excellent.”
—Freeman's Journal.

‘Has many scenes that will touch
boyish sympathies.” — Globe.

JUST PUBLISHED.

FLDERGOWAN; or, Twelve Months of my Life,

AND OTHER TALES.—By RosA MULHOLLAND. With Five Full
Page Illustrations, Coloured Frontispiece and Illuminated Title-page.

Small octavo, Cloth, Gold and Black.

Price 2/6.

IN THE PRESS.

(CHRONICLES OF COSY NOOK: A Book of Stories

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. By Mrs. 5. C, HALL.

With Six Full

Page Illustrations, Coloured Frontispiece and Illuminated Title-page.

Post octavo, Cloth, Gold and Black.

Price 3/6.

COUNTRY MAIDENS: A Story of the Present

DAY. By M. BramsToNneE, Author of ‘‘The Panelled House,” &c.
With Six Full Page Illustrations, Coloured Frontispiece and Muminated

Title-page,

Post octavo, Cloth, Gold and Black.

Price 3/6.

And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
List of Popular Works



NEW NOVEL, IN ONE VOLUME.

A VERY YOUNG COUPLE,—

By the Author of ‘ Mr. Jerningham’s Journal,” ‘‘ The Runaway,” &c.



Crown Octavo, Cloth Extra.

Price 6/-

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS,

“ Readers of this bright and spark-
ling story will forgive Mr. and Mrs.
Clare all their shortcomings, in the
way of housekeeping, on account of
the good nature of the former and the
devotion of the latter. We do
not exaggerate in the least, when we
say that this is the most charming
novelette of the season." —~Czvzl Ser-
vice Gazette.

“Though the story is slender, it has
some capital sketching, and abounds
in the characteristic humour and ob-
servation of life which distinguish the
writings of this author and her gifted
sister. We shall not so far wrong
the author as to tell how Fred's ab-
sence was cleared up and the very
young couple came together again,
older and wiser. But we may recom-
mend the story as delightful reading,
and also the binding, paper, and
printing of the book as most credit-
able to its popular and enterprising
publishers." —/élustrated Revtew.

“ Affords some excellent sketches
of private life in pursuit of comfort
under difficulties. The first evening
of a newly-married pair, in rather
economical lodgings, is happily ren-
dered.” —Morning Post.

“The history of a young husband
and wife, who begin life in a small
lodging in a country town—he as a
bank clerk, and she as a childish little
housekeeper. . . The story is
well and clearly told.”—Dazly News.

‘A simple story of true love, told
with much grace and naiveté. :
One of the most readable and attrac-
tive tales of the season.”—Sunday
Tinves.



‘A very lively and pleasant little
tale, vivid in its interest, and the har-
rowing part of it not too prolonged
for endurance, nor too artfully shaded
to leave a loophole for the entrance
of a beam of hope. The talks be-
tween the very young couple before
the crisis of the story, and the con-
duct of the young wife after it, are
both given with true spirit, and the
pathetic part carries the reader's
heart with it. Moreover, the
lively rattle of the story is not better
painted for us than the tension of its
deeper interest and the happy exulta-
tion of its close." — Spectator.

“The young wife relates her own
distress so touchingly that she quite
wins our sympathy.” —A theneum.

‘“Many readers will welcome this
author once more, her ‘Journal’ hav-
ing left pleasant impressions on the
memory. The story of the mistakes
of inexperienced housekeepers is by
no means new, but it is here told
with much freshness and vivacity.
The wife takes the reader into her
confidence, and most will sympathise
with her thoroughly, except when she
is too exacting in requiring her hus-
band to spend every spare moment
in her society. Trouble overtakes
them, and their whole horizon be-
comes dark for a time, only to
brighten, however, into a new dawn.”
—Globe.

‘«To those of our readers contem-
plating matrimony at too early an
age, we would suggest the perusal of
this every-day story, which bears all
the traces of being true to the life.”
—Belfast News-Letter.



London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co.

If



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS—Continued.

‘This delightful little tale relates
the experiences of the first few months
of married life of a couple aged re-
spectively twenty-three and eighteen,
who commence housekeeping on an
income of £170 a-year. Georgy

. Clare, the charming heroine, who
tells her own story, is quite without
apprehension that these means may
be of the narrowest, since, as she
logically argues, if it is so easy to
spend money, it must be easier still
not to spend it. It is seldom that we
come across anything so sparkling
and amusing, and, at the same time,
so natural, as the history of her first
attempt at accounts—her virtuous
determination to ‘leave a margin,’
and the arithmetical straits to which
she is thereby reduced; her be-
wildered effort to calculate what two
pound sixteen a-month would come
toin the year; ‘it’s easy enough at
first—it's twenty-four pounds, but
then come a lot of sixteen shillingses,’
and the final result arrived at—that
the whole income is disposed of with-
out a single penny having been set
down for eating and drinking. We
must thank the author for having
given us an hour or two of genuine
pleasure, and cordially recommend
the book to all readers.”—Graphic.

