'I watched them till they were quite out of sight. Then I turned to my mother.

'"I have made two friends here any way, mamma," I said. "The trots are sure to stop every time they pa.s.s. It will be something to watch for."

'Mamma smiled. She was pleased to see _me_ pleased and interested, for she had been beginning to fear that the dulness and strangeness of our new life would prevent St. Austin's doing me as much good as she had hoped.

'"To-morrow, dear," she said, "if it is fine, I hope you will be able to go a little walk, and we'll look out for your little friends."

'It was fine the next day, and we did go out, and we did meet the trots!

'They caught sight of me (of Gip, rather, I should perhaps say) and I of them, just about the same moment. I saw them tug their nurse, and when they got close up to me they stopped short. It was no use Bessie's trying to get them on; there they stood resolutely, till the poor girl's face grew red, and she looked quite ashamed. Gip, who I must say, had a wonderful amount of tact, ran up to them with a friendly little bark.

Bessie let go the trots' hands and stooped to stroke him.

'"He won't bite, miss, will he?" she said gently, looking up at me.

'"Oh, dear, no," I said, and the trots, smiling with delight, stooped--not that they had so very far to stoop--to stroke him too.

'"Pretty doggie," said Doll.

'"Pretty doggie," said Dot.

'Then they held up their dear little mouths to kiss me. "Zank zou, lady," they said, and each taking a hand of Bessie again, they proceeded on their way.

'After that day, not many pa.s.sed without my seeing them, and talking to them, and making Gip show off his tricks. Sometimes our meetings were at the window, sometimes on the road; once or twice, when there came some unusually fine mild days, mamma let me sit out on the sh.o.r.e, and I taught the trots to dig a hole for Gip and bury him in the sand, all but his bright eyes and funny black nose--that _was_ a beautiful game! I never found out exactly where my friends lived; it was in one of the side streets leading on to the Esplanade, that was all I knew. I never knew, as I said, if they were boys or girls, or perhaps one of each.

Mamma wanted one day to ask Bessie, but I wouldn't let her. They were just my two little trots, that was all I wanted to know.

'"It would spoil them to fancy them growing up into great boys or girls," I said. "I want them to be always trots--nothing else."

'And as Bessie called them simply Doll and Dot, without any "master" or "miss," I was able to keep my fancy.

'When the weather grew colder, the trots came out in a new costume--sealskin coats, sealskin caps, and sealskin gloves--they were just little b.a.l.l.s of sealskin, and looked "trottier" than ever. About this time they left off carrying their woolly lambs. I suspect the real reason was that their extreme affection for the lambs had resulted in these favoured animals growing more black than white, and that Bessie judged them unfit for appearing in public, but if this _was_ the case, evidently Bessie had been obliged to resort to artifice to obtain their owners' consent to the lambs being left at home. For, when I asked the trots where the precious creatures were, they looked melancholy and distressed and shook their heads.

'"Too told!" said Doll, and Dot repeated, like a mournful echo, "too told!"

'"Of course," said I, "how stupid of me not to think of it! of course it's far too cold for such very little lambs to be out."

'Bessie looked gratefully at me. "We're going to buy some cakes for tea," she said, with a smile, and sure enough in about half-an-hour the trio reappeared again, and came to a standstill as usual, opposite our window. And, instead of a lamb, each trot hugged a little parcel, neatly done up in white paper. I opened the window to hear what they were saying, they looked so excited.

'"Takes for tea," they both called out at once, "takes for tea. Lady have one. Dip have one."

'And poor Bessie was obliged to open the parcels, and extract one "take"

from each and hand them up to me, before my little dears would be satisfied.

'Can you fancy that I really got to love the trots? I did not want to know who they were, or what sort of a father and mother they had--they were well taken care of, that was evident, for somehow, knowing anything more about them would have spoilt them for being my funny little trots.

'But, for several weeks of the three months we spent at St. Austin's, the sight of these happy little creatures was one of my greatest pleasures, and a day without a glimpse of them would have seemed blank and dull.

'There came a time, however, when for many days I did not see my little friends. The weather was bad just then, and mamma said she was sure they had got colds, that would be all that was wrong with them, but somehow I felt uneasy. I asked our doctor, when he called, if there was much illness about, and he, fancying I was nervous on my own account, replied, "Oh no, with the exception of two or three cases of croup, he had no serious ailments among his patients: it was a very healthy season."

