Cinderella's Prince │ Project Gutenberg

Kenneth Snowden, aged twelve, looked as he felt, highly pleased with himself in being able to impart such interesting information to his brother and sisters.

"I wonder who in the world has taken that little hole of a place." This from Rupert, Kenneth's twin brother. "I'd as soon live in a rabbit-hutch as there."

"A rabbit-hutch would just suit you, with your long ears," laughed Kenneth, his eyes twinkling with fun.

Rupert was in no wise offended at his brother's personal remark, nor at the giggles with which it was greeted by his sisters, Gertie and Marcia.

"I'd rather have long ears," said he, "than a freckly nose like yours, old chap. But now," he went on, "what about Rose Cottage? Did you see anything of the people who have taken it?"

"Yes," was the prompt reply. "I saw an old woman and a little girl get out of a cab. They were plainly dressed, both of 'em; but somehow I don't fancy they were common people."

"Common people!" It was Nurse who here spoke. She was sitting by the window at needlework, doing her best to catch the receding winter daylight. "I should just think they are not indeed," said she. "Mrs. Russell, the lady who has taken Rose Cottage, used to be so rich that she could have curled her hair in banknotes if she had chosen to do so."

If Nurse had wished to create a sensation, she had succeeded. Four pairs of eyes greeted hers with excited interest. It was little seven-year-old Marcia, however, who first spoke—

"Oh, how funny!" she cried. "Fancy curling your hair in banknotes. Do people ever do such things, Nurse?"

"Of course not, you little silly!" cried Gertie, with the wisdom of ten years. "Be quiet, and let your elders talk."

"What made the old lady poor, Nurse?" asked Kenneth. "She must be jolly hard-up to take a place like Rose Cottage."

"She lost her money in a big bank smash," replied Nurse; "and since that time she's been so proud and unsociable she won't have anything to do with anybody. My sister used to be her maid; that's how I know."

"I wonder if she'll let the little girl be friends with us," said Marcia, with a wistful note in her voice.

"I don't suppose she will. Poor little motherless Ella!" Here Nurse sighed and looked very sympathetic. "She has rather a hard time of it, I should fancy."

At this moment the tea-bell rang, and the conversation ended; but Nurse had said enough to rouse a great interest in the hearts of her young charges concerning the new inmates of Rose Cottage.

As it happened, Kenneth was the first of the Snowden family to make the acquaintance of little Ella Russell. Their meeting was in this wise.

A day or two after the inmates of Rose Cottage had settled in their new abode, Kenneth chanced to see Ella standing in the garden.

Rose Cottage was situated close to the large white gates which led to Berryland Hall—the residence of the Snowden family—hence the children's interest in the tiny abode.

It was a bleak January morning, and little Ella, with a dust-pan in her hand, was about to sprinkle cinder ashes on the garden path. It was in an exceedingly slippery state owing to the frost.

"Hullo, Cinderella!" said Kenneth with a twinkle in his eye. "What are you doing that for?"

"Because it's so slippery," replied the child with a certain little dignity; "and my name isn't 'Cinderella,' please."

"A little bird told me," said Kenneth mysteriously. "And as we are getting friendly over the cinders, you see, it's just the right name for you."

For a moment Ella looked doubtful as to whether to be cross or pleased at her new name, but her natural sweet temper soon came to the fore.

"Father is," she answered confidentially; "when he comes home, Grannie and I are going to live in a big house again, and we shan't be poor any more."

Kenneth was beginning to feel much interested in this little girl with the pretty blue eyes and brown curly hair.

"Yes, I should just think it will," said Ella; "but I mustn't stop talking any more. Grannie will be ever so cross if she—"

The rest of the sentence was never finished, for little Ella, in turning round to fulfil her task, suddenly slipped and fell to the ground.

A cry of unmistakable pain came from her lips, and then she grew so dreadfully white that Kenneth was frightened.

The little voice died away. Poor "Cinderella" had well-nigh fainted with the pain of a broken arm.

Kenneth, now thoroughly alarmed, rushed to the cottage door and shouted his loudest.

"Gracious me! Whatever is the matter?" It was old Mrs. Russell who answered his call, the one little maid which the household boasted having gone into the town shopping.

"It's Cinder—the little girl, I mean," cried Kenneth agitatedly; "she's tumbled down and hurt her arm."

"You pushed her, I suppose; you great rough boy!" was the old lady's harsh reply. She was so upset that she felt she must scold somebody.

"Rubbish!" was the ejaculation. "Ella," she went on, calling in a thin, shrill voice, "pick yourself up, like a good girl, and come in out of the cold. Be quick about it, too."

There was real anxiety in her tone, but to Kenneth it sounded horribly cross and unsympathetic.

At this moment poor little Ella opened her eyes, her faintness being only of a slight nature.

With Kenneth's aid, for Mrs. Russell was afraid to venture herself upon the slippery pathway without her stick, she managed to get up and walk slowly to the house.

Mrs. Russell's keen eyes soon saw that the child's left arm was broken, and her first thought was for a doctor. Kenneth, guessing what was in her mind, suggested that he should run for Dr. Soames, who lived not far off. The old lady's face softened at his thoughtfulness.

Kenneth needed no second bidding, but hurried off for Dr. Soames as fast as his legs could carry him.

CHAPTER II

"I know I am, mother, but I couldn't help it," said Kenneth, as he slipped into the vacant place at the dinner table; "something really quite exciting has happened."

"What is it?" asked Rupert and Gertie in a breath, while Marcia's wondering eyes put the same question.

"Ella Russell, down at Rose Cottage, has broken her arm, and I've been to fetch Dr. Soames for her."

Kenneth then gave a graphic account of what had taken place, much to the interest of his listeners.

"Can't you go and see her, mother, this afternoon?" he said at the close of his story. "She's an awfully jolly little girl, and plucky, too."

"I'll call, dear Ken, certainly," she said; "but I don't know whether I shall be welcomed or not."

Four voices said this in unison, for the idea of "mother" not being welcomed seemed incredible.

To the four young Snowdens, their mother represented all that was beautiful and sweet, and little wonder that it was so, for her personality was winsome and charming to a degree.

Of their father they had no vivid recollection, he having died from the effects of an accident in the hunting-field when Marcia was a wee girl of three.

"I am sure you will have a welcome, mother," went on Kenneth; "at least from Cinderella—her grandmother, too, is all right when you know her."

"How silly it sounds to call a child like that 'Cinderella,'" said Gertie, rather scornfully, for somehow Kenneth's praises of Ella Russell did not please her at all.

"I don't call it silly!" Here Marcia put her spoke in the wheel. "I think it sounds pretty."

"Cinderella is my name for her, whether you like it or not," said Kenneth obstinately.

"And you would like me to be her Fairy Godmother, Ken; isn't that so?" asked Mrs. Snowden with a smile.

It was no new thing for Kenneth to plead the cause of the lonely or helpless, for unselfishness and consideration for others were very prominent traits in his character.

Rupert was by far the more brilliant of the two, so much so, that at school the twins were called the Hare and the Tortoise. Nevertheless, as in proof of the truth of the fable, more than once the steady-going tortoise had outstripped the hare.

That self-same afternoon Mrs. Snowden, bidding the four children keep out of mischief, wended her way to Rose Cottage to inquire after the little sufferer. After which she was going to the village, bent on various errands of mercy.

"I vote we have a bit of fun this afternoon to amuse ourselves," said Rupert, soon after his mother's back was turned; "what say you youngsters to a slide on Barwell's pond?"

Gertie and Marcia looked delighted at the idea, but not so Kenneth. Barwell's pond was deep, and the ice there was showing signs of a thaw. He knew, for he had tested it that very morning.

"No, Rupert," he said very decidedly. "Barwell's pond isn't safe; why not try the Ravensbourne?"

"The Ravensbourne! Pooh, a dirty little ditch like that!" retorted Rupert. "I dare say it would suit a tortoise like you, but it won't suit me. What do you say, girls?"

Gertie, who was fully as adventurous as Rupert, scoffed at the idea of Barwell's pond not being safe, but Kenneth held his own.

"No, Rupert," he said; "we mustn't do it, old chap. I wouldn't have an accident there for anything."

And a few minutes after, Kenneth, thinking the matter settled, went out of doors with the object of taking Bruno—his own magnificent Newfoundland—for a run.

"Did you ever know such an old woman as Ken is!" he said, looking a trifle cross. "I believe, because he's the elder twin, he thinks he's 'father' to us all."

Marcia, in Ken's defence, spoke up bravely: "Ken isn't an old woman," retorted she; "he's better than any of us, really."

"I don't deny he's a good chap," was Rupert's reply; "but I wish he wasn't quite so fussy."

"Well, he has said so, you little goose; so you'd better stop at home." This from Gertie.

And so it was settled, and before twenty minutes had elapsed, the three younger members of the Snowden family, unknown to either Nurse or Kenneth, were enjoying themselves to their hearts' content on Barwell's pond.

"What a silly Ken was to be afraid!" cried Gertie, her cheeks glowing with the exercise. "Why, the ice is as firm as a rock."

"Yes. I only wish I'd brought my skates," replied Rupert. "I will to-morrow if it lasts like this."

