by L. T. Meade
no one to write to me, and therefore no one ever did write. So aletter addressed to Miss Rachel Grant made my heart beat. I took it upand turned it round and round, and looked at it back and front, and didall those strange things that a person will do to whom a letter is agreat rarity and something precious.
I heard the boys tramping into the house at that moment, and I thrustthe letter into my pocket. Presently father came in, and we sat down toour midday meal. Luckily for me, neither father nor the boys knewanything about the letter; but it was burning a hole in my pocket, and Iwas dying for the boys to return to school, and for father to go back tohis classes, so that I might have an opportunity of opening the preciousepistle.
Just as father was leaving the room he turned back to me and said, "Youmay accept it if you like."
"What, father?" I said in some astonishment.
"When it is offered to you, you may accept it."
He stooped and, to my great astonishment, kissed me on the forehead.Then he left the room, and a minute or two later left the house.
What could he mean? Would the letter explain? Was there anything atall in the strange words of Agnes and Rita Swan?
Of course, any ordinary girl would have relieved her curiosity bytearing open the letter; but I was somewhat slow and methodical in mymovements, and wished to prolong my luxury as much as possible. I hadthe whole long afternoon in which to learn a few stupid lessons, andthen to do nothing.
Just then Hannah came up to remove the lunch-things. She seemed so surethat I would tackle her about her age that she had stuck cotton-woolinto her right ear. I therefore did not speak at all; I was mostanxious for her to depart. At last she did so, banging the doorfiercely behind her. I heard her tramping off with her tray, and then Iknew that my moment of bliss had arrived.
I got a knife and very deliberately cut the flap of the envelope open atthe top. I then slipped my hand into the precious enclosure and tookout its contents. I opened the sheet of paper; I could read writingquite well, and this writing was plain and quite intelligible to anyordinary eyes.
On the top of the sheet of paper were written the words, "HedgerowHouse, near Chelmsford, Essex," and the letter ran as follows:
"My dear Rachel or Dumps,--I want to know if you will come on Saturday next to pay me a little visit until Tuesday evening. I have heard that it is half-term holiday at your school, and should like you to see my pretty house and this pretty place. I believe I can give you a good time, so trust you will come.--Yours sincerely, Grace Donnithorne.
"P.S.--In case you say yes, I will expect you by the train which leaves Liverpool Street at ten o'clock in the morning. I shall be waiting with the pony and cart at Chelmsford at eleven o'clock, and will drive you straight to Hedgerow House.
"P.S. 2.--I have a great many pets. I trust you will be nice about them. Don't fear my little dog; his bark is worse than his bite.
"P.S. 3.--Your clothes will do; don't bother about getting a fresh wardrobe."
This extraordinary letter caused a perfect tumult in my heart. I hadnever gone on a visit in my life. I really was a very stranded sort ofgirl. Hitherto I had had no outlets of any sort; I was just Dumps, asquat, rather plain girl, who knew little or nothing of the world--aneglected sort of girl, I have no doubt; but then I had no mother.
A warm glow came all over me as I read the letter. The half-termholiday had not been looked forward to with any feelings of rapture byme. I could well guess what, under ordinary circumstances, wouldhappen. I should be indoors all the morning as well as all theafternoon, for the half-term holiday was so planned that it should notin any way clash with the boys' half-term holiday. If Alex and Charleyhad had a holiday at the same time, I might have coaxed one of them atleast to come for a walk with me in Regent's Park, or to take me to theBritish Museum, or to the Zoo, or to some other sort of London treat;but I shouldn't be allowed to go out alone, and at present I was not inthe humour to ask either Agnes or Rita Swan to entertain me. Now I needask nobody, for I was going away on a visit. Of course, I understood atlast the meaning of father's words, "You may accept it;" though itseemed strange at the time, now I knew all about it, and my excitementwas so great that I could scarcely contain myself.
