A Toy Tragedy

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BY Mrs. Henry de_l^_Pasjure Author of " The Little Squire" "But they left in her stead a changeling, A little angel child." — Lowell. CASSELL and COMPANY Limited LONDON PARIS b> MELBOURNE 1894 AU rights reserved CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. The Quartette i II. The Unwelcome Guests 12 III Angels Unawares ....... 26 IV. The Nursery Up to Date 37 V. The Song of the Quartette 47 VI. The Changeling 59 VII. The Wicked Uncle 74 VIII. The Fairy Princess 90 IX. The Telegram . 10S X. Elsie ......... , 120 XI. Christmas Night l-,2 XII. The Best-Loved of All ... .

Chapter I. The Quartette

" Don't put my things in that carriage, porter ; it is full of children ! I could not travel with a number of noisy child ren. Jessie ! Jessie ! See that my dressing-bag is taken out immediately, and put into the next compartment." Little Jean looked through the window of the railway carriage, and a big tear trickled down her face and fell into her lap. But the stout middle-aged lady on the platform was giving directions to her maid, and naturally did not observe this. Jean looked round very anxiously at her brother and sisters. Perhaps at first sight it did seem as though they filled the compartment. Certainly there would not have been room for the stout lady, and her maid, and her dressing-bag, to say nothing of the little dog the stout lady carried care fully under her arm. Yet to poor Jean it seemed a very small party indeed.

Only Elsie and Tommy and little Pamela — who sat next to Jean because she was the baby, hardly four years old; whereas Jean, being in her fourteenth year, was so nearly grown-up that she was taking care of them all, except Elsie, who was of an independent turn, and did not like being taken care of, even by Jean. " I wish papa had waited till the train started," said Tommy solemnly. He was a fat little boy of seven, with large black eyes ; and he held his straw hat very carefully on his knee for fear the brim should get broken when he leant his head back on the cushion. " Why ? " said Elsie. " Because I am rather frightened," said Tommy. ' ' Why doesn't the train go on ? " " You will feel more frightened when it does go on," said Elsie, "for it will be dark in the tunnels." " Pooh ! I don't care," said Tommy, turning a little pale.

" I will hold your hand, Tommy. I do not like the dark myself," said Jean. " I wish mamma was here," said Pamela in a small trembling voice, as she climbed on to her sister's knee. " Mamma is so very happy in Heaven that she would not care to come back in this cold, ugly train," said Jean bravely. " I am so cold," sighed Elsie. " Could we not open the window and ask the guard for a foot-warmer thing ? " " One of the children might fall out if we did," said anxious Jean, " and it will be warmer when the train is going ; out of this yellow fog." " If papa had stayed he might have bought us some buns," said Tommy. " I saw a refreshment room." " You can't be very hungry yet, Tommy," said Jean reproachfully. " Why, we have only just finished lunch." " I am always hungry," said Tommy. " Greedy, you mean," retorted Elsie.

" I am far too cold to eat. I wish we had put on our best frocks, Jean • they are warmer than these." " It might have spoilt them," said Jean wistfully. " Crape spoils very easily, and you know papa said we must take such care of our things. You would be warmer if you wrapped the shawl round your shoulders." " And untidy my hair ! No, thank you," said Miss The Q ua r te tte. 3 Elsie, tossing her golden curls. " Yours is rumpled already. You have let Pamela play with it." "It keeps her quiet," said Jean, holding the small white fingers proudly in her brown hand. " She has been so good — haven't you, Pamela ? " " Yes," said Pamela sleepily, " but I want mamma." She pillowed her cherub face on Jean's black sleeve with the evident intention of sleeping through the journey. The stout lady and her maid were comfortably settled in the next compartment.