"Do you think mother would mind about our coming here this afternoon?" said Marcia, who possessed a very tender conscience. "I wish, somehow, we'd asked her first."

Meanwhile, Kenneth was having a first-rate ramble with his beloved dog. He decided to return home by the roads which led round Barwell's Farm, these being in good condition for a run. This he did, and was very soon in close quarters to the pond.

Presently, to his horror, a piercing scream rent the air, which was followed by another, and yet another.

He tore round the bend of the road which hid the pond from view, and there, in an instant, he realized what had happened. Rupert and Gertie, looking frantic with despair, were shrieking for aid, as well they might, for little Marcia had sunk beneath a hole in the ice. For one moment Kenneth's heart seemed to stand still within him for fear, and then, realizing that prompt action was necessary, he made his way with Bruno towards the dread spot.

"Get back!" he cried to Rupert and Gertie, for the ice seemed to be cracking all around.

With agonized faces the children obeyed, and Kenneth was left to the work of rescue.

At this moment poor little Marcia's white, terrified face appeared above the water.

She had been sliding apart from the others where, as it happened, the ice was exceedingly thin, and unable to bear her weight. Kenneth, with never a thought of his own personal safety, made his way as far as he dared, and here it was that good old Bruno showed his mettle.

Again little Marcia was rising to the surface, and the huge Newfoundland, smashing the ice right and left with his weight, plunged into the cold water. In another minute he had gripped Marcia's frock, and was making his way back to his master. In less time than it takes to relate, poor little unconscious Marcia was in Kenneth's strong keeping. By means of lying full length on the ice, the boy was able to stretch out his arms to seize the child, and in this position he dragged her, with great difficulty, beyond danger point.

Meanwhile, Rupert and Gertie, with strained and terrified eyes, were watching the proceedings from the bank. Their joy, when Kenneth joined them with Marcia in his arms, was quite unspeakable. Never in all their lives had they known such a terrible five minutes as those through which they had just passed.

"We shall have to carry her home," said Kenneth, his voice quivering with agitation; "she's quite unconscious."

Gertie looked at the little blue-cold face, with its closed eyes, and then burst into hysterical sobbing.

"Oh, Ken, she's dead; I know she is, and Rupert and I have killed her," she cried. "Oh, what shall we do—what shall we do?"

"She's not dead," answered Kenneth gravely. "I know, because I saw her eyelids move, but we must get her home as quickly as we can."

It was a very sad and subdued little party which wended its way into the lonely country road towards Berryland Hall. Kenneth found Marcia's weight too heavy to allow of quick walking. Presently, in rounding a corner, they came full tilt upon Dr. Soames, who was driving in his roomy, old-fashioned carriage towards the village.

In a moment the horse was brought to a standstill, and the doctor speedily alighted.

He had known the children from babyhood, and in spite of their many faults and, at times, harum-scarum ways, was much attached to them all. The children's relief at seeing the doctor was unbounded.

"Marcia's been very nearly drowned," vouchsafed Gertie hysterically, "and we're taking her home. Oh, please, doctor dear, see if you can't do something for her."

In a trice the good man took her from Kenneth's keeping, and was very soon feeling her pulse, with an anxious expression on his kind, clever face.

CHAPTER III

DR. SOAMES then re-seated himself in the carriage, with the poor little dripping burden in his arms, the coachman being bidden to drive with all possible speed to Berryland Hall. Little did Mrs. Snowden dream, as she made her way homewards in the January dusk, of the trouble and anxiety which were awaiting her. Her visit to Rose Cottage had been of a most unsatisfactory nature, the little maid there informing her that "Missis didn't want to see any visitors, and that Miss Ella was suffering great pain with her arm."

The lady was so unused to being treated in this manner, that her feelings were considerably hurt. Upon arriving home, however, all else was forgotten in the shock of hearing of little Marcia's accident.

The news was broken to her by the doctor himself, who at the same time informed her that the child's condition was more or less critical.

The first one to bring the tidings to Rose Cottage was the baker's boy, who gave Molly, Mrs. Russell's maid, a most vivid and graphic account of the whole affair, the story losing nothing in the telling.

Molly, with big round eyes, made her way into her mistress's presence as soon as the boy had gone, the loaf still in her hand.

"What's the matter, Molly?" said Mrs. Russell in a thin querulous voice. She was sitting, with little Ella by her side, over a small fire in the tiny parlour.

"Poor little Miss Marcia, up at the Hall, has been nearly drowned," was the reply; "the baker's boy don't think she'll live out the day, and Mrs. Snowden is fit to break her heart over it."

Little Ella's face, pale already from the effects of her accident, grew paler than ever.

"Oh, Grannie," she cried, "it can't be true. I saw her pass only a day or two ago, and she looks such a darling little girl."

Ella, from her standpoint of ten years, felt quite grown up compared with little Marcia.

"I'm afraid, Ella, there's some truth in it," replied the old lady; "I saw the doctor going to the Hall quite early this morning."

Ella looked ready to cry. "Couldn't you go and call, Grannie," said the little girl pleadingly, "to see how she is? Just think how kind her brother was to me! Oh, if only we could do something for them!"

"Oh no, I couldn't think of it," she answered sharply. "Molly can go up with my card and make inquiries; that will be quite sufficient."

Little Ella subsided into silence, and a short while afterwards she made her way upstairs to the tiny bedroom which she occupied, there to shed tears of pity for Marcia. Then, on a sudden, she remembered that there was something else she could do, which would be better than crying.

Certain words which her mother had said to her before she left for the Better Land, some two years previously, were wafted to her mind.

"Remember, my little Ella," she had said, "that there is nothing too big or too little to tell God about. He is our loving Heavenly Father, who has promised never to leave or forsake His children who trust in Him."

The words were as balm to the sad-hearted child, and, acting on a sudden impulse, she knelt down beside her little white bed and poured forth her soul in prayer.

"Dear Lord God," she pleaded, "I want You so much to make little Marcia Snowden well again, if it is Your holy will. And I would like to ask You something else as well, if I may. Please will You let us all be friends, Mrs. Snowden and the boys and girls up at the Hall. I feel so lonely, dear Lord God, sometimes, with my dear daddy so far away, and mother up in heaven with You. And please make me a good little girl, and kind and loving to Grannie, for Jesus' sake, Amen."

"Now," said she to herself, "I am going to wait God's answer. I feel certain He has heard me, although heaven is such a long way off."

At this moment her Grannie called her downstairs, and, dashing away the teardrops from her eyes, the little maid obeyed with a cheerful heart.

Two days later Kenneth Snowden presented himself at Rose Cottage with a note from his mother to Mrs. Russell. The old lady, bidding the boy be seated in the tiny parlour, opened it and read as follows—

"DEAR MRS. RUSSELL,

"I am writing to ask a great favour of you, and that is, if you will spare your little Ella to us for this afternoon and evening. Marcia (who, I am thankful to say, is now well on the road to recovery—in fact, she is coming down to nursery tea to-day) has expressed a great wish for your little grand-daughter's society, and, as the child is still weak and ailing, you would be doing a very real kindness if you would allow Ella to come. We will be mindful of her broken arm, and take every care of her. Please send word by Kenneth if you will, and let it be 'Yes.'

"With kind regards,

"Believe me, yours sincerely,

"ISABEL SNOWDEN."

Mrs. Russell, after reading the note, looked a little perplexed. Then she handed the epistle to Ella, whose eyes danced for joy as she perused it.

Kenneth, watching her meanwhile, decided she was quite "the jolliest little girl" he had ever seen.

As a refusal would not only be discourteous, but very unkind, Mrs. Russell somewhat unwillingly gave permission, and so commenced a friendship betwixt Rose Cottage and Berryland Hall, a friendship which was destined to bring much pleasure into little Ella's otherwise colourless existence.

What a happy afternoon it was, to be sure! Ella seemed for the time to be in a new world. Never since her father had left home had the little girl known what it meant to have any real fun or frolic. All save Gertie, who was more than a little jealous, fell in love with "Cinderella." She was so gentle, yet withal so merry and winsome.

At tea-time Kenneth and Rupert vied with each other in their attentions to the two invalids, as they called Marcia and Ella. Both children were waited upon as though they were little princesses, and very much they seemed to enjoy it too. Ella's broken arm rendered her rather helpless in some ways, but never once was she suffered to feel her crippled condition.

After tea was over, there followed a lovely chat around the nursery fire before going downstairs to Mrs. Snowden in the drawing-room.

"Let's talk about the jolliest thing that could happen in all the world," said Rupert, by way of a start.

"No, it wouldn't. The nicest thing that could possibly happen would be for Uncle Phil to come home from South Africa," said Kenneth eagerly. "He's the finest chap that ever was, Cinderella," went on the boy. "The yarns he's got to tell would make your hair curl."

"Oh, to see father again!" was the quick reply. "When he comes home we are going to have such lovely times, Grannie, father and I."

It was Gertie who spoke, with a slightly veiled sneer which was quite lost upon Ella.

"He'll put a glass slipper on Cinderella's foot, and just carry her right away," said Kenneth.

"Then I hope he won't come yet," cried little Marcia; "'cause we can't spare you. You'll have to go to school with us, won't you, Ella?"

Ella sighed a little sadly. "No," she said; "Grannie can't afford to send me to school—she's going to teach me herself."

