Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

A LITTLE BREEZE BLEW IN AT THE OPEN WINDOW,
AND THEN A RED AND BROWN BUTTERFLY FLEW IN.

THE RED CORD SERIES

"The Comforter . . . whom the Father will send. . ."

LITTLE MISS
MOTH

THE STORY OF THREE MAIDENS

CHARITY, HOPE, AND FAITH

BY

AMY LE FEUVRE

Author of "Probable Sons," "Teddy's Button," "Tested,"
"Andy Man," "Chats with Children," etc.

PICKERING & INGLIS

14 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E. C. 4
229 BOTHWELL STREET, GLASGOW, C. 2

THE RED CORD LIBRARY

OF HEALTHY MORAL STORIES

FOR ALL YOUTHFUL READERS

Made and Printed In Great Britain

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. A NEW HOME

II. FIRST ADVENTURES

III. AN INVITATION TO THE HALL

IV. CHARLIE'S RAFT

V. THE PIRATE

VI. CHARLIE STILL IN COMMAND

VII. THE PIRATE'S HOME

VIII. CHARITY PLAYS TRUANT

IX. FAITH'S OLD FRIEND

X. STRAWBERRY PICKING

XI. THE GREY DONKEY

XII. THE ACCIDENT

XIII. A WONDERFUL LEGACY

XIV. FAITH'S GIFTS

XV. THE PIRATE'S CHRISTMAS STORY

LITTLE MISS MOTH

CHAPTER I

A NEW HOME

THREE little girls were looking out of the window on a very wet afternoon in March. They were so close together in age and height that sometimes two of them were taken for twins, yet there was a year between each of them. And they were unlike each other in looks.

Charity, the eldest, had a quantity of red auburn hair down her back. She was very lively and talkative, and her eyes were always sparkling with fun and happiness.

Hope, next to her in age, had fair golden hair and blue eyes; she was sweet tempered and rather apt to be an echo of anyone with whom she was.

Faith, the youngest, was a quiet child, with short, dark, curly hair, and thoughtful brown eyes. She had a very sweet little face, but looked fragile and delicate beside her rosy, sturdy sisters.

It was not a very cheerful scene outside the window. One of those quiet, dingy streets towards the outskirts of London, where rows of houses faced each other, all exactly alike, and where the only traffic was the tradesmen's carts rattling along, and an occasional cab or motor. But the little girls were talking fast and happily. The rain beating against the window panes did not depress them. The dark grey sky, the wet pavements, the wind whirling the smoke along the street from the chimneys opposite, the people hurrying by under sodden umbrellas, all interested the six bright eyes.

And at last three voices shouted happily:

"Here she comes, Granny! Here's Aunt Alice!"

They left their post at the window and rushed to the door. Mrs. Blair, their grandmother, who was sitting in an easy chair by the fire, knitting small stockings, sprang up as if she were twenty instead of nearly seventy. She took a small kettle off the hob, and poured the hot water into a teapot.

Tea was laid on a round table in the middle of the room. There was only a loaf of bread and a pot of treacle, but everything was very bright and clean; and the little room looked quite cheerful in contrast to the grey, dingy street outside. There was a canary hanging up in the window, and a handsome black cat sat washing its face on the hearthrug. Bright pictures were on the walls, and in the centre of the table was a big bunch of yellow daffodils.

Now the door opened, and Aunt Alice appeared, with a bright, rosy face; and her three small nieces were instantly hanging round her.

"Oh, Granny, she's got some primroses!"

"She's picked them herself!"

"And there's a parcel—very special for you!"

"Now let me speak, chicks! And first I must shed my wet shoes. Charity, run and get me my slippers from upstairs. Yes, Faith, you can take these out into the kitchen, and ask Mrs. Cox to dry them for me."

Aunt Alice bent down and kissed Granny.

"You do look cosy here. I shall be thankful to have a cup of tea!"

In a few minutes all were gathered round the table, and then Granny opened her parcel, which contained a pound of golden butter.

"There!" said Aunt Alice. "What do you think of that? Old Mrs. Horn sold it to me. They are not rationed in butter down there. And, Mother, dear, I have had a very successful day, and the cottage is sweet. I have seen Sir George, and he will let it for ten pounds a year. Think of it, with no rates or taxes, and a garden big enough to grow our own vegetables, and an orchard with six good apple trees in it!"

"And what about the water?"

"Quite a good well close to the house, and these primroses are out of the orchard, and Mrs. Horn who lives only a field away will supply us with milk."

"What is the cottage like?"

"There is a big kitchen and dairy; the kitchen larger than this; a tiny best parlour, which I don't think we will use at all, and four good bedrooms, and cupboards in every room built into thick walls."

Granny's eyes sparkled as brightly as the children's. "And when can we have it?"

"Sir George said he would have it papered and painted throughout. It is in good repair. His coachman lived there for ten years before he went to the war, and his wife was a 'clean body,' so Mrs. Horn informed me. Poor thing, she died a month after she had left it. She had a weak heart, and she heard of her husband's death suddenly, and it just killed her."

"Did you see Lady Melville?"