The guard, who had promised to look after the four children, popped his head into their window, shouted " All right ! " and pulled it up so quickly that Elsie gave a scream. Then at last they were off. Oat of the grimy London station into light and air and sunshine. Past long lines of ugly suburban houses and back yards, black chimneys and red gasometers, through open fields, brown hedges, and muddy high-roads, into the country. Jean opened her shabby handbag and gave Elsie a book and Tommy a bag of biscuits. She needed nothing to while away the time for herself, but she liked to see Tommy gravely munching, as he kept his surprised little face turned towards the flying landscape, and she was glad Elsie should be able to forget everything in her new book of nonsense rhymes. " If only papa could have come with us !

" she sighed to herself. It was a heavy responsibility to rest on her slight shoulders — the charge of those three — though she had helped to take care of them ever since she could remember. Elsie and Tommy and Pamela were Jean's half-brother and sisters. Her own mother had died at her birth, but her father had married again so soon that she could not remember the time when her pretty young stepmother had not been her "mamma." She had been such a kind mamma too ; so girlish and B bright and full of fun, that it was hard to realise that she, and the baby brother who had been such a surprise to them all, had been left behind to take their long rest in the quaint Swiss village, which the children had only quitted two days before, though now it seemed so very far away. Jean had sat very still for a long time, fearing to disturb Pamela, and trying not to cry at the remembrances she could not banish, when Elsie, finishing her book, threw it down with a yawn.

"Oh dear! I wonder what this old aunt will be like," she said dolefully. " Don't cry, Jean. Everything is quite bad enough without that." " There's one biscuit left," said Tommy, climbing down and offering it to her, after a careful examination of her eyes to see if she really had been crying. " One ! Have you eaten all the rest, you greedy child?" said Elsie indignantly. " I'm not a child, I'm a boy," said Tommy, reddening. " Don't quarrel," said Jean. " Let us talk about the aunt. What do you think she will be like ? " 44 1 don't know," said Tommy, who was literal-minded. " I have never seen an aunt." "She will be like papa," said Elsie, "because she is his sister." " Pooh ! " said Tommy. " You are not like me." "I should hope not," cried Elsie. "You are an ugly little monkey; papa said so."

" The aunt is much older than papa," hastily struck in Jean. " So perhaps she won't be like him at all.'' " He never told us what her name was," said Elsie suddenly. 14 It is written on the letter I am to give her," said Jean " To Miss Jean Grenoble, 4, The Esplanade, Beachstone-oti-the-Sea." The Q ua r te tte. 5 " Why, it looks like a letter to you ! " cried Elsie, in awe. " I was named after her," said Jean. " I wonder if she'll like us," said Tommy. " Or if we shall like her — that is much more to the point," said Elsie readily. " If she really were like papa, of course I should love her ; but I don't believe she will be a bit, do you, Jean ? " " I don't know," said Jean mournfully. " I am not sure she will be very glad to see us ; but, anyway, she must get fond of Pamela," hugging her little sister.

" She is an old maid, so she is sure to hate boys," said Elsie pointedly. " Elsie, you know we were not to be disrespectful," said Jean, before Tommy had made up his mind what to reply. She was a little afraid of trying to keep her mutinous pretty sister in order. Elsie was eleven years old, and taller than she was herself, so that strangers always took her for the eldest of them all. She had been spoilt, partly because she had always been delicate, partly because she was her father's especial darling. Jean had no touch of jealousy in her nature. She thought it natural that everyone should admire pretty Elsie, with her pathetic blue eyes, and little angel face. The young mamma herself had scarcely been prouder of the infantile beauty of her two daughters than had their faithful elder sister.

" Look ! " suddenly cried Pamela, sitting bolt upright on Jean's weary lap, and pointing eagerly with her fat finger, " there is the sea." " Are we going on to another steamer ? " asked Tommy, wishing he had not eaten quite so many biscuits. "No, we are going to stay. It must be Beachstone," said Jean, looking out. "Yes, there is the sea, and a town." " Will mamma be there ? " said Pamela patiently ; she never tired of asking the question, but mamma was surely a long time coming. "No, darling, but Jean will take care of you, and you shall play on the beach directly it gets warm, and have a spade and pail." " How do you know, Jean ? Perhaps the aunt won't buy her one ; she may be a cross aunt," said Elsie. " Then I will buy her one," said Jean faithfully ; " I have some money." "What papa gave you!" said Elsie, with awe; "that golden sovereign !