"H'm!" muttered Rupert. "I should have thought she'd forgotten everything that she had learnt. Her schooldays were over so long ago."

"Oh, my Grannie's very clever!" said Ella loyally. "She plays upon the harp—fancy that!"

"Master Rupert!" Here Nurse thought it was time to say a word. "How can you tell such stories?"

"It isn't a story, Nurse; it's as true as true, so there! I keep my harp in my pocket."

"I know what he means," laughed little Marcia, who was wonderfully recovering her spirits. "It's a penny Jew's harp."

At this moment a resounding peal echoed through the house, and soon after, a cheery voice was heard in the hall below.

"Yes, it is," cried Rupert, flinging wide open the nursery door. "It's Uncle Phil home from South Africa. Hurrah! Hurrah!"

CHAPTER IV

HELTER-SKELTER down the stairs ran the three elder Snowdens, Marcia following in their rear, tightly clasping Ella's hand.

"Uncle Phil! Uncle Phil! is it really you?" cried Kenneth, who was one of the first to greet the new-comer.

"Yes, I believe it is," was the reply, given in the cheery voice of one who was well-pleased with his welcome. "But, there, kiddies, leave me in peace a minute; I have scarcely said 'How d'ye do!' to the mother yet."

With this, the stalwart young naval doctor flung his arms around Mrs. Snowden's neck, bestowing upon her a brotherly salute. Then came quite a hub-bub of greetings, and questionings as to how it was he had come thus unexpectedly.

"Bless you, my children," was the laughing reply, "you want to know too much. I thought I'd spring a surprise upon you all, and I've done so. I hope it hasn't been too much for your feelings."

"It has," said Rupert, with mock solemnity. "As Nurse says, 'you could have knocked me down with a feather.'"

"H'm! I dare say, you impudent young monkey. What ho!" This ejaculation was caused by Dr. Carteret, for such was Uncle Phil's name, catching sight of Ella. "Another of 'em. Come here, youngster, and say 'How d'ye do!'"

"And who may you be?" asked the doctor. "I don't seem to know your face. And what's the matter with your arm, pray?"

"Please, I'm Ella Russell," answered the child, blushing rosily, too bashful to enter into details regarding her arm.

"Russell! Now, that's funny. One of the nicest and bravest chaps I met while I was in South Africa was named Russell—Gordon Russell."

"Oh," she cried, "that must be my father, for his name is Gordon, and he is as brave—as a lion!"

"Yes, I agree with you." All on a sudden Dr. Carteret's voice had grown strangely quiet. "But for this father of yours, little Ella," he went on, "I shouldn't be here to-day."

"Well, to make a long story short, Bert Crofton—you know Bert Crofton, son of old Sir James, up at Berryland Grange—and I were out bathing one day in the river. Suddenly the poor chap was taken with cramp, and seeing he was in difficulties I swam up to him; he seized on me like an octopus and dragged me under, so that I was helpless. We were both pretty well done for when Russell swam out to our rescue. He must have been a practised hand at life-saving, for he gripped hold of Crofton in just the right way, and got him to land. Then, when I was about exhausted, for Crofton had nearly been the death of me, he managed to bring me in safety to the shore, and here I am to tell the tale."

Ella's eyes were shining like stars. "That's just like father," she said, her voice all a-quiver. "Please, did he say," she added, half pathetically, "when he was coming home?"

"No, little girl, he didn't. He's working pretty hard out there, I can tell you. One of these fine days he'll pay you a surprise visit I suspect, like I've done to these youngsters—that'll be first-rate, won't it?"

Ella nodded her head. Tears of excitement and delight were too near the surface for speech.

"Didn't I tell you, Cinderella," said Kenneth, "that Uncle Phil's yarns would make your hair curl? I declare now, it's getting quite a woolly mop."

Kenneth's fun chased away all the tears, and Ella's face grew quite sunshiny again. The next hour sped as on wings, and all too soon, so it seemed to Ella, Molly, her grandmother's little maid, called to take her home. So ended one of the happiest afternoons and evenings she had ever spent.

Uncle Phil's visit meant a series of delights for the young ones, to say nothing of the beautiful presents he had brought for them all.

"I've never given that little chum of yours, Ella Russell, a present," said Dr. Carteret to Marcia one morning. "I wonder what she would like."

"Don't you think, Uncle Phil dear, you'd better call and ask her. I believe she'd like a book best of all, but I don't know for certain."

"I'll just run round, Marcia, and find out for myself;" said Uncle Phil; "that's a very good thought of yours." And a few minutes later, he acted on his words.

It was by no means his first visit to Rose Cottage. Indeed, he had called so frequently during the ten days he had been at the Hall that he and Mrs. Russell were now on the best of terms. The old lady, upon knowing that he had met her son in South Africa, so far unbent as to make him welcome at any time; as for Ella, her pleasure in seeing him was undoubted.

Dr. Carteret found the child busy dusting the little parlour, Mrs. Russell being occupied in the kitchen beyond.

"Hullo, Cinderella!" said the young doctor cheerily. He had taken a fancy to Kenneth's name for the little girl, and rarely called her anything else.

After their first greetings were over, he told her that he had something important to say.

"I want you to make believe I'm your Fairy Godmother," he said; "just for a minute, if you please."

Ella burst into a merry laugh. "I can't," she replied, "'cause you haven't got a sugar-loaf hat."

"Well, I don't see that that matters," said Dr. Carteret with an amused smile. "Come, shut your eyes, and don't look at me. Now tell me what you would like your Fairy Godmother to do for you."

"To make my arm well first," said Ella, entering into the spirit of the joke; "then to send me to school, next—"

"Gracious me!" replied the doctor. "Your Fairy Godmother has got something to do!"

"Oh, I haven't finished yet," laughed Ella; "I want a lot of things for Grannie, and something for Molly, and—"

"Oh, I should like a nice warm blue frock, and a fur and a muff, and a red tam o' shanter. After that I don't want anything else, only my dear daddy, and I want him more than all."

At this moment Mrs. Russell herself came into the room, and the conversation was turned into another channel.

A little later on, "Cinderella's" Fairy Godmother left the house with a very thoughtful expression on his kindly face. Strange to say, instead of making his way straight back to the Hall, as he had originally intended, he went to Berryland Grange, where lived old Sir James Crofton, a man possessed of considerable wealth, and of one of the kindest hearts in the world. The result of Dr. Carteret's visit was very soon made apparent.

A few days later, whilst Ella and her grandmother were sitting at breakfast, the postman brought a letter, the contents of which caused the old lady considerable surprise. She read it through twice over, and then, with trembling fingers, put it back into its envelope.

Ella, on the alert for news of her father, asked if the letter were from South Africa.

"No, my dear, it is not," was the reply; "but you can read it all the same, as it has to do with you."

CHAPTER V

   "DEAR MADAM,

   "I am writing to ask, as a personal favour, that you will allow me to defray the cost of your grandchild's education at Farley House School, at least until her father returns home. I make this offer in gratitude for the noble service your son rendered mine in saving his life in South Africa, the story of which doubtless you have already heard from Dr. Carteret.

   "Hoping to receive a favourable reply,

"Believe me, dear madam,

"Yours very truly,

"JAMES CROFTON."

"Oh, Grannie!" exclaimed the child, throwing down the letter in her excitement. "How simply too lovely! Do write and say 'Yes.'"

"I hate accepting favours, child," was the proud reply. "It goes against the grain sorely, but—"

"Grannie, dear," interrupted the little girl in her eagerness, "I don't see that you need mind. Why, he asks it as a favour of you."

"That is only Sir James's nice way of putting it," said Mrs. Russell, who was a very keen and far-seeing old lady.

"Then you'll put it nicely to him back again, won't you, Grannie dear, and say 'Yes'?"

And to little Ella's delight, be it said, her grandmother wrote off that self-same day accepting with gratitude Sir James Crofton's generous offer.

Farley House was situated some four or five miles distant, and was the very school, in fact, which Gertie and Marcia Snowden attended.

The Christmas holidays were now drawing to a close, and with them Dr. Carteret's visit to the Hall. Before leaving, he bade good-bye to Mrs. Russell and Ella, the child being actually in tears at the idea of his going away.

The four young Snowdens' regret was very real also, the boys declaring it "a horrid shame" that he had to leave so soon.

A few days after his departure there came to Rose Cottage a large parcel, delivered by the London carrier, and addressed to "Miss Ella Russell."

Eagerly the child cut the string, and when the paper was removed, she discovered a cardboard box, on which these words were inscribed—

The little girl's face was rosy with anticipation, and actually Grannie had a pink flush on her cheeks. Molly, who happened to be in the room, was equally interested and curious. The progress of undoing all the folds of paper was rather slow, owing to Ella's crippled arm, but at last it was accomplished. And there, disclosed to view, was a pretty, warm navy blue frock. Not only this, but there was a muff and a fur besides, and, to crown it all, a scarlet tam o' shanter.

Grannie was now looking quite white, but she uttered no word until Molly had gone out of the room.

"I'm afraid, Ella, this has come from Mrs. Snowden. I never thought that she would so far insult me and mine."

All Ella's joy faded for the while at the sight of her grandmother's displeasure. Then again her little face lighted up.