‘The opening chapters abundantly
testify to the author's ability to write
fiction. The story runs on smoothly,
the various characters, which are very
well drawn, appear and reappear at
proper times, and the hero and
heroine are represented with remark-
able finish. The tale is well worth
reading.” —Ldinburgh Courant.

‘A regulation circulating library
novel, in one volume, excellently
printed, on capital paper, and well
bound. Few of the novels of the
present day are so well produced.”—
Belfast Northern Whig.

‘Tf Mr. Trollope is the laureate of
the clergy, and of young ladies who
are a long time making up their
minds whether and which to marry,
the author of ‘Mrs. Jerningham's
Journal’ appears desirous to establish
her claim to be the special chronicler
of young married life and sketcher of
the clouds which will sometimes ob-
scure, for a time, the brightest honey-
moon. There is, by-the-by,
a great family likeness in the heroines
of this author. We cannot divest
ourselves of the idea that Mrs. Jer-
ningham is Mrs. Clare’s elder sister,
and that Mrs. Clare is only Olga,
‘The Runaway,’ grown up. rae
There is one delicious remark of Mrs.
Clare's, which we would commend to
the notice of all struggling econo-
mists—‘Ifit is so easy to spend, how
much easier it must be zoZ to spend.’
We should like to hear Lord Dun-
dreary'’s gloss upon that text.”—
Pall Malt Gazette.

‘An amusing little story of early

married life, at first reminding us
rather of David Copperfield and
Dora, is. A Very Young Couple.
We can recommend the book to those
who want a couple of hours’ light,
amusing reading. It may also be
useful as giving a few notes of warn-
ing to those who meditate rushing
into matrimony with rather inade-
quate incomes.''—Standard.

‘Tf the plot of this story is some-
what melodramatic, yet the story it-
self is so pleasantly and brightly told
that it deserves high praise. We
must congratulate the authoress on
having produced a work in every
way equal to her ‘Runaway’ of last
year." —Saturday Review.

“One of the freshest and plea-
santest novels or tales we have lately
met with. Told in a charm-
ingly natural manner.” —Czty Press,



And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
I

Ny

List of Illustrated Works



[LLUMINA TING: A Practical Treatise on the Art.

By Marcus Warp, Illuminator to the Queen.
Examples of the styles prevailing at different periods, from the sixth cen-
ury to the present time; Chromographed in Facsimile and in Outline.
Foolscap Quarto, Cloth Extra, Bevelled Boards, Gilt Edges. Price 5/-, or,



in Morocco Extra, 10/6

With Twenty-Six

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS,

‘“The examples of illumination
given to illustrate the text confer
upon the book itself no slight artistic
value. The treatise, with its acces-
saries, reflect much credit upon its
author." —ddoruing Post.

‘‘Full of precise suggestions on
the best form of peus and brushes,
the preparation of the material, the
mixing and laying on of colours, &c.,
all which subjects are treated with
great minuteness, such as could only
come from an expert. ‘he illustra-
tions are taken from good examples
of the French, German, Italian, and
Celtic Schools. The coloured pages
are quite equal in style to those in
more expensive works. This
is a very creditable and remarkably
cheap little book."— Architect.

‘An essentially useful book to
draughtsmen,”—/igaro,

‘ A most valuable work.” —Zdin-
burgh Courant.

“The educated eye, with or with-
out any intention of learning to prac-
tise this exquisite art, may derive a
great deal of refined pleasure from
Mr. Ward's book on the subject.”"—
Illustrated London News.

‘Of all the volumes that we have

seen, none equals this as a compact
and cheap book of instructions.
Of these twenty-four plates there is
not one that is not worthy of admira-
tion as in itself a work of art.”—
Standard.

‘‘Admirably adapted for the use of
all beginners in this lately revived and
beautiful art.” —Belfast News-Letter,

‘Tt is a complete history of the
subject, and abounds with illustra-
tions of the styles prevailing at dif-
ferent periods, and the letterpress is
full of interest. The writer is an en-
thusiast in his art, and a very beau-
tiful art it is—one, too, which may
be followed with success by many
persons of artistic taste, whose abili-
ties would not enable them to take
rank among ordinary painters.”’—
Morning Advertiser.

‘These specimens are exceedingly
beautiful in design as well as colour-
ing. The instructions to students are
not only technically well written but
have a literary interest in connection
with the subject of illumination.”—
Freeman's Fournal.

“That Mr. Marcus Ward is a
master of the art this volume, like
others he has issued during the pre-
sent season, sufficiently proves. :
Amost tempting topic to the author,
the student, and the reviewer, but
which must lead us no further at this
moment than to the renewed ex-
pression of our admiration for Mr.
Ward's excellent manual.”—Adan-
chester Guardian.

‘* The volume, whether as regards
its literary or artistic qualities, is en-
titled to high praise. The practical
instructions are concise and clear.”
—City Press.

‘A very useful little treatise, the
merit of which is in no small degree
enhanced by the excellent illustrations
with which it is thickly studded.”—
The Hour,

London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 33



New Book of Design in Colours, for Decorators, Designers,
Manufacturers, and Amateurs.

