Mildred's New Daughter. Finley Martha

Blanche.

      “Where they are very, very happy, dear child,” returned her uncle, laying a hand tenderly on her head as she sat by his side.

      Then he called their attention to something passing in the street, and exerted himself to amuse them in various ways till the carriage drew up in front of a spacious dwelling.

      “Ah, here we are,” he said, throwing open the door, alighting and handing them out one after the other.

      “Why, who in the world can they be? And what is papa bringing them here for?” exclaimed a little girl, leaning out from an upper window and scanning with eager curiosity the new arrivals whom her father was marshalling up the front door steps, and at once admitted to the hall with his dead-latch key.

      “What’s that? More company coming, Min?” queried another voice, and Olive’s head appeared beside that of her sister, just as the hack in which the little party had arrived turned and drove away. “Pooh! nobody of any consequence; they came in a hired hack.”

      “But they were children – except one woman – their nurse, I suppose; and papa with them! There, I hear them coming up the stairs now, and I mean to find out all about it,” and with the words Minnie threw down her books and ran from the room, Olive following close at her heels.

      They heard their father’s voice coming from the nursery, and rushed in there, asking breathlessly:

      “Papa, whom have you got here? And what did you bring them for?”

      “These children are your little cousins,” he answered pleasantly. “Come and speak to them, all of you. They are the children of your Uncle Henry, of whom you have often heard me speak. Ethel, here, Charles Augustus, is just about your age, and Blanche might be Lena’s twin; Harry is two years younger, and Nannette, a baby girl, the youngest of all.”

      The greetings over:

      “But, papa, where are Uncle Harry and – and their mother?” asked Minnie, more than half regretting her query as she saw the tears gathering in Ethel’s eyes.

      “In heaven, I trust,” her father replied in low and not unmoved tones. “There, my dears, do what you can to make your cousins comfortable and happy, I must go and speak to your mamma.” So saying he left the room.

      Mrs. Eldon, lying on the sofa in her dressing room, looked up in mild surprise as her husband entered.

      “Why, Albert,” she said, closing her book with a yawn, “what fortunate circumstance brings you home at this unusual hour?” Then as he drew nearer: “What is it, my dear? Why, actually, there are tears in your eyes. Oh,” half starting up, “is there anything wrong with Albert or – ”

      “No,” he said huskily, “but bad news from England reached us this morning. My brother Henry is no more; he and his wife died within a few minutes of each other. She had heart disease, we are told, was strongly attached to him, worn out with long and arduous nursing, and the shock of his decease was more than her enfeebled frame could bear.”

      “How very sad! I am really sorry for you, my dear. And they left some children, did they not?”

      “Yes, four little ones – a boy and three girls, the eldest only about eight years of age. They have grandparents, probably very well to do, somewhere in the West Indies, but no one knows their name or address. So the little orphans have been sent to us. The steamship came in this morning, only a few hours after the letter was received telling us all this, and which was forwarded by a vessel bound to a Canadian port but delayed somewhat in her voyage, so that, starting some days before the other, she reached port only a day or two ahead of her.”

      “And you are going down to the vessel to get the children?”

      “No; we went down – George and I – at once on learning that she was in, found the little folks there all right, and I have just brought them home with me.”

      “But surely we are not to be expected to keep the whole four? Surely George and his wife will take two, as they have the same right as we to be at the expense and trouble.”

      “I think so, eventually; but just at present, while the poor little things feel themselves strangers in a strange place, it would be hard for them to be separated; so I have engaged to keep the whole for a few days,” he replied; then seeing that she looked ill-pleased with the arrangement:

      “But, I do not intend they shall be any trouble to you, my dear,” he added hastily. “The woman who had charge of them on the voyage will remain with them for a few days, and except when they are taken out for air and exercise, they can be kept in the nursery and adjoining rooms.”

      “Well,” she sighed, returning to her book, “I suppose I may as well resign myself to the inevitable.”

      “Do you think it more than their nearest relatives should do for our children, were they so sorely bereaved?” he asked.

      “No, I suppose not; but I have given my consent and what more would you ask?”

      “Nothing more, Augusta, except that you will encourage our children to be kind and considerate toward their orphan cousins.”

      “Really I know of no one but their father who would expect them to be anything else,” she returned in a not particularly pleasant tone.

      “I do not expect it,” he said; “yet think it might be as well to call their attention to the fact that the little orphans are entitled to their kindly sympathy. But I am needed at my place of business and must return at once. Good-by till dinner time, my dear;” and with the last word he left the room.

      “Dear me! as if we hadn’t children enough of our own!” exclaimed Mrs. Eldon in a petulant tone, and impatiently tossing aside her book as the sound of her husband’s footsteps died away in the distance. “Albert needn’t talk as if they were to be no trouble to me. Who else is to do the shopping for their clothes, decide how they are to be made and find somebody to do the work? for of course if they don’t look all right, people will talk and say we don’t treat them as well as we do our own.”

      At that moment the patter of little feet was heard in the hall without, the door opened and her youngest two came rushing in.

      “Oh, mamma,” they exclaimed half breathlessly, “papa has brought us some cousins, nice little things, and we like ’em and want you to see them too. Mayn’t we bring ’em in here?”

      “Oh, yes, if you will only be quiet. Will you never learn not to be so noisy?”

      “Maybe some day when we’re growed up like you and papa,” said Nora. “Come, Gus, let’s go and bring ’em,” and away they ran, to return in a few moments leading Blanche and Harry and followed by the nurse carrying Nannette; Ethel keeping close at her side.

      They were pretty, winsome looking children, and Mrs. Eldon was roused to something like interest. She sat up and took Nannette on her lap for a few minutes, spoke kindly to the others, and asked some questions in regard to their former homes and the voyage across the ocean.

      Most of the replies came from Ethel, and her timid, retiring, yet ladylike manner found favor with her interrogator.

      “You are a nice little girl,” she said at length, smoothing her hair caressingly and giving her a kiss, “and so are your sisters. I am pleased with Harry, also, for he seems a manly little fellow, and I hope you and my little folks will get along happily together while you stay. There, run back to the nursery now, all of you, for it is time for me to dress.”

      They all started to obey, but as they reached the door, “Oh, mamma,” cried Charles Augustus, turning toward her again, “mayn’t we go down to the yard? ’cause I want to show cousins the pups and rabbits.”

      “Yes, yes! anything if you will go and leave me in peace,” she replied with some impatience.

      “Come along then, Ethel and the rest of you,” cried Charlie, leading the way.

      CHAPTER IV

      The Eldon brothers lived in adjoining houses, large, handsome, and with more extensive grounds