"No, no, it isn't," she cried, suddenly making a correct guess. "It's Dr. Carteret; I know it is. He said I was to picture him as my Fairy Godmother, and I just laughed at him."

"You don't mind him, Grannie dear, do you?" went on the child pleadingly. "I'm sure he only meant it kindly, and, you see, he can't forget about father saving his life."

"No, child," said Mrs. Russell; "I don't mind Dr. Carteret so much, if it is really he who has sent you such a useful present. We must try and find out."

But this was easier said than done, for many a long day passed before Mrs. Russell found out for certain who was Ella's Fairy Godmother.

"Mother wants to know, Cinderella, if your grandmother will let us drive you to school to-morrow."

It was Kenneth who spoke, he and Rupert having called at Rose Cottage one morning on purpose to make the request. Ella looked delighted. The term had already commenced, but her arm had only just been pronounced sufficiently mended, for her to attend school.

"Oh, Ken, how jolly!" exclaimed Ella. "I'll run in and ask Grannie this very minute."

With this, the child disappeared from the doorway, very soon returning with the necessary permission. Mrs. Russell had considerably unbent, since her first coming to Berryland, towards the Snowden family, and was gradually becoming almost sociable.

"You must be ready at a quarter to nine, sharp," said Kenneth, well-pleased at Mrs. Russell's ready "Yes."

"All right," replied Ella, "I'll be punctual. I do wonder what school will be like," she went on; "I expect it will be very strange to me at first."

"I suppose I shall—I wish you and Rupert went to Farley House School as well; what fun it would be!"

"I fancy I see myself," retorted Rupert, "at a Dame school. Why! Girls' lessons are play to ours."

But Ella, who had learnt to take Rupert's teasing for what it was worth, shook her head.

"I don't think they are all 'play,'" she said; "some girls are quite as clever as boys. Whereabouts is your school?" she added, for the little girl was intensely interested in all that concerned the Snowden family.

"Oh, further up the High Street," replied the boy; "it's a great red building, called Farley College."

Ella looked quite impressed. "And what is Farley House like?" she added, turning to Kenneth.

"You'll see for yourself to-morrow," was the answer; "if I tell you everything now, you won't have any 'surprises.'"

After a little further chat, the two boys bade good-bye, and it being near their dinner hour, they hurried off homewards.

Punctually at a quarter to nine on the following morning Ella stood on the doorstep of Rose Cottage, awaiting the arrival of the wagonette. Presently it turned the corner of the road, and a few minutes later, Ella, with the aid of Giles the coachman, had mounted into her place, a comfortable seat, beside little Marcia.

The journey betwixt school and home was usually accomplished by train, and little Ella was now the proud possessor of a season-ticket for the journey.

With a final wave to Grannie, who was watching from the window, the child started off, light of heart, en route for school.

"I say, Giles," said Rupert, who was sitting on the box beside the coachman, "I wish you'd let me drive for a bit; I can manage all right, you know."

"No, no, thank'ee, Master Rupert," was the decided reply, "I don't trust the reins in your hands, not if I knows it."

"What rubbish!" ejaculated the boy irritably. "When I can drive as well as you."

Giles took no notice of this remark, however. Presently, before coming to a somewhat steep hill, the coachman drew up. He could see that one of the straps required a little attention. Giving the reins into Rupert's hands for a moment, he stepped down to see to the matter. Just as the man was thinking of getting up again into his seat, Rupert, seized with a spirit of mischief, flicked the mare with the whip. She immediately started off.

"All right, Giles," shouted Rupert with a laugh, "we'll wait for you at the bottom of the hill."

"Donkey yourself!" was Rupert's quick retort. "I'm only going a little way, just for a lark!"

But, alas for Rupert's "lark," a whizzing motor presently came along behind, and passed them with a loud "toot-toot."

Now it chanced that Peggy the mare was decidedly fresh that morning, and, the sudden noise startling her, she dashed off with tremendous speed.

Kenneth, without another word, presently slipped out of his seat, and scrambled, as quickly as possible, into Giles's place.

"Take the reins, Ken, for goodness' sake!" murmured Rupert, now thoroughly scared. "She's beyond me altogether."

Now, Kenneth was a great lover of animals, and was on the best of terms, not only with his beloved Bruno, but with every horse in the stables. Taking the reins from Rupert's grasp, he did his best to pull up the runaway, but at first without any avail. Then he tried the art of soothing words—

"Come, come, Peggy," he said, speaking to the mare in tones he had often used to her in the stable. "What's the matter, old girl? Steady there, steady!"

CHAPTER VI

THE mare, after a bit, seemed to understand the change of drivers, and presently she lessened her speed to an ordinary trot. Then Kenneth gradually brought her to a standstill.

Some minutes later they were joined by Giles, who, panting and breathless as he was, commenced giving Rupert a piece of his mind.

For a wonder the boy made no retort. As a matter of fact, he regretted his wilfulness more than he could tell.

"I say, Giles," he said, when they were once more driving steadily on their way, "you won't tell mother anything about this, will you?"

"Ay, that I shall, Master Rupert," was the stolid reply. "Don't you make any mistake about that."

"And you are a very wilful young gentleman, and you'll get into trouble one of these fine days if you ain't careful."

Rupert, after this, maintained a sulky silence, and it was not until the wagonette drew up at Farley House that he recovered himself.

"Good-bye, Cinders," he cried mischievously, as the three girls alighted. "I quite expect you'll be in the babies' class with Marcia, so don't disappoint me."

Gertie secretly hoped the same, for the idea of Ella proving a rival to herself was most distinctly unpleasant.

At first Ella felt overcome with bashfulness, for never in her life had she been in such a big company of girls. But presently she forgot about herself altogether, and consequently, when one of the governesses examined her as to the extent of her knowledge, she answered the questions put to her without any shyness, and, moreover, with a clearness which surprised her questioner.

"Who's the new girl with her arm in a sling?" asked a certain Dorothy Grey of Gertie, during an interval of the morning's lessons.

"It's Ella Russell, a girl who lives close by our gates," was the half-scornful reply.

"She looks rather a jolly little thing," said Dorothy. "I wonder if she'll be in our form."

"Oh, I don't suppose she will—she's never been to school before, and Marcia is quite looking forward to having her in the babies' class."

"Then I'm afraid Marcia will be disappointed, for Ella Russell is quite advanced enough to be in the third form. In fact, she is going to join your class at once."

It was Ella's examiner who spoke. She was standing near, and had chanced to overhear Gertie's remark.

Ella was quietly delighted at the position she took in school, although so humble-minded was she that she never thought of taking the credit to herself.

"How is it," asked the third form mistress, Miss Merton by name, "that you are so well up in your lessons, having never been to school?"

"My Grannie taught me," replied the child, "and she's very clever—that's how it is."

"And some one else is clever too, or else I am very much mistaken," was the teacher's unspoken thought.

Shortly after this, school went on in real earnest, and such a busy day it was, that almost before Ella realized the fact, four o'clock had come round, and lessons were over for the day.

The four Snowden children, with little Ella, were to return home by train that afternoon, the four-thirty from Farley Station accomplishing the journey to Berryland in the space of a few minutes.

"Hullo, Cinderella," was Kenneth's friendly greeting at the station, "how have you been getting on?"

"Oh, I've enjoyed it ever so much!" replied the child enthusiastically. "I'm in the same form as Gertie—isn't that lovely?"

"May you always think it so lovely, little 'un!" said Rupert. "If you were at Farley College, you wouldn't think it such high jinks."

"It's all right so far as schools go, but what would you think of a master who, the very first opportunity that came round, gave you a beastly imposition to write?"

"That was very hard lines," said Ella; "but p'raps you did deserve it." This with a twinkle of fun in her eyes.

"Thank you for your sympathy," grinned Rupert; "now I shall know what to say to you when you get into disgrace at school."

"Oh, I don't mean to get into disgrace," said the child confidently. "I am going to be as good as ever I can."

At this moment the train came in, and the conversation ended. But Ella, alas! had reason to remember her own words some three weeks later.

Upon arriving home, Rupert was summoned into his mother's presence, Giles having already given information against him.

Now, there was nothing which cut the Snowden children more to the heart than the thought of "grieving mother," and Rupert's penitence, when she told him how much his foolish and wilful conduct had pained her, was very real. He promised faithfully to amend his ways and to his credit, be it said, he fully meant to keep his word.

During the weeks which followed, Gertie's jealousy of Ella grew by leaps and bounds, until, at last, it was plain enough for any one to see.

"I wonder if Ella Russell ever uses a Key for her arithmetic," said Dorothy Grey one morning to her friend Gertie; "if not, she's the quickest at sums I ever knew."

"I don't think she's that sort of girl," was the reply, given almost unwillingly.

A couple of days later, Gertie was sitting alone in one of the class-rooms during the dinner hour, poring over a sum which wouldn't come right.

"If I'd got a Key," she said to herself, mindful of Dorothy's words, "I should get the silly old thing done in a minute—I wonder—" here a sudden temptation came into her heart—"if there is one anywhere on the shelf."

As it chanced there was one, and no sooner did Gertie spy the book, than she prepared to make use of it.

"You are doing wrong," said the voice of Conscience, as loudly and clearly as ever it could speak.

