A year at Drayton. A tale for children

Chapter I

There is a pretty little town in one of the mid land counties, which I should like my dear young readers to picture in their minds whilst I try to describe it. The High Street is by far the grandest, as its name implies. It is tolerably long, and very wide — so wide that the houses on opposite sides seem at a considerable distance from each other. These houses are not alike, although they stand in rows ; indeed there is great variety amongst them, some being very large and others rather small, but all looking so bright and comfortable that I am sure you would feel tempted to go in if you received an invitation. One of the houses has a large brass plate on the door, with the name of Mr. "Wood, solicitor, engraved upon it ; and another, on the opposite side of the street, but a little lower down, is where Mr. Waters, the doctor, lives.

These houses are both near that end of the High Street which leads into the country. At the other end the street widens out still more into a convenient market-place, which looks very gay and busy on those days when the people from the neighbouring farms come in to sell their eggs and butter, and all the housekeepers in Drayton are there to buy what they want for their families. On the left side of the market-place, as you come down High Street, is Market Street, where most of the shops are, though there are some also in Church Street, which is opposite to it, leading from the other side of the market. At the farther end of Market Street, which is not a very long one, stands the town hall ; and at the other end of Church Street, which is shorter still, there is the beautiful grey old church, with its fine tall tower, which can be seen at a great distance from nearly every side of the surrounding country.

Close by the churchyard comes the garden of the Rectory, indeed there is a little gate leading from one to the other. But I am not going to take you there just now. I wish to finish the general description of the little town before we begin to make acquaintance with its inhabitants and the insides of their houses. So we go back to the market-place, and turning out of it on the side opposite High Street, we are in Bridge Street, which is about half the length of that grander thoroughfare, and contains first a few shops, and then some private houses, until it is ended by the river, over which rises a rather steep bridge. The road beyond is dotted here and there with small cottages, which become fewer and fewer as the distance from Drayton increases. Now that I have shown you the town itself, as well as I can, I should like to take you for a walk up the High Street and a little way beyond.

You see that, although the general appearance of the country all round is tolerably level, we are gradually ascending as we proceed ; so that, when we turn to look behind, you are perhaps rather astonished to find the town, and especially the church, as its principal object, so much below us. As the road ascends it also winds in gentle curves, until at a sharper turn we lose sight of Drayton altogether, although it is still really so very near. The trees on each side are very beautiful, and, in summer, when all the leaves are out, they make a delightful shade from the sun's great heat. By and-bye, through an opening between the trees on our right hand, we catch a glimpse of a pleasant-looking house, standing on rather higher ground than we have yet reached, and called Thornhill, from the number of hawthorns which grow on the grassy slopes.

These trees are a lovely sight in spring, for there arc various kinds — white, pink, crimson, scarlet, single and double. The scent, too, is delicious, and the air is sweet with their odour for some distance. Then, too, they are a goodly sight in autumn, when the branches look almost weighed down with the bright berries, gleaming like masses of coral beads. Squire Thornhill, his wife, and daughter, live here. Alice Thornhill is a great favourite of mine, and I hope you will like her too, when you come to know her. She is an only child, and some people would think that she is in great danger of being spoiled for that very reason. But I cannot say I have seen any signs of such a thing yet. Her father and mother are devotedly fond of her, but they strive to make her as loving and unselfish as if she had dozens of brothers and sisters.

And yet I do not think make is quite the right word, for she seems to delight in caring for every one more than for herself; perhaps it would be more correct if I were to say they try to train her in all good ways. But it is too late to call at Thornhill this after noon, as the dusk comes on quickly in these short winter days. So I think we had better walk down the road again into Drayton, where everybody will soon be ready for tea ; early hours being quite the fashion for meals in that quiet little town. My own dwelling is one of the smaller houses in High Street, with a large and lofty one on each side, which seem to guard and take care of it. Although I have no one living with me but a bright country-girl from one of the villages near, who is my good little maid of all work, I am never dull, for I know all the people in Drayton, and they are kindness itself; whilst, at the same time, they show me that other sort of kindness which is so precious, that of letting me help them in any little way I can.

