In reply Mr. Coote gave renewed a.s.surances that he felt a great interest in the little orphans, and that he and his wife would be as father and mother to them, doing for them all that the best of parents could do.

The uncles then consented to put them in his care for an indefinite period, reserving the right to remove them if at any time they saw reason to be dissatisfied with the treatment they received.

"I certainly shall give you no occasion for it," remarked Coote suavely; "as I have said, my wife and I will be as tender and careful of the little darlings as though, they were our own flesh and blood."

"How soon will you be ready for them?" asked Mr. George Eldon.

"At once, sir, at once. And if you please I should greatly prefer to take them with me on my return this afternoon. It would save me another trip to the city, and in my circ.u.mstances that expense would count."

"And since the change has to be made it would perhaps be as well to make it at once," remarked Mr. Eldon thoughtfully, adding, "I hope the poor little creatures may be happier with you, Mr. Coote, than they have been with us, if only for the simple reason that the whole four will be together; for I never saw children fonder of each other than they are."

"Nor I," a.s.sented his brother; "and Ethel, young as she is, seems very like a mother to Harry and Nannette, poor child! I am really sorry to part with her. I'll go up with you, Coote, explain matters to her, bid good-by to the whole four, and see them off."

Things had gone very wrong that morning with Blanche and Harry, and Ethel was nearly heartbroken over the sore punishment meted out to them by Mrs. George. That made the news her Uncle Albert brought her much less distressing than it would otherwise have been; for how, she asked herself, was it possible things could go worse anywhere than here? And it seemed a blessing indeed that she and all three of the younger ones would be together again.

She loved Uncle Albert, clung tearfully to him for a moment when he had told her of the new arrangement, then almost cheerfully gathered together the few small possessions of herself, brother, and sisters.

By direction of the aunts the children's trunk had been already packed with the most of their clothing, so that it was the work of but a few minutes to get everything in readiness for their hasty departure.

The little ones were almost dazed by the suddenness of the thing, and scarcely realized what had happened till they found themselves in the cars alone with their new and unknown guardian. Their Uncle Albert had gone with them to the train, and in bidding them good-by he laid a box of candies in Ethel's lap, saying, "That is for you and your brother and sisters to eat on the way;" and bestowed a large, luscious orange on each, of the four.

Ethel threw her arms about his neck and held him tight for a moment, while her sobs came thick and fast.

"Oh, Uncle, dear Uncle Albert," she cried chokingly, "won't I ever see you any more?"

"Yes, yes, dear child," he said soothingly, "I shall run up to look at you and the others one of these days, when business grows slack; and perhaps--who knows but you'll be back with us again some day? But there, I must go now. Be good children, all of you, and Uncle Albert won't forget you at Christmas time."

And with a hasty caress bestowed on each of the others he hurried from the car.

Ethel dried her eyes, opened the box, gave a bit of the candy to each of the other three, then seeing that Mr. Coote was eying them as though he too would like a share, she held out her box to him, asking timidly, "Will you have a piece too, sir?"

His only reply was to seize the box, help himself to half its contents, then hand it back with a gruff, "Candy isn't at all good for children, and if your uncle had consulted me he wouldn't have wasted his money buying it for you."

"Oh, dear, that man's got most all of our candy; and Uncle Albert said it was for us," wailed Harry, taking a peep into the half-emptied box.

"Be quiet, sir!" commanded Coote, turning a flushed and angry face upon the little boy.

"Give back that candy and I'll be quiet enough," returned Harry st.u.r.dily.

"What a hog of a man to be robbing those poor little children of their candy!" exclaimed a motherly-looking country woman in the next seat, apparently addressing her remark to a young girl at her side, but speaking loud enough for Coote and other near-by pa.s.sengers to hear.

The train was just starting. Coote leaned over the back of the seat, bringing his mouth near to Harry's ear.

"You keep quiet, you young dog," he said savagely, "or I'll pitch you out the window and let the train run over you and kill you."

"Oh, you wicked, wicked man!" cried Ethel, with a burst of tears, putting her arm round Harry and holding him close; "if you do you'll get hung for murder."

"Take care, miss; it wouldn't take long to send you after him," was the threatening rejoinder, and Coote leaned back in his seat again, took a newspaper from his pocket, and sat looking over it while devouring with evident enjoyment the candy of which he had robbed the children.

CHAPTER VI.

It was a lovely day early in October, and the children enjoyed gazing out upon the landscape, so new to them, the gorgeous coloring of the forest trees particularly attracting their attention. They were close together, having possession of a corner near the door of the car, where two seats at right angles gave them abundance of room to move about and gaze their fill, now on the outer world, now at the occupants of the seats near at hand. They were pretty quiet, and disturbed no one but each other with their prattle and fidgeting.