"But my head aches so badly, I simply can't bother over it any longer," pleaded Gertie excusingly.

But Conscience was not to be quieted thus. Indeed, so stirring was its voice that, for a while, Gertie wavered, but it was only for a while. A few minutes later, by the aid of the Key, the wrong figures were erased, and the right ones put in their stead. Just as this was done, the little girl heard footsteps in the next room.

"What shall I do with the book?" she said to herself, for there was absolutely no time to replace it on the shelf where she had found it.

Opening the first desk that came handy, she thrust the Key inside, not knowing or caring, in her agitation, to whom the desk belonged.

In the afternoon the book was discovered to be missing, and Miss Merton, having reason to suspect that Dorothy Grey was not quite open with her school work, determined to find out whether the Key was in her possession.

For this purpose she bade the girls turn out their desks for her inspection. Ella, all unsuspectingly, cleared out her various belongings, with never a thought of coming trouble in her mind.

Suddenly her eyes alighted on a brown-covered book, which she knew had no right to be there. It was the Arithmetic Key. Miss Merton's sharp eyes had caught sight of it too.

"I don't know, Miss Merton," she said, flushing redly at her governess's tone. "I didn't put it there."

"Don't add a falsehood to your deception, please," was the sharp reply. "I am bitterly disappointed in you, Ella—this, then, accounts for your remarkably well done arithmetic."

Poor little Ella, her cup of humiliation was full to the brim. The accusation which was laid to her charge seemed to rob her of the power of speech, and she trembled so that she could scarcely stand.

Gertie, who little dreamed of all the trouble her act of deception would cause, was filled with shame and regret.

To Ella's surprise, and no little comfort, she stood by her in her hour of trouble.

"I am sure, Miss Merton," said she, "Ella wouldn't tell you a story about it. I know she didn't put it there."

Gertie turned red and white by turns. "Confess," said Conscience sternly, "now is your chance!"

Ah! Had Gertie done so, how much unhappiness and sorrow had been spared! But she let the moment pass, and so it was that Ella was left to bear the burden of unmerited shame and rebuke.

CHAPTER VII

"I WOULDN'T mind so much, Mrs. Snowden, only that Grannie thinks I'm telling a story about it."

Ella was spending Saturday afternoon, by special invitation, at the Hall a few days after the incidents recorded in the last chapter.

The Snowden children, every one, stood by her in her time of trouble, and, to crown it all, their mother also firmly believed in her innocence. Ella was more grateful to them than she could tell, and their trust and confidence in her, was balm to her little wounded heart.

Mrs. Russell, strange to say, in spite of Ella's protestations, believed the little girl had fallen under a sudden temptation, and urged her to confess her guilt.

"Your father once told me a story," said the stern old lady, "and I never forgave him till he had made a clean breast of it, and neither shall I forgive you."

These words had entered like iron into Ella's soul, and she grieved over them night and day.

It was plain to see the child's health was suffering under her unjust accusation, and Mrs. Snowden, to counteract the ill-effects, did her best to lighten the load which was pressing so hardly on the young shoulders.

"You must keep up heart and hope, Ella, my child," said she. "God, who sees the wrong, will one day set it right—be sure of that."

So said Rupert, suddenly catching sight of his sister's face, which had grown very pale.

"There's nothing the matter!" replied Gertie irritably. "How silly you are, Rupert!"

"Gertie is, like the rest of us," gently interposed Mrs. Snowden, "troubled about Ella. However,—" this with a look of kindly sympathy into her little visitor's face—"don't worry more than you can help, childie; the clouds will all roll by one day, you know."

"Yes," said Ella, brightening up; "everything will be right when father comes home. He won't think I'm a story-teller, I know."

"Of course he won't," was Kenneth's reply; "neither would any one else with a grain of sense in his head."

The following Monday week was to be more or less of a festive occasion, for it was little Marcia's birthday, and many and various were the presents destined for the little maid. Rupert's gift, however, was to be something quite out of the common, only Kenneth as yet being in his confidence.

So said Rupert to his brother on their way to school one morning, a few days before the eventful Monday.

"How are you going to manage it?" queried Kenneth. "The gipsy encampment is out of bounds, and you won't have time to go there after four o'clock."

"I wouldn't do it, old chap, if I were you." Kenneth looked rather serious. "Leave it till Saturday. If it's found out, you'll get into no end of a row, and another thing, I sometimes wonder whether mother will care for Marcia to have a monkey about the place."

Kenneth said no more, seeing his brother was bent upon the matter. The idea of buying a monkey had been simmering in Rupert's head for days, owing to the fact of a gipsy lad offering him one for sale in the street a short while previously. The boy had been obliged to decline the offer for lack of means, but at the same time he had agreed to call at the gipsy encampment, which was situated about a mile out of Farley, as soon as he possibly could, with a view to considering the purchase.

And so it happened that Kenneth's counsel fell on deaf ears, for directly mid-day lessons were over, Rupert made off for the encampment, returning home with his coveted possession well before the dinner hour.

So said Charlie Grey, one of his classmates, seeing Rupert in the act of smuggling something which looked like a good-sized cage into an outhouse.

"It's a monkey for Marcia's birthday," replied Rupert, a bit breathlessly, for he had been hurrying somewhat; "only I don't want the Head to know, as I've had to go out of boundaries for it."

The boy, who was Dorothy Grey's brother, was much interested in the little creature, and pronounced it a bargain. Shortly after this, the dinner-bell rang. Just before the close of the afternoon's lessons, the head-master, Dr. Winston by name, came into the room with a very severe expression on his countenance.

"It has come to my knowledge," said he, "that one of you boys has been out of boundaries to-day. Snowden,—" here he fixed his spectacled eyes on Rupert's face—"what have you to say about the matter? Have you, or have you not, disobeyed me?"

"What made you do such a thing, when you know it's against the rules?" demanded the Head.

The punishment which was meted out to him was pretty severe, and the boy fumed with anger against Grey, who, he felt sure, had been telling tales. He tackled his class-mate on the subject as soon as school was over.

"A pretty thing you are," he said in the hearing of Kenneth, "to split on me like that. A mean sneak—that's what I call you!"

Grey, who was at heart a well-meaning lad, lost his temper likewise, the accusation being unjust. The Head, in reality, had discovered Rupert's disobedience, for himself.

"I wouldn't tell a story about it, if I were you," sneered Rupert. "I'd keep a little rag of honour."

"I mean this," continued Grey, red with anger; "ask your sister Gertie who prigged the Arithmetic Key, and hid it in another girl's desk?"

Rupert was utterly taken aback, his own vexation for a moment forgotten. He seemed to see in a flash, Gertie's white face when the matter was under discussion, a face whereon—so he fancied now—guilt was written.

It was Kenneth who first found speech. "What do you mean, Grey?" he said, his young voice not quite steady.

In a moment Grey's temper seemed to have evaporated, and shame had taken its place.

"I say, old chap," he stammered, "I'm awfully sorry I said it—I'd have bitten my tongue out sooner."

"It isn't true, it can't be true," spluttered Rupert, but all the same, in his heart, he felt sure it was.

"I heard of it from Dorothy," replied Grey, his honest eyes full of contrition, "and I promised faithfully I'd never tell; but it's out now—worse luck!"

"Well, it was like this," said Grey unwillingly; "my sister Dorothy happened to look in the class-room window just at the time your sister was using the Key. She saw her, too, put the book in Ella Russell's desk all in a hurry."

"Because, you see, Gertie is her own particular chum, and somehow she didn't like to."

"I see," said Kenneth, looking as humiliated as though he had been caught in an act of theft.

With this, Rupert turned on his heels, Kenneth following, both boys feeling too shamed and heavy-hearted for another word.

CHAPTER VIII

GERTIE'S state of mind in the days which followed her act of deception was miserable beyond description. Again and again her mother's words seemed to ring in her ears:

The faithful voice of Conscience would not let her rest. It spoke to her in the silences of the night, and upon awaking Gertie seemed to hear again the still, small voice.

At last the little girl felt that she could bear it no longer, and determined to confess it all to her mother.

Then, when the moment came, her courage oozed out of her finger-tips, and she kept her own unhappy secret still locked in her bosom.

Poor Gertie at this time, was more to be pitied than even little Ella herself. It so happened that on the day when Rupert purchased Marcia's birthday present, Gertie chanced to come upon Ella in tears, over her schoolwork, during the dinner hour.

"My head is aching so," replied the child, "I don't feel as if I could learn anything."

Gertie then coached the little girl in her somewhat lengthy lesson, and within the space of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the difficulties were all surmounted.

"Thank you ever so much, Gertie," cried Ella, when her lesson was perfectly learnt; "you are kind and good to me."

"Which is more than you deserve," said a girl who, in passing by, chanced to hear the remark. "I wouldn't have anything to do with a story-teller like you."

Ella's colour flushed into her cheeks, leaving her afterwards so white that Gertie was frightened.

"Don't you mind what she says," whispered she; "disagreeable little cat—that's what I call her!"

But Ella was now sobbing bitterly. "Sometimes I think," said she, "I can't bear it much longer."

Could Ella but have known it, her trouble was nearly at an end. That same afternoon in school Gertie was strangely unlike herself. Several times she glanced in Ella's direction, and to her imagination the child she had so cruelly wronged, seemed as if she were slowly pining away.

