A Flight with the Swallows: or, Little Dorothy's Dream. Marshall Emma

generally notice between those who from their babyhood have been, as it were, little citizens of the world, and those who have been brought up, as Dorothy had been till nearly her eighth birthday, with every care and every luxury, in a happy, quiet home.

      Irene was tall for her age – nearly ten; and she had a determined expression on her face, as if she knew there were rough places and troubles to meet in her daily life, and that she had set herself to overcome them. She had heard a murmur of Ingleby's – "Another child to look after on the journey." And she was determined to give no trouble; she had no long hair to smooth and comb, for her hair was cut short, and her plain blue serge dress was quite free from any adornment. After Dorothy had done with the square, she turned to watch Irene's movements, and regarded her companion with a mingled wonder, and a feeling that was certainly not admiration.

      Presently Dorothy called to Ingleby in the next room —

      "When are you coming to undress me, Jingle? and when are we to have our tea?"

      "I'll come directly, but I am busy getting your mamma's things put for the night; she must go to bed early, and so must you."

      "Where's mother?" was the next question asked.

      "In the sitting-room opposite."

      "I want to go to her."

      "Wait a few minutes; she is lying on the sofa, and I want her to rest."

      "Where's Belinda to sleep, and Nino?"

      "Dear me," said Ingleby, impatiently, "I don't know; here's the cork come out of your mamma's eau-de-Cologne flask, and everything in the travelling basket is soaked. Dear, dear!"

      Dorothy now began to snatch at the buttons of her travelling ulster, and threw off the scarf round her neck.

      "Let me help you," said Irene. "I am quite ready."

      Dorothy was not very gracious, and as Irene tugged at the sleeves of the ulster, a lock of the silky hair caught in a button, and Dorothy screamed —

      "Oh, don't! you hurt me. Oh, Jingle!"

      Ingleby came running in at the cry of distress, and began to pity and console.

      "I am very sorry," Irene said, moving away to the window, where, through the gathering haze of tears, she saw the gas-lights beginning to start out all round the square below.

      A sense of desolation oppressed her; and she wished – oh, how she wished she had stayed at Mrs. Baker's! At first it had seemed delightful to go to grannie, but now she thought anything was better than being where she was not wanted. She was roused by Ingleby's voice —

      "You are to have tea in the sitting-room with Mrs. Acheson. The Canon is gone out to dine at St. Paul's Deanery; and as soon as you have had your tea, you are to go to bed."

      Dorothy, shaking back her beautiful hair, ran away to a room at the end of the passage, never thinking of Irene, who followed her with the same uneasy sense of "not being wanted" which is hard for us all to bear.

      CHAPTER IV

      NINO

      Mrs. Acheson roused herself to talk to the little girls, and was kindly anxious that Irene should not feel strange and unhappy. But Irene was not a child to respond quickly, and Mrs. Acheson could but contrast her with her own little Dorothy, who was so caressing and tender in her ways, and had a gentle voice, while Irene had a quick, decided way of speaking.

      "Have you been unwell long, my dear?" Mrs. Acheson asked.

      "I have had a cough, and – and father does not wish me to keep a cough, because of mother."

      "You don't remember your mother?"

      "No. I have a stepmother, you know, and two little brothers."