'o, children take long to grow.'

jean ingelow.

mr. vane nodded in token of comprehending alie's hint.

'you must walk to seacove to-morrow and see it for yourselves,' he said.

'that is to say if it is fine,' said mrs. vane. 'doesn't it look stormy to-night?'

'the wind is getting up, but that one must expect at this time of the year, and a good blow now and then won't hurt the girls. i feel ever so much the better for the touch of it we had this afternoon. i'm certain it is a very healthy place.'

mrs. vane smiled a little.

'i have noticed that that is generally said of places that have nothing else to recommend them.[52] but no,' she went on, 'i must not begin by finding fault. if it proves to us a health-giving place i certainly shall like it, whatever else it is or is not. did you go into the church this afternoon?'

'just for a moment. rough wanted to glance at it,' mr. vane replied, his tone sounding rather less cheerful.

'it looked very dingy and dismal,' randolph said. 'it's all high pews and high-up windows, you know, mamma. papa says it must have been built at the very ugliest time for churches, before they began to improve at all.'

'and there is nothing to be done to it,' said mr. vane. 'even if we could attempt it and had the money, there would be endless difficulties in the way of prejudice and old associations to overcome.'

'and it is not as if we were really settled here,' said the children's mother. 'you must not take the church to heart, bernard; you could scarcely expect anything better in a place like this.'

'no—it will be slow work to bring about any improvement in outlying places of this kind certainly,' mr. vane agreed. then he brightened up a little. 'there is a very good organ, and i met the organist. he seems very hearty and eager.'[53]

'that's a good thing. how did you come across him?' asked mrs. vane.

'we went to the stationer's to order the newspapers. i might of course have had them straight from town, but i think it is right to get what one can in the place, and it helps me to get to know the people a little. the organist—redding is his name—was in the shop; i fancy he's a bit of a gossip, for he looked rather guilty when we went in, just as if they had been talking about us, and then he introduced himself. he's coming up to have a talk with me to-morrow.'

'it is quite a nice shop,' said randolph. 'i expect it has some of the college custom. i saw some books with the college crest on lying about. you can get painting things there, alie,' he added.

rosalys looked interested, and biddy's face grew some degrees less long.

'is there a toy-shop?' she asked.

'there's better than a toy-shop—a wonderful sort of place they call a bazaar,' rough replied. 'you may walk all round and look at the things without having to buy, and there's one part where all the toys are only a penny.'

biddy clasped her hands in ecstasy.[54]

'oh, mamma,' she said, 'may we go and see it to-morrow? oh, i'm sure seacove is ever so much nicer than london!'

mr. vane smiled.

'how many pennies have you got to spend, biddy?' he said.

biddy's face sobered again, and the corners of her mouth went down.

'i've got two,' she said in a very meek voice, 'and there would have been another to-morrow, that's saturday, if—i—hadn't——'

'what?' asked mr. vane.

'tore my frock,' said biddy very slowly.

'torn, if you please,' said her father. 'well, suppose mamma lets you off as it's the first saturday at seacove, that will be threepence, and suppose i give you three pennies more, that will be sixpence—with sixpence you could make important purchases at the penny counter, could she not, rough?'

'certainly, i should say,' randolph replied.

bridget's face crimsoned with pleasure. she got up from her seat and ran round to the arm-chair by the fire where mr. vane was quietly sipping his tea, and at the imminent risk of throwing it all over him, flung her arms round his neck.[55]

'oh, thank you, papa, dear papa,' she said, 'dear, dear papa, and i do so hope you'll be like the boy-that-brought-the-potatoes' papa, and i'm going always to be good now, always.'

poor mr. vane disengaged himself and his tea-cup with some difficulty from his little daughter's embraces. to his surprise, when he could manage to see her face, there were tears in her eyes. he was touched but at the same time rather apprehensive; it was ticklish work when biddy's floodgates were opened.

'my poor little woman,' he said; 'yes, it's quite right to make good resolutions. but, remember, rome wasn't built in a day, bride; you'll have to keep up your courage and go on trying. but what's all that about boys and potatoes?'

biddy grew red; she felt by instinct that she must not tell over all the conversation; mamma would be vexed.

'i only meant——' and she hesitated.

'biddy knew a little greengrocer boy in london who was very fond of his father,' said rosalys quickly.

'never mind about that just now,' mrs. vane added. 'i have several things i want to ask you about your study. if you have finished your tea, [56]will you come in there with me? the work-people about here are rather stupid, i'm afraid, bernard. they don't the least understand about the book-shelves.'