"Just for a moment. Sir George sent his love to you. He said it would be like old times to see you again."

There was silence. The little girls were busy eating their bread and treacle, but their ears were taking everything in.

"And is the cottage lonely?" asked Granny.

"No, I don't think so. It lies just off a road. There's not much passing, but, Mother dear, you will revel in the peace and quiet after this!"

Aunt Alice waved her hand out of the window. She was smiling brightly. Granny looked at her rather wistfully. "And you have quite made up your mind to give up your war work and come with us? You don't think I could manage with the children?"

"I am sure you could not, Mother. There will be wood to be sawn, and the garden to be tilled. Sir George has given us leave to gather all the wood we want from his woods, but we can get no man or boy to help us. Mrs. Horn told me that. She is running her small farm without any man at all, her two daughters do everything. The children must make themselves useful."

"And what about their lessons?"

Aunt Alice looked grave.

"I don't know. If we can't find any one to teach them, I suppose I must try myself. There is the village school a mile off."

"No, Alice, I shall not let them sink to that."

Aunt Alice laughed and shrugged her shoulders

"Oh, Mother dear, we won't bring them up with empty brains as well as empty purses! They will have to earn their own living, so they must have a good education."

"Well, we will talk about that later."

"And we'll all have a slice of bread and butter now," said Aunt Alice briskly. Then she turned to the children, and began to tell them of all that she had seen and heard since she had left them two days ago.

And when tea was over, Charity slipped out to the kitchen. She was longing to impress Mrs. Cox with the wonderful new life in front of them.

Mrs. Cox was a thin, gaunt woman who came every day from eight o'clock to six in the afternoon. She cleaned, she cooked, she washed and ironed, and was the children's devoted friend. They were never tired of listening to her stories, but Mrs. Cox always enjoyed very dismal subjects. Funerals and illnesses were her chief topics; and her friends seemed to the children to have had the most marvellous diseases, and the most miraculous cures that they had ever heard.

"Oh, Mrs. Cox," cried Charity, dancing up to her, as she sat at the kitchen table enjoying her cup of tea, "we're going to the country to a house all our own, and no lodgers in the top floors of it, a house with a well, and primroses, and apple trees, and we shall have butter—real butter—every day, and a forest with big trees, and we shall pick up wood in it and light our fires. And Aunt Alice will be home all day!"

Mrs. Cox stared at her.

"Ah, well, yer h'aunt did say to me times was hard, and you couldn't h'afford to go on livin' here, that and the h'air raids—but never did I think you'd all sink down to the country! 'Tis only where folks live in their dotage, or sick children be sent for their 'olidays; nobody with brains or money be content with such a hom'! Why, me sister Ivy went down to a place there, an' were that skeered she's never prop'ly recovered since. She left before the end o' her month; she said when you looked out of the windys, there were nothin' but trees tapping their branches on the windy panes, and earwigs a crawlin' inter the beds, if you please, and you walks miles and never meets a single human soul, an' the nights black pitch, so's the evenings out were a crool joke! Not to speak of mud comin' up your legs over your boots—!"

"Go on—how perfectly lovely!" cried Charity with glowing eyes.

But Mrs. Cox shook her head gloomily, and refused to say another word.

"Granny lived in the country when she was little, and our Dad was born in the country, and when Grand-dad was alive, he kept a school in the country for little boys, and Granny used to love them, and they loved her. And George Melville had curly hair, and Granny used to keep a bag of chocolates in her room for him, and now he's grown-up, and has a big house, and he's going to let Granny and us live in one of his small houses. We're going to be awfully happy in the country, Aunt Alice says everything is nice there."

Mrs. Cox gave an unbelieving sniff.

"Once I went on a Mothers' treat. It rained twelve hours on end—and I sat on a damp log o' wood, and was ill in bed of rheumaticks for a month h'after! Give me a proper Lunnon park for beauty. Why, the park flowers beat the country ones holler!"

Charity left her. Mrs. Cox would not understand the joy of looking forward to a move into an unknown country.

Two hours later, the three little girls were in bed in one room upstairs. Aunt Alice and Granny always slept together.

They were talking hard over the prospect in front of them.

"I s'pose," said Hope with knitted brow, "that we're very, very poor. It's only since Granny and Aunt Alice were doing up sums together in their account books that they said they couldn't stay here any longer."

"No," said Charity; "it was when Faith was so ill the other day. The doctor said Granny must take her to the country, and Granny shook her head. And I heard her say to Aunt Alice after:

"'I should like to have something worth selling, my dear, but I've no more jewels, and all our silver is gone, and the bits of furniture left us are worth nothing.'

"Poor Granny! She wiped her spectacles when she said it, and she always does that when she's unhappy."

"And we do wear out our shoes, and eat a lot," said little Faith with fervour. "If we live in a cottage, p'raps it won't cost so much."

"And perhaps we shall be allowed to run about without shoes and stockings," said Hope; "that would be lovely, like we did at the sea, when Aunt Alice took us to Margate."

"I know one thing," said Charity, rolling round in bed in ecstasy; "I mean to get lost in the wood as soon as ever I can."

"And I shall climb the apple trees," said Hope.

