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  So, instead of being alarmed and scrupulous, she was sweetly, shyly, and yet confidingly gay and affectionate, enchanting both her companions, but revealing by her naive questions and remarks such utter ignorance of all matters of common life that Mrs. Brownlow had no scruples in not stirring the question, that had never occurred to her son or his little betrothed, namely, her own retirement. Caroline needed a mother far too much for her to be spared.

  What was to be done about Miss Heath? It was due to her for Miss Allen to offer to return till her place could be supplied, Mrs. Brownlow said-but that was only to tease the lovers-for a quarter, at which Joe made a snarling howl, whereat Carey ventured to laugh at him, and say she should come home for every Sunday, as Miss Pinniwinks, the senior governess, did.

  "Come home,-it is enough to say that," she added.

  Mrs. Brownlow undertook to negotiate the matter, her son saying privately-

  "Get her off, if you have to advance a quarter. I'd rather do anything than send her back for even a week, to have all manner of nonsense put into her head. I'd sooner go and teach there myself."

  "Or send me?" asked his mother.

  "Anything short of that," he said.

  Miss Heath, as Mrs. Brownlow had guessed, thought an engaged girl as bad as a barrel of gunpowder, and was quite as much afraid of Miss Allen putting nonsense into her pupils' heads as the doctor could be of the reverse process: so, young teachers not being scarce, Carey's brief connection with Miss Heath was brought to an end in a morning call, whence she returned endowed with thirteen book-markers, five mats, and a sachet.

  Carey had of her own, as it appeared, twenty-five pounds a year, which had hitherto clothed her, and of which she only knew that it was paid to her quarterly by a lawyer at Bath, whose address she gave. Mr. Brownlow followed up the clue, but could not learn much about her belongings. The twenty-five pounds was the interest of the small sum, which had remained to poor Captain Allen, when he wound up his affairs, after paying the debts in which his early and imprudent marriage had involved him. He did not seem to have had any relations, and of his wife nothing was known but that she was a Miss Otway, and that he had met her in some colonial quarters. The old lady, with whom the little girl had been left, was her mother's maternal aunt, and had lived on an annuity so small that on her death there had not been funds sufficient to pay expenses without a sale of all her effects, so that nothing had been saved for the child, except a few books with her parents' names in them-John Allen and Caroline Otway-which she still kept as her chief treasures. The lawyer, who had acted as her guardian, would hand over to her five hundred pounds on her coming of age.

  That was all that could be discovered, nor was Colonel Robert Brownlow as much flattered as had been hoped by the provision for his friend's daughter. Nay, he was inclined to disavow the friendship. He was sorry for poor Allen, he said, but as to making a friend of such a fellow, pah! No! there was no harm in him, he was a good officer enough, but he never had a grain of common sense; and whereas he never could keep out of debt, he must needs go and marry a young girl, just because he thought her uncle was not kind to her. It was the worst thing he could have done, for it made her uncle cast her off on the spot, and then she was killed with harass and poverty. He never held up his head again after losing her, and just died of fever because he was too broken down to have energy to live. There was enough in this to weave out a tender little romance, probably really another aspect of the truth, which made Caroline's bright eyes overflow with tears, when she heard it couched in tenderer language from Joseph, and the few books and treasures that had been rescued agreed with it-a Bible with her father's name, a few devotional books of her mother's, and Mrs. Hemans's poems with "To Lina, from her devoted J. A."

  Caroline would fain have been called Lina, but the name did not fit her, and would not _take_.

  Colonel Brownlow was altogether very friendly, if rather grave and dry towards her, as soon as he was convinced that "it was only Joe," and that pity, not artfulness, was to blame for the undesirable match. He was too honourable a man not to see that it could not be given up, and he held that the best must now be made of it, and that it would be more proper, since it was to be, for him to assume the part of father, and let the marriage take place from his house at Kenminster. This was a proposal for which it was hard to be as grateful as it deserved; since it had been planned to walk quietly into the parish church, be married "without any fuss," and then to take the fortnight's holiday, which was all that the doctor allowed himself.

  But as Robert was allowed to be judge of the proprieties, and as the kindness on his part was great, it was accepted; and Caroline was carried off for three weeks to keep her residence, and make the house feel what a blank her little figure had left.

  Certainly, when the pair met again on the eve of the wedding, there never was a more willing bride.

  She said she had been very happy. The Colonel and Ellen, as she had been told to call her future sister, had been very kind indeed; they had taken her for long drives, shown her everything, introduced her to quantities of people; but, oh dear! was it absolutely only three weeks since she had been away? It seemed just like three years, and she understood now why the girls who had homes made calendars, and checked off the days. No school term had ever seemed so long; but at Kenminster she had had nothing to do, and besides, now she knew what home was!

  So it was the most cheerful and joyous of weddings, though the bride was a far less brilliant spectacle than the bride of last year, Mrs. Robert Brownlow, who with her handsome oval face, fine figure, and her tasteful dress, perfectly befitting a young matron, could not help infinitely outshining the little girlish angular creature, looking the browner for her bridal white, so that even a deep glow, and a strange misty beaminess of expression could not make her passable in Kenminster eyes.