PLANT. S: Their Natural Growth & Ornamental

TREATMENT,—By F. Epward Hutme, F.L.S., F.S.A., of Marl-
borough College, Author of ‘Plant Form.” Large Imperial Quarto, Cloth
Extra, Bevelled Boards. Price ar/- [lua the Press.

This important work consists of Forty-four Plates, printed in Colours,
in facsimile of original Drawings made by the Author, It shows how the
common Plants and Flowers of the Field may be used to produce endless
variety of inventive form, for all manner of decorative purposes. The Plates
are accompanied by a careful Treatise on the whole subject,

HULME ’S Freehand Ornament.—60 Examples,

for the use of Drawing Classes. Adopted by the Department of Science
and Art. By F. E. Huime, F.L.S., F.S.A., Marlborough College. Imperial
8vo. Price 5/~-, or, mounted on Millboard, Cloth-bound Edges, 10/-
_ ‘To the Student of Drawing this book turer of textile fabrics of every description
is a mine of well-drawn examples . . . in which patterns are employed, and to
Cannot fail to be useful to the decorative many others whom it is not needful to
sculptor, the bookbinder, the manufac- point out.”"—4+é¢ Fouruad.



HANDSOME GIFT BOOKS FOR YOUNG FOLKS.
ARCUS WARD'S Fapanese Picture Book.

28 large Pictures of ALADDIN, ABOU Hassan, ALI BABA, and SIND-
BAD ; designed in the true Eastern spirit, and Printed in Japanese Colours ;
the Stories done into English Rhyme. Imperial 4to., Cloth Extra. Price 5/-

[ARCUS Warps Fruble Picture Book.

24 large Pictures of ANIMALS AND THEIR MASTERS, drawn in
Colours, in the Mediseval manner—exemplifying the Fables of sor;
with the Fables in Rhyme. Imperial 4to., Cloth Extra. Price 5/-









\fARCUS War's Golden Picture Book of

FAIRY TALES.—24 Full Page Pictures, comprising CINDERELLA,
THE Fair ONE WITH THE GoLpEN Locks, THE MARQUIS OF CARABAS,
and Tur HIND oF THE Forest—the Stories Versified and set to Music.
Imperial gto., Cloth Extra. “Price 5/~

MARCUS Ward's Golden Picture Book of
LAVS AND LEGENDS.—24 large Pictures, comprising Lapy
OUNCEBELLE & LORD LOVELLE, KING ALFRED & OTHERE, POCAHONTAS,
and THE SLEEPING BEAUTY OR THE ENCHANTED PALACE—the Stories
Versified and set to Music. Imperial 4to., Cloth Extra. Price s/~



And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
14 List of Ilustrated Works

NEW PICTURE BOOKS FOR YOUNG FOLKS.
JARCUS WARD’S Japanese Picture Stories.

Tales told in brilliant Pictures, conceived in the true Eastern spirit,
and with all the forcible drawing and effective colouring of the Japanese, by
native talent ; with New Version of the Stories in English Rhyme. Each
book has Seven large Pictures (one double page), mounted in Japanese
Screen, or Panorama fashion. Price One Shilling each, on Paper; or,
mounted on Linen, Two Shillings each.

x. Aladdin; or, The Wonderful Lamp.
2. Abou Hassan; or, Caliph for a Day.
3. Ali Baba; or, The Forty Thieves.
4. Sindbad; or, Seven Strange Voyages.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
‘‘Astonishingly good. It was a ‘‘Thepictures, which are brilliantly

very funny notion in itself to take the
Arabic stories of Aladdin and Abou
Hassan and Ali Baba and Sindbad,
and give them to an artist imbued
with the fashionable Japanese feeling
to produce in picture shape; but the
way in which the idea has been car-
ried out is stlll funnier. The print-
ing and colouring are perfection, and
the humour of the drawing is always
extremely fine.” —Standard.

‘« Brilliant pictures and narratives
jn the true Eastern spirit, . . .
possessing much comic merit and
humour, yet suited to the tastes of
the young.” —Morning Post. :

‘*Conveys a highly original idea,
carried out with spirit and ingenuity.
It is enough to make one wish to be
a child again, to look at the pictures,
so gorgeous, dazzling, and splendid
they are.” —Zcho.

“Tf all these illustrations are by
Marcus Ward, all we have to say is
that he should be president of the
Children’s Royal Academy, when
they have one.""—Budlder,

“Many of the designs are not
without spirit, especially those which
illustrate ‘Sindbad.’ the publi-
cation is creditable to Messrs. Ward.”
-—A theneunt.

coloured, are as quaint as possible,
and often clever and amusing. The
characters appear in the guise of
Japanese—certainly very odd Japan-
ese, but not likely to be less popular
with children for their eccentricity.
Nothing could be more comical than
the dignified advance of Aladdin to
the palace to claim the princess,”"—
Globe.