'don't worry yourself about it,' mr. vane replied. 'things will get straight by degrees. i'm afraid you have much more trouble now that m'creagh's gone.'

m'creagh was mrs. vane's 'old maid,' as the children called her. she had been with her since mrs. vane's childhood, and had lately given up her right to the title by getting married, to the great regret of everybody except, i fear, biddy. for m'creagh had 'managed' the little girl in a wonderful way; that is to say, she had kept her in order, and biddy very much preferred being left to her own devices.

mrs. vane sat down on the low couch—one end of which was covered with piles of books,—they were in the study by this time.

'yes,' she said, 'i miss m'creagh, but my real trouble just now, bernard, is biddy. i am afraid i don't take the right way with her, somehow. she is so tiresomely heedless and provoking, and sometimes i really wonder if she has any heart.'

mr. vane looked up in surprise, in which there [57]was a little touch of indignation, at this. fresh from bridget's loving hugs and the sight of the tears in her eyes, he could hardly be expected to agree with this opinion of her.

'my dear,' he said, 'i think you are not fair upon her. i really can't help saying so. the poor child is heedless and provoking to a degree, but she is very affectionate.'

mrs. vane did not seem annoyed; she was, on the contrary, rather glad of what mr. vane said.

'yes, she seems so sometimes, and i hope it is only her childishness—but it is so impossible to make any lasting impression on her. and i don't see how things are to improve with her. rosalys was a perfect little woman at her age. bridget thinks of nothing—i have seen it so much since we came here and during the bustle of the removal from london. she lives like a complete baby—perhaps it is partly that alie is so unusually thoughtful and helpful, a real right-hand to me, and rough too for a boy is very sensible. so biddy goes her own way, nothing is expected of her, and she certainly fulfils the expectation,' she wound up with a half smile.

mr. vane sat silent.

'she might be better with some companionship of [58]her own age,' he said in a few minutes. 'the give-and-take of even childish companionship is a kind of training and discipline. as it is, she is almost like an only child. now, if alie were away for a while, bridget would have to try to take her place.'

'i could not do without alie, not just now certainly,' said mrs. vane decidedly. 'we must just hope that somehow time will improve bridget.'

'and don't be too hard on her,' said her father. 'i feel sure she means well.'

'when she means anything,' replied mrs. vane; 'but she seldom thinks enough for that.'

'i don't know about that,' said mr. vane doubtfully, 'still——'

but then something in the arrangement of the book-shelves caught his eye, and no more was said of biddy for the time.

papa did not forget. bridget got her fourpence the next day, a penny from mamma and threepence from papa. and all troubles were thrown to the winds, torn frocks and everything disagreeable forgotten, when she set off with rosalys and randolph, under their maid's charge, for a visit to seacove, the wonderful bazaar being the real object of the walk.

only a very slight misgiving came over her as [59]papa stooped to kiss her in the doorway; they met him on their way out.

'be a sensible little woman to-day, my biddy,' he said, 'and don't get into any scrapes to worry your mamma.'

the child looked up into his face. was it the yellowish morning light from over the sea—for it was clear and bright though cold—that made papa's face so pale? and yesterday he had looked so nice and rosy—biddy felt rather strange; for the first time in her little life there came over her a faint, very faint shadow of the shadow which, as we grow older, we learn cannot be avoided; the wings of the solemn angel seemed for an instant to brush her softly. biddy trembled without understanding why.

'papa, dear papa,' she said, but somehow no other words would come.

he kissed her again, and he smiled. it seemed to brighten up his face. bridget gave a sigh of relief: the potato boy's papa had got well, and very likely he too looked pale sometimes. still that strange breath of feeling had left some result.

'alie,' she said, as she trotted down the garden path beside her sister, the sixpence tightly clasped in her hand, 'is there anything i could get for a present [60]for two of my pennies? i want to get some of the toys for myself with papa's three pennies, and i want to get a thimble with one, 'cos i've lost mine, and my workbox is messy-looking.'

'you can't get a proper one for a penny, not a silver one, and mamma says imitation ones are bad to wear,' said rosalys. 'i've got my first thimble that's too small now—it's real silver. i'll give it you, and that'll leave you threepence for your present. but who's it for?'

'three pennies won't do,' said biddy. 'it must be two pennies, 'cos it's for papa, and he gave me three pennies, and it would just be like giving it him back again.'

rosalys and randolph glanced at each other. they could scarcely believe it was thoughtless biddy speaking.

'yes, i quite understand,' said alie. 'let's see—what could you get for papa? can't you help us, rough?'

rough considered deeply.

'a purse—no, that would be too dear—or an inkstand?' he said.

'i'm sure an inkstand would be far dearer,' said alie sharply. 'you're no good, rough. i daresay we'll see something there, biddy dear. i'll not forget.'[61]

bride felt very pleased. she was in high favour with rosalys, she could see. she began jumping up and down the little grass-covered sandy hillocks that bordered the road, scarcely more than a cart-track, across the common between the rectory and the little town.