  How would Joe Brownlow's fancy turn out?

  CHAPTER II. THE CHICKENS.

  John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen."-Cowper.

  No one could have much doubt how it had turned out, who looked, after fifteen years, into that room where Joe Brownlow and his mother had once sat tete-a-tete.

  They occupied the two ends of the table still, neither looking much older, in expression at least, for the fifteen years that had passed over their heads, though the mother had-after the wont of active old ladies-grown smaller and lighter, and the son somewhat more bald and grey, but not a whit more careworn, and, if possible, even brighter.

  On one side of him sat a little figure, not quite so thin, some angles smoothed away, the black hair coiled, but still in resolute little mutinous tendrils on the brow, not ill set off by a tuft of carnation ribbon on one side, agreeing with the colour that touched up her gauzy black dress; the face, not beautiful indeed-but developed, softened, brightened with more of sweetness and tenderness-as well as more of thought-added to the fresh responsive intelligence it had always possessed.

  On the opposite side of the dinner-table were a girl of fourteen and a boy of twelve; the former, of a much larger frame than her mother, and in its most awkward and uncouth stage, hardly redeemed by the keen ardour and inquiry that glowed in the dark eyes, set like two hot coals beneath the black overhanging brows of the massive forehead, on which the dark smooth hair was parted. The features were large, the complexion dark but not clear, and the look of resolution in the square-cut chin and closely shutting mouth was more boy-like than girl-like. Janet Brownlow was assuredly a very plain girl, but the family habit was to regard their want of beauty as rather a mark of distinction, capable of being joked about, if not triumphed in.

  Nor was Allen, the boy, wanting in good looks. He was fairer, clearer, better framed in every way than his sister, and had a pleasant, lively countenance, prepossessing to all. He had a well- grown, upright figure, his father's ready suppleness of movement, and his mother's hazel eyes and flashing smile, and there was a look of suc
cess about him, as well there might be, since he had come out triumphantly from the examination for Eton College, and had been informed that morning that there were vacancies enough for his immediate admission.

  There was a pensiveness mixed with the satisfaction in his mother's eyes as she looked at him, for it was the first break into the home. She had been the only teacher of her children till two years ago, when Allen had begun to attend a day school a few streets off, and the first boy's first flight from under her wing, for ever so short a space, is generally a sharp wound to the mother's heart.

  Not that Allen would leave an empty house behind him. Lying at full length on the carpet, absorbed in a book, was Robert, a boy on whom the same capacious brow as Janet's sat better than on the feminine creature. He was reading on, undisturbed by the pranks of three younger children, John Lucas, a lithe, wiry, restless elf of nine, with a brown face and black curly head, and Armine and Barbara, young persons of seven and six, on whom nature had been more beneficent in the matter of looks, for though brown was their prevailing complexion, both had well-moulded, childish features, and really fine eyes. The hubbub of voices, as they tumbled and rushed about the window and balcony, was the regular accompaniment of dinner, though on the first plaintive tone from the little girl, the mother interrupted a "Well, but papa," from Janet, with "Babie, Babie."

  "It's Jock, Mother Carey! He _will_ come into Fairyland too soon."

  "What's the last news from Fairyland, Babie?" asked the father as the little one ran up to him.

  "I want to be Queen Mab, papa, but Armine wants to be Perseus with the Gorgon's head, and Jock is the dragon; but the dragon will come before we've put Polly upon the rock."

  "What! is Polly Andromeda-?" as a grey parrot's stand was being transferred from the balcony.

  "Yes, papa," called out Armine. "You see she's chained, and Bobus won't play, and Babie will be Queen Mab-"

  "I suppose," said the mother, "that it is not harder to bring Queen Mab in with Perseus than Oberon with Theseus and Hippolyta-"

  "You would have us infer," said the Doctor with grave humour, "that your children are at their present growth in the Elizabethan age of culture-"

  But again began a "Well, but papa!" but, he exclaimed, "Do look at that boy- Well walloped, dragon!" as Jock with preternatural contortions, rolled, kicked and tumbled himself with extended jaws to the rock, alias stand, to which Polly was chained, she remarking in a hoarse, low whisper, "Naughty boy-"

  "Well moaned, Andromeda!"

  "But papa," persisted Janet, "when Oliver Cromwell-"

  "Oh! look at the Gorgon!" cried the mother, as the battered head of an ancient doll was displayed over his shoulder by Perseus, decorated with two enormous snakes, one made of stamps, and the other a spiral of whalebone shavings out of a box.

  The monster immediately tumbled over, twisted, kicked, and wriggled so that the scandalised Perseus exclaimed: "But Jock-monster, I mean-you're turned into stone-"

  "It's convulsions," replied the monster, gasping frightfully, while redoubling his contortions, though Queen Mab observed in the most admonitory tone, touching him at the same time with her wand, "Don't you know, Skipjack, that's the reason you don't grow-"

  "Eh! What's the new theory! Who says so, Babie?" came from the bottom of the table.

