IT was a beautiful morning; Selina and Matilda had been allowed to breakfast at Woodlands, and were to return to Elmgrove with Leila after a visit to Peggy Dobie’s cottage, for the old gardener had promised to be there by ten o’clock with the bee-hive, and he was faithful to his word, for, as they reached the cottage, they found Peggy opening the little wicket-gate leading to the garden, to admit him and his precious burden; the hive was safely placed in a sunny, sheltered corner, close to the green turf seat which Leila had erected for Peggy, and to witness her joy with the whole arrangement was delightful. She placed herself on the turf seat, and with her hands clasped firmly together on her knees, she kept gazing on the hive in a perfect ecstasy of delight.

“Weel, my bairns,” she exclaimed, “you hae surely entered into a compact to spoil the auld woman all thegither. If there was a wish in my heart, amang all the grand things, and the wonderfu’ blessings that surround me, it was for a bee’s skep; it is no’ to be told the love I hae for thae creatures, they will be friends to me, and company to me, and example too, for they are a weel principled, upright set, never leaving their ain house, but for the useful work o’ the day; and sae blythe and contented, for a constant singing that bonnie sang amang the flowers, that’s just music to my ears. Can ony mortal man, or woman either, hae a pleasanter employment than just to sit down afore a bee’s skep, and tak observation o’ their wonderfu’ ways? and is there nae honourable mention made o’ the work o’ their hands in the very Bible itsel’, Deuteronomy thirty-second chapter, thirteenth verse: ‘He made him ride on the high places of the earth, that he might eat the incense of the fields, and he made him to suck honey out of the rock.’ And in the eighty-second Psalm, sixteenth verse: ‘He should have fed them also with the finest of wheat, and with honey out of the rock should I have satisfied thee.’ Na, na, it’s no thae jams and jellies, and sic articles o’ man’s contrivance, that ye hear tell o’ them, but it’s the handiwork o’ thae wonderfu’ creatures that’s had in honour; and I maun just end, as I began, and say to you, my dear bairns, that you could na hae given me a greater compliment than this bonnie bee’s skep.”

“But, Peggy,” Matilda observed, “we did not give it you, it was Cousin Leila; she saved up her money to buy it for you; we only came to see your joy.”

“Oh, but it is a dear bairn,” Peggy said, looking fondly at Leila, “and sae generous, and sae thoughtfu’ for her years. Weel, I am no just the woman I was, for my head’s often unco confused now, and my memory’s no o’ the best since that fearfu’ journey; but surely I’ll forget my ainsel, afore I forget all she has done for me.”

“Don’t say that,” Leila said anxiously, “don’t say you are not just the same; you are looking as well as you ever did now, and you must be quite happy and cheery,—I don’t like to see you look grave. We have never been grave since you came back, every day as merry and cheery as can be; and you have never told us yet if you saw all your friends in comfort before you came away from Scotland, and if you enjoyed yourself with them very much.”

“And did I no’, Miss Leila? ’Deed, ’tis no possible to say the pleasant tea drinkings I had afore I came away; but the very pleasantest of all was the last night but ane afore I got into the awfu’ ship. It was at my cousin, Mrs Brown’s, and nae strangers but my ain kith and kind. There was, forby hersel, just four o’ us. There was mysel, that’s ane; and there was the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and there was Johnny, man, that’s three; tuts, but there was four o’ us. There was Johnny, man, that’s ane; and there was the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and there was mysel, that’s three,—but there was four o’ us; weel, I’ll begin wi’ mysel this time. There was mysel, that’s ane; and the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and Johnny, man, that’s three; preserve me, for I am clean stupid all thegither! There was Johnny, man, that’s ane; and there was the twa Dobies, that’s twa; and there was mysel, that’s three,—and if I am no at mysel again. Weel, and I maun gie it up all thegither; but I am morally certain there was just four of us.”

The young people were in such fits of laughter that they could give Peggy no assistance whatever in this mysterious calculation; and Peggy herself joined heartily in the laugh, only remarking that they might see now that sometimes she was no just sae clear as she used to be, but that ony way it was a most pleasant party, and that there was just four o’ them.

They could have remained for ever talking with her, and, as Matilda observed, had received most useful instruction in arithmetic, a far better way of adding up than she had been taught; but there were other lessons to be attended to, and most unwillingly they bid good-bye to Peggy, and proceeded on their way home. Leila, however, observed that it would be almost as near to return by the village; she wished, so much, she said, to ask Dame Burton how Lizzy was going on, and it was so pleasant to see the little things running to meet them; besides, she added, as they had a half holiday, they would still be home in time—so to the village they went. By the time they reached Dame Burton’s cottage they had quite a little troop of rosy, laughing children following them, quite eager to be talked to and noticed; but Lizzy was not among them, nor did they see her with her mother on entering the house. Leila inquired for her, and hoped she had been going on well. Dame Burton shook her head. “Oh, Miss Howard,” she said, “Lizzy gives me much vexation of spirit, and I don’t know what course to take with that child. I have a kind neighbour, who did much for me in a long illness, and it’s well my part to be kind to her now; she has an old mother, who is not able to get up very early, and at times, when this friend of mine has any work to do which takes her out of her house, I send in Lizzy to help the old woman on with her clothes, and to be company to her; I will not say that she is a very kindly old woman, she may give a sharp enough answer now and then to the children, but is that an excuse for what Lizzy did, and for the sight I saw?”