"And I shall sit on the well," said Faith, "and draw water up and down in a bucket all day long!"

"And as for Mrs. Cox," said Charity, "she's only talking of the country she's seen—not of our cottage, which is perfectly beautiful. Aunt Alice says so!"

Then sleep overtook them, and when Granny came up to bed, she paid them her usual nightly visit.

"Poor little souls!" she said. "Life will not be so difficult for us in the country; we may be able to give them more pleasures."

The following days were full of bustle and excitement to the children. They had been going to a small private day school a few streets away, but now they were taken away from it, and Charity expressed a hope that they would never go to another school as long as they lived.

"It's our names," she confided to her aunt; "why did our father and mother give us such names? The girls all laugh at us, 'specially me! 'Charity' means everything nasty. If you live on people's charity, it means you're a nobody, and Charity schools are for the very lowest. I hate my name! I'm glad we're going to the country. Mrs. Cox says we shall have nobody there to notice what we're called."

"I like your names," said Aunt Alice laughing. "Don't be a little goose. Your Mother was a saint, and she got your names from the Bible, and so far from 'Charity' being a name to be despised, it is the greatest of all other names. We are told so, you read the chapter about Charity and see all you ought to do if you're worthy of your name."

"Oh, I know! Granny read it to me once. It is in Corinthians, but I couldn't be like that chapter, no, never!"

She shook her red hair vehemently and danced away. Charity was always jumping or running or dancing; she hated keeping her legs still, and school was a real trial to her.

Granny and Aunt Alice packed day after day. Mrs. Cox asked how they were going to manage in the country if they had no one to clean for them, and Hope asked her aunt anxiously about it, but she was laughed at.

"I am going to stay at home, and do all Mrs. Cox's work. I must, that is why I am leaving my work at the War Depôt. Don't you think I am able to keep a cottage clean, Hope? You will all have to help. Granny is not so young as she used to be, and we must spare her all heavy work."

"I love scrubbing," said Hope happily. "I hope you'll let me do that. Are we as poor as Mrs. Cox is?"

"Poorer, I think," said Aunt Alice cheerfully.

Nothing seemed to depress her, and Granny was just as cheerful, so Hope said to Mrs. Cox, "It will be all right, Mrs. Cox. Aunt Alice says it will. We are going to do everything ourselves. We've got very poor, I don't know how, but Granny always says a beggar is happier than a king! And we shall love it all, I know we shall."

The day came when a cab drew up to the door, and the little girls with their arms full of parcels and baskets followed Granny out of the house in which they had spent most of their lives, and rolled away to the big, bustling station. The journey in the train was a delight to them, and when early in the afternoon they arrived at a quiet little station called Deepcombe, and were told by their aunt that they must get out, they looked round them with shining eyes noting every detail around them.

There was a shabby little cart waiting for them outside the station, and it was a tight fit to pack themselves and their luggage into it. A girl drove it, and she and Aunt Alice walked up all the hills. It seemed as if the road was never going to end, but the children had plenty to see as they went along. Lambs in the meadows; primroses on the banks, and pretty thatched cottages and farmhouses standing back from the road.

Charity was loud in admiration and wonder, Hope asked questions about everything. Little Faith was the silent one, she looked up into the blue sky and across the green fields with a dreamy smile upon her small white face.

Granny bent down to her once: "Are you tired, darling?"

Faith's back ached, but she never acknowledged it. She only smiled up at her grandmother. "It's like heaven, I should think!" was all she said.

Granny put her arm round her. Faith was very delicate, and she was continually in her grandmother's thoughts. Granny often said to Aunt Alice that Faith lived at Heaven's gates, and she was afraid that any day she might slip inside them.

At last they reached the Cottage. It had a white gate which had been freshly painted, and the door stood open; and kind Mrs. Horn had lighted a fire, and put a kettle on to boil and was standing outside the door, ready to welcome them.

The little girls tumbled over each other in their excitement to get inside. It seemed at first like a doll's house to them; the stairs were steep and narrow, and the rooms low, and the windows very small, but they loved the quaint cupboards; and then they ran out into the garden and orchard, and visited the well and picked some primroses, and whilst Granny and Aunt Alice were seeing to the luggage being carried in, their tongues wagged fast.

"It's all beautiful," said Charity, "just like the cottages in story books; and I hope we'll never go back to London again in our lives!"

"And we can pick flowers wherever we see them," said Faith, "without paying for them or having the keepers coming up to see what we're doing."

"Where is the wood?" asked Hope.

Charity began to climb one of the apple trees.

"I think I see some trees over there," she said, pointing to the corner of a field a short distance off. They were going to set off immediately in search of it, when they heard their aunt call them in.

"You mustn't run away," she said; "we're all going to have some tea, and then you must help me get your beds made up. There will be lots to do before we go to bed to-night."

"Is this our furniture?" asked Charity, looking round the room, which had only an empty glass-paned cupboard, a square table, a dresser, and six wooden chairs.

"Yes, we've taken over the furniture left here, but we'll make this kitchen quite pretty with nice curtains, and some cushions and some of Granny's pretty things."

