"'But I must kiss it,' answered Evelyn, 'because I got poor papa once to kiss it; and I always kiss it in the very same place, just above its eyes, Harris—exactly there.'

"'Just between where the horns are coming, Miss Vaughan,' said Harris; 'some day, by-and-by, it will knock you down when you are kissing it, and perhaps butt you with its horns, till it kills you.'

"That same day Mrs. Harris told Fanny that she would take good care that Miss Vaughan's disagreeable pet should be put beyond her reach before very long—and, indeed, one fine morning, when Evelyn went down to the yard, the lamb was missing. There was much crying on the part of the little girl, and much bitter lamentation but her footman, having been told what to say by Harris, said to his little lady, that the young ram had got tired of the drying-yard, and had gone out into the woods to look for fresh grass and running water, and that he was somewhere in the park.

"'And is he happy?' asked Evelyn.

"'Very happy,' answered the footman; 'so don't cry about him, Miss.'

"'I will go and see if I can find him,' said the child.

"'You had better not go near him now,' said Mrs. Harris; 'when pet lambs become large sheep they often turn most savage on those who were most kind to them.'

"'He knew me yesterday,' replied the child, 'and let me stroke him. Would he forget me in one day?' and she burst into fresh tears."

"I am sorry for her," said Henry, rubbing the sleeve of his pinafore across his eyes.

"And there was one person who heard her," said grandmamma, "who was sorry for her also, and that was Fanny; but she did not dare to say anything because of Mrs. Harris."

The old lady then went on:

"When the summer was past, and the weather less pleasant, Mrs. Harris pretended to have a pain in her face, and instead of going out always with Evelyn, she sent Fanny.

"This was a pleasant change for the little lady. She found Fanny much more agreeable to her. And Fanny was surprised to find how Evelyn opened out to her during their walks.

"For several days Evelyn led Fanny about the groves and over the lawns of the park to look for the lamb. They could not find him, but the child still fancied that he was somewhere in the park.

"One morning Evelyn proposed that they should try the avenue, and look for the lamb in that direction. Fanny had no notion of contradicting Evelyn—indeed Harris had told her to keep her in good humour, lest she should tell her aunts that Harris seldom walked with her; so that way they went. They had scarcely got to one end of the long row of trees when they saw a plain-dressed woman coming to meet them from the other. Evelyn uttered a joyful cry, and began to run towards her; Fanny ran, too, but the little girl quite outstripped her.

"It was nurse who was coming; she had been forbidden the house; but she had often come to the lodge, and often walked a part of the way along the avenue, if it were only for a chance of seeing her child.

"Nurse was a widow, and had only one child living. He had a good situation in the school on the London road, which anyone may see at the entrance of the town. So nurse then lived alone, in a small house on that road.

"How joyful was the meeting between Evelyn and her nurse! how eagerly did the little girl rush into those arms which had been the cradle of her happy infancy!

"After the first moments of joy were past, they sat down on a fallen and withered bough, between the rows of trees, and talked long and long together; so long, that Evelyn was almost too late to be taken to her aunts at noon. They talked of many things; and the good nurse forgot not to remind Evelyn of what she had taught her by the desire of her mother; especially to remember to give; to be civil to all persons; to speak when spoken to; to say her prayers; and not to be proud and haughty.

"The nurse also took care to tell Evelyn, that when she talked of giving, she wanted nothing herself, being in her way quite rich, through the goodness of Mr. Vaughan.

"'So don't give me anything, my precious child, but your love.'

"This meeting with nurse served the purpose of keeping alive all the simple and best feelings of Evelyn. The little one told her how her lamb had left her, and that they had been looking for it that very morning.

"'Well, my dear,' said the nurse, 'the poor creature is happier in the fields, and with its own kind, than you can make it; and if you are not too young to understand me, I would advise you to learn, from this loss of your lamb, henceforth not to give your heart and your time to dumb creatures, to which you can do little good, but to your own fellow-creatures, that you may help. Now, to make what I say plain, there is, at this very time, at the lodge, a pretty orphan boy, maybe two years of age, who has been taken in for a week or so by Mrs. Simpson, at the lodge. She means to keep him till the parish can put him somewhere, for she cannot undertake to keep him without more pay than the parish will give, having a sick husband, who is a heavy burden upon her. Now, if you have—as I know you have—the means, why not help her to keep this little boy? Why not get some warm comfortable clothing for him, with your aunts' leave, and so help him forward till he wants schooling, and then provide for that?'

