Wild Heather. Meade L. T.

she said, "come – be a good little girl. I shall try to be good to you."

      I raised my hand and slapped her with extreme violence on the face.

      "I hate you and all aunts, and I will never, never be good to you or to anyone!"

      And then, somehow or other, I think I lost consciousness, for I cannot remember, even after this lapse of years, what immediately followed.

      CHAPTER III

      The next thing that I recall was also connected with that most terrible day. I was lying on a tiny bed, a sort of cot bed, in a very small room. There was a fire about the size of a pocket-handkerchief burning in the wee-est grate I have ever looked at. A woman was sitting by the fire with her back to me, the woman was knitting and moving her hands very rapidly. She wore a little cap on her head with long black lappets to it. I noticed how ugly the cap was and how ugly the woman herself looked as she sat and knitted by the fire. I suppose some little movement on my part caused her to turn round, for she came towards me and then I observed that it was Aunt Penelope.

      "That's a good girl," she said; "you are better now, Heather."

      A sort of instinct came over me at that moment. Instead of bursting into a storm of rage and tears, I stayed perfectly quiet. I looked her calmly in the face. I remembered every single thing that had happened. Father had gone, and I was left behind. I said, in a gentle tone:

      "I am much better, Aunt Penelope."

      "Come," said Aunt Penelope, speaking cheerfully, "you shall have some nice bread and milk presently, and then I will undress you myself and put you to bed. Lie quite quiet now like a good child, while I go down to prepare the bread and milk."

      I made no answer, but lay still, my eyes fixed on her face. She turned and left the room.

      The moment she had shut the door I sat up in bed. I had been acting a part. I was only eight years old, that is, eight years and a half, or very nearly so. Nevertheless, I was a consummate actress all the time Aunt Penelope was in the room. The instant she had gone I scrambled to my feet and slid off the little bed and stood upright on the floor. I saw the hat I had worn when I came from Southampton, lying on a chair, and also the little jacket. I further noticed with satisfaction that my boots were still on my feet. In a flash I had managed to button on my jacket and to slip the elastic of my hat under my thick hair, and then, with the half-crown which father had given me safely deposited in my pocket, I softly, very softly, opened my bedroom door. Oh, yes; I was acting splendidly! I was quite excited with the wonder of the thing, and this excitement kept me up for the time being. I heard Aunt Penelope's voice downstairs. She was saying something; her words reached me quite distinctly.

      "Go at once to the chemist's, Jonas, and tell him to make up the prescription the doctor has given, and bring it back again as fast as ever you can. Wait for it until it is made up. The child is highly feverish, and must have the medicine at once."

      Jonas said, "Yes, Miss Despard," and I heard the front door of the little house open and shut again. I also heard Aunt Penelope going away to the back part of the premises, and I further heard the shrill voice of the parrot, making use of his constant cry, "Stop knocking at the door!" Now was my opportunity.

      I glided downstairs like a little ghost. I ran swiftly across the hall, I opened the front door – it was quite easy to open, for the door was a very small one – and then I let myself out. The next minute I was running down the street, running as fast as ever I could, and as far as possible from Hill View House. I had a distinct object in my mind. I did not mean to run away in the ordinary sense; my one sole desire was to go to the railway station to meet the train which would bring Anastasia. Father had said with his own lips that she would come by the next train. Of course, I had no idea where the railway station was. I felt that I must run as quickly as possible, for Jonas might see me, and although he was quite a kind boy, I did not want him to see me then. I hoped the chemist – whoever the chemist was – would keep him some time, and that the feverish person – whoever the feverish person was – would be kept waiting for whatever Jonas was fetching for that person. I did not meet Jonas, and I ran a long way. Presently I came bang up against a stout, red-faced woman, who said:

      "Look out where you are going, little 'un."

      I paused and looked into her face.

      "Have I hurt you?" I asked.

      The woman burst out laughing.

      "My word!" she answered. "As if a mite like you would hurt me. Is it likely? And who are you, and where are you going?"

      "I am going to the railway station to meet Anastasia," I said. Then I added, as a quick thought flashed through my mind, "Anastasia is my nurse, and she's coming by the next train. I will give you some money if you will take me to the railway station to meet her."

      "How much money will you give me?" asked the red-faced woman.

      "I will give you a whole half-crown," I said. "Please, please take me – it is so dreadfully important, for the next train may come in, and Anastasia may not know where to go to."

      "Well, to be sure," said the woman, looking me all over from top to toe; "I don't seem to know you, little miss, but there's no harm in me taking you as far as the station, and the next train will be due in a very few minutes, so we'll have to go as fast as possible."

      "I don't mind running, if you don't mind running too," I answered.

      "I can't run," said the woman; "I'm too big."

      "Well," I said, "perhaps the best thing of all would be for you to show me how to get to the railway station. If you do that, I can run very fast indeed, and you shall have your half-crown."

      "That would be much the best way," said the woman; "and look, missy, you haven't very far to go. Here we are at the foot of this steep hill. Well, you run up it as fast as ever you can, and when you get to the top you will see the railway station right in front of you, and all you have to do is to ask if the train is in. There's only one train in and one train out at a little railway station like ours, so you can't miss your way. You will have to ask a porter, or any man you see, to show you the platform where the trains come in, and there you are. Now, my half-crown, please, missy."

      "Yes. Here it is," I answered, "and I am very much obliged to you, woman."

      I thrust the money into her hand and began to run as fast as ever I could up the hill. I was a very slight child, and ran well. With the fear and longing, the indescribable dread of I knew not what in my heart, there seemed to be wings attached to my feet now, for I went up the hill so fast – oh, so fast! – until at last I arrived, breathless, at the top. A man was standing leisurely outside an open door. He said, "Hallo!" when he saw me, and I answered back, "Hallo!" and then he said:

      "What can I do for you, little miss?" and I said:

      "I have come to meet the next train, and, please, when will it be in, for Anastasia is coming by it?"

      "Whoever is Anastasia?" asked the man.

      "My nurse," I answered; "and she's coming by the next train."

      The man whistled.

      "Please show me the right platform, man," I said. "I have no money to give you at all, so I hope you will be very, very kind, for I gave all the money I possessed in the world to a stout, red woman at the bottom of the hill. She showed me how to get here, but she could not run fast enough, for she was so very stout, so I left her and came on alone. Please show me the platform and Anastasia shall give you some money when she comes."

      "I don't want any money, missy," said the man in a kind tone. "You come along of me. There's the London express specially ordered to stop here, because Sir John Carrington and his lady are expected. The expresses don't stop here as a rule, missy – only the slow trains; but maybe the person you want will be in this express."

      "She's sure to be if it's the next train," I said. "Is it the next train?"

      "Well, yes, miss, I suppose it is. Ah! she is signalled."

      "Who is signalled?" I asked. "Is it Anastasia?"

      "No, missy; the train. You grip