The Caged Linnet; or, Love's labour not lost

Front matter

$Wm$ BY JflRjS. £¥ /IpEY LEflJFJffijS. JACK AND JILL, a §>torp of our -©ton Dap. With Illustrations. Small Svo, cloth extra, 2/6. "A charming little story." — Record. " Some of the incidents are extremely moving." — Tunes. " Charmingly written and illustrated." — Watchman. ALL AMONG THE DAISIES. Small 8vo, cloth extra, 2/6. " A good book — a very good book. A delightful tale for children." — Echo. " It will be a favourite wherever it goes, and its influence will be found to be helpful and uplifting." — Christian Age. "The story is fresh and charming." — Glasgow Herald. " Youg nreaders, and many readers who can scarcely call themselves young, will be delighted with the work. It deserves high praise." — The Scotsman. LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E j5>F0I?IEg BY » OTPEY LE^TPE^.

INGLE-NOOK STORIES. With Numerous Illustrations by M. Irwin. Square, cloth extra, 2/6. Full of pleasant things for the little ones, these stories will afford many a happy half-hour as they are read and talked about by the critical and interested juveniles. ON THE DOORSTEPS; @r, C-rispin'-a gitorp. Small 8vo, cloth extra, 1/6. "A bonny little story, with a capital and much-needed moral." The Christian. " Prettily written, and to young children will be highly attractive." Scotsman. "The very book for many who need to be taught the luxury of loving kindness." — Golden Hours. LONDON : JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. THE CAGED LINNET; OR, Lobe's iatour not lost. But Miriam had opened the door, and in tumbled, rolled, and tottered poor Miss Brigstock. But not alone. She carried in her arms a big, rosy, sleeping child, of no small weight and size. — ■/. 25.

OR, LOVE'S LABOUR NOT LOST. BY MRS. STANLEY LEATHES, author of "jack and jill;" "all among the daisies ;" "ON THE DOORSTEP," etc*. " And I said, What quickening summer Hath come to this life-worn tree, Hath burst its bonds asunder, And set its froze sap free ? Wouldst know the life-giving mother ? God's love is that mystery." Mrs. Campbell of Ballochyle. LONDON JOHN F. SHAW AND CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. All rights reserved. CONTENTS.

Chapter I. The Iron Cage

" 'T is the hard grey weather Breeds hard Englishmen." — Kingsley. " Early in spring-time, in raw and windy mornings." — Kingsley. NYONE who knows the village of Swallowcliffe knows Miss Britannia Bailey's house. Miss Britannia she was always called ; for during many years she had been the second while Miss Bailey, the elder sister, had lived. There had been another sister, very much younger than either, Belle Bailey ; but she was never mentioned now ; for some five years ago she had left her home with Horace Lisle, a young officer, who had been quartered in a neighbouring town. Some said she had done it to get away from home, where her sister kept her imprisoned and grudged her every innocent enjoyment ; and truly the weak-minded, shallow-brained young man, with empty pockets and expensive habits, could not have been very attractive to such a clever and sensible girl as Belle Bailey.

But however it happened, no one had heard any thing more of her except some vague report that she and her husband were at Paris ; and since that day Miss Britannia had hardened her heart, and narrowed her sympathies, and tightened her purse-strings, and indulged her peculiarities more and more. I said everyone knew Miss Britannia's house. It stood in the High Street, with a small patch of garden before it, and a large one behind. The windows were guarded by high muslin blinds, over vvhich the maids could not peep ; and the flight of white steps to the door was so speckless as to alarm the ordinary wearer of ordinary work-a-day boots. "Knock gently" too, on a plate below the knocker, had a chilling effect on those who surmounted the steps, and gave a sense of unwelcome to those who ventured so far ; while " Please wipe your shoes " met the eyes of the bold man who entered.