But he said you were not to touch it except in case of necessity, Jean. It can't be necessity to buy Pamela a spade and pail — when we have no Sunday hats." " It was the last papa had in his pocket," said Tommy ; " he had to feel for it ever so long with his finger and thumb. I wish I had a waistcoat-pocket. Do you think he has any more at the bank ? " " Elsie ! " crid Jean, with indignation ; "as if I should touch that ! I have my half-crown, that mamma gave me." " But you were going to keep that for ever and ever." " I meant to," said Jean, colouring; " but if there was no one to buy toys for Pamela ! " " You are always thinking of Pamela," said Elsie, in injured tones. "One would think there was nobody else. I'm sure I want heaps of things." " Oh, Elsie, you knoiv we older ones can share," said Jean reproachfully.

" But Pamela is only a baby." "I'm not!" said Pamela, much hurt. "Jean, the sea is gone. I believe we'se back in London." " No," said Tommy solemnly. " That's impossible. The train has not turned round once. I've been watching." The children did not venture to stir from their seats until the train had quite stopped, in the face of Jean's The Quarts tte. 7 agonised entreaties. But the guard was so long in coming to them that she began to fear she had rushed to the other extreme, and that they would be carried on to the next station before they had time to get out. However, he came at last, and lifted fat Tommy and terrified Pamela on to the platform. " Don't be frightened, Jean, the guard will take care of us," sobbed Pamela. He did take care of them ; even triumphantly rescuing from the luggage van the two black trunks, and the old bursting portmanteau which Jean had secretly dreaded would be lost on the way.

"Where to, miss?" said the guard, looking kindly at the four little inside passengers, when the luggage had been balanced carefully on the cab. Jean read out the address. " Four, the Esplanade," he shouted to the driver, " and mind your eye, Bill." This mysterious warning rather frightened than re assured them. " What did he mean by that ? " said Elsie. " It sounds as if he thought the cabman didn't drive well." " P'r'aps he never looks where he is going," suggested Tommy. " Will we be upset in the road, Jean ? " asked Pamela delightedly. " Will the boxes tumble in the mud ? " " No, darling," said Jean, who was rather nervous her self, as the jolting of the fly shot Tommy suddenly off the front seat. " Look ! there is the stout lady in a cab just beside us," screamed Elsie. " Horrid old thing !

And there is her nasty dog looking out of the window." " It is a nice dog," said Tommy impartially. " She may not be horrid at all," said Jean : " though she doesn't like children." "How sat she is," said Elsie critically. " She must be as fond of eating as Tommy. Look at her cheeks, how they wobble when the cab jolts." " We must not make remarks," said Jean, nervously conscientious. " It is not as if she could hear," said Elsie consolingly. " If she could hear, her cheeks would not wobble at all. They would be stiff with rage. I think her cabman is trying to race ours. Why does he keep so close ? " " Perhaps she lives on the Esplanade too," said Tommy. " Well, I hope she does not live close to our house," very kindly adopting her aunt's abode. " For I have a feeling that that dog would be dragged up and down by a string all day, yowling ; and I hate dogs, do not you, Jean?"

But Jean was looking through the rattling window of the fly at the long gray stretch of sea, that accompanied the road over which they were jolting. To her childish eyes it looked no wider than the Esplanade, and yet she knew it was boundless. The rain came down suddenly and dimmed the glass. They were all shivering more or less in the chill sea-air. And it was, besides, growing late in the afternoon. "Tell me a story," said Pamela, touching her cheek gently. " Tell me 'bout an aunt, please, Jean." Jean roused herself with a start. " Once there was an aunt," she said obediently, " who expected a number of nephews and nieces to stay with her." " What was she like? " interrupted Tommy. " Like papa, only — more — more lady-like. And she lived in a beautiful house, with large gardens, where there were always roses, and a pony was tethered on the lawn to graze, ready saddled for the children to ride."