So they gathered round the table for their evening meal, and then till bed-time Aunt Alice kept them all busy.

When they at last went up to the sloping-roofed bedroom where they were to sleep, the little girls were too tired to talk any more.

It was Charity who said just before she dropped asleep:

"To-morrow—we'll find the wood, and then our adventures will begin."

CHAPTER II

FIRST ADVENTURES

THE next day came, and Aunt Alice gave her small nieces permission to go off for the morning anywhere they liked.

"I don't think you can get into any mischief," she said. "Charity has a wise little head of her own, and if you like to go to the wood, and bring back some sticks for the fire, I shall be very glad."

"Aunt Alice seems to guess what we should like to do best," said Hope, skipping over the field as joyfully as the lambs had skipped the evening before.

They crossed the orchard, and found a footpath going through some fields. I do not think any little girls in the whole world could have been so happy as these three were on this bright sunny morning. And then just as they reached the wood, something happened to dim their joy. They heard the pitiful shrieks and cries of an animal in pain.

"Oh, what is it?" asked Faith with big eyes. "Is it a wild beast, do you think? It may be a wolf or a fox!"

"We must go and see," said Charity bravely.

They entered the wood by a narrow footpath, and trod one behind the other. Charity hurried along in front, and very soon found a beautiful brown dog writhing on the ground, with one of its legs fast caught in a gin.

They stood and looked at it with pitying eyes; but not one of them knew how to release it. Faith began to sob as if her heart would break. She never could bear to see the smallest creature in pain, and had often cried over a dead mouse in London.

"Let's call somebody," she cried, "he'll be dead, he's bleeding. Oh call somebody quick!"

"But there's nobody to come in the country, Mrs. Cox says so!" said Charity.

Hope and Faith raised their voices.

"Help! Help! Murder!" they cried, for Mrs. Cox had often told them how cries like that brought the policeman to help.

And then Charity joined them, and suddenly they heard a crackling of branches, and an old man appeared. He had a grey beard and a big shady felt hat over his eyes. A great knotted stick was in his hand, and he had leather gaiters up to his knees.

"Hullo! Hullo! What's doin' here?" he said, in a gruff voice.

Faith seized hold of his hands, and her tears dropped fast.

"It's a poor darling dog got caught in an iron thing. Come and get him out quick! Oh, it's cruel, cruel!"

The old man quickened his pace.

"'Tisn't my Sandy! Eh, sure enough it be, an' I be huntin' for him high and low. Still, my boy! So!"

He put his foot on the gin, and with a wriggle and a cry, the dog was free. He stopped whining and stood before his master trembling from head to foot. The old man knelt down and with his handkerchief began to bind up the poor torn leg. Charity and Hope watched the proceeding with the greatest interest, Faith shut her eyes tight. She was as white as a sheet, and, like Sandy, trembled from head to foot.

But Charity began to talk, she asked the old man his name.

"'Tis just Timothy Bendall, shepherd to Farmer Cratton, an' I be livin' at that small cottage three fields off. An' who be ye little ladies? Strangers in these parts, I reckon."

Charity told him all about themselves, how they had just come from London and had come over to the wood, in the hopes of finding some adventures.

He smiled at her, only half understanding what she said. And then when poor Sandy's leg was bound up, he took him up in his arms, and bade the children "Good morning."

Charity and Hope began to run on through the wood, but Faith stood still, and Timothy looked at her. He was fond of children, and he saw how white and shaken she was.

"You poor little maid, what be the matter then?"

"Oh, will he get well? Is he going to die? Does his leg still hurt him?"

"Bless yer little heart, he will be right as rain in a day or two. Would ye like to come on to my cottage and sit there for a bit?"

"Oh, yes."

Faith stretched out her little hand and took hold of his.

"I don't want to go through the wood, we might get our feet in a horrid trap. Who puts them there? Isn't it very wicked?"

"No, no, 'tis just the boys who will trap rabbits, but they oughter open them by day, an' I'll have a word to say to 'em on that score. Come along, and your sisters will find us when they get through the copse."

"What's a copse?"

"What you call a wood."

"But the boys don't catch dear little rabbits?" Faith's face was so distressed and horror-stricken that the old man tried to soothe her.

Charity, seeing her walk off with the old man, came running back, but Timothy told her he was taking Faith to his cottage to rest.

She looked up into his face very earnestly:

"You aren't a wicked robber or ogre in disguise?" she asked. "For we've read lots of stories about children being carried off in woods."

He shook his head.

"Old Timothy wouldn't harm a hair of your heads," he exclaimed; "and 'tis grateful I be, for you callin' help for my poor Sandy!"

"It's all right," said Charity gravely. "I see you've a good face, and if Faith likes to go with you she can; but we want to pick up firewood for Aunt Alice, and find some more adventures!"

She and Hope spent an exquisite hour in the wood. It was as the old man had said, only a small copse; beyond, were big stretches of coverts, but to the two little girls this wood held all their desires. They caught sight of a couple of rabbits scudding away in the undergrowth to their holes; they picked a bunch of the delicate white wood anemones and primroses; they rooted up some moss, and beautiful bits of young ivy; they collected some fir cones, and then began to gather wood. The fresh smell of the moss and earth around them, and the pure spring air filled their little souls with delight. And then they hushed their breaths to listen to the singing of the birds, and the cooing of a wood pigeon in the distance.