In fact, very few and far between were the visitors who ventured over those snowy bars, and when we have mentioned Mr. Olliver, the vicar • Mr. Brass, the doctor; and Miss Brigstock, one maiden lady, we have exhausted the list. Well might the house be called the " Iron Cage." Street boys wrote it in chalk on the gate-posts, and the inhabitants generally knew it by it. People were warned not to go there for subscriptions, or for charity, or for anything in fact, unless they wished to get snubbed ; and even Mr. Olliver and Mr. Brass felt an uncomfortable sensation when they knocked at the door, which they did but seldom. Only Miss Brigstock went every day, and sometimes twice a day, to the house. She had been pretty Belle Bailey's governess ; and when her daily visits of duty had ceased she had continued them mechanically, till they had become a matter of course to herself and to Miss Britannia.

She could speak as roughly and as crossly as she liked to Fanny, as she called her, and Miss Brigstock would take it meekly ; and she could vent her ill temper upon her, and yet patronize her and give her her stint charity, and still she would be meek. It was a steel-grey morning in Lent, and mid- March was wearing its least attractive garb. An east wind was blowing, and a fog was rising from the water-meadows, which lay on either side of the gay little river that ran briskly through the village, and a drizzling rain was falling. The congregation that came out of the church after morning service had in dividually red noses as they wrapped their cloaks about them and hurried to their homes. Alas ! they were chiefly women. Britannia Bailey was one ; but she seemed rather to enjoy the unkindly weather, and looked about with contempt on her shivering neighbours.

She wore a slate-coloured alpaca gown of wiry texture ; a full, loose jacket, in fashion five and twenty years ago ; and a close black bonnet. She had seized upon the ugliest fashion of her younger days and stuck to it, as a stern reproof to those who followed those of their own days, forgetting that once likewise her own style of dress, to which she tenaciously adhered, had also been fashionable. So she braided her hair in long loops, hiding her ears, and coming down to a centre low down in her neck ; and she had her skirts made as full as a fan, while the ordinary multitude exercised their ingenuity in making their gowns as narrow as was compatible with convenience. Miss Britannia came out first, saying to Brooking, the verger, as she passed: "Tell Miss Brigstock to come at one o'clock," and then strode along with great strides, as if pursued by someone she wished to avoid, until she reached her own house.

Then she stepped in at the side-door, having had in past years two motives for this eccentric habit. The first being that she had a twisted, queer, unex pressed notion, that it was economical to go in at the back-door, and economy was her hobby ; and the other being, that when her two maids were younger she delighted in pouncing down upon them unexpec tedly, almost hoping to find them " like mice at play when the cat's away," and experiencing a kind of disappointment when she did not. Now, alas! these same maids were sober and middle aged, and reduced to a state of hushed depression, like the sleepy cats in the " Happy Families." Play was unknown within those walls, and those lugubrious maidens were too drowsy to be ever surprised at any thing. She proceeded to her little dining-room, where the mid-day meal was awaiting her, and where economy reigned supreme.

The cloth was spread over half the table, in obedience to the same law; and for the same reason the cold leg of mutton appeared day after day rather than yield to Miriam's extravagant hints, " that it might be hashed." To-day it was at its ugliest and, it might be hoped, last stage, as a long bare bone stretched across the dish, with a little tuft of dry and unattractive meat at the end. There was a handful of fire, literally, in the grate, and the fog and the east wind, which had seemed to come in with Miss Britannia, filled the room. Miriam, the cook, entered at that moment with a dish. She was a pudding-faced, melancholy-looking person of forty or more, with one eye and a shambling gait, and she approached the table crab-fashion side ways, and shuffled a dish of potatoes on to it. "Where's Lavinia?" asked Miss Britannia, severely.

"She's got the toothache, ma'am," replied Miriam, in a mumbling manner peculiar to her. " If you had said she had not got the toothache, it would be something new. She always has the tooth ache. Tell her to come to me." Miriam shambled away ; for in addition to her other misfortunes she was lame, and when she was angered, as she was now, by Miss Britannia's last re mark, the excitement was expressed in her legs by a kind of step between a hop and a glissade. Anybody but Miss Britannia would have regretted that they had sent for the sufferer; for when she appeared she was a most uncomfortable object. She had evidently been lying down, for her hair was ruffled, and her face, which was swollen so much as to close one eye, was tied up in a white handkerchief. But Miss Britannia was accustomed to it, and seemed neither surprised nor sorry ; indeed, with her love of east wind, fog, and general discomfort, per haps she liked a housemaid with a swelled face.

