tell you, for I've thought so much about it – all these kinds are different, surely? And one can fancy good and nice things coming out of them without getting one's ideas muddled. That's one thing I'm going to be very particular about with my children – I'm going to explain to them well about the two kinds of being naughty, so that they won't get all into a puzzle about it. I think I even shall settle to have two kinds of words for them; for I do know, I am sorry to say, what it is to be really naughty too. Just a few times in my life I can remember the dreadful feeling of real, boiling anger at some one – I had it several times to Miss Evans, and once or twice to – no, I won't say; it's all so different now. And once I told what wasn't true, quite knowing all about it. But I never did it again. The horribleness of the feeling was too bad, and in that way my naughtiness did me good!
Our plan for getting Miss Evans to help us to a holiday hadn't much chance, as you shall hear.
When we got to the school-room we found she hadn't come, though it was a quarter to ten, and she generally came at half-past nine.
"Everything seems going topsy-turvy to-day," said I, seating myself on the high guard, and swinging my feet about. It was a very dangerous seat, as the guard was anything but steady, and if it toppled over, there was no saying but that you might be landed in the middle of the fire. "Miss Evans late – and us going away to a place we never heard of before! It's almost as nice as if the sun had forgotten to get up – what fun that would be!"
"I don't think that would be fun at all," said Gerald. "I'd much rather he should forget to go to bed some night. Which would you rather, Tib?"
But Tib wasn't listening. She was pressing her face against the window, her thoughts intent upon primroses again.
"Hush!" she said; "I'm sure I heard him. He can't be far off yet, or else it's another man. Listen." And as she held up her finger there came softly through the distance again the "All a growing, all a blowing."
"I wonder why things seem so much prettier far off," said Tib, thoughtfully. But just then the cry came again, and this time unmistakably nearer. Off darted Tib. "I will try to get Fanny to catch him," she said; and in five minutes she was back again in triumph.
"Fanny wasn't to be found, of course," she said. "But that good Liddy poked up the little page-boy – he's new, so he hasn't learnt to be impudent yet – and sent him down the street. We shall have the primroses directly. Oh, I say, Gussie and Gerald" – and Tib flung herself down on the hearth-rug, and rolled herself over, as if she were on a lawn of beautiful fresh grass – "just fancy if we were in the country, and could gather primroses for ourselves – as many as ever we wanted. Wouldn't it be lovely?"
"Perhaps we may – perhaps they won't be over when we go to that place," said Gerald.
"I wonder when exactly we shall go?" I said. And then our thoughts all returned to Rosebuds, and what our grandfather had said about it.
"I wonder why he doesn't want us to make friends with any of the neighbours?" I said. "I think it's rather crabby of him. There may be some nice children there, and we never have any playfellows."
"I suppose he's got some reason for it," said Tib. "Perhaps the people who live there are all very common. You know, grandpapa is right to be particular about us."
"I don't think it is that. I think he has some other reason. Tib, do you know," I exclaimed, as a curious idea flashed across my mind, "I have an idea that – "
But I was interrupted before I could say more by the entrance of old Liddy, bringing the primroses. They were not very big bunches, but they were very sweet and fresh, and we all sniffed at them in a way that must have astonished the poor things. Nurse smiled at us.
"I'd like to see you gathering them for yourselves, my dears," she said.
"Well, we shall, perhaps, if we go to the country so soon. Do you know that place where we're going to, Liddy?" asked Tib.
She shook her head – she had come to us from mamma's family, and she didn't know much about the Ansdells.
"No, Miss Tib. I never heard of it till your grandpapa told me last night about getting you ready. And that reminds me – Bland told me just now that his master forgot to say Miss Evans wouldn't be coming to-day."
"Miss Evans not coming to-day!" we all three exclaimed in the greatest astonishment, for it must be confessed Miss Evans was the most exact person possible. "Is she never coming any more, Liddy?"
Nurse shook her head.
"Nay, my dear, how should I know? I only heard what Bland said. Miss Evans isn't coming with us to the country, master said."
"But he's going to get another," said Gerald. "Will she be just exactly the same – will she have a big freckle on her cheek, and will she nip up her mouth the same, do you think, nursey?"
We all burst out laughing at poor Gerald.
"It would quite spoil Rosebuds to have the big freckle there," said Tib. "But, nursey, do you know grandpapa says we're not to make any friends there, and not to know anybody?"
This time Liddy nodded her head.
"I know, my dears. Well, it can't be helped. It'll be no duller for you there than at Ansdell Friars, any way, and it's a beautiful country for walks, cook says. She comes from somewhere that way."
"But why does grandpapa not want us to know anybody there – do you know, nursey? Does cook know, perhaps?"
Liddy looked uncomfortable.
"My dears, there may be reasons for many things that you're too young to understand," she said. "If your grandpapa had wanted to give his reasons to you, he'd have done so himself; and if he didn't wish to give you any, it would ill become me to be telling you over any fancies or chatter I might hear about master's affairs."
Tib's eyes grew very round.
"I do believe there's a mystery," she said. "Oh, how beautiful! Nursey, I'm sure you know something. What fun it would be if there was really a mystery, and if we were to find it out. Gussie, do listen."
But I wouldn't listen just that minute. The thought which had been put out of my mind by nurse coming in with the primroses had come back again.
"Wait a minute, Tib," I said, "I've got an idea. I'm only going down to the library to fetch a book. I may go as Miss Evans isn't coming;" and off I flew.
The library was not a large room – indeed, it was a good deal smaller than grandpapa's study – but it held a great many books. It was nothing but books, for there were shelves all round it, packed as close as they could hold. In one corner were all the books that grandpapa allowed us to read. He had shown them to us himself, and simply told us we might read any of them we liked, provided we always put them back again in their places, but that we mustn't ever take any other books without asking his leave. That was one thing grandpapa was very nice about; though he was so cold and strict, he always trusted us, and never doubted our words. I'm sure that is the best way to make children quite truthful. Except that one time I've told you of, I don't remember any of us telling a story. It didn't seem to come into our heads to do so – we had been with grandpapa ever since we could remember, and he had always been the same. We had never known what it was to be loved or petted, except by Liddy, for both papa and mamma had died of a fever in Spain, and we had been sent home with old nurse. (I suppose I should have explained this at the beginning; but it doesn't matter.)
Well, I ran down to the library and went straight to our own corner. They were funny-looking books – mostly rather shabby, for they had been children's books for two, and some of them for three, generations. It took me a little while to find the one I was in search of; indeed, I wasn't quite sure which it was, and I had to take out several, and open them to see the page at the beginning before I got the right one. It was a small book; the name of it was Ornaments Discovered, and on the first leaf was written the name of the person it had belonged to. There were two names, but the first had been so scored through that one could only distinguish the first letter of it, which was "R," and the second name was our name and grandpapa's name, "Ansdell." And lower down on the page was the date, and the name of a place just above it. But this name also had been scored