"Oh, Faith is missing a lot!" Hope said. "She was stupid to go off with that old man, instead of coming on with us."

"She looked white and sick," said Charity; "I think that trap frightened her, and the sight of Sandy's bleeding leg!"

They were busy picking up some wood, and tying it into small bundles with string, which their aunt had given them, when they heard a man's heavy step amongst the bushes, then a whistle, and Hope caught hold of Charity with frightened eyes:

"Let us hide, it may be a robber!"

"It's too early in the morning," said Charity sceptically, but she pulled her sister round to the back of a big tree, and both peeped round the corner with anxious, expectant eyes.

A tall, broad-shouldered man came in sight, followed by a big black retriever. He was a gentleman, and Charity took courage, and stepped out of her hiding place.

"Hullo! Whose little girls are you?"

"We've just come here, and we're picking wood for Aunt Alice."

"Then you must be related to Mrs. Blair."

"She's our Granny."

He smiled upon them, and emboldened by his smile, Hope came out and confronted him.

"Is this your wood?"

"Yes. Do you know who I am?"

"The boy who always came for sweets to Granny's room," Charity said.

Sir George laughed delightedly.

"The very same; and I'm on my way to pay my respects to her. Do you think she has any sweets to give me now?"

"No, Granny is too poor, and since the war she says it's wicked to buy sweets; for they take the sugar."

He laughed again.

"You must come up and see my wife. She loves small girls. We've only two boys; and school takes them from us most of the year."

Charity's eyes sparkled.

"We came out to meet adventures," she said confidentially; "and you're the second one we've met. Faith has gone off with the first one."

Sir George was then told about the dog, and the old man.

"Mrs. Cox said we would see nobody at all in the country," said Hope; "but we knew she was wrong, for all the books say you meet people in a wood, and we have."

"So you're fond of books."

"Oh," cried Charity, "we love them! I wish we could buy hundreds of books, and have them in book cases up to the top of the ceiling. When I grow up, I shall keep a book shop, and I shall read them all, every one of them."

"Capital! I'm a book lover myself, and you shall come up one day soon, and spend an afternoon with me and my books."

Charity beamed.

"Thank you very much," she said, trying to speak quietly.

"And what does this little maid like?"

He put his hand on Hope's shoulder as he spoke; and she gave her golden hair a shake, as she looked up into his kind eyes.

"Oh," she said, with determined lips, "I shall be a doctor for animals, 'specially horses. I shall keep one to ride myself, and I shall go riding over the country and make all the sick animals well. I bandaged Dinah's paw the other day when she got her claw hurt, and Aunt Alice said I did it better than she did. And I would have loved to bind up Sandy's leg, but I wasn't asked."

"You're going to be a couple of useful women one day," said Sir George; "and they say in the next generation you're going to rule us all. Whilst your sister is reading my books, you can be visiting my stables. They're rather empty these days, but horses are easier to keep than oil, and I believe we have a rough pony who isn't required now to mow the lawn, and who might be ridden upon by a small girl."

Hope's eyes sparkled.

"Why, you've come along just like a fairy," she said, "only you're a man and not a woman."

"And can't a poor man be a fairy?"

"Yes," said Charity hastily, "of course you can, but I think men are generally magicians."

Sir George gave a nod.

"That's what I am, of course," he said. "Good-bye, I shall see you again soon."

He strode along the footpath, and the little girls watched him out of sight.

Charity drew a deep breath of delight.

"Think what Faith has missed. Oh, Hope, you think he really meant what he said?"

"I'm sure he did. His eyes looked so straight and firm, they didn't wobble at all!"

Then they went on picking up their sticks. And when they had got as much as they could carry, Charity said:

"Shall we go to the cottage to find Faith?"

"It's quite near," said Hope, "but we can't carry all this wood up there. Let her find her way home herself."

They retraced their steps, and when they had got outside the wood, they saw Faith running across the field to them.

She looked quite rosy and happy again. They were so full of their meeting with Sir George and had so much to tell her, that they did not ask her what she had been doing, but at last Faith said:

"Well, you've had a lovely time, but I wouldn't have missed my time for all the world."

"What have you been doing?"

"He took me to his cottage; it's smaller than ours, and he lives there all alone, only once a week his niece comes from the village to cook and clean for him. He has the darlingest kitchen with lovely china plates, and mugs and shells, and a stuffed owl, and pictures of hunting. He was a keeper when he was younger, to Sir George, not like a park-keeper; he used to shoot and take care of dear little pheasants. But now he looks after sheep and cattle. And he gave me a drink of milk, and then he sat and talked to me, and he told me of things I've never heard before!"

"And how is Sandy?" asked Hope.

"He is lying in a basket. Do you think Aunt Alice would let me go and see old Timothy again?"

Faith's eyes were shining. Her sisters laughed at her.

"We're going to Sir George's big house, it will be much more adventure than yours."

But Faith shook her head.