At any rate, she only said : " You had better go to Mr. Brass and have your tooth out, Lavinia, instead of wasting your money on 'toothache stuff' which you know does no good." This remark was called for by a strong odour of creosote pervading Lavinia's person, which proceeded possibly from a little bottle that she held in her hand. " Mr. Brass said there wasn't no more to take out, ma'am," said Lavinia, through the folds of her hand kerchief which she held up to her mouth. " Then go and have something out. I have no patience with people who put up with things. There 's a remedy for most things. Has any one been here ?" " Yes, ma'am ; Miss Brigstock. She said she 'd call again." "Oh!" said Miss Britannia, with a tone of disappointment, "that is all. You can go." " Why on earth does mistress always ask if any one has been here when she comes in ?" said Lavinia in the kitchen to Miriam.

" She knows no one ever comes but Miss Brigstock, and she never seems very pleased to see her." " I '11 tell you," said Miriam in a sepulchral whisper, " I believe she 's always hoping as Miss Belle will come back." "Aye, poor Miss Belle," said Lavinia; "but she'll never ; I know her too well." Just then a timid and yet fidgety knock at the front door, known as " Miss Brigstock's knock," was heard, and Lavinia hastened to admit that lady. She entered in a sudden way with a startled look, and almost fell over Lavinia. "Lor', Miss Brigstock!" she exclaimed, "whatever 's the matter ?" " Oh, Lavinia, I have seen her, I 'm quite sure I have ; I am ready to faint ! " " Seen her, Miss Brigstock ? you don't say so !" " Yes ; she was hiding behind the church doors as we came out. I screamed, and she disappeared, not out of the church doors, of that I 'm sure ; for I waited till Brooking came out with the keys, and we went together and hunted the church over."

" It must have been her spirit !" " No, Lavinia ; she had on a shady brown hat, just like the one she used to look so sweet in, and a scarlet cloak. Spirits don't wear hats and cloaks." " I suppose they wear something," said Lavinia dis putatiously. "Shall you tell missus?" " No," said Miss Brigstock, "unless " but at that moment the dining-room door opened, and Miss Britannia peeped out. The talkers started, and Mks Britannia said in a sharp tone : " You seem to have secrets. Lavinia could scarcely speak for her toothache a minute ago. She keeps her grumbling for my special amusement, I see." "We were only " said Miss Brigstock, tripping in in a dancing, fidgety way, like a bird. " Oh, I don't want to know what you were saying, Fanny," said Britannia ; " only I hate whispering. Come, you'd better have some dinner; I know you've come for it."

It was only too true. Miss Brigstock's small income was scarcely enough to keep soul and body together, and a meal two or three times a week at Miss Britannia's cost was not unacceptable. She smiled faintly at the rude remark ; but she was too much accustomed to such sayings from her benefactor to resent this special insult. So she meekly sat down to the plate of cold mutton in silence, and was thankful. It was a comfortless room, and had the same hard and angular appearance as its occupant. Very hard and very high chairs stood in formal rows round the walls, for easy-chairs formed no part of its furniture ; very high red mahogany book-shelves, closely locked and glazed, were on either side of the fireplace ; and a very red and very bare sideboard filled up one side. Every vestige of life was locked away or packed away in cupboards, both in this room and the one called a drawing-room beyond.

One longed to scatter abroad a few tokens of habitation, such as books, or work, or flowers, or other litter, as Miss Britannia would have called them. After a very silent meal Miss Brigstock rose and said good-bye, and Miss Britannia went out again after a little time for her usual walk. Hail, rain, or sunshine, she took it, at the same time, and in the same direction, striding along as if bound on some special errand, and turning back abruptly at the same point in the straight turnpike-road she frequented. Once or twice Miss Brigstock had volun teered to accompany her ; but her feeble steps could not keep pace with Miss Britannia's giant-like strides, so, after trotting by her side till she was breathless, she gave in, and was left behind.