She pictured her breaking down beneath the load of false accusation; she even went further, and thought of her as cold and still in death.

"Mother and the rest would cover her little coffin with flowers," mused she with a strangled sob; "but I couldn't put any there, because I gave her only thorns in her lifetime."

At this juncture, to the surprise of everybody, Gertie Snowden leaned her head on the desk, and burst into a passion of tears. Ella, for the moment utterly forgetful of school discipline, went straight out of her seat and asked her eagerly what was the matter.

Never before had Gertie been seen to cry in school and the effect was electrical.

"Go to your seat, Ella," said Miss Merton in a dignified voice; "I'll attend to Gertie."

"No, no, let her stay," sobbed Gertie, hysterically; "only Ella can do me any good."

"Explain yourself," said the governess in bracing tones, for she had a great objection to a scene.

"I can't bear it any longer, Miss Merton," faltered Gertie unhappily. "Ella didn't use the Key at all. It was I who took it, and—and hid it in her desk."

"Why did you wish to injure Ella Russell?" queried Miss Merton in her coldest tone.

"I didn't mean to injure her at all," sobbed the girl. "I put the book in the nearest desk I could find, because I wanted to hide it in a hurry."

Ella felt a tremendous throb of relief—relief in being cleared in the eyes of her school-fellows, and also in knowing that Gertie had not injured her in malice. Miss Merton was silent for a while, grieved to the heart for having so misjudged one of her little pupils.

Then Ella, who had remained by Gertie's side, notwithstanding Miss Merton's command, put her arms around the little girl's neck, and kissed her before the whole class. At this spontaneous action more than one pair of eyes grew moist and dim.

"Ella, are you sure you forgive me?" said Gertie, now utterly repentant. "I've been so horrid to you, and now—"

"Now," interrupted Ella, tears standing in her own eyes, "you're as brave as a lion."

Little else was said, but of this one thing Gertie Snowden was assured, namely, Ella's full and complete forgiveness.

So touched was Dorothy Grey by the whole scene, that her slumbering conscience awoke at last.

"Please, Gertie isn't the only one who has used a Key for her arithmetic—I have done so several times."

"Girls, girls," she said, "how could you deceive me so?" The plaintive note in her voice was rendered more effective by the tears of genuine distress in her eyes. Then, recovering both her composure and her dignity, she went on: "I shall not discuss the matter any further now; the only thing I have to say is just this—in the name of myself, and the whole school, I wish to apologize to Ella Russell for the false accusation which has been laid to her charge. Ella,—" here she looked kindly into her little pupil's face—"you have been brave and patient under trial, my child, and no one is more truly glad than I am that your name is cleared of all stain."

A short while after this, school broke up. As it befell that afternoon, neither Kenneth or Rupert managed to catch the four-thirty train, and, in consequence of this, Gertie and Marcia reached home first.

Mrs. Snowden was greatly concerned on seeing the two children arrive with tearstained faces. Marcia, although she was not present when Gertie confessed her wrongdoing, had heard all about it, and her loving little heart was sore within her.

"My dear children," asked Mrs. Snowden, "what is the matter? Surely nothing has happened to the boys!"

"No," said Marcia, "they just missed the train. We could see them coming into the station as we started off."

"Oh well, there's another about twenty minutes later, so that's not a serious matter."

As neither of the girls volunteered anything further, Mrs. Snowden pressed inquiries. Then came out, with sobs and tears, the whole unhappy story.

The mother's face grew grave and sorrowful as she listened, her disappointment being almost too deep for words.

"Gertie," said she, at the close, "I would never have believed that a child of mine could do such a thing, and I trusted you so implicitly. Poor little Ella, how hard and cruel it has all been for her!"

Gertie sobbed again, her heaviest grief being that she had proved unworthy of her mother's trust. Oh, the sting of it all Gertie felt almost in despair.

Mrs. Snowden's arms were immediately outstretched, and, with her eyes full of tears, she drew her sorrowful little daughter into her embrace.

"Dear child," said she tremulously, "there is One other of Whom you must ask forgiveness; you know Whom I mean."

"Yes, mother," sobbed Gertie, "you mean God, don't you? I've been asking Him in my heart, lots of times, but I don't feel somehow as if He heard me."

"He always hears, Gertie, be sure of that," was the answer; "and for your comfort, let me remind you, 'the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.'"

Then followed a quiet talk with mother, which neither Gertie or Marcia were ever likely to forget.

Not very long afterwards the boys returned home, brimming over with indignation at Gertie's dishonour.

Before making their way into the dining-room, they deposited the monkey in the stables, giving the little creature a certain amount of freedom on her chain.

As soon as they opened the dining-room door, they could see that something serious was the matter.

CHAPTER IX

THE traces of tears, which the boys saw on not only their sisters', but their mother's, cheeks, seemed to take the wind out of their sails, and to check the angry words which were on the point of utterance.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Snowden, guessing that in some way the lads had heard of their sister's disgrace. "Gertie has made open confession, and now, boys, I have just this to say to you—deal gently with your sister, and 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'"

With this, Mrs. Snowden left the room, thinking it best for the children to have it out by themselves.

"How did you know anything about it?" said Marcia wonderingly, for Gertie's grief had rendered the child, for a while, too utterly miserable to ask questions.

"Grey told us at school," replied Kenneth. "His sister Dorothy, saw Gertie hide the book in Ella's desk."

Somehow, all the storm of reproach which Rupert had intended to launch forth, died away into calm.

"There, Gertie," said he, "do please stop crying. We've had enough of that, and things might be worse."

"Oh yes, they might be," cried Kenneth. "You've made a clean breast of it on your own account, and that's something."

Gertie, after this, made her way upstairs to wash her tearstained face, having learnt a lesson in truth and honour which she was destined to remember all her life long.

"How I shall love it!" went on the child ecstatically, stroking her treasure as she would have done a kitten.

But Jenny, as the monkey was named, did not approve. Opening wide her mouth, she made a hideous grimace, and snarled in a very unpleasant fashion.

Mrs. Snowden, who was secretly far from pleased at Rupert's choice of a present, looked on anxiously.

"Don't go too near her, darling," said she. "You must make friends with her first."

But Marcia did not seem to know how to tear herself away from her new possession.

Jenny, after receiving sundry pieces of sugar and biscuit from her little mistress's hands, suddenly took quite a fancy to her, a fact which pleased Marcia more than a little.

The clouds which had hovered over both the Cottage and the Hall had now rolled away, and all was peaceful and serene. Mrs. Russell, grieved to the heart at having doubted her grandchild's word, seemed as though she could not do enough for her. It was some time, however, before the old lady could bring herself to forgive Gertie for all the trouble she had caused, but, nevertheless, after a while, she accorded the little girl her gracious pardon, to the relief of everybody concerned.

Ella, on the night of Marcia's birthday party, at which, of course, she was present, was the gayest of the gay. Only one untoward incident occurred throughout the evening, and that was a terrible upset which took place in the kitchen.

Somehow or other the monkey got loose. Scrambling out of her little kennel, which was kept in the scullery for warmth, she managed, by tugging at her chain, to break one of the links. For a while Jenny did not realize her freedom, but when she did, great was her delight. She made her way into the kitchen by leaps and bounds, and finding Mary, the cook, busy arranging a pile of tarts, she forthwith decided to help herself.

At first Mary was too startled to do more than stare at the intruder, then, anger getting the better of her surprise, she gave the monkey a good sound smack. This, Jenny resented by showing her teeth and looking very cross. However, the sight of some bananas on a glass dish, soon soothed her ruffled feelings. She seized hold of one, taking off the skin with extraordinary rapidity, and before Mary could say her nay, the banana had disappeared.

The monkey's impudence fairly upset Mary's temper at last, and she dealt the little creature a succession of slaps, rating her soundly meanwhile. At this moment Nurse made her appearance in the kitchen, and was in time to see Jenny spring upon cook's shoulders and commence tugging at the hair of her head. The woman's shrieks now rent the air, and Mrs. Snowden, with her four children, came rushing in to see what was the matter.

Jenny was in a regular monkey-rage. She tossed cook's cap on the ground, and then held aloft something which looked uncommonly like part of the unfortunate woman's scalp.

In a moment the truth flashed upon the onlookers: the mass of hair, which Jenny was examining most minutely, was Mary's false fringe.

Kenneth and Rupert were nearly doubled up with laughter. Not so Marcia, who could see that cook was really very much upset.

Springing forward, the child called her pet by name. Jenny immediately dropped her ill-gotten treasure, and sprung down towards Marcia, evidently expecting to be rewarded by some dainty. Snatching up a piece of sugar which was on the tea-tray close at hand, she gave it into Jenny's funny little brown paw, and, by dint of management, the monkey, which was very young and very small, was soon recaptured.

From that moment Mary hated the little creature with a hatred too deep for words.

About a week later Marcia discovered her pet lying prone on the floor of the kennel, looking almost as if she were dying.

It so happened that day, that Mrs. Snowden and the three elder children had gone for a drive, to visit some friends who lived at a distance. Nurse also was absent on a day's holiday, so Marcia was feeling rather desolate. The sight of Jenny, who looked on the verge of a collapse, completed her woes and she burst into tears.