"I've had such a wonderful talk," she said.

Hope looked at her curiously, but said nothing. She and Faith were better friends when Charity was not present. Faith had many quaint fancies which Charity laughed at, but Hope never laughed at Faith when she was alone with her.

When they reached the Cottage, they found that Sir George had come and gone. Aunt Alice and Granny were still very busy unpacking and arranging the house according to their liking. But dinner was ready. Only boiled potatoes, and a piece of cold boiled bacon brought from town, but there was a rice pudding, and the children made a hearty meal, for the country air had made them hungry.

After it was over, Charity went upstairs with Granny to help her sort out some of their clothes and put them into the drawers and cupboards. Aunt Alice washed up the dinner things, and Hope and Faith helped her wipe them dry. Then she said they might go out into the orchard and play there till tea-time.

They went off delighted, and soon found a low apple tree which they climbed, and made themselves a comfortable seat amongst its branches. Then Hope said:

"Tell me more about you and Timothy this morning."

Fan looked very sweet and serious.

"You won't tell Charity, for she may laugh."

"No, I won't tell her. I knew you were keeping something back, from your face."

"Well, I said he lives there alone, but it's not quite true, for he doesn't. Somebody else lives with him. Do you know, Hope, he's been telling me of quite a new God?"

Faith dropped her voice to an awed whisper.

"Oh, Faith, how wicked! 'There is no God but One,'" quoted Hope glibly.

"It isn't, it's all in the Bible. I know God lives in heaven, and Jesus went back to heaven, but this is the God Who has His Home on earth now, and He's called 'The Comforter,' old Timothy said:

"'The Comforter lives with me. He ought to live with you, little lady, for He lives to dry all tears.'

"I was crying, I couldn't help it, at poor Sandy's leg! Did you know there was a God called the Comforter, Hope?"

Hope hesitated: "I believe you mean the Holy Spirit."

"But I thought the Holy Spirit was just a Thing like a clean heart," said Faith; "this Comforter is a real person, just like God and Jesus, and Jesus sent Him to take His place when He went away, because He said the world would be so sad, and Timothy says the sad people miss a lot when they don't know the Comforter, for it's the thing He likes best to do to dry their tears and make them happy. So I promised him when I cried next time, I would ask the Comforter to dry them up. And Timothy says He will come and live with any one of us, and make us good if we ask Him."

"Yes, that's the Holy Spirit," said Hope with assurance; "you ask Granny about it. You are so funny, Faith. I knew you hadn't got hold of a new God."

"His Name is 'The Comforter,'" said Faith decidedly; "Timothy told me so, and he is going to teach me about Him when I go to see him."

Then she lapsed into silence, looking dreamily up into the sky.

Suddenly she said:

"I told Timothy He must be specially for children, for grown-up people hardly ever cry; but Timothy says they're often very sad in their hearts, and nobody knows it but the Comforter."

"Well, we're not going to be sad," said Hope, beginning to swing herself to and fro on the apple branch; "I think it's going to be like fairyland here."

"But we shall have to do lessons," said Faith.

Lessons were a greater trial to Faith than to either of her sisters; and many a tear was shed over the spelling-book and the slate of sums.

"We shan't do lessons for a long time Aunt Alice said to Granny this morning. 'We'll let the children run wild for a bit. It won't hurt them, and then we shall see later about a school for them.' Running wild is so lovely. It means swinging on trees like this, and going into the woods and meeting adventures as we did this morning! Charity and I did best, for we're going to see ponies and books in a big house very soon."

"No," said Faith, shaking her dark curls; "mine is best, for I mean to get to know the Comforter if He will let me, and Timothy is going to show me how to do it."

CHAPTER III

AN INVITATION TO THE HALL

"REALLY Lady Melville is very kind," said Granny, opening a note which had been brought her one morning; "she wants the three children to spend this afternoon at the Hall."

The little girls clapped their hands with delight.

"Sir George didn't forget us. He said he would ask us."

"And shall we stay to tea?"

"And wear our best frocks?"

Aunt Alice laughed at their excitement.

"Yes, wear your best frocks and best manners, and do us credit," she said, but Granny added quietly:

"I used to be told that there were no best manners, for the best ought to be the only ones ever used by us."

It was a bright sunny afternoon, when the little girls set out. It was cold weather still, and they wore their navy serge coats and skirts with white muslin blouses underneath. As Granny watched them go out of the white gate, she said to Aunt Alice:

"I shall break my heart if we have to send them to the village school, they look such gentle little creatures. I always say that breeding tells, and if we are poor, we own some ancestors worth having!"

"Oh, mother dear, I am afraid birth is not of much value nowadays," said Aunt Alice laughing; "they will have to be working women when they grow up; we must not forget that."

Charity and Hope walked along with shining faces. Faith was more sober. She had a kind of feeling that she was not really wanted, only included with the others; and she was a little shy of people whom she had never seen. But the joy of walking through green fields, and of seeing for the first time in her life some tiny calves and foals, and of coming across some cowslips, quite compensated for the little forlorn feeling in her heart. Their Aunt Alice had pointed out the big house on the hill, and told them exactly how to reach it. Three fields had to be crossed, then they kept to a green lane, reached some cross roads, took the turning towards the right and arrived at some big iron gates in a stone wall, and a pretty lodge by the side.