" Was the lawn well kept ? " said Tommy attentively. "Beautifully kept," said the obliging narrator; "the gardener rolled and mowed it all day " The Quartette. 9 " Then the pony got nothing to eat," said Tommy gloomily. " The aunt," said Jean, not choosing to notice, " was so kindhearted that she fed it every day with bread and sugar from her own table, and tied up its mane with blue ribbon. She kept it as a surprise for the children, because — their papa was away, and their — their mother was in Heaven." " Did the children go ? " asked Pamela wearily. " Did they drive in a cab, and did they ever get there ? " " They got there, but it was a long drive," said Jean soothingly. " But, when they did arrive, what do you think ? There was a big nursery, with pictures on the walls, and a cheerful sire blazing, and a rocking-horse in the corner ; and in the middle of the room was a round table, and on the table was their tea " " What was there for tea ?

" asked Tommy, with renewed interest. "A cake — and eggs — and shrimps," said Jean, "a birth day cake, with pink and white sugar. And their mugs were blue and pink, and yellow and white." " Mine was blue," said Elsie. " So was mine," said Pamela admiringly. " Nonsense ! " very sharply. " If I choose the blue, you must have pink." " I needn't," said Pamela, crying ; " there was two blue ones." " Never mind the colour," said the author of this pleasing legend, anxiously. " They were lovely mugs, and full of new-laid milk, fresh from the cow that day," said Jean, whose experiences did not include country life. " Did the aunt have tea with them ? " asked Pamela ; "and why doesn't the cab go on, Jean ? It's stopping." " 'Cos," said Tommy solemnly, " we've arrove." The fly drew up, as he spoke, opposite a dreary row of houses, facing the narrow strip of deserted Esplanade.

Beachstone was a straggling unfashionable watering-place, and this, if the children had but known it, was in the most genteel quarter of it. As it was, they gazed at each other in dismay. Vanished, the beautiful Chateau en Espagne, the pony, and the gardens of Jean's hopeful narrative. Square gloomy windows rattled in the stuccoed walls. A narrow hall-door stood open, but not invitingly so, as the long passage into which it led was jammed with heavy boxes, over which a grumbling cabman and a breathless maid were disputing loudly. Someone else had evidently just arrived. A dreadful suspicion rose in Jean's mind. She let down the window of the fly and looked out. Yes, sure enough, the other cab stood just in front of them, and a maid was taking out a dressing-bag and a little snarling lap-dog.

The stout lady of the railway-station must also be visiting their hospitable aunt. There she was, giving direc tions from the perpendicular staircase. The cabman opened the door, and lifted down Tommy and Pamela : and the maid, having taken in the last of her mistress's wraps, stood in the doorway and stared at them. Jean staggered up the steps with Pamela in her arms, whilst Tommy and Elsie followed with the shabby hand-bag. " There must be a mistake," said the maid, when the four were safely landed. " The lady who lives here has only just arrived from London. She isn't expecting anyone. Who are you for, my dears ? " Elsie came to the front. The woman looked good-natured enough, but having been accustomed to a good deal of waiting upon and respect from her father's servants, Elsie did not like people who treated her like a little girl, instead of the grown-up lady she would have liked to apppear.

" Does Miss Grenoble live here ? " she demanded. " Yes," said the maid. " Bless my soul ! have you four children come to see her ? " The Quar tette. 11 " We are come to stay," said Elsie. " Take my bag, please," thrusting it upon her so suddenly that the maid mechanically received it. " Please show us upstairs to our aunt, and say that Miss Jean, Miss Elsie, Miss Pamela, and Master Tommy have arrived." " Well, I never ! " said the smiling girl, not much im pressed by Elsie's dignity ; giggling a little to herself, she went up the narrow staircase, closely followed by the four small visitors. She hardly carried out Elsie's instructions to the letter, for, when she opened the drawing-room door, and dis appeared round the high screen that sheltered it, they heard her announce them thus — " If you please 'um, a lot of children has arrived, and says you expects them."