‘The illustrations are capitally
done, following, as the title-page may
fairly claim, the quaint Eastern spirit
with remarkable fidelity, and result-
ing in a series of pictures grotesquely
comic and brilliantly gay.” — The
flour.

‘“A marvel of cheapness and at-
tractiveness,’"—igaro.

‘‘ A selection of Japanese drawings,
excellently re-produced on English
paper, and accompanied by some
spirited verses on Aladdin, Haroun
al Raschid, Ali Baba, and other
favourite subjects."—Dazly News.

‘‘One of the most admirable ex-
amples of humorous design and satis-
factory execution that we have ever
examined. The artist has caught
the salient characteristics of Japanese
illustration with really wonderful abil-
ity."—Northern Whig.



London: 67, 68. Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 35



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS—Continued,

‘ Aladdin, Ali Baba, Sindbad, and
other old friends, are-turned into
Japanese heroes, and their adventures
represented in brilliantly - coloured
pictures in the style of Japanese art.
Children cannot fail to be charmed
with the clear outlines and bright un-
shaded colouring.” —Guardian.

“The pictures, whether or not
literally the work of ‘native talent,’
are ‘drawn in the true Eastern spirit;’
and, as all things Japanese are now
the fashion, should be certainly popu-
lar.""— Spectator.

“One of the most mirth-provoking
volumes we have seen for many a
day. . The poetical descriptions
of these old-world but ever fresh
legends are excellently well done, but
the pictures are inimitable for fun and
graphic power."— The Trish Echo.

‘Grand coloured pictures, the
drawing and colouring of which give
an agreeable freshness to these fami-
liar subjects. Altogether out of the
common way are these picture stories,
and they will be liked accordingly.”
—The City Press.

‘Full of humour. Of the Eastern
figure drawing and composition, the
characteristics are well caught.""—
Architect,

‘«The pictures are mounted in Ja-
panese screen, or panorama fashion,
and must prove very charming to
children.” Edinburgh Courant.

“They are admirably done in
sheets, which fold map-like. If the
youngsters cannot get genuine amuse-
ment out of them they must be diffi-
cult to please.” —Scotsmau.

“The colouring is brilliant as the
eye can endure. They are clever and
very laughable.” —/élastrated London
News.

“In the forcible drawing and re-
splendent colours of the Orientals
themselves.""—Booksedler.

‘The artist who illustrated AZad-
diz has studied Japanese art to some
effect. He has succeeded in turning
out a clever and brilliant series of
pictures, which even the Mikadc
would regard with approval.""—Fuz.

‘Without undertaking to say that
there is much of the true Eastern
spirit to be found in these pictures,
yet we will allow that they are bril-
liant enough, and afford an agreeable
change from the true Western spirit,
which has for years been set forth in
the illustrations of these stories.”’"—
Saturday Review,

‘'These are good books : pleasant
to examine and also to read, oe
An original and agreeable book of
coloured prints, perhaps the only veri-
able novelty of the season.”—Ari
Fournal,

‘Taking ‘Sindbad’ as a represen-
ative specimen, we may call atten-
tion to the peculiar fitness of the
Japanese style of illustration em-
ployed. It suits the story, and we
are agreeably surprised to find how
cleverly the artist has avoided any-
hing like the stiff formality which is
generally associated with Chinese and
other Eastern work.” — A¢anchester
Guardian,

‘We have decidedly seen nothing
o exceed the series of Fapanese Pic-
ture Stories, in which the immortal
egends of the ‘Arabian Nights,’ and
other Oriental romances, are pre-
sented in poetico-illustrated form.
The chief characteristic of the series
is their thorough fun." —freeman’s
Sournad,

“Full of fun as they are, and re-
viving for us the ‘ Arabian Nights’—
in their most pleasant guise—many
a hearty ring from joyous family cir-
cles will be given out.” — AZorwing
News.



And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
16

List of Illustrated Works



[MARCUS WARD’S Royal Illuminated Legends.

New Edition—Six Pictures in each—Eight Books.



Each .Story or

Legend is illustrated with a set of brilliant Pictures, designed in the quaint
spirit of Medizeval times, and printed in Colours and Gold, The Stories
are related in Antient Ballad form, with appropriate Music, arranged in an
easy style, for Voice and Pianoforte, suited to little folks or great folks, and
minstrels of all degrees. Price One Shilling each; or, mounted on Linen,
Two Shillings each. May also be had in 2 vols., Cloth Extra, price 5/- each.

PWN HR

. The Sleeping Beauty; or,

- Cinderella and the Little Glass Slipper.

. The Fair One with the Golden Locks.

. Lady Ouncebelle and Lord Lovelle.

The Enchanted Palace (with Tennyson's

Words, by the permission of Messrs. Strahan & Co.).