Chapter II

A FLEDGLING IN THE CAGE. " Oh, whaur ha'e ye been a' the day, My little wee croodlin' doo?" — Old Ballad. "Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snow fell, Wide were the downs, and shelterless and naked, When a poor wanderer struggled on her journey, Weary and waysore. " — Southey. ISS BRITANNIA was more irritable and more moody than usual to-day, as Miriam and Lavinia had remarked, and as Miss Brigstock had experienced. The truth was, it was the anniversary of Belle's dis appearance. If ever anyone had reached Miss Britannia's heart it was Belle, though she had not allowed it to herself, or manifested much tenderness towards her when she was with her. She was one of the elder children of a first marriage of her father's, while Belle was the youngest of a second, so that there were five and twenty years between them.

As long as Miss Bailey, an older sister of theirs, had lived, the house had been more cheerful and more comfortable, and by her Belle had been tenderly nurtured and lovingly cherished. But when she died, and Britannia ruled, there was a great and miserable change. Economy — or rather, in her case, the love of scraping and saving — stripped the house of everything that was not barely needful, and every grace and charm of life was looked upon as a superfluity. The gardener was dismissed, and flowers were banished from the house; the little pony-carriage and the pony, that Belle had ridden since she was a child, were sold ; gradually the house was cleared of every grace and sweet adornment, and was reduced to the iron cage it now was. No wonder the once happy girl was glad to escape from it; and no wonder she loved the memory of her darling sister Anne, whose loving heart had drawn to her all who knew her, and whose unselfishness and generosity and love of the beautiful had made her home so happy and so attractive.

The contrast was agonizing. When Anne was alive Belle was the sunbeam and the joy of the house ■gay as the lark, and free as the air. But when Miss Britannia took the reins, every word was checked, and reproved as flippant, foolish, or useless, till an oppressive silence reigned, which even spread to the domain of the servants. We left her striding along the Mayfield-road, a straight, uninteresting turnpike-way, which was her customary walk. She always turned back at a certain corner, where a milestone told wayfarers it was five miles to Norton Bassett and three to Mayfield. But to-day she passed it with increasingly rapid steps. Whether it was that she was thinking so much of the past that she forgot her usual waymark, or whether she wanted that day especially to shorten the lonely evening in that now lonely little parlour at home, I know not.

But in any case she went on mile after mile, in spite of the darkness which came on early that threatening wintry afternoon, and in spite of the bitter north wind. When even some flakes of snow fell she took no notice, but hurried on as if bent upon some urgent business. She reached Norton Bassett at last, and stood still for a moment looking round. It was quite dark now, and the ground was sprinkled with snow and the air was thick with it. Faster and faster it fell, being driven in clouds by the cold blast which swept past her with a howl. Her rusty water proof was powdered with it ; for the umbrella she always carried was useless in such a gale. After a few minutes' pause, she turned and walked back again as fast as the storm would let her. By the time she reached home it was dark and late, and the servants were in as much excitement and anxiety as it was possible for them to manifest.

"Mistress is so regular," said Miriam to the milk woman ; " we can keep the clocks by her. Not that I don't like it, for I do ; but she makes too much of it, and if dinner's a five minutes too late, I feel as if I 'd broke all the ten commandments at oncet." "Yes, it's her hobby that, and eke-onomy," said Lavinia. "Both very good things in their way," said Miriam. " I 'm not for saying they 're not. But when you go to washing the cotton you make your caps with, and turning every ennvelope you gets to use again, I think it 's going too fur. Why, there was such a fuss as never was last week, because, when I ironed mistress's lace for her caps, one of the pieces of cotton was gone. She said she 'd used the same pieces for six months, and it was wasteful of me. It was really scarcely worth the time it took to talk about it ; for time is money if you make good use of it."