'there's a shorter way if we turn, a little farther on,' said rough. 'we can either get on to the road above the shore—it's a proper road—or cut across a very sandy place, much sandier than the common.'

'no,' said alie, 'i'd rather go along the road even if it's farther. walking on sand is so tiresome, and spoils one's boots so. biddy, i think you'd better walk quietly: remember what papa said, and you know you are rather unlucky.'

it was pleasant walking along the firm, hard road, and the fresh air was exhilarating—the sunshine, thin and wintry though it was, gilded palely the little shallow lakes and pools left by the outgoing tide along the shore, for it was almost low water now. even the bare stretches of sand did not look ugly, as they sometimes do—a touch of sunshine makes all the difference! and the even stony path—a sort of natural breakwater running out towards the lighthouse—here and there caught a gleam or two from the sky.[62]

'it looks quite different to last night,' said alie. 'that's one thing i like the seaside for; it's always changing.'

'and the wind's gone down with the tide,' said randolph, 'though it did blow last night. there'll be rough weather before long, everybody says.'

'i would so like to be in the lighthouse if there was a storm,' said biddy. 'that isn't naughty to wish, alie, for the lighthouse is to keep away shipwrecks. and if there just was one, you know, it would be nice to be there to help the poor wet people, and carry them in to the fire, and rub them dry with hot blankets, like in that story, you know.'

'a lot you'd be able to carry,' said rough contemptuously. 'why, you're so fat and roundabout, and your legs are so short you can scarcely carry yourself.'

'rough,' began rosalys warningly. and

'alie,' began bridget at the same moment in her whining tone, 'do listen to him.'

but a peremptory 'hush' from randolph checked her. both the girls looked up. a short, rather stout, pleasant-faced man was at that moment overtaking them.

'good-morning, sir,' he said as he passed, and 'good-morning, mr. redding,' returned rough cour[63]teously, as the other lifted his hat. rough had very nice manners.

'that is redding, the organist,' said rough. 'he's something else as well—a tailor or a draper——'

'"a butcher, a baker, or candlestick-maker,"' interrupted rosalys laughingly. she did not mean to make fun of good mr. redding, but she wanted to make the others laugh too, to restore their good humour.

'well, something, any way,' randolph went on. 'papa says he's an awfully good sort of man; he gives all his spare time to the organ for nothing.'

'that's very nice,' said alie approvingly.

they were near the actual town of seacove by this time—town or village, it was difficult to say which, though the rows of tall masts a little way off in the docks and the paved streets hardly seemed to suit the idea of a village. and a few minutes more brought them to what was ambitiously called the 'parade,' where stood the long low bazaar, with a large placard at the door announcing that 'entrance' was 'free.'

in summer the bazaar blossomed out into twice its winter size, thanks to a tentlike canvas front; at present it was a building of not very imposing appearance. but it was long in proportion to its width, and one or two gas-jets lighted up the innermost [64]end, even in the daytime. this gave it a rather mysterious air, and added much to biddy's admiration.

'it's a lovely place,' she whispered to the others in an almost awestruck tone. rough felt much gratified; he considered the bazaar his own 'find.' he set to work very graciously to do the honours of it, and led the way slowly between the two sloping-upwards counters or tables at each side, on which were arranged the more important and expensive wares—china vases, glass, english and foreign, some of it really quaint and uncommon, such as was not, in those days at least, to be often met with in regular shops, workboxes and desks of various kinds; papier-mâché writing-books, a few clocks; jewelry, a little real, a great deal imitation, in glass-lidded cases; and so on. and down the centre stood groups of walking-sticks, camp-stools, croquet-sets, and such like.

'usefuller' things, as biddy afterwards told her mother, were not wanting either. hair-brushes and combs, metal teapots, and lots of gaily painted trays were among them. and some very magnificent dolls gazed down with their bright unblinking eyes at the whole from a high position, where they and the larger, more costly toys were placed.

it was all very imposing, very breath-taking-away, [65]and biddy's eyes were very eager and her mouth wide open as she trotted after alie. for london shops were not as magnificent forty years ago as they are now; and, besides it was not often that the little vanes had paid a visit to cremer's or the arcades, which are children's delight. and then it was here so delightfully uncrowded and quiet. the shopwoman, knowing who they were, felt not a little honoured by their prompt visit, and beyond a civil 'good-morning, young ladies,' left them free to stare about and admire as they chose.

but they did not linger long before the objects which they knew to be quite beyond their reach. it was the penny counter for which they were really bound, and to which rough piloted them with an air of great pride.

'there, now,' he said, waving his hand like a show-man; 'what do you say to that, girls? all these things—everything you can see as far as here—for a penny!'

biddy gasped; even alie was impressed.

'they're really very nice, biddy,' she said. 'and oh, look, what nice dolls' furniture! what a pity, biddy, you don't care for dolls!'