5. King Alfred and Othere (with Longfellow’s Words, by permission of Messrs.
Osgood & Co., for the United States). *

6. The Marquis of Carabas; or, Puss in Boots.

ont

- Pochahontas; or, La Belle Sauvage.
. The Hind of the Forest; or, The Enchanted Princess.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS,

‘“We drew attention, a few days
since, to the wonderful improvement
upon the old picture-books noticeable
in some of the publications then un-
der review. There are some now be-
fore us, however, which put these
quite out of court. Marcus Ward's
Golden and Fable Picture Books as
far surpass any of those before no-

ticed as they were in advance of the-

old daubs of our own childish days.
The Golden Picture Book is a most
gorgeous volume.""— The Hour.

‘We have to welcome a new edi-
tion of the lovely /dduminated Legends
which made such a sensation last
year, as well they might, for who ever
saw such an approach to illumination
in gold and colours, for such a trifling
amount as the cost of these really ex-
quisite productions.” — Standard.

“The drawing and colouring are
very good,” — Spectator.

“The legends told in good ring-
ing rhymes, set to easy pretty tunes.”
— Bookseller.

‘Many of the pictures are really
beautiful—clear, firmly outlined, and
decidedly characteristic. In the story
of ‘ The Sleeping Beauty,’ the awake-
ing both of the princess and the other
inmates of the palace is rendered
with genuine humour.”— Globe,

“ Beautifully illustrated books, and
gorgeous in gold and bright colours.”
—Publishers Ctreinlar.

“The illustrations of Lays and
Legends, with their golden’ back-
grounds, are quite dazzling, Among
children’s books, Messrs, Wards’
series hold the highest place.”—
Architect.

‘Of the manner in which these are
executed it is hardly possible to speak
too highly. Nothing like them has
ever been brought under our notice
by any other publisher. The Royal
Llluminated Legends, printed in the
most gorgeous colours on a gold
ground, have certainly not been
equalled in our experience." —Morth-
ern Whig.



London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 17



[MARCUS WARD'S Picture Fables from Asop.

Pictures of Animals and their Masters, suggested by the time-honoured
Parables of 4=sop, drawn in the Medizeval manner, and with all its effective

colouring.
WELL.

With New Version of the Fables in Rhyme, by J. HA FRis-
In Four Books—Price One Shilling each ; or, mounted on Linen,

Two Shillings each. May also be had in x vol., Cloth Extra, price 5/-

1. The Wolf and the Lamb, and other Fables, including—Town and
Country Mouse—Boy who cried ‘‘ Wolf!”—Ass in Lion’s Skin—
Huntsman and Old Hound—Man and Bundle of Sticks.

2. The Hare and Tortoise, and other Fables, including—Monkey and Cats
—Boys and Frogs—Goose with Golden Eggs—Bear and Bees—The

Conceited Stag.

3. The Jackdaw and Peacock, and other Fables, including—Basket of
Eggs—Dog and Shadow—Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing—The Two Pots

—Eagle and Jackdaw.

4. The Dog in the Manger, and other Fables, including—Mouse and Lion
~—Countryman and Snake—Sun and Wind—Fox and Stork—The

Trumpeter.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

“ The colouring is broad and mas-
sive, but with a remarkable absence
of the crudeness which is commonly
noticeable in subjects thus handled.
Many of the sketches, too, display a
large amount of artistic skill in the
drawing and grouping, whilst the ex-
pression thrown into the faces and
attitudes of many of the animals is
exceedingly striking. Mr. Friswell,
too, has done his work well.’— Ze
Hour.

‘“The pictures aptly render the in-
tended expression, and are such as
would elicit the praise of AZsop him-
self, were he still in the flesh.’"—
Morning Post.

‘«The pictures are carefully, if not
finely, drawn, and that isa rare merit
in such works.” —A thexeum.

“Such a shilling’s worth is not
often seen, even in these days of
cheap and excellent books for chil-
dren.” — Standard.

‘Carefully executed, and display
the power of seizing on quaint ele-
ments and rendering them amusing
by a few broad touches.”’—Glode.

‘Parents could not give their little
ones a better present, and one which
will be more appreciated, than this
enchanting volume.” — Edinburgh
Courant,

‘‘Leave nothing to be desired in
respect to the illustrations, which
are boldly and effectively drawn.” —
Stationer.

“Besides their mechanical execu-
tion, there is real fancy and master-
ful artistic conception displayed in
them.” —Freeman's Fournal.

‘*Messrs Ward are to be warmly
thanked by the young and those who
are in search of good gift-books for
the young.” —Art Journal.

‘'The poet has done well, and has
contributed a substantial share of the
attractions of this capital fable-book
for children. It is very handsomely
bound.” -—J@anchester Guardian.

‘'The expression thrown into the
countenances of the various animals
would be worthy of the lamented
Landseer himself.” —Jrish Echo,

‘* Singularly good—full of fun and
cleverness.""—Budtlder,

And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
i - List of Educational Works



SUITABLE FOR SCHOOL PRIZES, .

[ERE FOSTER’S Complete Course of Drawing.