“But what did you see?” Matilda eagerly inquired. “You have not told us.”

“What did I see, miss? I saw the poor old woman sitting shaking on her chair with indignation and rage, her flannel petticoat tied round her neck, she neither able to stir hand or foot, and Lizzy off to her play!”

They all felt this act to be of a most atrocious nature, but the picture of the old woman tied up, as it were, in a flannel bag was too much, and the difficulty of restraining their laughter was very great; Leila struggled hard for composure: “It was very dreadful,” she said; “but where is Lizzy now?”

“She is not far off,” Dame Burton answered, in a loud tone, as if she wished to be overheard by some one; “not far off, young ladies, and she is experiencing (as you shall see) a little of what she made other people suffer; but she is young, I tell her, and better able to bear it.” She threw open the door of the adjoining room, and there sat little Lizzy, propped up on a high stool in the middle of the floor, her little flannel petticoat tied round her neck, and her little face no longer dimpled with its accustomed smiles, but swelled with weeping; her look of shame and helpless distress, when she saw them enter, was too much; Leila could not stand it, she covered her face with her hands.

Selina spoke aside for a few minutes to Dame Burton; “You will not forget to send her to Elmgrove,” they heard her say.

“No, Miss Stanley; and I hope you may be able to make more impression on her than I can,” was her answer. Selina, then turning round to where the little culprit sat, undid the string of the little flannel petticoat, took it off, wiped Lizzy’s eyes gently with her pocket-handkerchief, and lifting her down from the high stool, led her to her mother. The poor child was weeping bitterly. She appeared most penitent, and as it seemed better that she should at that moment be left alone with her mother, the young people quitted the cottage.

In giving her old nurse an account of her day, which was Leila’s general custom, she mentioned what had taken place with regard to Lizzy, and Amy, who was present, almost started off her chair with astonishment and indignation. “And is it possible,” she said, “that she could treat an old woman in that way? Oh, how very dreadful!”

“Yes,” Nurse answered, “you may well be surprised and shocked, Amy, for it would be long before you would act in such a manner. You have always had a becoming respect for your elders, and shown a quietness and discretion above your years. And now, Miss Leila, this should be an awful warning to you; you see to what the love of play may lead, and must understand now why I always tried to root the evil out of your heart, and to settle you down to your work with serious reflection; and you are far from what I could wish yet, you still give me many an anxious thought. There it was but the other day, when I gave you that collar to trim; any well brought up young lady would have taken an interest in having such a beautiful edging to sew on, and would have arranged it properly in quarters, and pinned it before her hand, but there were you rumpling it on as if it were a rag, putting all the fulness in the middle, not a thought of how you were to turn the corners. Did it ever strike you that that collar never could have been ironed? Oh, Miss Leila, try to think more deeply of those things, before it is too late.”

“But, Nurse,” Leila said, in a deprecating tone of voice, “though I am not very fond of work, I am sure I never would have tied you up in a flannel bag!”

Nurse drew up her little fat round figure in a dignified manner. “Look at me, Miss Leila, am I the sort of person to be tied up in a flannel bag?”

Leila thought it would be difficult.

Nurse continued,—“No, Miss Leila, I have always brought you up in proper habits of respect; but it was not of flannel bags we were talking, but of that want of serious reflection when you take a piece of work into your hands; there, about that very collar, you had been quiet for a time, and I thought had settled down to it, when you suddenly broke out with—‘Oh, Nurse! look at those clouds; did you ever see any thing so beautiful? they are like magnificent mountains, bathed in golden light.’ What sort of nonsense was that, Miss Leila, to be seeing mountains in the clouds, instead of the work that was before you; and do you remember when I made you turn your back to the window, and sit with your face opposite to me, how you kept tapping your foot on the ground with anger and indignation? but I am not wishing to vex you at this moment, for I am sure the awful lesson of this day will make a proper impression; so sit down and let me see how quickly and how nicely you will stitch round this pocket that I have cut out for you, for you know I have no opinion of the new fangled way of bringing up young ladies not to wear pockets, and with every thing belonging to them to be hunted for all over the house.”

