A Crooked Path | Page 3

curious conclusions respecting them, to be
afterward set forth to the amusement of his hearers.
Leaving the omnibus at the Royal Oak, the trio diverged to one of the
streets between that well-known establishment and the Bayswater
Road--a street which had still a few trees and small semi-detached
villas, with front gardens left at one end, the relics of a past when
Penrhyn Place was "quite the country"; while at the other, bricks,
mortar, scaffolding, and a deeply rutted roadway indicated the
commencement of mansions which would soon swallow up their
humbler predecessors.
At one of these villas, the garden of which was tolerably neat, the little
boys and their aunt stopped, and were admitted by a smart but not
over-clean girl, who welcomed the children with a cheerful, "Well,
Master Cecil, you are just in nice time for dinner! Come, get your
things off; your gran'ma has a treat for you."
"Has she? Oh, what is it? Do tell, Lottie!"
"Don't mind, dear, if you are tired; your morning-gown will do very
well, as we are alone."
"No, no; I must honor Cecil's birthday with my best dress. These trifles
are important."
"I suppose so," returned her daughter, looking after her gravely, as she
left the room.
Mrs. Liddell was tall, and the lines of her figure considerably enlarged.
Yet she had not quite lost the grace for which she was once remarkable.
Her light brown hair had a pale look from the increasing admixture of
gray, and her blue eyes seemed faded by much use. It was a kind,
thoughtful, worn face from which they looked, yet it could still smile
brightly.

"She looks very, very tired," thought her daughter. "I must make her lie
down if I can; it is so hard to make her rest!" She too looked uneasily at
the mass of writing on the table, and then went away to remove her
out-door attire.
The birthday dinner gave great satisfaction. It was crowned by a
plum-pudding, terrible as such a compound must always be in June; but
it was a favorite "goody" with the young hero of the day. Grandmamma
made herself as agreeable as though she was one of a party of wits, and
drank her grandson's health in a bottle of choice gooseberry, proposing
it in a "neat and appropriate" speech, which gave rise to much
uproarious mirth and delight. At last the feast was over; the children
retired to amuse themselves with a horse and a wheelbarrow--some of
the birthday gifts--in the back garden (a wilderness resigned to their
ravages), and Mrs. Liddell and her daughter were left alone.
"Now, mother, do come and lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room.
I see you are out of sorts. You hardly tasted food, and you are
dreadfully tired; come and rest. I will read you to sleep."
"No, Kate; there can be no rest for me, my darling," returned her
mother, rising, and beginning to put the plates and glasses together with
a nervous movement. "I am out of sorts, for I have had a great
disappointment. The Family Friend has refused my three-volume novel,
and I really have not the heart to try it anywhere else after such
repeated rejections. At the same time Skinner & Palm write to say they
cannot use my short story, 'On the Rack,' for five or six months, as they
have such a quantity of already accepted manuscripts."
"How provoking!" cried Katherine. "But come away; the drawing-room
is cooler; let us go there and talk things over."
Mrs. Liddell accepted the suggestion, and sank into an arm-chair, while
her daughter let down the blinds, and then placed herself on a low
ottoman opposite her.
There was a short silence; then Mrs. Liddell sighed and began: "I
counted so much on that short story for ready money! Skinner always

pays directly he has published. Now I do not know what to do. If I take
it back I may fail to dispose of it, yet I cannot wait. But the novel--that
is the worst disappointment of all. I suppose it was foolish, but I felt
sure about that."
"Of course you did," cried Katherine, eagerly. "It is an excellent story."
"It is not worse than many Santley brings out," resumed Mrs. Liddell;
"but one is no judge of one's own work. It was with reluctance I offered
it to The Family Friend, and you see--" her voice faltered, and she
stopped abruptly.
Katherine knew the tears were in her eyes and swelling her heart. She
restrained the impulse to throw her arms round her; she feared to
agitate her mother; rather she would help her self-control.
"Well, dear, I am no great judge, but I am quite sure that such a story as
yours must succeed sooner