Handy Volumes of Drawing Copies on a good scale, in a free manner,
with Blank Paper to Draw on, and SIMPLE AND PRACTICAL LESSONS, for _
Teaching or Self-instruction. In Paper Wrappers, 1/6 each; or, in Cloth
Extra, 2/6 each. The following is a list of the volumes (each complete
in itself) :-—.

i, ELEMENTARY DRAWING. | 6. ANIMALS (and Series) By

2, LANDSCAPE & TREES. By| Harrison Weir.
J. Needham. y. FREEHAND ORNAMENT,
3. ANIMALS (rst Series). By Har- By F. E. Hulme, &c,
rison Weir. 8. FLOWERS (Outline). By F. E.
4. PRACTICAL GEOMETRY. By Hulme, W. H. Fitch, &c.
John Mangnall. 9. HUMAN FIGURE,
5. MECHANICAL DRAWING. !10. MARINE. By John Callow,
By John Mangnall. i Edward Duncan, &c.

1. ORNAMENT AND FIGURE (Shaded).

ERE FOSTER’S Complete Course of Water-

COLOUR PAINTING.—Handy Volumes; each containing Twelve
Chromograph Facsimiles of Original Water-Colour Studies, by eminent
Artists, and SIMPLE & PRAcTicAL INsTRUCTIONS for copying each Plate.
In Paper Wrappers, at 1/6 and 2/- each; or, in Cloth Extra, 3/- each.
The following is a list of the volumes (each complete in itself) :—

x. FLOWERS. By Hulme, Cole-'4. ANIMALS. By Harrison Weir.
man, French, &c. 1/6 and 3/- 2/~ and 3/-

2. LANDSCAPE (Introductory). By|5. MARINE. By Edward Duncan.
John Callow. . 1/6 and 3/- 2/- and 3/-

3. LANDSCAPE (Advanced). By; 6. FLOWERS (and Series). By
John Callow. 1/6 and 3/- i Fitch, Hulme, &c. 2/~ and 3/-

7, ILLUMINATING. By Marcus Ward, Mluminator to the Queen. 2/-
(Por larger Work on Illuminating, see page 12 of List),

Specially prepared for Vere Foster's Drawing Books. Warranted to
work well and rub out readily.

Price ONE PENNY Each. Price TWOPENCE Each.
In Four Degrees—Superior Quality. fu Five Degrees—Best Quality.

HB, B, BB, and H.—Adapted for the HB, for General Work; B, for Shading,
Vere Foster Penny Drawing Books. | &c.; BB, for Deep Shading; F, for Light

The best pencil it is possible to procure | Sketching and_Outlining; H, for Sharp
at the price. ; Outlining and Mechanical.





London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 19



VERE FOSTER’S Drawing Books.—

On a New and Popular System, by the first Artists of the day, contain-
ing both Copies and Paper to draw upon. The Series embraces every
branch of Drawing, and has been approved and adopted by the Depart-
ment of Science and Art,

POPULAR EDITION, ONE PENNY EACH: BEST EDITION, THREEPENCE EACH,
A—Elementary. O 3—British Song Birds.
B—Familiar Objects—Simple. O 4-—British Wild Animals.

C x, 2—Familiar Objects—Advanced. | O 5—The Horse—Elememtary.
D1, 2—Leaves and Simple Flowers. | O 6—The Horse—Various Breeds.

E 1,2,3—Wild Flowers. O 7—Dogs.

G—Garden Flowers. O 8 Cattle,

I rto 6—Freehand. O 9—Australian Animals,

J 4,.2,3—Trees. O ro—Various Animals,

K 1, 2, 3, 4—Landscape. Q 1to6—The Human Figure.
M 1, 2, 3,4—Marine R 1, 2, 3-~Practical Geometry.
O 1—Domestic Animals. T x to 6—Mechanical.

O 2—Families of Animals, Z—Blank Exercise Book.



/ERE FOSTER’S Water-Colour Drawing Books.

Chromo-Lithographed Facsimile Drawings by eminent Artists.
ELEMENTARY NOS.—THREEPENCE EAGH.: = ADVANCED NOS.—SIXPENCE EACH.

Wild Flowers—By various Artists. In} Animals—By Harrison Weir. In Four

Three Books—F 1x, F 2, F 3. Books—Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4.
Garden V’lowers~-By various Artists. In| Marine—By Edward Duncan. In Four
Three Books—H 1, H2, H3. Books—Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4.
Landscape—By J. Callow. Flowers (Second Series)—By various
Lt, 2,3,{4, 5,6—Introductory Lessons Artists. In Four Books—Nos. 1,
in Monochrome (Sepia). 2, 3) 4
L 7, 8,9, 10, 12, 12—Elementary Les- | Illuminating—By Marcus Ward, Ilumi-
sons in Colours, in the various stages nator to the Queen, In Four Books
of Simple Landscape. —wNos. 1, 2, 3, 4

VERE FOSTER’S Larger Series of Drawing
COPIES.—Imperial Quarto. Price 2/6 each Part.
ANIMALS—By Harrison Weir. Six Parts of Four Plates each

LANDSCAPE & TREES—By Needham. Six Parts of Four Plates each.