"'I will do it, nurse; I will do it,' answered Evelyn.

"'God bless you, my lamb!' said nurse.

"And soon after this nurse and Evelyn parted; but they both cried bitterly, as Fanny told me.

"The name of the baby at the lodge was Francis Barr; and, as Fanny said, he was a most lovely boy, with golden hair curling about his sweet face.

"Evelyn had only to mention him to her aunts, and they immediately ordered their steward to pay so many shillings a week to Mrs. Simpson, and to give another sum for his clothing; and this was, they said, to be done in the name of Miss Vaughan.

"They would have done better if they had let Evelyn look a little after the clothes, and, indeed, let her help to make them; but such was not their way; perhaps they thought Miss Vaughan too grand to help the poor with her own hands. But it is always easier for the rich to order money to be paid than to work with their own hands.

"Mrs. Harris was told of the meeting with the nurse by Evelyn herself; but the little girl did not tell her all that nurse had said, not from cunning, but because she was not in the habit of talking to Harris. She could not have told why she did not; but we all know that there are some people whom we never feel inclined to talk to, and we hardly know why.

"Mrs. Harris was, however, jealous of nurse, and thinking to put her out of her young lady's head, she used the liberty allowed her, and went one day to Reading, and bought a number of toys and gilt books."

"I wonder what they were, grandmamma," said Henry.

"Fanny did not tell me," answered the old lady, "and I had all this part of the story from Fanny.

"Evelyn, she said, was pleased with them when they came, and put them all in a row on a side-table in her sitting-room, and changed their places several times, and opened the books and tried to read them; but she was hardly forward enough to make them out with pleasure. However, she picked a few out from the rest, and told Fanny to put them in her pocket; for her plan was, that Fanny was to read them to her when they went out, which was done.

"The day after she had picked out the books, she asked for some paper and a pen and ink, and set herself to write, by copying printed letters. It was well she was in black, as she inked herself well before she had finished her letter.

"Harris did not ask her what she was doing; that was not her way; but she looked at what she had written when it was done, and found it was a letter to nurse, blotted and scrawled, and hard to be read. When this letter was finished, the child asked Fanny for some brown paper, and in this she packed most of the toys and the letter, and having sent for her footman, she told him to get a horse and ride to nurse's and give her the parcel and the letter.

"The man looked at Mrs. Harris, as doubting whether he was to obey. Mrs. Harris was sewing, and looked like thunder.

"'Miss Vaughan,' she said, 'did I hear aright? Is that parcel to be taken to nurse's?'

"'Yes, Harris,' answered Evelyn; 'those things are mine, and I am going to send them to nurse.'

"'Upon my word, Miss Vaughan, you have chosen a very proper present for the old woman; she will be vastly amused with all those pretty things.'

"This speech was made in much bitterness, and meant the very contrary to what the words expressed; but Evelyn thought she meant what she said, and she answered:

"'Yes, Harris, nurse will be so much pleased; I think she will put the things in a row on her chimney-piece.'

"Harris, as Fanny told me, did not answer again immediately, but sat with her head stooped over her work, whilst Evelyn repeated her directions to Richard; and Richard looked for his orders to Mrs. Harris.

"'Don't you hear what Miss Vaughan says, Richard?' she at length said, as she looked up with very red cheeks and flashing eyes; 'what do you stand gaping there for? Don't you know that all Miss Vaughan's orders are to be obeyed? Make haste and carry the parcel.'

"'And tell nurse to read my letter,' said Evelyn; 'and to send me word if she has read it; she will be so glad, I know.'

"As soon as Richard was gone, Harris called Evelyn to her, and, lifting her on her knee, she began to kiss and praise her, and to coax her, but not in the old way by telling her of her beauty and her grandeur, but by flattering her about her kindness and her gratitude to nurse.

"'I love nurse, Harris,' answered Evelyn.

"'And she deserves it too, Miss Vaughan,' replied Harris; 'she took care of you when you could not have told if you were ill-used. Little ladies should always remember those who were kind to them in their helpless years. Come now, tell me what nurse said to you when you saw her last. I am sure she would tell you nothing but what was very good.'

"'She told me,' said Evelyn, 'about my mamma being an angel; and she told me that if I was good, and not selfish, and gave things away, that I should go to heaven too; I should then, she said, be like a lamb living under the care of a good shepherd.'