  "Nurse says so, papa," answered Allen; "I heard her telling Jock yesterday that he would never be any taller till he stood still and gave himself time."

  "Get out, will you!" was then heard from the prostrate Robert, the monster having taken care to become petrified right across his legs.

  "But papa," Janet's voice was heard, "if Oliver Cromwell had not helped the Waldenses-"

  It was lost, for Bobus and Jock were rolling over together with too much noise to be bearable; Grandmamma turned round with an expostulatory "My dears," Mamma with "Boys, please don't when papa is tired-"

  "Jock is such a little ape," said Bobus, picking himself up. "Father, can you tell me why the moon draws up the tides on the wrong side?"

  "You may study the subject," said the Doctor; "I shall pack you all off to the seaside in a day or two."

  There was one outcry from mother, wife, and boys, "Not without you?"

  "I can't go till Drew comes back from his outing-"

  "But why should we? It would be so much nicer all together."

  "It will be horribly dull without; indeed I never can see the sense of going at all," said Janet.

  There was a confused outcry of indignation, in which waves-crabs- boats and shrimps, were all mingled together,

  "I'm sure that's not half so entertaining as hearing people talk in the evening," said Janet.

  "You precocious little piece of dissipation," said her mother, laughing.

  "I didn't mean fine lady nonsense," said Janet, rather hotly; "I meant talk like-"

  "Like big guns. Oh, yes, we know," interrupted Allen; "Janet does not think anyone worth listening to that hasn't got a whole alphabet tacked behind his name."

  "Janet had better take care, and Bobus too," said the Doctor, "or we shall have to send them to vegetate on some farm, and see the cows milked and the pigs fed."

  "I'm afraid Bobus would apply himself to finding how much caseine matter was in the cow's milk," said Janet in her womanly tone.

  "Or by what rule the pigs curled their tails," said her father, with a mischievous pull at the black plaited tail that hung down behind her.

  And then they all rose from the table, little Barbara starting up as soon as grace was said. "Father, please, you _are_ the Giant Queen Mab always rides!"

  "Queen Mab, or Queen Bab, always rides me, which comes to the same thing. Though as to the size of the Giant-"

  There was a pause to let grandmamma go up in peace, upon Mother Carey's arm, and then a general romp and scurry all the way up the stairs, ending by Jock's standing on one leg on the top post of the baluster, like an acrobat, an achievement which made even his father so giddy that he peremptorily desired it never to be attempted again, to the great relief of both the ladies. Then, coming into the drawing-room, Babie perched herself on his knee, and began, without the slightest preparation, the recitation of Cowper's "Colubriad":-

  "Fast by the threshold of a door nailed fast Three kittens sat, each kitten looked aghast."

  And just as she had with great excitement--

  "Taught him never to come there no more,"

  Armine broke in with "Nine times one are nine."

  It was an institution dating from the days when Janet made her first acquaintance with the "Little Busy Bee," that there should be something, of some sort, said or shown to papa, whenever he was at home or free between dinner and bed-time, and it was considered something between a disgrace and a misfortune to produce nothing.

  So when the two little ones had been kissed and sent off to bed, with mamma going with them to hear their prayers, Jock, on being called for, repeated a Greek declension with two mistakes in it, Bobus showed a long sum in decimals, Janet, brought a neat parallelism of the present tense of the verb "to be" in five languages-Greek, Latin, French, German, and English.

  "And Allen-reposing on your honours? Eh, my boy?"

  Allen looked rather foolish, and said, "I spoilt it, papa, and hadn't time to begin another."

  "It-I suppose I am not to hear what till it has come to perfection. Is it the same that was in hand last time?"

  "No, papa, much better," said Janet, emphatically.

  "What I want to see," said Dr. Brownlow, "is something finished. I'd rather have that than ever so many magnificent beginnings."

  Here he was seized upon by Robert, with his knitted brow and a book in his hands, demanding aid in making out why, as he said, the tide swelled out on the wrong side of the earth.

  His father did his best to disentangle the question, but Bobus was not satisfied till the clock chimed his doom, when he went off with Jock, who was walking on his hands.

  "That's too tough a subject for such a little f
ellow," said the grandmother; "so late in the day too!"

  "He would have worried his brain with it all night if he had not worked it out," said his father.

  "I'm afraid he will, any way," said the mother. "Fancy being troubled with dreams of surging oceans rising up the wrong way!"

  "Yes, he ought to be running after the tides instead of theorising about them. Carry him off, Mother Carey, and the whole brood, without loss of time."

  "But Joe, why should we not wait for you? You never did send us away all forlorn before!" she said, pleadingly. "We are all quite well, and I can't bear going without you."

  "I had much rather all the chickens were safe away, Carey," he said, sitting down by her. "There's a tendency to epidemic fever in two or three streets, which I don't like in this hot weather, and I had rather have my mind easy about the young ones."

  "And what do you think of my mind, leaving you in the midst of it?"

  "Your mind, being that of a mother bird and a doctor's wife, ought to have no objection."