" Well, well," said the milk-woman, who had been a servant of the house in old Miss Bailey's days, " to be sure. There wouldn't be so many poor folk if they were all as careful as Miss Britannia ; but, as you say, it is going a little too fur. Be careful of everything, say I ; spoil nothing, and waste nothing ; and if you must pinch, pinch yourself, not other folks. And there are ways of being careful without making things un comfortable, that 's what I like. It strikes me if you don't spare your trouble, you can make money go a long way. Cold meat and cold pudding don't go so fur as hotted and fresh-made. But I must go. I wonder who she 's saving for ? There is plenty of money we know. A more comfortable place than this was in Miss Bailey's time you 'd never find. And she didn't spend much on herself, bless her, but she had a way of making every one happy about her, and doing with her money what the Almighty meant us to do with it — scatter blessings, and use it well ; not store and scrape it.

Scraped money never thrives. I have seen it over and over again. Upon my word, this is a night," said Mary, the milk-woman, as Miriam opened the door to let her out, and the wind burst in and ex tinguished the candle, and filled the kitchen with snow. " And she out still ! whatever can be the matter ? But there 's someone coming to the door ; good-night ! " There vvas someone coming it is true, but not Miss Britannia. Whoever it was walked slowly and laboriously, as if carrying a heavy burden. She was muffled too in a big red wrap of extraordinary form, which was covered with snow. All this Miriam and Lavinia saw as they peeped through a chink in the kitchen shutter. " It 's not missus," said Lavinia, forgetting her toothache in her excitement. " She ain't tall enough. Oh, Mira, if it should be " " No, Lavinia, it isn't ; there, she 's knocking.

What ever shall we do ? " A longcontinuous knock at the front door was heard at this moment, and the two maids stared at each other's pale faces in alarm. " I dursn't go," said Lavinia, sitting down on a chair and gasping. " Who knows that it isn't some of those lunatics from the asylum ? She looked very queer ! There was one escaped last week. There it is again." The knocking now began more persistently and resolutely. Evidently, whoever vvas there, vvas de termined to get in. " And such a night ! " said Miriam. " I must go, lunatic or no. It is dreadful ! You and me wouldn't like to be out there ! " " Well, do as you please," said Lavinia, stationing herself at the crack of the kitchen door, from whence she could see what was going on at the front, and getting ready for a good scream if occasion offered.

" I always was afraid of wagrants ; some isn't." Miriam went boldly forward with the poker in her hand, and peeped through the keyhole. " There 's some one crying, and there 's two of them," she said in a raised whisper. " You would do it," said Lavinia hysterically. " I told you not. We shall be all murdered ! " " Who 's there ?" shouted Miriam fiercely. " I won't have no nonsense ! " "Oh, let me in — quick, Miriam," said a feeble voice outside. "Well, if it isn't poor Miss Brigstock !" said Miriam, bursting into a loud laugh. " Who 'd have thought of her coming in such weather ? But it didn't trot like her, did it, Lavinia ? " " Oh, it 's only some one shamming her ; do take care, Miriam. As if I didn't know Miss Brigstock ! " But Miriam had opened the door, and in tumbled, rolled, and tottered poor Miss Brigstock.

But not alone. She carried in her arms a big, rosy, sleeping child, of no small weight and size. She was wrapped in a huge red curtain, the rings of which trailed on the ground and made a jingling sound at every move ment she made, and which, moreover, disguised her completely. Poor soul, she was breathless and excited, and sank exhausted upon a chair near the hall, clinging still to her burden. c "Where's your mistress?" she said anxiously. 'Tell her I want her — quick!" "She 's not in yet, Miss. I 've never knowed her " Not in, Miriam ? What do you mean ? She 's always in, you know she is, except " — and she panted in agitation — " when she 's out." " Well, she isn't in, and we 're all in a flutter about her," said Miriam. "But come in. There's her tea waiting ; come in and have a hot cup, Miss Brigstock.