"Harris, on hearing this, as Fanny said, looked about her in that sort of wondering way which people use when they are thoroughly surprised; but it being very near twelve at noon, she had no time to carry on the discourse further then. Evelyn's frock required to be changed, and her hair put in order; and then, as the custom was, Mrs. Harris had to lead the child into the saloon to make her curtsey, and leave her till the bell rang to recall her.

"When Harris had left the child with her aunts, she came up again to her own apartments. She came with her mouth open, being all impatience to let out her thoughts to Fanny.

"'Who would have guessed,' said she, 'that the wind blew from that quarter, Fanny? and here I have been beating about and about to find out the child, and trying to get at her in every way I could think of, all the while missing the right one.'

"'What do you mean, Mrs. Harris?' said Fanny.

"'What do I mean?' answered Harris; 'why, how stupid you are, girl! have I not been trying to get to the child's heart every day these six months, by indulging her, and petting her, and talking to her of her pretty face and fine expectations, and all that? and has she not all along seemed to care as little for what I said as she would for the sound of rustling leaves?'

"'Will you deny that it is very true?' answered Fanny; 'I think she has heard of her grandeur and those things, till they are no news to her.'

"'Maybe so,' answered Harris; 'but I never yet met with the person, young or old, who could be tired out with their own praises, however they may pretend.'

"'I was never much tired in that way,' answered Fanny.

"'Maybe not,' said Mrs. Harris; 'what was anyone to get by honeying one like you? Well, but to return to this child. I did set her down to be none of the sharpest; but for once I think I was mistaken. It is not often that I am; but I have got a little light now; I shall get on better from this day forward, or I am much mistaken.'

"'What light is it?' said Fanny.

"'Why, don't you see,' answered Harris, 'that young as Miss Evelyn is, that old nurse has managed to fill her head with notions about death, and heaven, and being charitable, and giving away; and that the child's head runs much, for such a child, on these things?'

"'I cannot wonder at it,' answered Fanny, 'when one thinks how much the poor orphan has heard and seen of death.'

"'And who has not heard and seen much of death, Fanny?' answered Mrs. Harris: 'but for all that we must live and make our way in life.'

"Then, as if she thought that she might just as well refrain from opening herself any more to Fanny, she sent her away on some errand, and there the discourse ended. But not so the reflections of the young servant on what she had said; she had let out enough to make her quite understand a very great change, which took place from that day, in the behaviour of Harris to Evelyn.

"She never spoke to her again about her beauty and riches; she never praised her on these accounts; but she constantly spoke of her goodness in giving away, of her civility and courtesy, of her being so humble, of the very great merit of these things, and of the certainty that these things would make her an angel in glory."

"Oh, the cunning, wicked woman!" cried Henry.

"Was not this sort of flattery more dangerous, grandmamma, than the other?" asked Lucy.

But Emily said nothing; for Emily's besetting sin was vanity, and she felt that she should have been more hurt by the praises of her beauty than of her goodness.

"By this new plan Harris gained more on Evelyn," continued grandmamma, "than she had done by the first, and the child, as time went on, became more attached to her.

"Two years passed away after this affair of sending the toys to nurse, without many changes. Nurse was not allowed to see Evelyn again, though the little lady often sent her a note, and some little remembrance to nurse's son. Masters came from Reading to carry on Miss Vaughan's education; and she proved to be docile and industrious. She still kept up her love of being out of doors; and being of a friendly temper, she often visited the cottages close about, and took little presents, which caused the poor people to flatter her upon her goodness, as much as Harris did. She had no pet animal after she had lost her lamb; but she became very fond of Francis Barr, and often walked with Fanny to see him. He soon learned to know her, and to give her very sweet smiles in return for all her kindness; and when he could walk by himself, he always hastened to meet her.

"He was nearly six years younger than Evelyn, and was, therefore, not much more than four during the summer in which she was ten.

"In the early part of that summer she used to go with Fanny most days to the lodge, to teach little Francis his letters, and talk to him about God; and they used to hear him say his prayers. Evelyn loved him very much, and Harris praised her before every one for her goodness to this poor orphan.

"It would have been strange if all this dangerous flattery, together with the pleasure the dear child had in bestowing kindnesses, which, after all, cost her but little, had not so worked on her mind as to make her vain and self-satisfied.

