Jasper. Molesworth Mrs.

s.

      Jasper

      Chapter One

      “Stockings.”

      Chrissie Fortescue sat looking at her toes. They were pretty little toes, pink and plump and even. But she was not looking at them in admiration. And indeed this morning they were scarcely as pretty as usual, for they were rapidly becoming blue and crimson, instead of merely pink, and though blue and crimson are charming colours in themselves, they are not seen to advantage on toes.

      It was wintry weather, as you will already, I daresay, have guessed, and very cold indeed, and as the unpleasant consciousness of this made itself felt more and more plainly, Chrissie’s face grew crosser and crosser.

      “Nurse,” she called out, and it was the third or fourth time that she had done so, “Nurse, will you come and put on my stockings? I am getting quite frozen.”

      There was no answer for a moment or two, then Nurse’s face appeared at the door leading from, the little girls’ room into the large day nursery, where the table was already neatly spread for breakfast and a bright fire blazing.

      “Miss Chrissie,” said Nurse, remaining in the doorway, “it is no use – no use whatever your going on calling to me like that. I have told you ever so many times this morning that I won’t and can’t put on your stockings for you. I promised your Mamma before she went away yesterday that I would not, and I cannot break my promise.”

      “I can’t either,” was Chrissie’s reply, “and I’ve promised myself that I won’t put them on this morning, so there you see.”

      Nurse turned away with a sort of groan.

      “Oh dear,” she said, “it is really too bad of you. A young lady of ten behaving like a baby. I’ll come at once when you’re ready for me to do your hair, but not before. How can you behave so, and trouble in the house, too? Breakfast will be up directly, and Master Jasper all ready, and – ” poor Nurse stopped short as she caught sight of another figure in the room. “Miss Leila,” she exclaimed, “what are you thinking of? Reading again before you’ve finished dressing! I heard your Mamma – ”

      “Oh bother, Nurse,” interrupted Leila, “I didn’t promise anything, so leave me alone, please. If I choose to read while I’m dressing, it’s my own business.”

      Apparently poor Nurse was at the end of her patience, for she disappeared into the other room, repeating reproachfully, “and trouble in the house, too.”

      “Rubbish,” said Chrissie contemptuously.

      “There’s no trouble in this house. I didn’t care much for old Uncle Percy. Did you, Leila? He’s been ill such a long time, and last summer at Fareham it was horrid having to be so quiet.”

      “I don’t mind being quiet if people will leave me in peace,” replied Leila.

      “No, I daresay not, with your everlasting books,” Chrissie retorted; “but for all that, you needn’t think yourself any better than me. You like books and I like playing, and we both like to do what we like and not what we don’t, and I suppose that’s about all that can be said,” and she began swinging her feet defiantly.

      Leila, who was getting to think that after all it would be more comfortable to read beside the nursery fire, gave a little laugh, as she hurried on with her own dressing.

      “Tastes differ,” she remarked; “I shouldn’t like to sit there in the cold with no shoes or stockings on. I’m going to coax Nurse to tie up my hair in there by the fire. It is cold this morning.”

      But Christabel sat on obstinately, though she was really beginning to feel wretchedly frozen, and as Leila hurried past her with another word of remonstrance, she only muttered something about “I can’t break – ” which her sister did not clearly catch.

      Leila was a year and a half older than Chrissie, but in appearance, and in several other ways also, though different in character, they seemed much about the same age. They really loved each other, but, I am sorry to say, this did not prevent their quarrelling a great deal. There was much truth in what Christabel had said – neither had learnt to think of others before herself; neither was willing to do anything she did not wish to do; neither had learnt to be obedient, or, still less, unselfish. But a great deal, oh a great, great deal of all this sad state of things came from utter thoughtlessness, and this their mother was growing aware of, and beginning to blame herself for not having realised it sooner.

      “I have only wanted to make them happy,” she said to herself. “Children should be happy,” and so they should, but are selfish people ever really happy?

      The happiness that depends on outside things, on the circumstances of our lives, on amusement and indulgence and having every wish gratified – surely that is not the best and truest and most lasting?

      And sometimes this lesson has to be taught by rather severe teachers.

      Silly Chrissie! She was already punishing herself by her obstinacy. I really would be afraid to say how long she might have sat there, growing colder and colder, if something had not happened.

      The something was a tap at the door – not from the nursery side, you understand, but at the other door, which opened on to the large landing outside.

      At first Chrissie took no notice of the tap.

      “It’s that tiresome Fanny, I suppose,” she said to herself. Fanny was the nursery-maid. “She’s no business to come bothering till we’ve left the room.”

      But the tap was repeated, and a voice, which was certainly not Fanny’s, a soft, coaxing little voice, made itself faintly heard.

      “Chrissie, Chrissie, do let me come in.”

      “Come in, then,” was the rather ungracious reply. “What do you want, child? I’m not dressed.”

      The door opened and a small figure entered.

      It was Jasper, the youngest of the family.

      He was barely seven years old, and not tall or big for his age. Fair and slight and rather delicate-looking, and though his face was sweet and even pretty when you examined it closely, he was not the sort of child that is noticed or admired, as were his handsome brother and sisters.

      “What do you want?” Christabel repeated. “Don’t you see I’m not half dressed?”

      Jasper nodded.

      “I know,” he said calmly. “I’se come to help you.”

      In spite of her ill-humour, Chrissie began to laugh. She was a child of very changeable moods.

      “You must be so cold,” continued Jasper.

      “I should rather think I was,” his sister agreed. “Frozen! But you see it can’t be helped. I’ve made a vow that I won’t put on my own stockings this morning, and I can’t break a vow.”

      Jasper looked up at her with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

      “Bad vows is better broken nor kept,” he said.

      Then Chrissie laughed again, and more heartily. It was a relief to her, for, to tell the truth, she was fast getting to a state in which if she had not laughed she would have burst into tears – a sad downfall to her pride and dignity.

      “What awful grammar, Japs,” she said. “You really should know better at seven years old.”

      But Jasper took her merriment quite pleasantly: indeed he was glad of it, and by this time he was down on his knees on the floor, softly stroking his sister’s cold feet.

      “What are you after now?” she said sharply.

      “I’se going to put on your stockin’s for you,” he replied, “and then you needn’t mind about vows, ’cept that you’d better not make any more, till it gets warmer, any way.”

      Christabel said nothing. In her heart she was very thankful for this unexpected release from the silly predicament she had got herself into, and deeper down still – for in that wayward little heart of hers there were better things than she allowed herself to be conscious of – she was really touched by her small brother’s kindness. So she said nothing, but watched him with some amusement as he cleverly drew on the stockings