Nurse Heatherdale's Story. Molesworth Mrs.

They seem nice little ladies to look at, though they're on the outside of plain as to their dress.'

      'And more sense, too,' said mother. 'I always thought our young ladies too expensive, though where money's no consideration, 'tis a temptation to a lady to dress up her children, I suppose.'

      'But they were never over-dressed,' I said, in my turn, a little ruffled. 'Nothing could be simpler than their white frocks to look at.'

      'Ay, to look at, I'll allow,' said mother. 'But when you come to look into them, Martha, it was another story. Embroidery and tucks and real Walansian!' and she held up her hands. 'Still they've got it, and they've a right to spend it, seein' too as they're generous to those who need. But these little ladies at Sarah's are not rich, I take it. There was a deal of settlin' about the prices when my lady came to take the rooms. She and the gentleman's up in London, but one or two of the children got ill and needed country air. It's a heavy charge on Sarah Nutfold, for the nurse is not one of the old sort, and my lady asked Sarah, private-like, to have an eye on her.'

      'There now,' I cried, 'I could have said as much! The way she turned just now so sharp on the poor boy and the middle little lady. I could see she wasn't one of the right kind, though I didn't hear what she said. No one should be a nurse, or have to do with children, mother, who doesn't right down love them in her heart.'

      'You're about right there, Martha,' mother agreed.

      Just then father came in, and we sat round, the three of us, to our tea.

      'It's a pleasure to have thee at home again, my girl, for a bit,' he said. And the kind look in his eyes made me feel both cheered and sad together. It was the first day I had been with them at tea-time, for I had got home pretty late the night before. 'And I hope it'll be a longish bit this time,' he went on.

      I gave a little sigh.

      'I'd like to stay a while; but I don't know that it would be good for me to stay very long, father, thank you,' I said. 'I'm young and strong and fit for work, and I'd like to feel I was able to help you and mother if ever the time comes that you're laid by.'

      'Please God we'll never need help of that kind, my girl,' said father. 'But it's best to be at work, I know, when one's had a trouble. The day'll maybe come, Martha, when you'll be glad to have saved a little more for a home of your own, after all. So I'd not be the one to stand in your way, a few months hence – nor mother neither – if a good place offers.'

      'Thank you, father,' I said again; 'but the only home of my own I'll ever care for will be here – by mother and you.'

      And so it proved.

      I little thought how soon father's words about not standing in my way if a nice place offered would be put to the test.

      I saw the children who were lodging at Mrs. Nutfold's several times in the course of the next week or two. They seemed to have a great fancy for the pine-woods, and from where they lived they could not, to get to them, but pass across the common within sight of our cottage. And once or twice I met them in the village street. Not all of them together – once it was only the two youngest with the nurse; they were waiting at the door of the post-office, which was also the grocer's and the baker's, while she was inside chattering and laughing a deal more than she'd any call to, it seemed to me. (I'm afraid I took a real right-down dislike to that nurse, which isn't a proper thing to do before one has any certain reason for it.) And dear little ladies they looked, though the elder one – that was the middle one of the three – had rather an anxious expression in her face, that struck me. The baby – she was nearly three, but I heard them call her baby – was a little fat bundle of smiles and dimples. I don't think even a cross nurse would have had power to trouble her much.

      Another time it was the two elder girls and the lame boy I met. It was a windy day, and the eldest Missy's big flapping bonnet had blown back, so I had a good look at her. She was a beautiful child – blue eyes, very dark blue, or seeming so from the clear black eyebrows and thick long eyelashes, and dark almost black hair, with just a little wave in it; not so long or curling as her sister's, which was out-of-the-way beautiful hair, but seeming somehow just to suit her, as everything about her did. She came walking along with the proud springing step I had noticed that first day, and she was talking away to the others as if to cheer and encourage them, even though the boy was full three years older than she, and supposed to be taking charge of her and her sister, I fancy.

      'Nonsense, Franz,' she was saying in her decided spoken way, 'nonsense. I won't have you and Lally treated like that. And I don't care – I mean I can't help if it does trouble mamma. Mammas must be troubled about their children sometimes; that's what being a mamma means.'

      I managed to keep near them for a bit. I hope it was not a mean taking-advantage. I have often told them of it since – it was really that I did feel such an interest in the dear children, and my mind misgave me from the first about that nurse – it did so indeed.

      'If only – ' said the boy with a tiny sigh. But again came that clear-spoken little voice, 'Nonsense, Franz.'

      I never did hear a child of her age speak so well as Miss Bess. It's pretty to hear broken talking in a child sometimes, lisping, and some of the funny turns they'll give their words; but it's even prettier to hear clear complete talk like hers in a young child.

      Then came a gentle, pitiful little voice.

      'It isn't nonsense, Queen, darling. It's howid for Franz, but it wasn't nonsense he was going to say. I know what it was,' and she gave the boy's hand a little squeeze.

      'It was only – if aunty was my mamma, Bess, but you know she isn't. And aunts aren't forced to be troubled about not their own children.'

      'Yes they are,' the elder girl replied. 'At least when they're instead of own mammas. And then, you know, Franz, it's not only you, it's Lally too, and – '

      That was all I heard. I couldn't pretend to be obliged to walk slowly just behind them, for in reality I was rather in a hurry, so I hastened past; but just as I did so, their little dog, who was with them, looked up at me with a friendly half-bark, half-growl. That made the children smile at me too, and for the life of me, even if 'twas not good manners, I couldn't help smiling in return.

      'Hasn't her a nice face?' I heard the second little young lady say, and it sent me home with quite a warm feeling in my heart.

      It was about a week after that, when one evening as we were sitting together – father, mother, and I – and father was just saying there'd be daylight enough to need no candles that night – we heard the click of the little garden gate, and a voice at the door that mother knew in a moment was Widow Nutfold's.

      'Good evening to you, Mrs. Heatherdale,' she said, 'and many excuses for disturbing of you so late, but I'm that put about. Is your Martha at home? – thank goodness, my dear,' as I came forward out of the dusk to speak to her. 'It's more you nor your good mother I've come after; you'll be thinking I'm joking when you hear what it is. Can you slip on your bonnet and come off with me now this very minute to help with my little ladies? Would you believe it – that their good-for-nothing girl is off – gone – packed up this very evening – and left me with 'em all on my hands, and Miss Baby beginning with a cold on her chest, and Master Francis all but crying with the rheumatics in his poor leg. And even the page-boy, as was here at first, was took back to London last week.'

      The good woman held up her hands in despair, and then by degrees we got the whole story – how the nurse had not been meaning to stay longer than suited her own convenience, but had concealed this from her lady; and having heard by a letter that afternoon of another situation which she could have if she went at once, off she had gone, in spite of all poor Widow Nutfold could say or do.

      'She took a dislike to me seein' as I tried to look after her a bit and to stop her nasty cross ways, and she told me that impertinent, as I wanted to be nurse, I might be it now. She has a week or two's money owing her, but she was that scornful she said she'd let it go; she had been a great silly for taking the place.'

      'But she might be had up and made to give back some of her wages,' said father.

      'Sir Hulbert and my lady are not that sort, and she knows it,' said Mrs. Nutfold. 'The