There was another almost exactly like it for her own little Mary, a larger one for Blanche, a neat housewife and pretty book for Ethel, and a bag of candies for each of the five; for little Mary had waited for hers until the coming of her guests.

What a happy day it was to the children! The grown people seemed to lay themselves out for their enjoyment; games and stories filled most of the time not taken up with the partaking of the grand Christmas dinner of turkey and all the usual accompaniments for the first course--plum pudding, ice-cream, fruits, and cake for the dessert.

The Eldons were sent for by Mrs. Coote at their usual early bedtime, and obeyed the summons without a murmur.

"Dear Mrs. Keith, you and Mrs. Weston are so good and kind to us; we've had such a pleasant time," Ethel said as she bade good-night.

"You are very welcome, dear child," was the kindly response, "and I hope you and my little Mary will have many a pleasant time together while you are living so near us."

"Thank you, ma'am; I hope so, too," returned Ethel gratefully, then hurried away with her little brother and sisters.

Mrs. Coote met them at the parsonage door. "Go right up to your room and to bed everyone of you," she said, and they silently obeyed.

"Strange that their uncles didn't send some Christmas remembrance to the children," remarked Mr. Coote to his wife as they sat together at the tea table.

"Possibly they may have thought they had enough to do in providing for their own, and that you and I might find some little thing for those you promised to treat as if they were your own," she rejoined in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"Humph! we're not in circ.u.mstances to do much for our own if we had 'em," he sniffed angrily; "so I don't consider myself pledged to do anything of the kind."

"And the children didn't expect it, I'm sure; n.o.body would ever mistake you for a Santa Claus," she returned with a not particularly pleasant laugh.

He colored and flashed an angry look at her, but let the remark pa.s.s in silence. Neither then nor afterward did his wife let him know of the Christmas box sent to the children. She had given them only a part of the sweets that day, but they received the rest in small instalments till all were gone.

So long as the weather was pleasant a part of nearly every day was spent at the house of their kind neighbors, but when it stormed their only refuge for the greater part of the time was the small room appropriated to them over the kitchen in their temporary home. It was hard for all, but especially for Harry and Nannette, to be so constantly confined to such close quarters, and Ethel could not always keep them quiet; they sometimes played noisily, at others fretted and cried aloud because they were so tired of staying in that little room where there was so small s.p.a.ce for running and romping.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Coote would tolerate such noise, and again and again the hearts of Ethel and Blanche were made to ache by the sore punishment meted out to the little brother and sister. And sometimes they themselves were in disgrace and severely dealt with for failures in their tasks, or anger or too much sympathy shown the other two when they were punished.

These were great trials, as also was the reciting of their Bible verses to Mr. Coote, and being made to repeat them before company. They were warned not to tell any tales to the neighbors, and threatened with dire consequences if they disobeyed. So most of their troubles were kept to themselves.

Ethel looked and longed for the promised visit from her uncle Albert, but he did not come; he seemed to have forgotten his promise. Then after a while Mr. Coote took to reading to the children letters which he said came from their uncles, reproving and threatening them with punishment for rebellious conduct toward those who now had them in charge, and bidding them be very obedient and submissive.

Those letters were deliberate forgeries, but the innocent little ones never dreamed of such deceit and wickedness on the part of the man who professed to be so good, and poor Ethel was well nigh heartbroken that her uncles should think so ill of her and her dear little brother and sisters, and write so cruelly to them.

She tried very hard to be good and industrious at her tasks, wanting the time to come as soon as possible when she would be able to support herself, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette.

Thinking of that she put forth every effort to learn the various kinds of needlework Mrs. Coote undertook to teach her, with the a.s.surance that if she became expert in them all she could some day earn money in that way.

At times the child's heart beat high with hope that when she was grown up she would be able to make with her own earnings a little home for herself, brother, and sisters. Remembering the unkind treatment they had often received at the hands of the aunts and cousins in Philadelphia she was not at all sure that they would be much better off could they return there--and if they could go back how hard it would be to bid farewell to the kind friends next door--but what could be more delightful than to get away from these stern guardians often so unkind and unjust. And then, when she was old enough to know how to set about it, perhaps she could find her maternal grandparents, and they would give a good home to their daughter's orphan children.

Their uncle Albert did at length make them a hasty visit, but Mr. Coote took good care that they should not be left for a moment alone with him.

Also he treated them with the greatest and most effusive kindness in their uncle's presence, so that Mr. Eldon left them there feeling a.s.sured that they had a very happy home.

Thus two years rolled slowly away to Ethel and Blanche, Harry and Nannette, bringing little change except that they all grew older and taller; wiser too in some respects and more than ever fondly attached to each other, and the next-door neighbors who treated them so kindly.

CHAPTER XI.