You 're quite overcome. Is it a fire ?" Miss Brigstock shook her head. " Miss Brigstock, who always looked as if she might be blown away with a puff, and who could never lift any weight heavier than a tea cup, might well be overcome carrying that heavy child, I should say," said Lavinia. " Let me take the child, Miss." " No ! no ! no ! No one must take her. I will carry her into the room. Is there a pillow on the sofa ? No ? fetch one, then, and a blanket. Cover her softly over. Isn't she beautiful ? Isn't she lovely ? Oh, Miriam, isn't she like " "Like!" said the two maids in a breath. "Why, Miss Brigstock, it 's our dear young lady, Miss Belle, for all the world. She 's the very picture !" " Yes, it is, and no other. Oh, Miriam, it 's a long story ! Here, take my clogs and my umbrella. Stay, we will push her into the shade a little and move the candle.

There, she will sleep there. Throw your dark plaided shawl over her, Lavinia, and then Miss Britannia will not see her all at once — not till I have told her. But I ought to go, I ought to go. Perhaps I can find her. You must let me go." " Go, must you ? Oh, Miss Brigstock, and such a night as this ! Stay, you must have some tea, then, first. But why must you go ? " "Oh, I must find the mother — the dear, sweet young mother. I saw her face for a moment only, looking so pale, so sad, so ill, so terribly changed ; and yet the same sweet face ! Oh, I must go ! Each moment is precious. Let me go." " And leave the child here ? " said Lavinia timidly. " Whatever will mistress say ? " " Never mind what she says ; only guard her till I come back. Let no one harm her." Miriam brandished the poker she still held, and said, " Trust me ; I '11 take care of her if she 's Miss Belle's child !

" "Mrs. Lisle," said Lavinia. "Well, it is a set out !" And once more Miss Brigstock sallied forth in the fierce north wind and blinding snow — she who was so delicate and timid— she who loved her fireside on winter evenings so dearly. But all was forgotten in her eager, loving resolution to find her dearly-loved pupil and child if possible.

Chapter III The Stolen Cloak

" Sleep on, baby Before loss, I shall sleep through losing ! As by cradle, so by cross, Sure is the reposing. " And God knows, who sees us twain, Child at childish leisure, I am near as tired of pain, As you seem of pleasure." — E. B. Browning. E must go back a little in order to explain how Miss Brigstock became possessed of this pretty baby, who had caused such commotion in the Iron Cage. She, dear soul, among some few more wise and saintly women, frequented daily the services of the old church at Swallowcliffe. At eight and again at five Miss Brigstock was always there, in her shabby cloak and rusty bonnet, which covered — we cannot say adorned— one of the kindliest and noblest THE STOLEN CLOAK. 29 of womenkind. Her face too, though pinched and wrinkled, had a look in it which could well one day be restored to its Master's image — a look of loving truthfulness and strong patience, in spite of the quivering of suffering which was but too evident upon it.

It chanced at this same five o'clock service she was a little late, and sat, not in her usual seat, but in one far back, shadowed by a little curtain, so that she was not seen. In the middle of the service a young woman stole in and sat down a few seats from her. She was carrying a sleeping child, and was evidently weeping ; a thick veil however prevented her face from being seen. There was something in her appearance that attracted Miss Brigstock's attention, though in the dusk of the evening she did not distinguish the outline of her figure ; but when the service vvas over, as she got up from her knees, she saw the stranger had come near to her, and had thrown up her veil, and vvas speaking to her. "Take care of her for my sake, dear, dear Miss Brigstock. You will never hear of me more. God bless you !

Good-bye." With an eager kiss she passed away, pointing to the seat in the church where she had sat. A moment's hesitation lost for the old lady the only possible chance of following the swifter steps of the young one. She hurried to the door, but no one was to be seen, and as she prepared to run along the footway, to follow at random, the wail of a child was heard, and at the same moment the grim guardian of the church keys came forward and began to lock up. " Here, stay, good Brooking ! Wait a minute ; I must go back. Are you in a hurry ?" "Yes, pressing," said Brooking importantly; "please be quick, miss." " Oh, I 'm so sorry ! Wait one moment. Dear, dear me, what shall I do ? Did you see a young lady pass by quickly just now, Brooking ?" "No, I didn't," said Brooking; "but please be quick ; I 've got an appointment."