"Oh, Mary," she cried, "do come and look at Jenny. I believe she's going to die."

The woman, who was busy with her work, did not even trouble to turn her head. Under her breath she muttered—

"Mary,—" poor Marcia's tone was pitiful in its pleading—"please come and see what's the matter."

"It's homesick, I expect," she said indifferently; "sometimes monkeys will pine away in a few hours, for no reason except that."

"Yes, in a couple of minutes," responded Mary, who thought if she could possibly influence Marcia to part with her treasure, she would have done something.

This decided Marcia. She would take Jenny back to the gipsy encampment, and that without delay.

But it must be done secretly, for well she knew that neither cook nor Ellen, the housemaid, would let her go if they knew of it.

Wrapping poor Jenny in a piece of flannel, she laid her in a basket, and seizing the first opportunity that came, she left the house by a side door and started off on her way. By the time she had reached Rose Cottage, her arms began to ache terribly. As it chanced, Ella was in the garden planting some primrose roots.

"Marcia, whatever have you got there?" she asked, catching sight of the big basket. "It's my monkey, and she's—she's dying," replied Marcia with a sobbing catch in her voice. "Mary says she's homesick, so I'm taking her back."

"I shall take the train if I can," was Marcia's answer. Then, a sudden thought striking the little girl, she added: "Oh, Ella, couldn't you come with me? Then we could carry poor Jenny between us."

But Ella shook her head. "I promised Grannie not to leave the house while Molly was out," she said. "She's gone shopping, and Grannie is in London for the day. I've got to look after the fire, you see; that's how it is."

"But your Grannie wouldn't mind if she knew about poor Jenny," pleaded Marcia. "She'll die if I can't get her home, and I don't believe I can do it by myself."

The tears in Marcia's eyes, appealed to Ella's tender little heart, and she began to waver.

"I don't like breaking my promise to Grannie," she said; "but p'raps she wouldn't mind just this once."

CHAPTER X

A FEW minutes later the two little girls set off on their mission, carrying between them the homesick monkey.

The train journey to Farley was soon accomplished. One was just about to start, and the railway official, recognizing the children as two little season-ticket holders, allowed them to pass. Then came the walk to the gipsy encampment, which seemed very long and wearisome. They had no difficulty in finding the way, as Marcia already knew, from Rupert's description, whereabouts the encampment was situated. Marcia, in her anxiety about poor Jenny, forgot to be frightened as she approached the rough-looking men and women who were round about the caravans.

Taking the basket from Ella, who had carried it nearly all the way, she went up to the man who stood nearest the field gate.

"Hullo! Little missie," said he; "what have you got there, I should like to know?"

"It's Jenny," replied Marcia; "and I've brought her back 'cause she's homesick."

For a moment the man looked puzzled. Then, uncovering the little creature, it suddenly dawned upon him that it was the monkey which his son had sold to a young gentleman a short while previously.

"Homesick!" repeated the gipsy. Then, the funny side striking him, he burst into a roar of laughter. By this time several of the others had drawn near.

"Please, I don't know why you laugh," said Marcia, with a little gasp suggestive of tears; "she's dying!"

Presently the boy, of whom Rupert had bought the monkey, came up, and the matter being explained to him he, too, bubbled over with amusement.

"You want to get rid of her, little missie, do you?" he asked with a broad grin, thinking that he saw his way to make profit out of Jenny, by nursing her up and selling her again to another purchaser.

"Mayhap she will," replied the boy. "Just you wait a minute, and I'll see if I can't do something to cure her homesick feelings."

In a few minutes the boy returned to the waiting children. The mixture he had given poor Jenny had certainly revived her.

"You were right, little missie," he said. "The monkey was homesick as could be. She's chirpin' up wonderful now she's amongst us all again. We shall soon have her a-singing of 'Home, sweet Home.'"

As soon as the children had taken their departure, Bill gave his father a knowing wink.

"Bless yer," said he, "that there monkey 'll be as right as a trivet in a day or two. Homesick! He! He! It's the best joke I've heard for many a long day!"

The return journey did not seem nearly so wearisome to the two children, although Marcia's heart was heavy within her for the loss of her little pet. They made their way first to Farley station, in hopes of catching a train. This, they were fortunate enough to do.

A terrible shock, however, awaited the two little girls shortly after arriving at Berryland. In turning a corner of the road which led to the Hall, they discovered that Rose Cottage was in flames!

Ella's heart seemed to stand still within her for very terror. She remembered as in a flash, that Molly had left some clothes to air around the fire, and had bidden her keep guard. These, no doubt, thought the unhappy little girl, had caught fire, owing to her want of attention, and the flames, not being stayed in any way, had spread until the cottage was hopelessly involved.

The children then ran as fast as their legs could carry them towards the scene, where a large crowd had already assembled. The fire engine, too, was at work, but the flames had too great a hold for it to be of any real use. As soon as Ella approached the spot, she was espied by Molly, who, with a white, frightened face, was watching near.

"Oh, Miss Ella," cried the girl, "thank goodness you're safe and sound! Your Grannie's half wild about you. She thinks as how you're all burnt up to a cinder in the fire."

"Where is Grannie?" asked Ella half-distractedly. "I thought she was in London."

"She came back the same time as I did from my shopping, and we found the house alight."

Poor Grannie! Ella had indeed much to answer for that afternoon. In her anxiety to help little Marcia, she had forgotten all about Molly's behests concerning the linen.

Mrs. Russell was amongst the crowd, looking terribly ill with the shock she had sustained. In her eyes, too, was an expression of fear, which as soon as she caught sight of Ella died away.

Then, the relief being almost more than she knew how to bear, she swayed forwards in a fainting condition. But for the stalwart arm of a policeman, Mrs. Russell would have been in a sorry plight.

"Hi, there!" shouted the constable to a man in a wagon near by. "Take this 'ere lady up to the Hall. She ain't fit to be in a crowd like this."

The man willingly agreed, and between them, poor Mrs. Russell was lifted into the wagon and taken to the Hall, Ella and Marcia accompanying her.

A short while later, Mrs. Snowden and the children returned from their drive. Great, indeed, was their consternation on beholding the burning cottage, and they at once made eager inquiries concerning its inmates. Their anxiety being relieved as to their whereabouts, Mrs. Snowden bade the coachman drive on home without delay.

That night Mrs. Russell and Ella slept at the Hall; in fact, until suitable lodgings were found for them, they remained there as welcome guests.

It was not until a couple of days after the disaster that Mrs. Russell was well enough to receive explanations from Ella as to how it was, she had disobeyed orders. Then the child came in for her full measure of reproach. It was in vain that Mrs. Snowden, who at heart was thoroughly glad to get rid of the monkey, pleaded her cause. Nothing she could say or do, had any power to allay the old lady's displeasure.

"No," she said sternly. "Ella has disobeyed me, and proved unworthy of my trust. Therefore she must suffer for it."

Lodgings were found at last, and thither, when arrangements were all completed, Mrs. Russell and Ella removed.

Molly, who had found a situation in the neighbourhood without the least difficulty, came to see her old mistress before taking up her new duties.

"There's one thing, mum, I ought to have told you," said she, "and that is, a letter came from South Africa while you were in London the other day. I forgot to say anything about it to Miss Ella, but put it away safely just inside your work-basket."

"Then you mean to say it was destroyed in the fire, Molly?" said Mrs. Russell, looking much concerned.

"Yes, mum; worse luck, that's what I mean," replied the girl; "but perhaps there wasn't much in it," she added, with the endeavour to bestow a word of consolation.

But her well-meant efforts were wasted. Both Mrs. Russell and Ella were terribly distressed that so precious a missive should have been burnt up in the flames.

Ah! Had they known the contents of that letter, their hearts, instead of being heavy as lead, would have leapt for joy.

"Have you heard the news, mum, about Sir James Crofton?" went on Molly, who was in a chatty frame of mind.

Mrs. Russell was greatly shocked, for the baronet's generosity in the matter of Ella's education had given him a high place in her estimation.

What about the child's school bills now? Ah! That was the question. Sir James Crofton had paid one term in advance, so until April all was well.

After that, so far as Mrs. Russell could see, there remained only the village-school for her grandchild, and the thought was pain and grief to her. She was feeling far too weak and ailing to think of teaching the little girl herself; in fact, it almost seemed to Ella, as she looked at the withered old face, as if her Grannie were slowly fading away.

CHAPTER XI

"She doesn't feel very well, Mrs. Snowden, thank you," replied the little girl, to her morning visitor. "She seems to be fretting her heart out for father to come home."

Ella had been obliged to stay away from school for several days to nurse her grandmother, who seemed suddenly to have grown very feeble.

Mrs. Snowden called to see her constantly, and many were the dainties which found their way from the Hall to the humble lodgings where Mrs. Russell and Ella had now taken up their abode.

"There is one thing I want to ask you, Ella dear," said Mrs. Snowden next, and her voice was very sweet and tender as she spoke. "Has your Grannie forgiven you yet?"

"Poor little girl! I'm so sorry," said the lady, who knew that Ella's penitence for her disobedience was very deep and real. "But for Marcia and her monkey this sad business would never have happened," she went on. "You're a brave little maid, Ella, and I feel sure it will all come right by and by."