At length a change came suddenly to the little orphans. One unfortunate day Mr. Coote was in an unusually bad humor, and under a very slight provocation from Harry, who was more inclined for play than study, the weather being warm and fields and garden seeming far more inviting than books, he flew at the child in a rage and gave him a most unmerciful beating; making it all the more severe because the little fellow screamed so loudly that more than one neighbor came running to enquire what was wrong with the child, supposing some dreadful accident had befallen him, and Ethel, Blanche, and Nannette, lingering in the hall without, wept and sobbed as if their hearts would break.

"Stop beating that little fellow! stop this instant, you inhuman wretch, or I'll go for a policeman and have you arrested for cruelty to children," exclaimed a very decent looking woman, the wife of the grocer at the next corner, rushing up to the window of the room where the beating was going on.

"You mind your own business," retorted Coote, letting go the child and pushing him angrily away from him. "He's had no more than he deserves; no, nor half so much, the idle, good-for-nothing little rascal."

"I only wish I had the strength to give you your deserts," returned the woman in indignant tones. "I wouldn't hesitate for a minute, and you'd find yourself good for nothing but bed for at least a week. The idea of such a wretch as you calling himself a Christian! You're worse than a heathen; and I declare I will have you arrested if you dare to strike that child again."

Coote tossed his whip into a corner and glared at the woman, while poor little Harry slunk away out the room, moving as if he had scarcely strength to walk.

His sisters instantly gathered about him, crying bitterly. Ethel caught him in her arms and held him close, sobbing out her grief and pity.

"O Harry, Harry, dear little brother, I am so, so, _so_ sorry for you!"

"I, too," sobbed Blanche. "Oh, I wish our uncles would take us away and put us with somebody that would be kind and good to us."

"So do I," chimed in Nannette, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, I wish, we could live with Mrs. Keith and little Mary; if only they wanted more children over there."

"Oh, hush, hush, Nan," said Ethel warningly; for Mrs. Coote was coming toward them, having just seen the last of the enquiring neighbors out of the gate, dismissing them with a promise that she would see to the welfare of the children and not permit them to be abused.

"You needn't be afraid," she said to Ethel. "I've no intention of adding to Harry's punishment, for I think he has already had quite enough. I will help him upstairs, and the rest of you had best come along."

Taking the child's hand she led him a little way, but finding he was hardly able to stand or move, she lifted him in her arms and carried him up the stairs to the children's room, the others following. Laying him on his bed she went from the room, to return almost immediately with a basin of warm water and some soothing ointment, with which she proceeded to make the poor little fellow as comfortable as possible, undressing him and laying him in his little bed again, handling him almost as tenderly as though he had been her own, though she said very little, leaving the children in some doubt whether she did or did not approve of her husband's barbarous treatment.

"I'm going down now," she said when she had finished. "You needn't have any more lessons to-day, any of you. I think it would be as well for you girls to stay here with Harry. You may play, sleep, or do whatever you please so that you don't get into mischief or make a racket that can be heard down in the study."

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," returned Ethel, "we'll be quiet as mice and as good as we know how."

Mrs. Coote had hardly gone when the little boy raised himself in the bed and looking with tearful eyes at his sisters grouped together beside him:

"I'll be a man some o' these days," he sobbed, "and then if I don't take that old rascal down and beat him harder'n he beat me to-day--it--it'll be queer. Yes, I'll just thrash him till he can't move, so I will."

"I couldn't feel sorry for him, I couldn't," sobbed Ethel, "but, O Harry, dear, we must try to forgive him; because the Bible says, 'Forgive your enemies. Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.' And we all need to have forgiveness from G.o.d. So we will ask our Heavenly Father to help us to forgive this cruel, cruel man, and to help us to get away from him so that he can't ever hurt us any more."

"Yes," said Harry, "after he's had one good, sound thrashing from me. I just ache to give it to him, and I will, just as soon as I'm big enough."

"Maybe G.o.d will punish him before that," sobbed Blanche. "I'm sure I hope so."

"Me too," said Nannette, wiping her tearful eyes. "I'll ask G.o.d to punish the naughty man every time I say my prayers."

"Oh, no," said Ethel persuasively; "instead of that let's all ask Him to take us away from here and put us in a good home where we'll never see these cruel people any more."

While this talk was going on among the children Mrs. Coote had gone down to the study, where she found her husband striding angrily to and fro.

He glanced at his wife as she came in and read scorn and contempt in the look she gave him.

"So you, I see, are ready to uphold that young rascal in his wrongdoing; and the meddlesome neighbors who come interfering here, as well," he said wrathfully.

"The neighbors were perfectly right," she answered in an icy tone, "and I'm not at all sure they haven't saved you from murder and the hangman's rope. That's what your awful temper will bring you to some of these days, if you don't learn to exercise some self-control."