Then, too, although not young myself (indeed I daresay you would think me rather old), I am very fond of young people; and all the boys and girls in Drayton are so affectionate that they always call me Auntie, and seem quite at home with me, whether we meet in their parents' houses or in my own little nest in the High Street. The door of this same little nest is now opened by the round-faced Letty, whose eyes sparkle a bright welcome as she lets me in, dropping her usual curtsey at the same time. The parlour looks very cosy and tempting, with its warm fire, tidy hearth, and preparations for tea on the table; and, whilst I am up stairs, putting off bonnet and shawl, Letty takes in the lamp and draws the curtains, thus making the comfort still more complete. Christmas being very near, I have been puzzling my brains for some time as to the manner in which I should give my dear young friends some pleasant little treat.

Perhaps the soothing effect of the tea, and the cheery brightness of the room, have something to do with it; but it suddenly strikes me, as I look round, that I should like to try a juvenile party. So, when Letty has taken away the tea things, I draw a low chair to the corner of the fire-place, near my little work table, and sit down to the braiding of a small pinafore for one of my young acquaintances, whilst I begin to plan the arrangements for a Christmas gathering. First of all, whom must I invite ? All, of course, who can possibly be made out old enough to come. There are a few babies amongst my socalled nephews and nieces — one or two in long clothes. They certainly would be too young yet, and will have to wait at least another year or so- But I think that, even without them, I can muster a goodly number of little folks, who will make my cosy parlour look brighter than ever.

Alice Thornhill will not only be a guest, but I know she will be a great help to me in her quiet way ; I fancy I can see her moving gently about amongst the little ones, and the shy ones, if any such there be, doing her best to amuse and set them at ease. Then the young "Woods will, of course, all come, and the children of my kind doctor, Mr. "Waters. The boys and girls from the Rectory, with their cousins, who are coming from London to spend Christmas with them, will add nicely to the number. I daresay some of the other houses will have young visitors at the time ; so I need not fear being short of guests at my little party. Perhaps, indeed, it may grow so as to be rather large for my room; but never mind ; the more the merrier, and small people must squeeze themselves into small space. And now, I remember, that Miss Fairhurst (a friend of mine, who lives a little lower down the street, and keeps a day-school for the the girls of Drayton), told me that she was expecting about this time a young girl, who is to live with her entirely.

I think she said the poor thing had lost both her parents a few years ago, and had been living since with a distant relation ; but that now her guardian wished her to be placed in the care of a governess with whom she could stay during the holidays. I thought it was rather a pity that the young stranger should be arriving just when there would be no school companions for her ; but, after all, she will come in nicely for any Christmas visiting there may be, and so get acquainted in that way with her future school-fellows. I will go to morrow to call on Miss Fairhurst, and make acquaintance with her new pupil, if she has arrived. Of course I shall ask her to the party, and I hope she will be a pleasant addition to my already numerous circle of young people. I might as well go on then to the Rectory, and invite the seven children there.

I will not quite decide on the exact day until I have seen Mrs. Marston, and heard when their London cousins arrive. The next morning is clear and bright, and I set out rather early to pay my call on Miss Fairhurst; thinking that, by so doing, I shall most likely be able to go to the homes of all my young friends before dinner, and get the day for their visit com fortably settled. When I reach the door, T see a girl's face at the parlour window, looking out rather listlessly into the street, as if trying to find something to amuse herself. But I have not time for much observation, as Miss Fairhurst's maid opens the door very quickly, and I am shown into the room, where I find the young girl alone. " Good morning, my dear ! I am a very early caller, but I know Miss Fairhurst will kindly excuse me.

One reason for my coming is to welcome you to Drayton, where, I hope, you will soon feel very happy ; indeed, I do not doubt it, as soon as you know the people. "When did you arrive ? " " Yesterday," is the answer, given not too pleasantly; nor is my offered hand taken too readily. But I am determined to persevere, although the expression of the girl's face is not particularly encouraging. "May I ask your name, my dear? And then I shall know how to address you." The reply comes, short and blunt, " Miss Unwin." I should have been surprised at the abrupt manner, if I had not been prepared by her previous response ; but nothing has prepared me for the way in which she styles herself; and I have been so accustomed to call children by their chris tian names, that I really believe I should have been too much astonished to be able to go ou with the conversation ; but, happily for me, Miss Fair hurst comes into the room at this very moment, and I gladly turn to wish her good morning.