"Oh, I'm not brave a bit," cried the child despondingly; "sometimes I feel so cross and unhappy. I don't know what father will think of me when he comes home."

"Ella," said Mrs. Snowden, "I am going to tell you a little story, or legend, which perhaps may help you over your troubles a bit. Would you like to hear it?"

"'In the creation of the world, when God made the birds, they had no wings wherewith to fly. Moreover, He bade them each carry two burdens, which were big or little, according to the size of the birds. These were placed on the ground beside them. Obedient to their Creator's voice, the feathered creatures took the burdens in their beaks and laid them across their shoulders. For a little while the weight seemed heavy to be borne. Then, on a sudden, a wonderful thing happened. The burdens grew firmly fixed to the bearers, and became wings. So, instead of the birds carrying their load, their load carried them.'

"And that, dear child, is what may happen to each one of us, if we patiently bear the burden our dear God puts upon us. Instead of weighing us down to earth, it will lift us nearer to His beautiful bright heaven above."

"It's a lovely tale," said she, "and I'll just try and see if I can't be like the birds."

So successful was little Ella in her endeavours, that when Mrs. Snowden called next, she was greeted by a sunshiny face and the brightest of welcomes.

"Grannie is ever so much better this morning," said she. "I tried to be patient and good, and now she's quite forgiven me. Oh, I'm so happy, I don't know what to do with myself."

Mrs. Snowden smiled. "Then I'll see if I can't do something with you," she said mysteriously. "I've got a little plan I want to talk over with your Grannie this morning, so you can just run out into the sunshine for a while. Oh, there's one thing I must tell you," went on the lady. "Dr. Carteret is coming down soon again to see us. His ship is to be stationed in English waters for a time, so I dare say we shall often see him now."

Ella clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how I shall love to see him again," she cried, her eyes shining with pleasure.

"You shall see him if you are a good girl," was the reply. "Now I must go and talk to Grannie, as my time is rather short this morning."

About a quarter of an hour later Mrs. Snowden returned to the child, who was awaiting her coming in the garden.

"Now I can tell you my plans, Ella," said she; "we are going to have a birthday party at the Hall in your honour."

"Yes, I believe that is the right day," said Mrs. Snowden with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. "I have been talking to your Grannie, and she has promised to come and spend that week-end at the Hall—of course, you are to come too. I have sent Dr. Carteret also an invitation."

Ella nearly gasped with the pleasure of it all, such a prospect seemed to take away her breath.

The days after this flew as on wings, and to add to Ella's happiness, her Grannie's health was steadily making progress in the right direction.

So said Dr. Carteret courteously as, coming out of a bookseller's shop one evening, where, as a matter of fact, he had been buying a book for little "Cinderella's" birthday, he ran full tilt upon a gentleman who was walking along the busy London street. "Why!—" Here the doctor's voice changed to one of intense surprise—"Russell, it is never you?"

"Yes, old chap, it is," was the pleased reply. "Who'd have thought of coming upon you like this?"

"Well, you are certainly the last person I should have expected to see. Here, come along to my club; it's close by. I must get to the bottom of this sudden appearance of yours."

In the conversation which shortly after took place, the doctor learnt one important fact, namely, that Gordon Russell was poor no longer, a relative in South Africa, in whose employment he had been, having died and left him a fortune.

"But, my dear fellow, why didn't you write home and tell your people about it?" asked Dr. Carteret in a puzzled voice.

"Oh, they know all about it," said Mr. Russell confidently. "I wrote to my mother and said I should be home nearly as soon as my letter."

Dr. Carteret then proceeded to tell him how completely in ignorance, both Mrs. Russell and Ella were of his movements. He told of the fire at Rose Cottage, and also of the burnt letter, for Mrs. Snowden had kept him well posted up in Berryland news.

"No, you won't, old chap," replied the doctor very decidedly; "that is, if I have any power to prevent it. Mrs. Russell and Ella will be at the Hall on Saturday; come down with me and join them there. We'll give them a bit of a surprise."

CHAPTER XII

"I COULDN'T dream of letting you go out, Ella, with a cold like this on your chest. I shall have you laid up with pneumonia if I do."

It was the evening before Ella's birthday party, and somehow or other, the child had contracted a chill, much to the anxiety of her grandmother.

"No, my dear," went on Mrs. Russell; "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but your health is more important than a birthday party."

The child's disappointment was almost too deep for words. Such a calamity as not being able to go to her party had never occurred to her.

"Grannie, my cold is nothing," she said. "It'll break my heart if you don't let me go."

But Grannie was absolutely unyielding. "No, Ella, I'm responsible for you to your father, and were I to neglect your health, I don't know what he would say."

Mrs. Russell, as a matter of fact, was wont to be over-anxious at times, and despite all Ella's protestations, she was packed off early to bed. Here she was bidden to drink some hot gruel, after which a steaming poultice was placed on her chest. That night the child cried herself to sleep, and in consequence looked both tired and heavy-eyed in the morning. Nevertheless, her cold was decidedly better, and Mrs. Russell almost regretted the note which she had dispatched to the Hall on the previous evening.

The consternation her missive caused, was beyond words, Rupert expressing his opinion of Mrs. Russell in no very complimentary phrases.

She had no intention of giving up her project easily, and so, directly after lunch that morning, she ordered the carriage to be brought round, with a foot-warmer and plenty of rugs. The lady then started off herself to Mrs. Russell's lodgings, bent on bringing back with her, both Ella and her grandmother to the Hall. And, after earnest pleading be it said, she won her way.

The delight of the Snowden children at the success of their mother's mission was beyond words, and this one serious drawback to their happiness being removed, all went merry as a marriage bell.

"You, Kenneth, have got to be the Prince, and in five minutes' time you must come in with the slipper to fit on Cinderella's foot. We'll have a jolly big one, for the fun of the thing!"

"Yes,—" it was clever Rupert who was organizing the games for the evening—"we've got an old one of Nurse's. It will hold both Ella's feet, and there 'll still be lodgings to let."

Kenneth laughed. The fun was at its height, and charades were in full progress, much to the amusement of the little assembled guests.

The word chosen for the charade was "Cinderella," and the two first parts had already been enacted.

Now it only remained for the final scene, which was the trying on of the slipper by the Prince.

Kenneth, during the five minutes before his presence was required, ran downstairs to see whether Uncle Phil had yet made his appearance. He wended his way to the dining-room, where he heard voices. Here a surprise awaited him, a surprise so delightful that it nearly took his breath away. Not only did he find his mother, Mrs. Russell and Uncle Phil in the room, but a tall, fine-looking stranger also, whose face somehow seemed slightly familiar to the lad.

"Hullo! Ken, my boy," said Dr. Carteret, stretching out his hand. "Here I am, you see—'better late than never!'"

The warmth of Kenneth's greeting was enough to satisfy the most exacting of uncles.

"Well, we just managed to miss our train at Victoria, old chap. Now, Ken,—" this as the boy turned questioningly towards the stranger—"I want you to guess who it is I've brought home with me."

Kenneth looked puzzled. That something unusual had happened he felt sure, for Mrs. Russell's eyes were shining with happy tears, and his mother's face was brimful of pleasure.

Then, in a flash, it came to him! He had seen more than once, the photograph of Ella's father, and here—yes, there was no doubt at all in his mind now—was Gordon Russell in very truth.

"Right, my boy," said Uncle Phil; "clever chap; now come and be introduced properly."

Kenneth was so pleased at the turn of affairs that he scarcely knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels; but presently he recovered himself sufficiently to be able to make a suggestion.

After shaking hands with Mr. Russell, he turned to his mother, his eyes bright with a splendid idea, which had just come into his mind.

"Mother," said he, "what fun it would be to surprise Cinderella! She thinks I'm coming in presently to fit on her slipper. Couldn't Mr. Russell do it instead of me? Just let me manage it all, may I, mother?"

A few minutes later the whole party made its way towards the nursery door. Kenneth, however, was the only one to enter.

"Cinderella," said he to the waiting Princess, for Kenneth was a few minutes behind his time, "just shut your eyes for a minute. Shut them tight, mind you!"

Then, motioning every one to be silent, Kenneth beckoned those outside the nursery to come in. He next gave the slipper into Mr. Russell's hand, his heart going pit-a-pat as he waited to see the issue of events.

But for Kenneth's warning finger, Uncle Phil's arrival would have been greeted with shouts of delight; as it was, the boy's scheme was being carried out to perfection.

A very sweet little maid, indeed, looked "Cinderella," as she sat there with fast-closed eyes, waiting the coming of the Prince.

The roomy slipper was soon placed on the little foot, and at Kenneth's word of command the child opened her eyes.

A look of puzzled wonder came into the little face, and then a cry of such gladness burst from her lips, that more than one pair of eyes grew suddenly tear-filled.

"Yes, little one, there's not a doubt about it," was the reply, and hereupon the Prince took "Cinderella" into his loving arms and kissed her fondly.

And so rolled away the clouds of poverty and care from little Ella Russell's pathway—

"And over meadowland and hill,
The birds trilled forth their songs again,
And as in blessing from the skies,
God sent His 'shining after rain.'"

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cinderella's prince

CINDERELLA'S

PRINCE

CHAPTER I