by L. T. Meade
anexceedingly proud girl to be his daughter."
"Oh, I love him very much," I said; but then I added a littletremblingly, "My brother Alex has sometimes told me that father is agreat scholar, but I didn't know--I didn't understand that all theworld--I mean that other people knew about him."
"Bless the child!" said Miss Donnithorne. "She has been brought up, soto speak, in the dark. You are a little mole, Dumps. You have keptyour eyes shut. Some day you will realise what the Professor really is.He has a bigger brain than any other man I happen to know about. He isthe foremost man in a most advanced realm of thought; his powers ofimagination are great. Did he live in another age, he might have been asecond Milton. You ought to be very, very proud indeed to be hisdaughter."
It was thus she spoke to me, and so I quite forgot about the dark-bluecostume, and accompanied her to Sunday-school, feeling composed and atthe same time proud.
The Sunday-school was a very nice one, and the children were theordinary sort of children one meets in the country. The superintendentof the school came up and shook hands with me. He said he was veryproud to meet Professor Grant's daughter. It was quite amazing--Fairyland was growing more dazzling each moment. It was not only that Iwas lifted right out of my ugly surroundings, but that I, plain as Iwas, was turned into a sort of princess. Surely no princess had everworn a more lovely dress; and surely no princess could hold her headhigher, if what Miss Donnithorne said about my father was true.
In church I regret to say that I more than once stroked the grey furmuff and softly felt the texture of my dress. But after church was overfresh excitement was in store for me.
Hermione Aldyce was waiting in the church porch for us. She was alone.I don't in the least remember what she wore. She was very tall and veryslim, and I am sure she was very young, for she wore her hair in twogreat plaits down her back. Her hair was dark-brown, and her eyes wereexactly the same colour. She had a face with a pale, creamy complexion,and when she smiled she showed two rows of little even teeth, white aspearls.
"Dear Miss Donnithorne," she said. "And is this Dumps?"
I could not feel indignant, even though I resented being called Dumps bya total stranger, for Hermione's eyes had a sort of pleading expressionin them, and she seemed sorry the moment she had said the word.
"Of course I ought to call you Miss Grant," she said.
"No, no," I answered; "I am Rachel Grant. Nobody in all the world everyet called me Miss Grant."
"Is the carriage waiting, Hermione?" said Miss Donnithorne. "It is coldhere in the porch."
"Yes," replied Hermione. "And father and mother have not come. Fatherwould have had to walk back, for we could not all go in the carriage,and so mother decided to stay with him. Father has a cough--not much--nothing to speak of."
"Come then, dear, we will go at once," said Miss Donnithorne.
She got into the carriage first; then I was desired to step in, andnotwithstanding my smart dress, I am afraid I was very awkward as I gotinto that carriage. Miss Donnithorne and I had the seat facing thehorses, and Hermione sat opposite to us. It seemed to me as though weflew over the country; the whole feeling was too delicious--the softlypadded cushions, the rhythmic beat of the horses' feet. The girl whowas not fortunate enough to possess a father like Professor Grant hadsome compensations! Such a carriage! Such a nice face! The girlherself impressed me in the most marvellous way. As to the dreadfulSwans, I am afraid I gave them anything but kind thoughts at thatmoment.
By-and-by we got to the house. Then Hermione took possession of me.
"You are my guest," she said. "Come up and I'll show you my room."
We ran upstairs together. I was feeling so very good that I did notthink for a moment that anything but good could befall me during thatdelightful visit. Hermione took me first to her bedroom, and then intoa little sitting-room which opened out of it.
"I do my lessons here," she said, "and read here, and entertain myfriends. I haven't many friends. I cannot tell you how interested Iwas at the thought of your coming to-day."
"Were you indeed?" I answered.
I wondered what she would have thought if I had come to visit her in thebrown skirt and red blouse.
"You must take off your pretty jacket," she said.
"What a sweet frock that is! In what shop did you buy it?"
"I didn't buy it at all," I said.
I felt my cheeks crimsoning. There was a kind of naughty pride in methat would not tell her the truth that Miss Donnithorne had given it tome.
"I suppose your governess, or whoever takes care of you, arranges yourclothes," said Hermione in a careless tone. "Well, it is sweetlypretty, and so becoming! And what nice hair you have!"
"Nice hair?" I responded.
"Why, of course it is nice; it is so thick and such a good colour. Itwill look very handsome when you have it arranged in the grown-upstyle."
"I don't want to be grown-up," I said. "I'd like to be a child always--that is, if I could have birthdays all the same."
"Do you think so much of your birthdays?" said Hermione, leaning upagainst the window-sill as she spoke, and twiddling with a paper-knife."I think they're rather tiresome. I think birthdays are overdone."
"You wouldn't if you knew what my birthday was like," I said.
"Oh, then," she exclaimed, "you must tell me all about it."
I was just about to explain, wondering if I could get her to see thevivid picture of the bright day, the presents, the anxious little girl,whose heart had been aching for so many long months just because of thisglorious time, when a great gong sounded through the house, and Hermionesaid, "Oh! we can't talk at present; it is dinner-time. Come along,Rachel; come downstairs."
Squire Aldyce was a very aristocratic-looking old gentleman, and hiswife was the sort that one would describe as a very fine lady indeed. Idid not like her half as much as I liked him. He was quite sweet. Hecongratulated me on being my father's daughter, and asked when theProfessor was going to bring out another pamphlet on some appallinglylearned subject, the name of which I could not possibly pronounce. Isaid I did not know, and a minute or two later we found ourselvessitting round the dinner-table.
There were a few other guests, and I was introduced to them as MissRachel Grant.
"The daughter of the well-known Professor," said the Squire after eachof these formalities.
The ladies did not take much notice of me, but the gentlemen stared atme for a minute or two, and one man said, "I congratulate you, littlegirl. To be so closely related to so great a man is an honour, and Ihope you appreciate it."
Dear old father! I did not know that the glories and laurels he had wonwere to follow me, such a very plain little girl, to such a grand house.
When dinner came to an end we again went upstairs, and Hermione showedme her treasures, and forgot to ask me about my birthdays. We werehaving a long and very serious talk, in which she spoke of books andmusic and the delights of the higher sort of education, when I broke inby saying suddenly, "You don't understand me a bit."
"What in the world do you mean? What is the matter?" she exclaimed.
"Because I don't love study, or books, or anything of that sort. Ithink," I added, my eyes filling with tears, "that I have come here as asham, for I am not the least morsel like father--not the least."
"Perhaps you resemble your mother," said Hermione in her very calm way.
I had quite loved her up to now, for she had such beautiful manners andsuch a nice face; but now when she made this reply I looked at hersteadily, and saw that, just because of her wealth and high birth andfine clothes, her knowledge of life was limited. She could not seethings from my point of view.
"I don't think I am the least like my darling mother," I said, "for shewas beautiful."
"And don't you remember her?"
"I don't remember her. If she were alive I should be quite a differentsort of girl. But oh, Hermione! sometimes at night I think of her justwhen I am d
ropping off to sleep. She comes to me when I am asleep. Tothink of any girl having a mother! Oh, it must be the height of blissand of joy!"
Hermione stared at me for a minute; then she said, "I don't understand.I love my father best."
"Do you?" I said, a little shocked.
"Of course you cannot possibly love your mother's memory as you do yourfather, for he is such a great man--a man whom all the world is proudof."
"But he is only a teacher in a school," I could not help saying.
"He could be anything; but he will not leave the school. He loves toinstruct the boys. But it isn't for
