Aunt Mary | Page 4

which stood side by side, but not close enough together to

prevent the chubby fat legs from slipping between them; and as Freddy
and Gertrude in vain attempted to extricate the little fellow from his
awkward position, they set up a simultaneous scream in token of their
distress.
Kind-hearted Susan, however, soon set all to rights, for she was
well-known to carry in her pocket sundry mysterious little sweet balls,
which, if they were not over-clean, had a remarkable tendency to
soothe, insomuch that sagacious Master Fred, seeing his sister Mabel
one day crying with passion, inquired if he should go and ask Susan for
one of her sugar balls, to do her good; a proposition which that young
lady highly resented, though the very mention of the said sweets had
stopped the crying.
But we must return to poor mamma, who had in vain endeavoured to
follow Susan upstairs, she trembled so violently. When, however,
Willie was placed on her knee, and she saw the slight nature of the hurt
he had sustained, she began to feel more composed, for there was really
no harm done.
The poor lady, however, was not suffered to calm down thus easily, for
before Susan had time to quit the room, the sound of a key in the front
door betokened the dreaded return of her husband, and again excited all
her nervous fears.
'Why have you got the children with you, Ada?' said Mr. Ellis to his
wife, reproachfully. 'You know that the doctor has told you to keep
quiet.'
'Yes, I know,' replied Mrs. Ellis, meekly, 'but poor Willie has hurt his
leg, so Susan brought him down to me.'
'But what has Susan to do with the children?' inquired Mr. Ellis. 'Surely
Mabel and Julia are quite old enough to take care of them, without
calling Susan from her work in the kitchen! Where are the girls?'
demanded Mr. Ellis, sharply; 'I hope you have not let them go out after
what I said this morning.'

'Mrs. Maitland's little girls came to ask them to take a walk, and I did
not like to refuse them,' said Mrs. Ellis, timidly.
'Then I can only tell you, Ada,' said her husband, with suppressed
passion, 'that by your foolish weakness you have deprived them of a
great pleasure. It is not often that I can spare time to go out with them,
but as I have had some tickets given me to go to a panorama, I have, at
great inconvenience, come home, in order to take them, and you tell me
that they are gone out.'
Poor Mrs. Ellis! This was a terrible mortification to her; she felt for her
husband, and she felt for the disappointment of the girls, though they
certainly deserved it.
'I am very sorry I let them go, dear Arthur,' she said, 'but they pressed
me so much that I did not like to refuse.'
'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Ellis, 'I know; it is the old story: you are too
weak-minded to refuse, and our children are to be ruined for want of
proper restraint, or else I am to be appealed to in case of punishment,
and so must be considered by them harsh and unkind. I cannot help
saying that it is very cruel of you, Ada, to give way to this nervous
weakness of yours,' continued Mr. Ellis, as he saw the poor lady begin
to cry; 'the only way will be, I suppose, to send the girls to a
boarding-school, before you have quite spoiled them.'
Having thus delivered his opinion, Mr. Ellis walked out of the room;
and soon the rather violent shutting of the front door gave token that he
had left the house, to the really great sorrow of his wife, who now
heartily repented having given her consent to what had been the cause
of so much trouble. But we must leave her to repent at leisure, and
follow the gay young party, who, notwithstanding some few qualms of
conscience on their first setting out, soon found plenty to interest them
in the surrounding villas and gardens, where such diversity of taste is
displayed.
CHAPTER III.

THE LOST BROOCH.
It was a lovely afternoon in the beginning of August. Some few fleecy
clouds occasionally intercepted the rather too warm beams of the sun,
from which our young friends intended to take shelter under the trees in
the Regent's Park; for Dora and Annie Maitland had wisely determined
not to mention Thomas Hutton and his glass beehives after what they
had seen and heard at Camden Terrace, for they well knew that it
would be impossible to walk that distance, and back again, in an hour.
'I have a beautiful book that my papa gave me yesterday,' said Dora
Maitland; 'I thought