The sun was near its setting when they arrived at their destination.

They were bundled very unceremoniously out of the car and hurried along the street by Mr. Coote, who seemed in hot haste to reach his parsonage, some two or three squares distant. Poor little Nannette found it very hard--indeed quite impossible--to keep up with him in his rapid strides, though Ethel on one side and Blanche on the other were doing their utmost to help her along. And even they, without that hindrance, could not possibly have kept pace with their conductor. Nor could Harry, and he too fell behind with them, and all four were crying more or less when they reached the gate where Coote stood awaiting their coming, with a scowl of impatience upon his ugly features.

"I thought you were close behind me. You'll have to learn to walk faster. Dawdling along is something I'll not put up with," he growled, s.n.a.t.c.hing Nannette up roughly and carrying her into the house, the others following in obedience to the gruff order, "Come along in, all o'

you."

A middle-aged woman--tall, rawboned, of scowling countenance and stiffly starched in manner, stood waiting in the hall.

"So you've brought 'em," she said in icy tones. "Well, they'll make trouble and work enough, but the pay will help to eke out that starvation salary of yours."

"Take care, Sarah," he muttered, setting down the sobbing Nannette, none too gently, upon the floor, "little pitchers have big ears, and there's no knowing when or where they might blab."

"Just let me catch 'em at it and they'll not be apt to do it a second time," she said, turning upon the trembling little ones a look so angry and threatening that they clung together in affright, tears coursing down their cheeks and their young bosoms heaving with sobs.

"Stop your crying, every one of you!" she commanded. "Come right in here and eat your suppers," opening a door near where she stood, "and then you shall go to bed. But no. Pull off your hats and coats first and hang them here on the rack in the hall. You must learn to wait on yourselves, and that there's a place for everything and everything must be in its place, and the sooner you learn it the better it'll be for you; for dirt and disorder are never allowed in the house where I'm at the head of affairs. I'll help you this time, but you've got to help yourselves after this."

She had seized Nannette as she spoke, and was jerking off her coat.

"Well, I declare if you aint all sticky with candy!" she exclaimed, in a tone of disgust. "What on earth did you let her have it for, Coote?"

"'Twas none o' my doing," he replied; "their uncle gave it to 'em, but I can tell you it'll be one while before they get any more."

At that Nannette looked up piteously, and with quivering lip, into Ethel's face, but did not dare to so much as whimper. It was a very faint and watery smile Ethel gave her in reply.

They were hurried into the dining room, a barely furnished apartment with whitewashed walls, green paper window blinds, and rag carpet; exquisitely neat and clean, but wearing like its mistress a cold and cheerless aspect in striking contrast with the beautiful homes of their uncles, which the children had left but a few hours before.

The table was covered with a very white and smoothly ironed but coa.r.s.e cloth, and on it stood a pitcher of milk, a plate of bread, and four bowls of heavy ironstone china, each with a silver-plated spoon beside it. The children were quickly seated, told to fold their hands and shut their eyes while repeating a short grace after Mrs. Coote. Then milk was poured into each bowl, a piece of bread laid beside it, and they were ordered to break the bread into the milk, take up their spoons and eat, which they did, Mrs. Coote seating herself opposite them and watching with eagle eyes every movement they made.

No one of the four ventured a word, much less to refuse obedience to the order given. Both bread and milk were sweet and good, and after the first taste the little folks ate with appet.i.te, Mrs. Coote refilling the bowls and supplying the bread without stint.

"Eat all you want," she said in a slightly softened tone; "I was never one to starve man or beast; you'll not be fed on dainties here, but shall have all you can eat of good, wholesome victuals."

Presently the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall was followed by the opening of the door of the dining room, and Mr. Coote put in his head, saying: "Here's the trunk, Sarah; what'll you have done with it?"

"They'll sleep in the room over the kitchen; have it carried up there,"

she replied.

When the children had finished their meal, "Now," she said, "you shall go up to your room and beds," and they followed submissively as she led the way through the hall and up a back staircase.

The room into which she presently ushered them looked as scrupulously clean and orderly, and also as bare and desolate, as the dining room.

There was a double bed which she told the little girls they were to occupy, and in another corner a cot bed which she said was for Harry.

The remaining pieces of furniture were a washstand with bowl and pitcher, a chest of drawers with a small mirror over it, two wooden chairs of ordinary height and two little ones.