The Youngest Girl in the Fifth | Page 6

wrapped in folds of dainty
tissue paper, and looking like new. It seemed rather hard that Lesbia
should always be the lucky recipient of the parcels, and Beatrice, with a
strict sense of justice, had often tried to adapt some of the things for

Gwen. It was quite impossible, however--Lesbia's neat, dainty little
figure exactly fitted into the clothes, while Gwen, tall and big-boned
even for her extra two and a half years, was so many sizes too large that
she had to resign all hope of "fineries", and content herself with plain
blouses and navy-blue serge skirts that could be lengthened easily. Not
that Gwen troubled much about dress at this period of her existence;
indeed she was apt to throw on her garments in a haphazard fashion
that greatly excited Beatrice's wrath, and would raise a remonstrance
even from Winnie. Life was so full of different things, and so many
fresh interests and new plans were crowding continually into her brain,
that she never had time to think whether her tie was neatly knotted or
her belt properly fastened; it is a sad admission to make, no doubt, but
then Gwen was no ideal heroine, only a very faulty, impetuous,
headstrong, human girl.
Three little brothers completed the Gascoyne family--Giles, Basil, and
Martin, aged respectively ten, nine, and five, bonny mischievous
urchins, who were alternately Beatrice's pride and despair. By vigorous
measures she managed to keep them in tolerably good order, but she
could never be sure what pranks they would play next, and was
generally prepared for emergencies. She always had supplies handy of
arnica, sticking plaster, and rags for cut fingers, and would toil away
patiently mending long rents in small knickerbockers or darning holes
in stockings and jerseys. Giles and Basil went daily to a branch
establishment of Rodenhurst, kept by Miss Roscoe for boys under
twelve; and Martin learnt his letters at home, and trotted about the
house and parish in Beatrice's wake. He was a sweet little scamp, and
the apple of her eye, for she had brought him up from babyhood, but
she sometimes felt it would be an intense relief when he was old
enough to go to school with the others.
For seven years the Gascoynes had lived at the little parsonage at
Skelwick Bay. It was a small, low, creeper-covered place, built behind
a sheltering spur of hill, to protect it from the fierce winter gales and
the driving spray of the sea. Four latticed bedroom windows caught the
early morning sun, and a stone porch shielded the front door, which
opened directly into the sitting-room. There was nothing at all grand

about the house, but, thanks to Beatrice, it was neatly kept, and had an
air of general comfort. All articles likely to be broken by small fingers
were wisely put away, or placed in father's study, a sanctum where no
one might intrude without express permission; but books, paint boxes,
&c., were freely allowed, and each member of the family had a special
shelf on which to keep his or her particular possessions. Beatrice had
many excellent rules, and though in the enforcement of these she was
strict to the verge of severity, in the main she was just, and had her
father's full sanction for her authority.
The garden at the Parsonage was a great joy, with its thick hedge of
fuchsias, and its beds of fragrant wallflowers, and its standard roses
growing among the grass, and its clumps of Czar violets under the
sheltered wall. Here Winnie toiled early and late, getting up sometimes
with the sun that she might put in an hour's work before breakfast,
weeding, replanting, pruning, raking, and tying up. It was chiefly
owing to her exertions that the show of flowers was so good, though
Gwen was her ally in that respect, and even Lesbia gave a little
desultory help. There was a thick, bowery lime tree under whose shade
it was delightful to have tea in summer, or to lie reading books on hot
Sundays; and there was a fascinating corner of the old wall, which the
girls called "the rampart", from whence it was possible to command an
excellent view of the main road--a great convenience sometimes to the
younger ones, who would keep watch, and beat a hasty retreat if they
saw an unwelcome visitor arriving, leaving Beatrice to offer hospitality
alone.
Gwen was the worst sinner in this respect. She was bashful, and hated
to have to say "How do you do?" to callers. In spite of Beatrice's efforts
to train her in social ways, she would fly at the very approach of a
flower-trimmed hat or a white parasol.
"You scuttle off like a rabbit into its burrow," said Beatrice indignantly
on one occasion; "and if you're