After speaking to me, Miss Fairhurst addresses her young companion, " Charlotte, this is Miss Vernon, a very dear friend of mine, who is fond of children, and is called Auntie by all the boys and girls in Drayton.'-" But even this does not draw a smile from Miss Unwin, such as I am accustomed to see on the faces of my nephews and nieces. I wonder if I have done anything to annoy her, but do not see how that is possible. Perhaps she thinks me old in years, and old-fashioned in dress ; but I have always thought that age in itself is venerable; and, though we are certainly not in an extreme of fashion at Drayton, yet, I think, as a rule, we all like to be neatly dressed. Certainly, the girl her self is rather fine (according to our quiet ideas), especially for the early morning; so I set down her sullen looks to the homeliness of my appearance.

I cannot help feeling disappointed ; it is so natural for children to take to Auntie ; but I strive to put the feeling aside, and hope that time may bring about a better state of things. At any rate, I will give my invitation at once, for I must not lose time if I am to visit all my intended little guests this morning. -"-"You see I have come very early, dear Miss Fairhurst ; but the fact is I wish to give a Christ mas party to our young people, and I am now on my way to invite them. I have called here first, both to welcome your pupil and to ask you to kindly allow her to join the little gathering. I cannot mention the exact time just now, but I daresay she has not yet made any other engage ments. I am going next to the Rectory, where I shall hear from Mrs. Marston when the cousins arrive; and then I shall be able to fix the day, and will call on my return to let you know."

Miss Fairhurst at once says she shall be much pleased for Charlotte to come ; but that, instead of giving me the trouble of an extra call, they will step in to hear about it as they return from their afternoon walk. I willingly agree to this, all the more, because I fancy Miss Fairhurst must wish to find what variety she can for the young stranger; and I also feel that a little extra companionship cannot but be agreeable to that lady herself. So I shake hands with both, wishing them good-bye for the present. Any other child I think I should have kissed under the circumstances, but I feel that would not do yet. Still I fancy I can see a little softening and brightening in the face ; and, as I wend my way towards the Rectory, I try to put down at least some of the sullen appearance to a feeling of shyness.

Chapter II

You remember the way to the Rectory ? Down to the bottom of High Street, then turn to the right, along Church Street, past the old grey church, and I am at the gate directly. As I walk up the drive, I glance at the windows; especially at the one belonging to the nursery, and there I see a little curly head nodding and smiling at me vigourously. Before I can reach the door it is thrown open by one of the older children, who has rushed down stairs in the style of a whirlwind, and greets me with outstretched arms and a hearty kiss. " O, Auntie ! you must please come up to the nursery. Mother is there, and she says you won't mind her not coming down stairs to you ! '* " To be sure, darling ! I can pay my call in the nursery just as well, cannot I ? And then I shall see you all at the same time, which will be very pleasant.

I hope mother and all the chicks are quite well ? " "Yes, Auntie; but they are not all in the nursery just now. I am so glad I did not go out with the others, for I should have missed you."' Here my affectionate friend, Philip, gives my hand, which he has held all the way up stairs, a hearty squeeze, and opens the door of the nursery, where we find Mrs. Marston in her low rocking chair nursing the baby (one of the young people I mentioned before as still in long clothes), while two other children stand ready to pounce upon me as we come in. The younger of these is the bright-faced little rogue who greeted me from the window, and the other a rather more demure-looking elder sister of five years. I have to get free from their united hugs before I can reach their mother, who is, however, used to their ways, and only smiles contentedly until we can exchange our proper greetings.

" Good morning, Auntie ! You will excuse my sitting still, but baby is just falling asleep, aud I know you would not wish me to disturb her. I told Philip to bring you here because nurse has not yet finished helping with the beds, and I must take her place until she is ready." " I am very glad you did, dear Mrs. Marston, for I think I like the nursery better than any other room in the house, and I have come so very early that I certainly did not expect to find you in the drawing-room. But I have a particular reason for this early call, which I will now tell you." Here the three children come clustering about us, wondering what it can be that has brought Auntie out so soon this morning. Willie is quickly installed on my lap, Janet stands by with one urm round my shoulder, and Philip sits on the floor at his mother's feet looking up into my face with eager eyes.