" A lot of what ? " said a mildly-surprised voice. " Your nephews and nieces, 'm," smiling. " Show them in," said Miss Grenoble mechanically. The maid stood on one side, as the little procession filed round the screen : Elsie erect, defiant, with her golden mane flung back ; Tommy stolid and black-eyed, a mere roll of comforters, great-coat, and fat gaitered legs; Jean white and terrified, holding fast to the pathetically small heap of deep mourning which held her little sister Pamela.

Chapter II

the unwelcome guests. Four little beds — all in a row. Four little heads — I love them so. A Nursery Song. " Who on earth " said the stout lady, standing quite pet rified with the bell-rope she had just been going to pull in one hand, and her hat, which she had just taken off, in the other. " Didn't you expect us ?" said Jean. " Expect you ? I don't even know who you are," gasping feebly. " Not know who we are ! Papa said he had written," faltered Jean. " Papa ! Oh, but I begin to see," said Miss Grenoble, slowly recovering. " You must have come to the wrong house, my dears. Jessie " pulling the bell-rope. " Oh, you are still there, Jessie. Show these young ladies and gentlemen downstairs. They have made some mistake. This is No. 6, my dears." "Yes, 'm," said Jessie. " Stop ! " cried Jean, much louder than she meant, but she was suddenly seized with terror that they were going to be turned out into the cold once more ; and without their tea!

What would the children do ? She made a tremendous effort. " There is no mistake," she said piteously. " Are you not Miss Grenoble, and is not your name Jean ? " " My baptismal name is Jean," said her aunt, saintly deprecating such familiarity, " and my proper name is Grenoble." " But you are papa's sister," cried Jean, bursting into tears. " I am Jean Grenoble too. He named me after you." " What!" said the lady, and she sat down very sud denly in the arm-chair, still clutching the bell rope, which obligingly came off in her hand. " He said he had written," sobbed Jean. " Is it possible you never got the letter? But I have another one for you in my bag." She dropped Pamela's hand to fumble with the clasp; her fingers were numb with cold in their new black kid gloves. " Here — I put it in because I was so afraid of losing it — addressed to you — and to me," she said, carrying it across to her aunt, and trembling very much.

Miss Grenoble took the letter with a severe air, and after selecting a pince-nez from her chatelaine, opened and read it. The children waited in silence. It ran thus : 14 Dear Jean, I send you my motherless children. You won't be troubled with me. I am sailing for India immediately. 14 Your unfortunate brother, 44 Tom Grenoble." " Is this the only explanation you have to offer me?" said Miss Grenoble in awful tones. Jean regarded her face wistfully. " Papa said you would understand, that he had written," she said faintly. "I thought you expected us." " Expected you ! And I only returned from town to-day ! " said Miss Grenoble majestically. " Had you come yesterday you would have found the house shut up. I neither expected nor invited you. Pray return to your father at once, and say so." If she expected to see the unfortunate little quartette retire as precipitately as they had advanced upon her, she was disappointed.

" I cannot take them away," gasped Jean, in pale alarm. " What do you mean, aunt ? Papa has gone. There is nowhere to go. Oh, I cannot take them away again to-night. Out into the cold. Tommy, and little Pamela, and Elsie. Without their tea." Suddenly everything turned round and round before Jean's tired eyes. She tried to hold out her hands to her aunt, but to her surprise could only see the substantial figure a long way off through a mist. It spoke in a muffled voice, and then wavered about like a doll on an elastic string; the room became dark, and poor Jean subsided into unconsciousness. " She has fainted clean away," screamed Jessie. She lifted Jean gently on to the sofa, and looked at her mistress, who sat still from sheer alarm. " Jean is dead," suddenly cried Tommy, catching sight of her white face.