They walked in at the gates, and up an avenue of chestnuts.

"It feels like coming to a fairy palace," said Charity; "it all seems just like a story book, doesn't it?"

The old stone house looked very quiet and still when they reached it. There was a wide flight of stone steps to go up and then a big stone porch to be crossed. Charity was reaching up on tiptoe to ring the great door bell, when the door opened and Sir George came suddenly out.

"Hullo!" he said cheerily. "You're in the nick of time! Which is the one who loves horses? Golden hair, isn't it? Come along with me, I'm just off to the stables, and I'll take you with me. Here, Pitman, take these young ladies to the drawing-room."

Hope followed Sir George delightedly whilst Charity and Faith were taken by an old butler across a big hall into a beautiful room with five or six windows, full of china and all kinds of valuable curiosities. A bright fire was burning, and in a chintz-covered easy chair by the side of it, sat Lady Melville, a book in her hand. She smiled sweetly at the children when she saw them:

"I have heard about you," she said. "Aren't there three of you?"

"Yes," said Charity. "But Hope has gone to see the horses with Sir George. I am Charity and this is Faith. Hope is the middle one of us."

"What pretty names!" said Lady Melville. She shook hands with Charity, but she drew Faith by both hands towards her and kissed her. "It is very kind of you to come and see us," she said; "for this is a dull house when my boys are away. Which is the one who loves books?"

"I do," said Charity, flushing.

Then Lady Melville rang the bell, and when her maid appeared she sent them upstairs with her to take off their hats and coats.

"It is only three o'clock," she said, "so we have a long day in front of us. When you have got rid of your walking things, perhaps Charity would like to go into the library and have a look at some of the books there; and Faith can come and talk to me."

Both little girls liked this arrangement. Faith thought it would be very easy to talk to such a sweet kind lady, and Charity was wild to get at the books.

They were awed by the big staircase and the many rooms they passed; but Lacy, the maid, was very pleasant to them.

"Her ladyship ought to have a little daughter of her own," she said; "it's wonderful how she dotes on girls. Because she has only boys, I suppose. That's the way of the world."

Then she showed them a beautiful oil painting in the corridor, a portrait of two rosy-faced, happy boys, in white cricketing flannels.

"That was painted a year ago. The artist stayed in the house whilst he did it. The tallest is Master Lionel, and the youngest Master Fairfax."

"I wish we had brothers," said Charity, "or that one of us had been a boy. I think I should like to have been the boy."

Then they were taken into a big bedroom, and Lacy smoothed their hair; and when they were ready, took them downstairs again. They passed the library on the way to the drawing-room, and Faith, as she peeped in, and saw the books which lined the walls from the floor to the ceiling, wondered how Charity dared take any one of them from their places. They looked as if they had been built into the walls to stay. But Charity's eyes sparkled.

"Can I look at any book I like?" she said.

Lacy shrugged her shoulders.

"If Sir George has given you leave, you can. This is his room. But I'll show you the books Master Fairfax likes. Master Lionel is no reader. Sir George has a shelf for them over here."

She took Charity to a corner of the room, and Charity sat down upon the floor at once, and began to take the books out of the shelves.

Then Faith was taken on to the drawing-room, where she found Lady Melville working at a lace pillow.

"I have put my book by," she said to Faith, with her sweet smile, "because we are going to talk together. I am not very strong just now, so I cannot walk about much, and when I am tired of reading, I make lace. I have a class in the village for making it, and some of the village girls are learning very quickly."

Faith sat down upon a little chair by Lady Melville's side and watched the bobbins flying to and fro between her white fingers with the greatest interest.

"Now tell me how you like your little cottage, and all about yourselves. Do you like coming to the country?"

"Oh, so very much!"

Faith clasped her small hands tightly in her quaint fashion.

"I didn't know," she said, looking up at Lady Melville with her soft brown eyes, "that it would be quite so beautiful. Mrs. Cox didn't like the country, she said, because there was nobody to talk to, but we have found lots of people already. Do you know a nice old man called Timothy who looks after sheep? He is a friend of mine."

"Yes, he was very ill last winter, and I went to see him more than once. I felt sorry for him living all by himself, and nobody to take care of him."

"But he doesn't live quite alone," said Faith softly. "He has the Comforter living with him. He told me so, and when he sits by the fire in the dark, he feels very close to Him, he told me."

Lady Melville looked at Faith very tenderly.

"Did he tell you that, dear?"

"Yes, he told me all about Him. Because he thought it would be a good thing if He lives with me. I don't know if He will come, but I've begun to ask Him in my prayers. Timothy says that tears bring Him very quickly, but we're so happy that I haven't had much to cry about yet. I expect He is waiting till I really want Him."

"I hope you won't find much to cry about here," said Lady Melville in a bright tone. "Tell me how you amuse yourselves. Are you fond of dolls?"

Faith smiled.