"But her heavenly Father, who had guided her so far, was not going to leave her uncared for now. He who had begun the work with her was not going to leave it imperfect.

"I am now come nearly to what I may call the end of the first part of my story, and to the end of the young, and sunny, and careless days of the life of dear Evelyn Vaughan.

"These careless days, these days of young and comparatively thoughtless happiness, were suddenly finished in a very sad and awful way.

"I will not enter into many particulars of that affair, because it will give you pain. In a few words it was this: Late one evening, in the summer, little Francis Barr was playing in the road, when a carriage, coming along at a full gallop, the horses having taken fright and thrown the postillion, came suddenly upon the poor child, knocked him down, and killed him on the spot. There was no time to send the news to the great house; and, as it happened, Evelyn and Fanny went the next morning, before breakfast, to give the little boy his lesson. When arrived at the lodge, they found the door open and no one within. Mrs. Simpson had just gone into the garden to fetch more flowers to lay over the little boy. Not seeing anyone in the kitchen, they walked into the parlour, and there poor Evelyn saw her little loved one cold, yet beautiful, in death, having one small hand closed upon a lily, and the other on a rose.

"Evelyn could not mistake the aspect of death; she uttered a wild shriek, and fell senseless to the floor. She was carried home, but she was very ill for many days; and I may truly say never perfectly recovered from that time.

"But now, my dear children," added grandmamma, "I begin to feel tired, and have only finished half my story; if all is well, we will come here to-morrow, and then I shall hope to finish it."

"I wish it was to-morrow," said Henry: and his sisters joined in the wish.

When they were all seated, the next day, in the shade of Henry's arbour, grandmamma began her story without more delay.

"I am now," she said, "come to the time when I became acquainted with Evelyn Vaughan myself."

"I was left early without parents, my dear children; for my father died when I was a baby, and my mother when I was ten years of age. I was sent, after her death, being of course in deep mourning, to the school kept in the old Abbey at Reading, and there was then a very full school, above sixty girls. It was a large old house, added to a gateway which was older still; and it was called The Abbey, because it lay within the grounds of the ancient monastery, the ruins of which still remain, the gateway itself being a part of this very ancient establishment."

"The school was kept by certain middle-aged unmarried sisters; and we had many teachers, and among these a Miss Latournelle, who taught us English after a fashion, and presided over our clothes. I was under her care, and slept in her room, which was one of those in the gateway; and though she was always scolding me about some untidiness, she was very kind to me. She was young then, but always in my eyes looked old, having a limping gait, and a very ordinary person.

"I cannot say what we were taught in that house beyond a few French phrases and much needlework. I was not there many years, but my school-days passed happily, for we were not exhausted with our learning, which in these days often destroys the spirit of children. We spent much time in the old and pleasant garden; and I had several dear friends, all of whom are now dead.

"The first time that I saw Miss Evelyn was on the first Sunday I went to church with the school. We went to St. Lawrence's, which is near The Abbey, and we sat in the gallery, from which we had a full view of the pew then occupied by the Vaughans. They always came there, though not the nearest church, because they could not please themselves in seats in any other church in the town, and regularly came in their coach-and-four, and a grand footman went before them to open the door. Their pew was square and lined with crimson, and they always came rustling in, and making a knocking sound with their high heels on the pavement; they walked according to their ages, with this difference only, that the eldest Mistress Vaughan present always brought Evelyn in her hand.

"Do tell us how she was dressed, grandmamma," said Emily.

"She wore a pink silk slip, with small violet flowers, or spots, and a laced apron, with a bonnet and tippet of violet silk. Oh, we did admire it! If she had not a hoop, her skirts were well stiffened with whalebone."

"How curious!" said Lucy. "She must have looked like a little old woman."

"The delicate fairness of her neck, and her lovely auburn curls, prevented that mistake, Lucy," replied grandmamma; "and then her way of moving, and her easy, child-like manner, showed her youth, if nothing else would have done so.

"I had heard of Miss Evelyn before, but I had never seen her so near; and all the rest of that day I could think and talk of nothing but Miss Vaughan; and how I did long for a pink slip with violet spots.

"The Sunday on which I saw Miss Vaughan for the first time at church was the first day of that week in which little Francis Barr was killed.

"We did not see her again for many weeks. We were told of the sad accident, and of the severe illness of Evelyn which followed; and we all entered into the feelings of the little lady with much warmth.