" Our Jean is dead, chilluns." He burst into a loud roar of dismay and grief. Pamela began to cry, and the noise became so terrific that Jean struggled to her senses and looked round in bewilderment. "Children, stop crying," she said weakly. They flung themselves upon her in rapture. " We thought you were dead. Oh, Jean, was it a game, or were you really dead like mamma ? " Pamela said. 41 Are you better, child ? " said the aunt stiffly. " Rest yourself on the sofa, I beg, until you are quite recovered." " I am quite well, thank you," said Jean mechanically. She stretched out a hand to still Pamela. Miss Grenoble sat and watched them all. Her dog was forgotten ; it crouched, jealously whining, under the red satin sofa. Tommy's straw hat reposed on an embroidered cushion, next to the bundle of rugs which he had deposited, in his sudden terror, on the couch.

Worse still, his dingy pocket-handkerchief, wet with honest grief, was being spread out to dry on her lacquered fender by its careful owner. Tommy had evidently no intention of quitting her roof that evening. On being convinced that his sister was alive and unhurt, he had turned his attention to himself. Miss Grenoble watched him with a kind of angry fascination un coiling his red muffler until his little round black head emerged entirely from its folds, and producing his fat, short arms, like two puddings, from the sleeves of his diminutive great-coat. Tommy was a methodical little boy. He folded up the coat inside-out, and laid it on a velvet chair, from which he first brushed imaginary crumbs with a podgy hand. She gazed at him in horror, but he caught her eye and gave her a friendly nod as he sat down on the hearthrug to unlace his boots.

He had not taken in the unlikely fact that his aunt was not glad to see him. His calm, deliberate movements and evident conviction that he had reached his ultimate destination, struck her with chill dismay. " What shall I do, Jessie ? " groaned Miss Grenoble. " I cannot keep them here." "No 'm," doubtfully. " And I can't send them away to-night ? " No, indeed, 'm," with alacrity. " I might consult Martha — ask her to come up at once." Jessie humbly retired in favour of a severely respectable elderly woman in grey. " What shall I do, Martha ? " said Miss Grenoble, show ing signs on her florid face of becoming tearful, as she read stern disapprobation on that masculine visage. Martha was the cook and housekeeper. " They are my nephews, or nieces, I hardly know which — my brother's children," said her mistress, with an agitated sniff.

" I am tired out and worried to death. What can I do with them ? " Miss Grenoble liked Martha so little that for the past ten years she had given her warning periodically ; but she depended on her so much that she found it politic to consult her on any matters concerning her household. Martha combined every desirable quality for a cook with an inveterate habit of looking on the worst side of tilings, and an undesirable frankness in communicating her opinions to her betters. Her mistress was a little afraid of her because she could not afford to lose her ; and Martha, perfectly aware of this fact, retained her situation and her independence at the same time, hardly troubling to read, and never commenting upon, the letters of remonstrance Miss Grenoble occasion ally wrote to her, and which Jessie had instructions to place on her kitchen table after she had retired at night.

"You won't be able to get rid of them, I'll be bound," said Martha, in her harsh rasping tones. " You'll have to keep them. P*our of them ! They'll be a nice expense to us." "Expense has nothing to do with it," said Miss Gre noble, with dignity. " I merely wished to consult you about where I could send them — where I could put them — for the night only," hastily. " In the spare room, I suppose. A nice mess they'il make of it," said Martha. " I should have sent them back this evening," said Miss Grenoble severely, " only the little girl on the sofa seemed too ill to travel." "She do look dreadful sickly," said Martha; "I hope it's nothing catching." "Martha! " almost screamed her mistress, " I beg you will not put such terrible ideas into my head. You know how nervous I am." "Being nervous makes you all the more likely to catch it," said Martha unconsolingly.