And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
20 List of Educational Works



[JERE FOSTER’S Writing Copy Books.—

Adopted by the Commissioners of National Education in Ireland,
and all the Principal Schools in Great Britain and the Colonies. The
Cheapest and best Copy Books ever published. Annual Circulation over
Three Miltions.

POPULAR EDITION, ONE PENNY EACH; BEST EDITION, TWOPENCE EACH.

x. Strokes, Easy Letters, Short Words. g. Sentences, Finishing Hand.
2. Long Letters, Short Words, Figures, | 10. Plain and Ornamental Lettering.

3. Capitals. uz. Exercise Book, Wide Ruling, with

3}. Sentences in Bold Round Hand. Margins.

4, 445.5, 6, 7, 8. Sentences, small by de-| 12. Exercise Book, Narrow Ruling in
grees. Squares.

N.B.—An ENLARGED EDITION, Printed on a Superior Quality of
Paper, large 4to size, is also issued in the Nos. 4, 5, 6, and 7 of the above
list for the special use of High-class and Private Schools. Price 6d. each.

SPECIMENS OF THE Series OF WRITING AND DrRawina Books

Post FREE FoR Price IN STAMPS.

|/ERE FOSTER’S Copy Book Protector & Blotter.

For use with either Writing or Drawing Books. Price One Penny each.
ADVANTAGES—/z Writing.—The Copy Book is kept clean, outside and
inside, and may be closed at any time without the risk of blotting. Zz
Drawing. —By placing one of the blotting leaves under the drawing paper
a pleasant yielding surface for the pencil is obtained, whilst the opposite page
is covered by the other blotting leaf, and kept clean and free from rubbing.

ERE FOSTER’S Water-Colour Blocks.—

Specially prepared for Vere Foster's Water-Colour Drawing Books,
and for Sketching from Nature. Composed of a number of sheets of Draw-
ing Paper, ready strained for the Pupil to begin painting.

No, 1, Threepence, 6} 4} ins. | No. 2, Sixpence, 9x6} ins.

/riting Charts for Class Teaching.—

A pair of Charts, showing the shapes and proportions of letters
adopted in Vere Foster's Copy Books. Size, 25x20 inches, Price, in
Sheets, 1/- per pair; mounted on Millboard, 1/6

ERE FOSTER’S Hat Ink Well.—

Suitable for Schools. Price One Shilling per dozen.





London: 67, 68, Chandos Street, Stvand;
PaO ee ey ares ee & lee 21

MARCUS WARD & CO.’S
JEWSPAPER CUTTINGS 8CRAP-BOOK.—

A Ready Reference Receptacle for Scraps, from our daily sources of
knowledge, the Newspapers ; with an Alphabetical Index, and Spaces for
Marginal Notes.



“When found, ees a note of.”’--CAPTAIN CUTTLE,



The Newspaper Cuttings Scrap-Book has been intro
duced by Marcus WARD & Co. to supply a want equally felt in house-
hold, office, or counting-house, as well as in the library of the literary man,
or in the chambers of the lawyer.

There are few readers of Newspapers who do not daily meet with para
graphs, notices, or advertisements, which they would gladly cut out and
retain, but, not having any convenient means of preserving them, they are
passed over and lost; or, even if cut out, are so carefully put away that
they cannot be found when wanted for reference.

By the use of the NEWSPAPER CUTTINGS SCRAP BOOK all such incon-
yeniences are prevented, as the cuttings can be readily fixed in order, and,
by means of the Index, may be referred to in a moment; thus forming a
volume of permanent interest and usefulness.

LIST OF SIZES, BINDINGS, AND PRICES.
T













No. DESCRIPTION. Pages Size, in Inches, \ Price.
6o2r | Fancy Cloth, Retteted on Side ws «| TOO] 734 by Qi! 2/3
6031 Do. TOO | 9% by 11%; 3/-
6012 Do. Extra Gi, Lettered on ‘Side... 120: 7% by 934! 3/3
6010 Do. do, do. ...| 120! 93% by IL) 4/6
6orr | Half Roan, Lettered on Back a s+ | 200 o% by 1134] 5/6
6o4r | Half Turkey Morocco, Lettered on Side ...| 100 7% by 9% 3/6
6042 Do, do. do. 200 834 by 10%) 5/
6008 | Half French Morocco, Lettered on Back, |

Superior Quality Paper va 150! 934 by 11%} 7/6
6009 | Half Levant Morocco Extra, Lettered on

Back, Superior Quality Paper... 150 | 9% by 1134} 10/6
Gor3 | Half Roan, Lettered on Back, Superior

Quality Paper oa 200 |1o «by 15 g/-
6014 | Half Levant Morocco ‘Extra, Lettered on

Back, Superior Quality epee iis ...[ 200 [ro by 15 15/-



And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast
22 Published by Marcus Ward & Co.



