Barbara in Brittany | Page 2

passed very well, the
children remembering to rub their feet on the mat, shut the door softly,
and not fidget at meals. But the exertion seemed too much for them,
and the second day began rather boisterously, and did not improve as it
went on. After lunch, when the twins came into the drawing-room,
Lucy drew a footstool near her aunt, and sat down meekly upon it,
thinking that the sooner Aunt Anne began to talk the sooner it would be
over.
Aunt Anne was feeling almost as much embarrassed by the presence of
so many children as they were by that of their aunt, but her sense of
duty was strong, and she began to make conversation with the one
nearest her--who happened to be Lucy.
"What are you doing in lessons now, Lucy?"
Lucy looked solemn.
"Chiefly history," she said.
Frances laughed.

"It's only stories," she exclaimed, "that Barbara tells her and Dick."
"It's history," repeated Lucy indignantly; "isn't it, Dick? It's all about
England."
"I should have thought writing was more suitable for a little girl like
you."
Frances opened her mouth to retort, but caught a warning glance from
Barbara and subsided. Then conversation languished and Lucy looked
across longingly at her sister, to see if she had done her duty. But not
being able to catch her eye, she sighed, and supposing she had not yet
fulfilled her part, cast about in her mind for something else to say.
"Do you live far from here?" she began suddenly, staring at her aunt.
"Quite a long way," Miss Britton replied. "In Wales--perhaps you know
where that is?"
"Oh, yes," exclaimed Lucy, rising in her excitement. "It's where the
ancient Britons were sent. Barbara told us about them. Oh, please Aunt
Anne, aren't you an ancient Briton?"
Aunt Anne smiled grimly.
"No, I am not. They lived in quite the olden times, and were clothed in
skins."
"But are you sure?" pressed the child. "It's just the skins seem wanting.
They were driven into Wales, and surely you're a Briton and come from
the olden times. You're really quite ancient aren't you, Aunt Anne?"
Barbara was thankful her aunt laughed, but she was not so glad that
Donald and Frances found their laughter so irrepressible that they had
to resort to the sofa-cushions; and when the twins were dismissed a
little later by Mrs. Britton, she was rather relieved to see them follow.
But from that moment the spirit of hilarity seemed to have fallen upon
all the children, and Barbara looked regretfully at the falling rain and

wondered how she should keep them occupied for the rest of the
day--for it was just the beginning of the holidays, when they were
usually allowed a good deal of liberty.
She knew by the noise that presently sounded from upstairs that they
had begun "hide-and-seek," and she read disapproval of the uproar in
her aunt's face, and went upstairs to suggest something else. The
children good-temperedly betook themselves to "soap bubbles,"
Frances consenting to fetch the tray "to keep things tidy" if Donald
would take it back; and Barbara left them, congratulating herself that
they were safely settled over something quiet.
It was, therefore, surely an evil fate that made Aunt Anne begin to go
upstairs later in the afternoon, just as Donald was descending rapidly
with the tray--not in his hand.
"I am so sorry," he said, getting up in dismay after his rapid slide.
"What a comfort I didn't knock you over; but it's so much the quickest
way of bringing a tray down. I---- Have you ever tried it?"
If he had not been considerably agitated he would not have asked such
a foolish question, and perhaps if Aunt Anne had really not got a severe
fright she would not have been so much annoyed. But as it was, she
stalked past him without saying a word and went up to her room.
"There!" he said ruefully, "I've done it, and I really did mean to be
good."
The incident subdued them all considerably, and Barbara hoped that
now they might get to the end of the visit without any further mishaps.
But next morning at breakfast that hope was banished, for her aunt
came downstairs with such an expression of annoyance upon her face,
that every one knew something really unpleasant was coming.
"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Britton asked anxiously. "Did you not sleep
well--or--surely the children did not--annoy you in any way?" Visions
of apple-pie beds were floating before her mind, although the children's
looks of innocence somewhat reassured her on that point.

"Some one has annoyed me considerably," Aunt Anne said coldly, "by
interfering with my clothes. When I came to put on my blue blouse this
morning, I found that every other one of