As I unfold my little plan they first seem astonished; and then, as they begin to understand it more clearly, smiles and laughter show their delight, until at length they arc per forming something like a small war dance round me, which can only be checked by the fear of waking baby, who has just settled down to her morning's nap. But poor little "Willie's bright face clouds over when his mother gently asks if he is not too young for such a party; and I must do both Janet and Philip the justice to say that their own glee is suddenly saddened by the possibility of their youngest brother not being able to share the pleasure. I have thought of this already, and laid my plans accordingly, so I hasten to tell Mrs. Marston that I have determined my party shall begin very early, so that even those as young as Willie may be able to come; but that I intend to ask for the little ones to be fetched home an hour or two sooner than the others.

This arrangement settles the difficulty ; and dear, loving Willie. twines his arms round my neck, whispering "Tank 'oo, Auntie darling ! me will be so dood." Then the happy trio begin to wonder what the elder children will say, and the London cousins, who are expected to-morrow. They want me to stay until the others come in, but I explain that I should like to give all my invitations if I can this morning ; so, after arranging with Mrs. Marston that Thursday next is to be the day, and n leaving kind messages for the absent ones, I take leave of the nursery group, aud escorted by Philip to the gate, set out on my return walk to the High Street, where my next call must be on Mrs. Waters. The maid who opens the door tells me that her mistress is out, and I am just wondering how I shall leave a message when Mr. Waters, who happens to be at home, hears my voice, and comes out of the surgery to speak to me.

" Come in, Miss Vernon. My wife is gone out, and will be very sorry to miss seeing you, I am sure ; but perhaps you can wait until she returns. I do not think she will be long. Come into the dining-room ; I won't ask you into the surgery, for I suppose you are not wishing for any of my physic." And I allow the kind doctor to lead me into the family sitting-room, that I may have an op portunity of leaving my message with him. He opens his eyes a little wider when he understands its meaning, but he only says, " How very kind ! I am sure the young people will be delighted, and I may safely accept your pleasant invitation for them with their best thanks ; but I do hope you will not find the party too much for you. Of course you do not intend to have them all ; how many must stay at home ? " "Only the youngest.

Willie Marston is coming, and your Charlie is older than he is. I intend the very little ones to be fetched home earlier than the others, and none of them are to stay late. So I shall expect all but Annie on Thursday. Good-bye ! " Now, by crossing the street in a slantkig direction, I shall be at Mr. Wood's door directly. Mrs. Wood is at home ; her two eldest girls are with her ; one is busily engaged on a piece of woolwork, which she suddenly pops into her basket as I enter the room, and the other is almost buried in a book which she is reading by tbe fire. Both of them jump up, and add their warm greetings to their mother's. They draw an easy chair still nearer to the hearth, and are about to put me into it, but I beg to sit a little farther from the fire, being all iu a glow after my brisk walk.

The two girls look very much delighted when I explain my errand ; and, after receiving their mother's consent to the acceptance of the invita tation, heartily embrace me in the exuberance of their pleasure. " How very kind, dear Auntie ! " says one. " How charming it will be ! " cries the other. " But," adds Mrs. Wood, " you must not think of having little Isabel ; she is too young. " I hope you will let her come, dear Mrs. Wood ; there will be others quite as young as she is. But I think wee Benjamin must be left at home. Perhaps he may come next time ; for, if my party goes off well, I shall very likely be tempted to try another. This idea gives great satisfaction ; and, in the midst of assurances that it must be successful, I say good-bye, for I find I shall not have too much time for my walk to Thornhill before dinner.