“Yes, Nurse,” Leila answered, “give it me, and you shall see how nicely I will do it; but when I told Lydia Mildmay that to wear a pocket was highly respectable, she laughed at me very much.”

“And did she really, Miss Leila? then I am sure she is a most improper and dangerous companion for you; and, indeed, I thought as much that day I saw her sailing about, sweeping all the carpets with those long flounces of hers. Now here is your work; sit down, and let me see how busy you can be.”

Leila seated herself. After a few minutes’ silence, she said, rather doubtingly,—“But, Nurse, would not bags be better?”

“Bags!” Nurse repeated in a displeased tone; “bags, Miss Leila, seem to run strangely in your head to-day. And why should bags be better?”

“Because,” Leila answered, “long ago they made use of bags.”

“They? of whom are you speaking. Who made use of bags?”

“The people of Nineveh. I saw them—they were little square bags; it was more than three thousand years ago.”

Nurse looked up with a startled expression. “Saw the people of Nineveh! three thousand years ago! Oh, Miss Leila! speak to me again; what are you talking of? Do you feel any thing particular? what is the matter with you?”

Leila burst into a fit of laughter. “Why should I feel any thing particular because I saw the people of Nineveh and they had bags? I saw them on the bas reliefs.”

“Bas leaf!” Nurse repeated, still more frightened. “Oh, Amy! she is not speaking English! What has come over the dear child?”

Leila struggled hard to regain her composure, for she saw her good old nurse was really getting seriously alarmed. “Nurse,” she said, “don’t be frightened; I know quite well what I am saying. I saw the figures of the people of Nineveh, carved on stones, at the British Museum. You know papa took me there, and he told me these stones had lain in the earth more than three thousand years. You know Nineveh was overthrown. Do you remember the prophecy in the Bible? it says, ‘Nineveh is laid waste, who will bemoan her?’ And it was laid waste—it was overthrown—they are digging it up again now.”

“Well, Miss Leila, I may not be a good judge of such matters, but I think they had better let that alone, and not be bringing their evil deeds to light again. You know the Bible also says,—‘Woe to the bloody city, it is full of lies and robbery;’ and we are told to flee from it.”

“Then I am afraid you will not like to go there and see those wonderful things, and I asked papa if you might take Amy there.”

“No, Miss Leila, I would rather not; and I can’t help thinking that the less she knows of the people of Nineveh the better; she can learn no good lesson from them.”

“But, Nurse, there are a great many other things to be seen at the Museum besides—I am sure you would like to see the wild beasts and the birds. Oh! the birds are so beautiful; how Amy would admire the little humming-birds—they are scarcely bigger than the wild bees we had in the island; they have such lovely feathers, purple, and green, and scarlet, and all beautiful bright colours. Papa says that when they are flitting about amongst the flowers, they are quite splendid and dazzling to the eye; and they shoot those dear little birds with little guns loaded with water; the water does not injure their feathers by wounding them, it only frightens them, and then they fall down and die. There were no humming-birds in the island. I wish there had been—I would not have shot them, even with water, but I would have tried to catch them in some way without hurting them, and would have tamed them as I did my other birds; I do hope you will go to the Museum, Nurse, and take Amy, she will be so surprised, for I don’t think there is a bird in the whole world that is not there; and I am sure you would like to see the owls, for you like wise birds, and they look so wise; there were large owls, and little owls, and every kind, and one little owl near the corner of the glass case had such a pretty face. Then there were beautiful pheasants—and the argus-pheasant with its thousand eyes; oh! you must go; Amy, would not you like it so much?”

“Yes, Miss Leila, I would like it; but a bird with a thousand eyes, I think it would frighten me.”

“No, it would not,” Leila answered, smiling; “for it has not really a thousand eyes, it has only spots on its feathers; but it is a poetical way of speaking that——”

Nurse looked very grave. “How often have I told you, Miss Leila, that I do not like a poetical way of speaking, and now you see the bad effects of it; from my experience, I knew that no bird had a thousand eyes, but Amy did not; you should speak to her in a way she can understand; but you do run on so. Is there no possibility of making you think of what you are about? I see clearly that pocket never will be finished.”

Leila was silent for a moment, then jumping up from her seat, she held the pocket up in the air in a triumphant manner, exclaiming,—“Now, Nurse, look if I cannot both talk and stitch; see, it is quite finished, and beautifully done; and now I must go and sing to papa.”

“She is a dear child,” Nurse observed, as she looked up for a moment from her work and followed Leila’s light steps with affectionate interest; “and she is far from being a bad needle-woman either, though I should like well to see her more steady, and taking a greater interest in it; but, Amy, though Miss Leila in most things sets you a most superior example, you must never talk as she does sometimes—you must never be what she calls poetical. I would rather that she were not so either; but that is a matter for her papa to decide, not me.”