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Read Ebook: A Flight with the Swallows; Or Little Dorothy's Dream by Marshall Emma
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Ebook has 360 lines and 16850 words, and 8 pages
"Yes, her name is Dorothy. I saw her when she was a very little girl, and I remember she had beautiful silky hair; she was a pale, delicate child."
"Dear me!" said Constance. "Every one seems to be delicate. Irene Packingham is coming because of a cough, and so is Mrs. Acheson, and really the only strong ones are the boys. I suppose Irene takes after Aunt Eva in being delicate?"
"Yes; her father thought she would do well to escape the fogs of London, and have the advantage of the sunshine here; but I hope we shall send her back in the spring quite well."
Lady Burnside shook her head. "I do not think I shall return to England next spring with the swallows. What a flight that is!" she said, looking out of the window, where a long line of birds could be seen flying across the blue sea.
"Happy birds!" said Constance, wearily; "I wish I could fly with them!"
Lady Burnside made no rejoinder to this, and sat knitting quietly by the wood fire, which was pleasant at sunset, when the chill is always great in southern countries. After half an hour's quiet, there were sounds of coming feet, and Baby Bob, in all the glory of a very short frock and wide sash, came in with a shout, which would have shaken the nerves of any one less accustomed to children than Lady Burnside.
Behind him came Ella, with a little work-basket in her hand, with which she went up to Constance's couch, and seating herself there, took out her little bit of cross-stitch, and settled herself to work.
Baby Bob took possession of his grandmother, and she had to go over one of his picture-books, and tell for the hundredth time the story of Mother Hubbard, which, illustrated with large coloured pictures, was Baby Bob's great favourite.
He would ponder over the pictures with wondering interest, and wish that the dog had not cheated, and made believe to be dead, because no good people or dogs could cheat. Crawley said so, and Maria said so, and Willy said so, Willy being the great authority to which Baby Bob always referred in any difficulty.
Willy was doing his work for Mr. Martyn in the study, and making up for lost time. This was his general habit. He would put off his lessons to the last moment, and then, as he said, "clear them all off in a twinkling."
Willy was clever and quick at everything, but this way of getting over work is not really satisfactory. Time and thought are necessary to fasten what is learned on the mind, and what is gathered up in haste, or, rather, sown in haste, does not take deep root.
That night, when Ella was getting ready for bed, she consulted Crawley about the new-comer.
"How is it we know so little of the cousin, Crawley?"
"Well, my dear, her papa married a lady who thinks schools and all that sort of thing necessary. At least, that's what your dear grandmamma has told me, and I daresay you'll find little Miss Packingham very forward with her books. So you must make haste and learn to read better. For you are getting on for eight years old."
Ella sighed.
"She mayn't be like her, for grannie says Irene isn't like Aunt Eva. I want to see her. I wish to-morrow would come."
And Baby Bob murmured from his little bed in the corner, "Wish 'morrow would come."
VILLA FIRENZE.
To-morrow came, and brought with it the tired travellers, who arrived at San Remo, after a night journey from Marseilles, as Ingleby said, "more dead than alive."
This was a figure of speech on Ingleby's part, but there is no doubt that the two sleepy, tired, way-worn children who were lifted out of the carriage which had been sent to the station to meet them gave very little sign of life or interest in what happened.
Canon Percival, who took the management of everything, promptly ordered a bath and bed, and the kind English wife of Stefano showed every wish to be accommodating, and carried Dorothy herself to the room prepared for her and Irene.
Two little beds stood there, with a white net cage let down over them. The children were too sleepy to notice them then, but when Dorothy opened her eyes, she was greatly amused to see that she was looking through fine net, like the net she had seen made for fruit in England to protect it from wasps.
The western sun was lying across the garden before the villa when Dorothy felt it was time to get up. She called Irene, who answered at once,--
"Yes! what do you want? Can I help you?"
"I want to get up," said Dorothy, "but I can't get out of this white cage."
"Oh yes, you can," said Irene, who drew a bit of narrow ribbon, which hung inside her own bed, and then the net curtain was lifted, and she said,--
"Look! you have the same bit of ribbon; pull it!"
Dorothy did as she was told, and, to her delight, the net was raised in a pretty festoon.
"Isn't it funny?" she said; "what can the curtains be for? Are they just for prettiness?"
"No, for use; they are mosquito curtains; and I remember some very like them in India."
"What are mosquitoes?"
"Little gnats, very, very thin and small, but they sting dreadfully, and especially at night, and make big bumps on your forehead, and the curtains shut them out. I should like to get up now," Irene said; "for I ought to go to grannie."
"Oh, I don't want you to go to your grannie; you must stay with me."
"I don't think that would do," Irene said, "for father wished me to live with grannie and the cousins."
"Well, you have been asleep ever since eleven, and it is nearly four o'clock. You must want your dinner, I am sure; and then Miss Packingham is to go to her grandmamma's house. Your box was taken there, my dear, and so I cannot give you fresh things, but I must brush your frock and bend your hat straight."
The children were ready in a few minutes, and presented a strong contrast, as usual.
When the two little girls reached the sitting-room, which, like Lady Burnside's, opened on a verandah, they heard voices outside, and presently a boy and a girl stepped into the room.
Ella shrank back, but Willy, who never knew what shyness meant, said,--
"Grannie said we might come and fetch Irene--she is to come home now, if she is ready."
As Willy surveyed the two girls, he wondered which was his cousin. The thought passed through his mind, "I hope it is the pretty one!" and advancing, he said to Dorothy,--
"Grannie has sent us to take you to the Villa Lucia; are you ready?"
Ingleby, who was busy looking after the travelling basket, from which she was taking some of Dorothy's favourite biscuits, said,--
"Your cousin, Miss Packingham, had better take her dinner before she goes with you; perhaps you will sit down with her and Miss Dorothy. Now, my dear," Ingleby continued, addressing Dorothy, "I hope you will be able to fancy something," as Stefano brought in a tray with coffee and crescent-shaped rolls, and a dainty omelette done to a turn by his wife.
Willie now put his hand out to Irene, and said, in a tone in which there was a little ring of disappointment,--
"Yes," Irene said, "and I am very glad to come and see you all--and grannie."
"Do you remember her?" Willie asked.
"Come, Ella, don't be so silly," Willy said, pushing his sister forward; "go and speak to Irene."
Irene took Ella's hand, and then, at Ingleby's advice, they all sat down to their meal together.
Two thick-edged white cups were brought by Stefano, and Willy and Ella enjoyed the good things more than the two tired travellers did.
Irene could scarcely touch the omelette, and Dorothy, in spite of Ingleby's entreaties, only nibbled a quantity of her own biscuits, which were, as Ingleby said, "not fit to make a meal of." They were those little pink and white fluffy light balls, flavoured with vanilla and rose, a large tin of which had been bought in Paris, and were Dorothy's favourite food just then.
They found favour with Willy, and he took a handful from the box several times. Dorothy did not approve of this, and said to Ingleby,--
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