So far, all promises well ; there is not one dis appointment in the number invited; and, as I go rather more slowly up the hill, I count the children over in my mind. Seven from the Rectory, and their two cousins, five of the Waters family, four young Woods, Miss Unwin, and Alice — actually twenty ! I hope Alice will be able to come ; I should feel at a great loss without her; indeed I think I should be obliged to chaDge the day if Thursday will not suit her. But here I am at the lodge, and shall soon know all about it. Mrs. Thornhill and Alice are both at home, and I am taken at once to the morning room, which is bright and sunny even on this winter's day. Mrs. Thornhill, never very strong, is less well than usual, and is lying on a couch drawn up between the fire and the pleasant window.

Alice is seated on a footstool at her side, with a letter in her hand, which seems to be the subject of their earnest conversation. They both look up with a cordial smile, and Alice is in my arms directly. " O, Auntie ! I am so glad to see you, and for so many reasons." After shaking hands with Mrs. Thornhill, and expressing my regret at finding her so poorly, I turn to Alice for an explanation of her several reasons for wishing to see me just now. " Well, Auntie dear, in the first place, you know I am always very glad to see you; secondly, I am particularly glad if you come when my darling mother is not quite well, for you always cheer her and do her good ; and, thirdly, I am most especially glad that you have come just now because you can help us to decide about this letter." Mrs. Thornhill smiles at her daughter's eager ness, and I feel gratified by what she says, but am greatly puzzled at her allusion to the letter.

"You know, my dear Alice, how pleased I always am to come here, especially if I can do Mrs. Thornhill any good ; but how I can help you about that letter I do not at all understand." ""Come and sit down here, Miss Vernon, and the child shall explain it all to you ; " and Mrs. Thornhill makes room for me at the end of her couch, whilst Alice takes her former position on the footstool. "This is a letter from my Aunt Stanley, asking me to go and pay her a visit now directly. She says herself it is a very sudden invitation ; but she has some young people coming unexpectedly to spend Christmas with her, and she thinks it would be a pleasant thing for me to join them. I know it is very kind of Aunt, and I am really very much obliged to her ; but I do not Avant to go, and I am afraid my mother wishes me to do so, and there is the difficulty.

Now, Auntie, you can help us to decide." How little the dear girl thinks of the fresh difficulty she puts me in by asking my advice on this subject. But I try not to let my own wishes guide me in the matter, and I also resolve not to tell the others of my own plan, if I can help it, until they have quite settled what Alice shall do. So I turn to Mrs. Thornhill, and ask if she thinks it best that her daughter should accept the invi tation. " Simply on this account, dear Miss Vernon ; you know as well I do that Alice has not many young companions, indeed scarcely any of her own age, and I think it a good opportunity for her to have both the benefit and the pleasure of such a change as the one my sister now proposes for her. It is not that I wish to part Avith my dear child for a single day even, both she and you know that full well ; but I do feel that this break in her everyday life is very desirable for her ; and, as she thinks so much for us, it is but right that we should also think for her."

" Alice, what does Mr. Thornhill say about it ? " " Ah ! he only makes the difficulty greater, for he says I must do what I think best. I do not wish to leave my mother, especially just now when she is so poorly, yet I do not like to stay when she would have me go; so do you not see, Auntie dear, how difficult it is for me to decide which is really right ? And now you can help me, because you can look at it all quite simply, as you have nothing to do with it either way." Just at this moment Mr. Thornhill comes into the room, and, after exchanging our morning greetings, he asks if we are settling the knotty point satisfactorily. Alice explains that she is just Avaiting to hear my opinion, as one who can give a clear judgment, neither decision making any difference to me. " But, indeed, my dear Alice, it does make a difference, and such a great one that I Avould rather not give any opinion at all."

" The case becomes more and more interesting, indeed I may say mysterious," smilingly remarks Mr. Thornhill, Avhile his Avife and daughter look at me in silent wonder. " I think," continues that gentleman, drawing up his chair nearer to the fire, " I must consider myself the judge, and hear what can be said on this subject by all parties. To save time, I may as well remark that I know already Avhat the first two speakers think about it, and now I should like very much to learn Miss Vernon's reason for not Avishing to give her opinion." Thus appealed to, I feel that I can no longer refuse to give it ; and so, in as few words as possible, I tell them of my intended Christmas party, and how the very strong desire I have for Alice to join it makes me shrink from saying anything as to her accepting or declining Mrs. Stanley's invitation.