"Yes, I love mine. She's called Violet, but Hope has cut her arms and legs dreadfully, and sewed them up again, playing at operations. Charity doesn't care for dolls; she says they aren't alive, but I feel Violet is, when we're alone together. I dare say she seems stupid to people who don't know her, but she's all my own, and I understand her."

"Yes, that makes all the difference," said Lady Melville. Then Faith found herself telling her all about their life in London, and the school they went to, and how the girls laughed at their names, and how they hoped they would not have to go to the village school here.

"Aunt Alice doesn't like teaching lessons," said Faith, shaking her curly head, "so we don't know what will come to us. We have got to learn to be clever, Aunt Alice says, because when we grow up we must work for our living; but being clever is very difficult, and I don't think I shall ever learn it."

"What do you want to do when you grow up?" asked Lady Melville.

Faith's face grew downcast.

"I'm 'fraid I don' know. Aunt Alice says 'time enough yet' and 'something will come.' Charity and Hope have quite settled themselves. I think I'd rather be a mother with about ten little children, all girls, and mostly babies, that I could nurse. But Hope says that is silly, for you can't earn money when you're nursing babies!"

"Oh, yes, you can," said Lady Melville, touched by this old-fashioned, anxious-faced child; "you can be nurse in a hospital for sick babies, or you can be a governess and look after little children, or a nurse in a private house, or you can help in a holiday home or a convalescent home. If you love little children, you will find lots of places open to you when you grow up."

"Without my being very clever?" questioned Faith.

"Yes," said Lady Melville, "and perhaps you won't have to earn any money at all. Perhaps you will have a husband who will do it for you."

"I am rather frightened of men," confessed Faith, "except Timothy. I'm not a bit frightened of him."

Lady Melville laughed.

"Now we won't think any more of your grown-up life, but of how you are going to enjoy yourself in the country. And I am going to think of this problem of lessons. I know a very nice girl about five miles from here. She used to be a teacher in a big London High School, but she wasn't very strong, and had to come to the country to live. She takes care of her invalid mother, but I believe she would be able to cycle over to you, and give you some lessons every morning. Would you like that? I think I must talk to your Granny about it."

Faith was not sure whether she would like it. And in a moment she looked up into Lady Melville's face rather coaxingly.

"You won't hurry about it too fast, will you, please? For Aunt Alice says we can have holidays till she thinks of something, and it is so lovely not having lessons. The children in Heaven don't have lessons, do they? I do so often wish I was playing with them."

"I don't know, I am sure," said Lady Melville, trying to look very grave; "sometimes I think all the lessons we have failed to learn on earth will be finished in Heaven."

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Faith; and then Lady Melville laughed so brightly that Faith laughed too.

And at that minute Sir George put his head in at the door.

"We've done the stables," he said, "but after lunch there is going to be a riding lesson up and down the drive, and the pony wants to see which young lady sticks on his back in best style. Where is Carrots?"

Faith laughed gleefully.

"That's what she's always called at school. She's reading all your books in the book-room."

"I must have a look at her."

Sir George disappeared.

"Do you think you could find a name for me?" questioned Faith wistfully. "We do hate our names so?"

"Oh, I think it's the sweetest little name!" said Lady Melville. "I should be very proud of it if I had it. I think I should try to live up to it."

"How?" asked Faith.

"Well, what does it mean?"

"Tell me."

"Faith is the belief or trust we have in anyone. Who do you trust most?"

Faith thought hard.

"Granny, and Aunt Alice."

"Nobody else?"

Faith nodded.

"Yes, God."

"Then, darling, if you have faith in God, you have everything that you need in this world and in the next. Never doubt God, He will never fail, it is only our faith that fails. And you are called Faith, so you can always remind yourself by your name of the faith you must have in God."

"And the Comforter," said Faith very softly to herself. She did not quite understand Lady Melville's words, but she understood when she grew bigger.

There was no more quiet talk, for tea was brought in, and Sir George came back, leading by the hand both Charity and Hope, who looked perfectly radiant.

And then they had a very merry tea. Sir George delighted Faith by calling her "Curly."

From that time the little girls were always called "Carrots," "Goldenhair," and "Curly," and they tried very hard to make everyone else use those names. After tea, the pony came round, and each one of them in turn had a ride on him. Hope proved to be the most fearless rider. Faith tried to enjoy it, but she had to fight with her fears, and she was relieved when her turn was over.

When half-past six came, three very happy children walked back over the fields home. Their tongues went fast.

Charity had found an old book of Grecian fables and stories which perfectly entranced her. She told the others of some of them as she walked along.

"And Sir George says I can come to his library any day I like and read there."

"And I can ride the pony every day if I like," said Hope. "Oh, isn't it a glorious place with so many dogs and horses?"

"I like the horse," said Charity. "I mean to get rich when I grow up. I shall make myself rich like other people do. I shall save every penny I earn and put it into the bank and buy a house like Sir George's, and have a big library and books just like his."

"But you always said you would keep a book shop."

"I shan't now. I shall have a library."

"I liked the house," said little Faith, "at least it was too big and grand for me, but I didn't mind it as much as I thought I would, for Lady Melville was so nice. I loved her best. I should like to live with her always, with her and with old Timothy!"