Salome. Marshall Emma

I can't find it anywhere. It just shows what I shall have to do to make myself orderly."

      "Ah!" said Reginald, "I see; if I were you, Sal, I would have some of my hair cut off."

      "I have turned it up," Salome said; "I thought I had better try to do it myself to-day."

      "Yes; but there is a great pin sticking out, and a long tail hanging down, and" – Reginald hesitated – "it makes you look as if you weren't quite trim. Trim isn't prim, you know, Sal."

      "No; that's right, Reginald. Tell me just what you think, won't you, and I will tell you. I suppose," she went on, "such a sorrow as ours makes us think more of God. We are forced to think of Him; but, O Reg! I have been thinking of Him before this trouble – His love and care for every tiny creature, and giving us so many beautiful things. I feel as if no loss of money could take them away – the sky, the sunshine, the flowers – all signs of God's love. And then even this comes from Him; and I know He is love, and so I try to bear it."

      "You are awfully good, Salome," Reginald said in a husky voice. "You know that talk we had at Easter. I have done what you said ever since, you know. Not that I always or ever get much good from it; but I always read the verses you said you would, and try to say a real prayer in chapel. The dear old chapel," Reginald said; "fancy if I never see it again!"

      The brother and sister sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Salome said, "I must go to mother now, and tell her what Uncle Loftus wishes, and try to find Raymond. Poor Ray! it is worse for him than for any of us somehow. Ray was made to be rich."

      "He'll have to get a lot of nonsense knocked out of him, I expect," Reginald said, as he and Salome parted – Reginald turning off to the stables to see poor Captain, who had been brought back comparatively worthless. And Salome, going to her mother's room, met Raymond on the stairs. To her surprise he said, —

      "Come here, Sal; I want to speak with you."

      They went into the library together, now so full of memories to Salome that she could hardly restrain her tears; but she was always saying to herself, "I must keep up for mother's sake, and not be weak and useless."

      "I say, Salome, don't you be taken in by Uncle Loftus; he is going to ride over us, and I won't stand it. I shall not go to Roxburgh, and so I shall tell him. I must try and get into – well, into the militia, and – "

      "Raymond, you cannot do it. There is only just enough money to keep mother and all of us. You don't seem to take it in, Ray. Dear Ray! I am dreadfully sorry for you, for you will feel it most; but you would do anything for mother, and if you went into a bank or an office you might soon get rich and – "

      "Rich! whoever heard such nonsense? I shall go and see Mr. Calvert the first thing to-morrow, and tell him how Uncle Loftus tries to put us down."

      Salome was really astonished at her brother's unreasonableness and absolute childishness; and Ada coming in to say mother wanted Salome directly, she left her with Raymond, despairing of making any impression upon him.

      CHAPTER III

      EDINBURGH CRESCENT

      DR. WILTON was too busy all the day after his return to Roxburgh to think much about his nieces and nephews at Maplestone. The incessant calls on a medical man in the full swing of practice in a place like Roxburgh are urgent and cannot be put aside. He came in to dinner at half-past seven, and the scene of his home comfort and his elder children seated round him brought back to him forcibly the condition of his brother's widow and his family.

      When the servant had left the room, Dr. Wilton said, —

      "I have advised these poor things to come here for the winter anyhow, Anna. Can you look for lodgings for them to-morrow? I think there may be some to be had cheap down by St. Luke's Church."

      "Come here, Loftus! You surely are not going to bring Emily and the children here, the most expensive place to decide upon."

      "Well, I don't know what else to advise. You see we might show them some attention, and help them on a little. The boys could go to the college, and the girls get advantages which will fit them for teaching. Poor things! it makes my heart ache when I think of them, I can tell you."

      "Papa!" exclaimed Louise Wilton, "I am sure we don't want them here. I never could get on with Salome and Ada. I am sure I hated being at Maplestone that summer; and Aunt Emily was so grand and stuck-up."

      "Nonsense, Louise!" said her father sharply. "Grand and stuck-up indeed! Poor thing! she will only just be able to pull through with all those children. Hans and Carl are quite little things."

      "Well, I must say," said Mrs. Loftus Wilton, "I do think it is a mistake to bring them all here; and I don't believe for an instant you will get lodgings for them at a low price."

      "I am not going to try," said Dr. Wilton. "I leave that to you; and to-morrow morning you had better take the carriage and drive about till you find some at thirty shillings or two pounds a week. Four bed-rooms and two sitting-rooms will do."

      Mrs. Wilton leaned back in her chair and said, "I shall send Betha; she is a far better judge than I am of lodgings. But I feel sure you will be disappointed. It will be utterly impossible to get lodgings in Roxburgh for two pounds a week to accommodate a family like poor Emily's."

      "I should have thought," said Dr. Wilton, "you might have troubled yourself to help these poor people. It is not unlikely that you may find yourself in the same position one day; and then I don't know how you will manage. My poor brother had far less reason than I have to look forward to leaving his wife and children unprovided for."

      With these words Dr. Wilton left the dining-room; and Louise said, —

      "What shall we do with all the Maplestone people, mother? it will be so awkward to have them in lodgings here. Just the last place for people to come to who are poor."

      "Your father seems to be of a different opinion, my dear Louise, and we must abide by his decision."

      "Really," exclaimed Kate, the second sister, "Roxburgh does not belong to us. I suppose our cousins may come here if they like."

      "You have not practised to-day, Kate," Mrs. Wilton said sharply. "Go into the school-room at once."

      Dr. Wilton had a large family, of whom Louise and Kate were the eldest girls. Then came three boys, who were at the college; and then three more little girls. A daily governess had educated Louise and Kate, who at seventeen and eighteen were supposed to have finished with the school-room except for music and a little German. The trio of little girls – Edith, Maude, and Hilda – were under Miss Browne, as their sisters had been. And in the nursery there was a little delicate, fragile boy of four years old, who was the especial care of the kind aunt of Mrs. Wilton, who lived in her house as a poor relation, and performed an unlimited number of services small and great for the whole family. Her presence in the doctor's household obviated the necessity of an experienced nurse, an experienced cook, or an experienced housemaid. A staff of young girls under Aunt Betha's management got through the onerous duties of the doctor's household, and thus Mrs. Wilton practised economy by her help.

      Like many people who love a showy outside of things and sacrifice much to attain their object, Mrs. Wilton was very mean in small matters. An extra quarter a pound of butter used in the house, or a shilling expended on little Guy over and above the sum she thought right for his beef tea and other nourishment, caused her real concern. She would fly off to Aunt Betha to inquire into the matter, and would inveigh upon her want of management with some asperity. But she did not grudge anything in her drawing-room which kept it up with the fashion of the day, and encouraged her eldest girl to dress, as she did herself, with excellent taste and prettiness.

      Mrs. Wilton went up to the nursery after dinner, where Aunt Betha was sitting by little Guy. He had been very feverish and ailing all day, and his father had paid him several visits. Aunt Betha raised her head as Mrs. Wilton rustled in.

      "He has just gone off to sleep," she whispered.

      His tall graceful mother went up to the little bed where Guy lay.

      "Loftus does not think there is much amiss," she said. "Poor little man!" Then she