[Arcus WARD’S Concise Diaries for the

POCKET, Published Annually. Lightest—Neatest—Handiest—Best.
These Diaries meet the universal objection to all other Pocket Diaries—-
their cumbrousness and unnecessary weight in the pocket. They are beau-
tifully printed in Blue and Gold, on a light, hard, Metallic Paper, and
combine the following advantages :—

1. Maximum of Writing Space. | 4. Equal Space for Sunday.
2. Minimum of Weight. 5. Daily Engagement Record.
3. Useless Matter omitted. 6. The Writing is Indelible.

The Concise DiaRtgs are made both in ‘‘ Upright" and “Oblong”
form, and in Three Sizes of each form.

Leading Features of the Four Part System (the Copy-
right Novelty of the Concise Series). Only one Part (Three Months) need
be carried in the pocket at once. Extra pages are given for ‘‘Cash Account”
and ‘‘Memoranda Forward,” to be transferred, according to date, when
changing to the following Part. Covers are made to take Two Parts, so
that Part I1., commencing April, may be carried in same Cover as Part I.,
towards end of March, for making prospective entries. When March is
ended, the Cover can be lightened of Part I., and so on; the abrupt break
between Old and New Year is thus overcome. A blank Memo. Book can
be carried under second elastic in Cover, in place of Second Part of Diary,
thus rendering an additional pocket book unnecessary. All so called
‘Useful Information,” which few read, is excluded. The weight in pocket
is thus reduced to ove-fourth that of Pocket Diaries of similar superficial
size, while the ordinary writing space is almost doubled.

Advantages of the Oblong Series. —The Oblong form
of Diary, originated by MARCUS Warp & Co. in 1871, has become ex-
tremely popular. The Oblong Concise Diary, containing the year complete,
is the most convenient Complete Form Diary published. It is also made in
the Four Part Style. The Single Part, in its limp Cover, forms scarcely
any appreciable thickness in the pocket, and is, therefore, especially com-
mendable to many.

Upright Patterns, in Four Parts (issued with Part I. in
the Cover, and Parts IJ., III, IV., ina Packet). These are made in Three
Sizes, No. 1, 3% x2% ins.; No. 2, 44 x 254 ins.; No. 3, 5x3 ins. They
are sold in strong useful Covers, and also in handsome Pocket Books of
Russia, Morocco, or Velvet, and with Elastic Band, or Marcus Warp &
Co.'s Patent Sliding Bolt Lock, at prices to suit all buyers.



London: 67, 68. Chandos Street, Strand;
Published by Marcus Ward & Co. 23

’ CONCISE DIARIES—Oontinued.
Upright Patterns in One Book.—These are made in

the same sizes as above, and are sold at the same prices.

Oblong Patterns in Four Parts (issued with Part I. in
the Cover, and Parts II, IIL, IV., ina Packet). These are made in Three
Sizes, No. 4, 334 x3 ins.; No. 5, 4x2 ins.; No. 6, 434x254 ins. They
are sold in strong loose Covers, to last for several years, and also in best
Russia or Morocco Covers, with Elastic Band, or MARCUS WARD & Co.'s

Patent Sliding Bolt Lock.

Oblong Patterns in One Book, —These are made in the

same sizes as above.

They are sold in French Morocco Bindings, Gilt
Edges, and Elastic Band, as low as One Shilling each.

They are made

also in best Morocco, or Russia loose Covers, to last several years,

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

“By a capital arrangement, the
maximum amount of writing space is
secured in these handy little books,
with the minimum amount of weight,
by the simple expedient of changing
the Diary every quarter, instead of
only once a year.""—Dazly Telegraph.

“The Concise Diartes are singu-
larly good in the fow-part arrange-
ment, and the finish of the leather-
work leaves nothing to be desired,
whilst a new patent bolt lock, which
cannot readily be put out of order,
stamps the present issue as the most
complete series yet published.” —
Standard,

‘The Diary pages are furnished
separately in quarterly parts, . ..
and are much smaller and handier
than they would otherwise be. It is
a very good plan.” — Pall Mali
Gazette.

“Elegant and tasteful little poc-
ket books, with moveable’ diaries,
divided into quarterly parts so as to
save room. We have never seen
anything better—if so good—of the
kind." —fvz.

“The Concise Diaries ave as con-
venient in form as they are beautiful
in appearance.’ —Géobe.

“Like everything published by
this firm, the Concise Diary is hand-
some and handy. The Diary itself
being divided into four parts, the
well got-up Russia leather case, in
which it is enclosed, makes the book
much more eligible for the pocket
than the majority of so-called pocket
diaries.” —Sporésmun.

“The Diary is in arrangement
perfect for keeping a cash account,
memoranda, and engagements, be-
sides containing a deal of useful in-
formation. It is bound in a strong
Russia pocket book, making alto-
gether as good a present as one
would wish to give or receive on
New-Year's Day.” —Aows.

‘‘Conspicuous for the taste dis-
played in their manufacture. ''-J/orz-
eng Post,

‘The idea is so simpie, that the
wonder is that nobody thought of it
before.” — Daily News.

And Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.
















PUBLISHED BY

MARCUS WARD & Co,

67, 68, Chandos Street, Strand,

LONDON

ROYAL ULSTER WoRKs, BELFAST.

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