The first business was to answer the precious letter. I sat down andreplied that I should be delighted to come to Miss Grace Donnithorne onthe following Saturday, that I would be sure to be at Liverpool Streetin good time to catch the train, that I adored pets, and was not at allafraid even of barking dogs. I did not mind going in a shabby dress,and above all things I hoped she would call me Rachel, and not Dumps.
Having written my letter, which took me a long time, for I wasunaccustomed to writing of that sort, I got an envelope and addressed itto Miss Grace Donnithorne, Hedgerow House, near Chelmsford, Essex, andthen went out and dropped it into the nearest pillar-box. When Ireturned the afternoon had fled and it was time for tea.
Father came in to tea. This was unexpected; he had not often time toleave his classes and rush across to the house to have tea; but he camein on this occasion, and when he saw me in the parlour bending over thewarm fire making toast, he said at once, "Have you accepted it?"
"Then you know all about it, father?" I exclaimed. "Oh yes," he said,with a grave and yet queer smile trembling for an instant on his lipsand then vanishing.
"I thought that must be what you meant, and I have accepted it," I said."I mean about going to Miss Grace Donnithorne's."
"Yes, child; it is very kind of her to ask you."
"Yes, isn't it, father? And she is so nice and considerate; she says Imay go in my shabby clothes."
"Your shabby clothes, Rachel!" he replied, putting on his spectacles andlooking at me all over. "Your shabby clothes! Why should they beshabby?"
"Well, father," I answered, "they are not very smart. You know youhaven't given me a new dress for over a year, and my best pale-blue,which I got the summer before last, is very short in the skirt, and alsoin the sleeves. But never mind," I continued, as he looked quitetroubled; "I'll do; I know I'll do."
He looked at his watch.
"I declare," he said, "this will never answer. I don't wish mydaughter, Professor Grant's daughter, to go away on a visit, and of allpeople to Miss Grace Donnithorne, shabby. Look here, Dumps, can thesethings be bought to hand?"
"What do you mean, father?"
He took up a portion of my skirt.
"Things of that sort--can they be bought ready to put on?"
"Oh, I expect so, father."
"They're to be found in the big shops, aren't they?"
"Yes, yes," I said warmly, for it seemed to me that a new vista ofwonderful bliss was opening out before me. "Of course they are. Wecould go to--to Wallis's shop at Holborn Viaduct. I have been theresometimes with the boys, and I've seen all sorts of things in thewindows."
"Then go upstairs, put on your hat and jacket immediately, and I'll takeyou there. You shall not go shabby to Miss Grace Donnithorne's."
Wonder of wonders! I rushed up to my room; I put on my short, very muchworn little jacket, and slipped my hat on my head, thrust my hands intomy woollen gloves, and, lo! I was ready. I flew down again to father.He looked hard at me.
"But, after all, you _are_ quite well covered," he said. It hadcertainly never before dawned upon his mind that a woman wanted to bemore than, as he expressed it, covered.
"But, father," I said, "you can be shabbily covered and prettilycovered. That makes all the difference; doesn't it, father?"
"I don't know, child; I don't know. When I read in the great works ofSophocles--"
He wandered off into a learned dissertation. I was accustomed to thesewanderings of his, and often had to pull him back.
"I'm ready," I said, "if you are."
"Then come along," was his remark.
When the Professor got out of doors he walked very fast indeed. Hewalked at such a fearful pace that I had nearly to run to keep up withhim. Bu
t at last we found ourselves at Wallis's. There my fatherbecame extremely masterful. He said to the shopman who came to meethim, "I want new garments for this young lady. Show me some, please--some that will fit--those that are ready-made."
We were taken into a special department where all sorts of dresses wereto be found. Now, I had my own ideas about clothes, which by-and-bywould turn out quite right and satisfactory; but father's ideas were tooprimitive for anything. He disliked my interfering; he would notconsult me. In the end I was furbished up with a long brown skirt whichreached to my feet, and a dark-red blouse. My father bought thesegarments because he said they felt weighty and would keep out the cold.He desired