'I got frightened at the idea of croup, and cross-questioned him to discover if my trots were among the sufferers, but he shook his head.

All his little patients were mere infants; he did not even know the trots by sight.

'Then mamma suggested another very reasonable explanation of their disappearance.

'"They have probably left St. Austin's," she said. "Many people come here for only the _very_ worst of the winter, and that is about over now."

'But even this did not satisfy me. I was certain something was wrong with Doll and Dot, and I wasted, I should be ashamed to say how many hours gazing out of the window in hopes of catching sight of the familiar little figures.

'At last, one day, when I had almost left off hoping ever to see them again, suddenly, _two_ figures appeared on the Esplanade, a stone's throw from our window.

'Who were they? Could it be--yes, it must be _one_ of the trots, led by, not Bessie, no, this maid was a stranger. Where could Bessie be? And oh, _where_ was my other little trot? For, even at some yards' distance, I saw something sadly different in the appearance of the one little figure, slowly coming along in our direction. It was dressed--hat, coat, gloves, socks and all--it was dressed in deep mourning.

'I seized my hat and rushed out to meet them. Mamma thought I was going out of my mind I believe. When I found myself in the open air, I tried to control myself and look like the rest of the people walking quietly along, though my heart was beating violently, and I felt as if I could not speak without crying. But when I got up to the one little trot and its attendant, the sight of her strange face composed me. She was so different from Bessie--old and stiff and prim looking. I stooped to kiss the child, Dot or Doll, I knew not which. "How are you, darling?" I said. "And where is----" I stopped short.

'The trot looked up in my face.

'"Oh lady," it said, "Dot is all alone. Doll is 'done to 'Ebben," and the great tears gathered in Dot's mournful eyes and rolled down Dot's rosy cheeks.

'"Hush, hush, my dear. You mustn't cry. You'll make yourself ill if you cry any more," said the hard looking nurse.

'A moment before, I had intended turning to her and asking for some particulars of the baby's sad words, but now I felt I _could_ not. She was so stiff and unsympathising. I could not bear her to see me, a stranger, crying about what I had heard. Besides, what good would it do?

Why should I hear any more? I shrank from doing so. The bare fact was enough. I just bent down and kissed the solitary darling.

'"Good-bye, my trot," I said. I could not say another word.

'"Dood bye, don't ky," said Dot, stroking my cheek. "Doll won't turn back, but Dot will do to 'Ebben too some day."

'That was quite too much for me. I turned away and hurried back home as fast as I could.

'"Mamma," I exclaimed, rushing into our sitting-room, and throwing myself down on the sofa, "It's just what I thought. I wish you would come away from St. Austin's at once. I shall never, never like it again."

'"What _is_ the matter, Florence?" said poor mamma, quite startled.

'"It's about the trots," I said, now fairly sobbing, "I have just seen one--in deep mourning, mamma,--and--and--the other one is _dead_."

'"Poor little angel!" said mamma. And the tears came into her eyes too.

'I did not see Dot again after that day. I fancy that was its last walk before leaving St. Austin's for its regular home, wherever that was. And a very short time after we ourselves left too.

'I never forgot the trots. Of course the pleasure of going back to our own dear home again, and seeing all our old friends, raised my spirits, and softened the real grief I had felt. But whenever we spoke of St.

Austin's, or people asked me about it, and mentioned the esplanade or the sh.o.r.e, or any of the places where I had seen the trots, the tears _would_ come into my eyes, as again I seemed to see before me the two dear funny little figures. And whenever our plans for the following winter were alluded to, I always said one thing: "Wherever you go, mamma, don't go to St. Austin's."

'My mother gave in to me. When did she not? How patient she was with me, how sympathising, even in my fancies! And how unselfish--it was not till long after we had left St. Austin's, that she told me what anxiety she had gone through on hearing of my having kissed little Dot. For how sadly probable it seemed that Doll had died of some infectious illness, such as scarlet-fever, for instance, which I had never had!

'"But _Dot_ couldn't have been ill, mamma," I said. "Dot looked perfectly well."

'"Did he?" said my mother. Sometimes she called the trots "he" and sometimes "she," in the funniest way! "I wonder what the other little dear died of?"