"It was late in the autumn when she appeared again at church; but, though we did not see her face, we could observe that she sat very still, and seemed once, whilst the psalm was being sung, to be crying, for she stooped her head, and had her handkerchief to her eyes. We were very sorry again for her, but our French teacher, when we came home, said, 'Let her weep; she will console herself presently.'

"It was, maybe, ten days after we had seen Miss Evelyn the second time at church, as some of us were sitting, on the eve of a half-holiday, on a locker in a window of the old gateway, that we saw the coach-and-four, with the Vaughan liveries, wheeling along the green open space before The Abbey gate; half a dozen of us at least were standing the next minute on the locker to see this wonder better.

"Nearer and nearer came the carriage, with the horses' heads as if they were a-going through the arch; and when we were expecting to hear the rolling of the wheels beneath our feet, the carriage suddenly stopped right in front of the garden-gate.

"Next came loud knockings and ringings without, and the running of many feet within the house, one calling to another, to tell that the Mistresses Vaughan were come, and had asked to see our governess.

"We strained our necks to see, if we could, the ladies get out, but we were too directly above them to get a good view; and if we could, we were not allowed, for our French teacher came up, and made us all get down from the locker, shutting the window which we had opened, and saying a great deal about 'politesse' and the great vulgarity of peeping.

"The house was as still as the mice in the old wainscot when they smelt Miss Latournelle's cat, whilst the ladies were in the parlour, for our teachers insisted on our being quiet; but as soon as we saw the coach bowling away, we all began to chatter, and to speak our thoughts concerning the occasion of this visit, which was considered a very great honour by our governesses."

"Did the Mistresses Vaughan come to speak about putting Evelyn to your school, grandmamma?" asked Emily.

"Not exactly so, my dear," replied the old lady; "I will tell you what they came for. Poor Evelyn had never recovered her quiet, happy spirits since the fright and the shock of her little favourite's death. Her mother had had a very delicate constitution, and had died early of consumption. Perhaps Evelyn had inherited the tendency to consumption from her mother, though neither her aunts nor Mrs. Harris had thought her otherwise than a strong child till after her long illness.

"After she recovered from this illness, however—or rather seemed to be recovered—her spirits were quite gone; and she was always crying, often talking of death and dying, and brooding over sad things. When the family physician who attended her was told how it was, he advised that she should go to school, and mix with other children, and he recommended The Abbey.

"The Mistresses Vaughan thought his advice good, so far as that Evelyn might be the better for the company of other children. But they said that no Miss Vaughan had ever been brought up at a school, for there were sure to be some girls of low birth, and that they could not think of their niece being herded with low people.

"After a long discussion, however, the old ladies yielded so far to the opinion of the physician, that they determined to ask our governess to permit Miss Vaughan to come to them every dancing day, and to join in the dancing with the other girls.

"It was to ask this favour that the four old ladies came to the Abbey; and it was then settled that Miss Vaughan was to come on every Friday evening to dance with us, and to take her tea in the parlour with the mistress.

"This high honour was made known through the house immediately after the ladies were gone. Miss Evelyn was to be brought the first time by her aunts, and afterwards by Mrs. Harris; and she was to come the very next Friday.

"From that day, which was Wednesday, until the Friday afternoon, what a bustle were all in; what trimming, and plaiting, and renewing, and making anew, went forward! I was in deep mourning; and as Miss Latournelle kept my best bombazine, and crapes, and my round black cap, in her own press, I had nothing to think of; but our governess insisted that all the other young ladies should have new caps on the occasion; and as these were to be made in the house, there was enough to do.

"I could smile to think of the caps we wore at that time; our common caps fitted the head exactly, and were precisely in the shape of bowls. They were commonly made of what is called Norwich quilt, such as we now see many bed-quilts made of, with a little narrow plaiting round the edge. My common black caps were made of silk quilted in the same way. Our best caps were of the same form: the foundation being of coloured silk or satin, with gauze puffed over it, and in each puff either a flower or a bit of ribbon, finished off to the fancy, with a plaited border of gauze, and larger bunches of flowers peaked over each ear."

"Oh, grandmamma!" cried Emily, "how strange! Did not the children look very odd then?"

"The eye was used to the fashion," said the old lady; "there is no fashion, however monstrous, to which the eye does not become used in a little while.