Barbara in Brittany | Page 4

the children.
"Fiddlesticks!" Aunt Anne replied, without allowing Mrs. Britton time to speak. "You are far too young, my dear, to imagine yourself of such importance in the world. I will send a good old-fashioned nurse that I know of to take your place, and it will be good for the children to have a stricter regime than yours has been for a while."
Even if Aunt Anne had been accustomed to have her words disregarded--which she was not--Mrs. Britton would not have needed much persuasion to make her fall in with the proposal, for she had often grieved in private over the fact that, since her husband's death, Barbara's education had had to suffer that Donald's might advance. And now, though she wondered how she would get on without her eldest daughter, she was only too thankful to have such an opportunity thrown in her way.
"I cannot think why I never interfered before," Miss Britton said, "but it is better late than never, and we will have as little delay now as possible."
In a few days the children were all as busy as bees helping to get Barbara ready. They assisted in choosing her new frocks and hats, and the style of making; and poor Miss Smith, who came to sew for her, was nearly distracted by their popping in every now and then to see how she was getting on. Even Donald, who hated talking about "girls' fashions," bought a paper, because he saw it had a pattern of a blouse advertised, and he thought it might be useful.
The family were very curious to hear with whom she was going to France and where she was going to be, for Aunt Anne had undertaken to make all the arrangements, and it certainly was a slight shock to the children when she wrote to say she had made up her mind to go herself for a fortnight to Paris before sending Barbara off to Brittany, where she had found a "most suitable place" for her in the house of two maiden ladies who took in people wanting to learn French.
Donald whistled when Mrs. Britton read that out.
"Fancy a fortnight with Aunt Anne, and then the two maiden ladies. Jiggers!" (that was a favourite expression of his)--"you'll be worried out of your life, Barbe."
The worst of it was, that Aunt Anne, who had not been abroad for many years, said she was going to let Barbara manage the journey and the sight-seeing in Paris, and sent her a guide-book to read up everything of interest. She said she was doing this to give her niece experience and prepare her for being by herself later on; but Donald declared she wanted to see "what kind of stuff" she was made of, and that if Barbara did not do things well, she would scoff at her greatly for thinking she could manage a house and children while she could not succeed in finding her way about France.
"But I know the old lady, and we'll just show her you're our sister, and before we've done you'll know that guide-book from cover to cover," he assured her.
They had only a week left, for Aunt Anne was very rapid in her decisions and plans; but they studied the guide-book morning, noon, and night. It was most instructive holiday work, Donald said, and when Barbara had not time to read it, Frances and he read for her and poured their knowledge into her ears at meal-times.
They learned what coloured omnibus went to the different parts of Paris, and on what days different buildings were open, and by the end of the week they all felt they could "personally conduct" tours all over Paris.
It was rather hard when the last day came, because they knew that the house would seem horribly empty without Barbara. The two little ones were on the verge of crying all the afternoon, and Frances had to be very stern, while Donald rose to flights of wit hitherto undreamed of, to keep up every one's spirits.
Of course the two elder ones knew it would be hardest on them after Barbara left, because some of her responsibility would fall on their shoulders. But they were quite determined she should have a cheerful "send-off" next morning, so they bribed the children with promises of sweets if they did not cry, and they succeeded in giving her quite a hilarious good-bye at the station.
After the train had gone, however, and they turned homewards, Frances felt that if she had not promised Barbara to help her mother she would have hidden herself in the attic and cried, although that would have been so "horribly babyish" for a girl of twelve that she knew she would have felt ashamed of herself afterwards; though perhaps, her pillow could have told tales