Countess Kate | Page 5

and becoming a clergyman like his
father; nor how cheerfully Armyn had agreed to do whatever would
best lighten his father's cares and troubles. They were a very happy
family; above all, on the Saturday evenings and Sundays that the
good-natured elder brother spent at home.
"There!" cried Sylvia, laying down her slate pencil, and indulging in
another tremendous yawn; "we can't do a thing more till Mary comes!
What can she be about?"
"Oh, but look, Sylvia!" cried Kate, quite forgetting everything in the
interest of her drawing on a large sheet of straw-paper. "Do you see
what it is?"
"I don't know," said Sylvia, "unless--let me see--That's a very rich little
girl, isn't it?" pointing to an outline of a young lady whose wealth was
denoted by the flounces (or rather scallops) on her frock, the bracelets
on her sausage-shaped arms, and the necklace on her neck.
"Yes; she is a very rich and grand--Lady Ethelinda; isn't that a pretty
name? I do wish I was Lady Katharine."
"And what is she giving? I wish you would not do men and boys, Kate;
their legs always look so funny as you do them."
"They never will come right; but never mind, I must have them. That is
Lady Ethelinda's dear good cousin, Maximilian; he is a lawyer-- don't
you see the parchment sticking out of his pocket?"
"Just like Armyn."
"And she is giving him a box with a beautiful new microscope in it;
don't you see the top of it? And there is a whole pile of books. And I
would draw a pony, only I never can nicely; but look here,"-- Kate
went on drawing as she spoke--"here is Lady Ethelinda with her best
hat on, and a little girl coming. There is the little girl's house, burnt
down; don't you see?"

Sylvia saw with the eyes of her mind the ruins, though her real eyes
saw nothing but two lines, meant to be upright, joined together by a
wild zig-zag, and with some peaked scrabbles and round whirls
intended for smoke. Then Kate's ready pencil portrayed the family, as
jagged in their drapery as the flames and presently Lady Ethelinda
appeared before a counter (such a counter! sloping like a desk in the
attempt at perspective, but it conveniently concealed the shopman's
legs,) buying very peculiar garments for the sufferers. Another scene in
which she was presenting them followed, Sylvia looking on, and
making suggestions; for in fact there was no quiet pastime more
relished by the two cousins than drawing stories, as they called it, and
most of their pence went in paper for that purpose.
"Lady Ethelinda had a whole ream of paper to draw on!" were the
words pronounced in Kate's shrill key of eagerness, just as the long lost
Mary and her father opened the door.
"Indeed!" said Mr. Wardour, a tall, grave-looking man; "and who is
Lady Ethelinda!"
"O Papa, it's just a story I was drawing," said Kate, half eager, half
ashamed.
"We have done all the lessons we could, indeed we have--" began
Sylvia; "my music and our French grammar, and--"
"Yes, I know," said Mary; and she paused, looking embarrassed and
uncomfortable, so that Sylvia stood in suspense and wonder.
"And so my little Kate likes thinking of Lady--Lady Etheldredas," said
Mr. Wardour rather musingly; but Kate was too much pleased at his
giving any sort of heed to her performances to note the manner, and
needed no more encouragement to set her tongue off.
"Lady Ethelinda, Papa. She is a very grand rich lady, though she is a
little girl: and see there, she is giving presents to all her cousins; and
there she is buying new clothes for the orphans that were burnt out; and
there she is building a school for them."
Kate suddenly stopped, for Mr. Wardour sat down, drew her between
his knees, took both her hands into one of his, and looked earnestly into
her face, so gravely that she grew frightened, and looking appealingly
up, cried out, "O Mary, Mary! have I been naughty?"
"No, my dear," said Mr. Wardour; "but we have heard a very strange
piece of news about you, and I am very anxious as to whether it may

turn out for your happiness."
Kate stood still and looked at him, wishing he would speak faster.
Could her great-uncle in India be come home, and want her to make
him a visit in London? How delightful! If it had been anybody but Papa,
she would have said, "Go on."
"My dear," said Mr. Wardour at last, "you know that your cousin, Lord
Caergwent, was killed by an accident last week."
"Yes, I know," said Kate; "that was why Mary made me put this black
braid on my frock; and