Poor Primrose little guessed that that lost five-pound note, which had given her such trouble, and which had almost brought gray hairs to her bright yellow head, had been really taken by Dove, who had come up to the attics when the girls were away, had quietly taken the hinges off Primrose's trunk at the back, had lifted the lid, and had helped himself neatly and deftly to that solitary note!

When the girls discovered their loss no one had been more indignant than Dove. He had come up himself to speak to them about it, had examined the trunk in their presence, had told them that he had a cousin of his own in the detective business whom he would put on the scent of the thief, and in the meantime he'd be very pleased, although he was a remarkably poor man, to lend the young ladies ten shillings.

Although they would not think of accepting his loan, the girls thought that Dove had behaved rather kindly on this occasion, and they certainly never in the least suspected it was into his pocket their money had gone.

Without being at all, therefore, to blame, poor Primrose found herself, as Christmas approached, and the days grew short and cold, with very little money in her possession; of course, her quarter's allowance would soon be due, but some days before it came she had broken into her last sovereign. Still, she had a resource which her sisters had forgotten, and which, luckily for her, Dove knew nothing at all about--she still had that letter of Mr. Danesfield's. She had never opened it, but she always kept it safely locked up in her trunk.

Not for worlds would she yet break the seal--no, no, this letter was meant for an hour of great need. Primrose fondly and proudly hoped that that dark and dreadful hour would never approach and that, having won success, she and her sisters might yet return the letter unopened to its kind donor. In these dark days before Christmas she kept up her heart, and worked hard at her china-painting, achieving sufficient success and power over her art to enable her to produce some pretty, but, alas! as yet unsaleable articles. Mr. Jones, her master, a.s.sured her, however, that her goods must ere long find a market, and she struggled on bravely.

Perhaps, on the whole, Jasmine was more tried by her present life than her sister. Jasmine's was a more highly-strung temperament; she could be more easily depressed and more easily elated--hers was the kind of nature which pours forth its sweetest and best in sunshine; did the cold blasts of adversity blow too keenly on this rather tropical little flower, then no expansion would come to the beautiful blossoms, and the young life would fail to fulfil its promise. Jasmine was never meant by nature to be poor; she had been born in Italy, and something of the languor and the love of ease and beauty of her birthplace seemed always to linger round her. She had talents--under certain conditions she might even have developed genius, but in no sense of the word was she hardy; where Primrose could endure, and even conquer, Jasmine might die.

The little sister, who was too young to acutely feel any change which did not part her from Primrose and Jasmine, was, perhaps, the only one of the three whose spirits were on a par with what they were in the old Rosebury days; but although Daisy's little mind remained tranquil, and she did not trouble herself about ways and means, nor greatly fret over the fact that the skies were leaden, and the attic room foggy, still Daisy also suffered in her rather delicate little body. She caught cold in the London fogs, and the cold brought on a cough, and the cough produced loss of appet.i.te. The two elder sisters, however, were scarcely as yet uneasy about her, and it was only Miss Egerton who saw the likeness to little Constance growing and growing in Daisy's sweet face. Thus Christmas drew near, and the girls had not yet found their mission in life; they were by no means crushed, however, nor was Primrose tired of repeating what she firmly believed, that with the New Year some of the sunshine of London life would be theirs.

The quarterly allowance from Mr. Danesfield always arrived on the first of the month. On the first of December this year the welcome letter, with its still more welcome enclosure, was duly received. The girls celebrated the event with a little breakfast feast--they ate water-cresses, and Primrose and Jasmine had a sardine each to add flavor to their bread and b.u.t.ter. Whatever happened, Daisy always had her fresh egg, which she shared with the Pink, for the Pink had been brought up daintily, and appreciated the tops of fresh eggs. On this occasion Mrs. Dove herself brought up Primrose's letter. Letters came so seldom to the girls that Mrs. Dove felt it quite excusable to gaze very hard at the inscription, to study the name of the post town which had left its mark on the envelope, and lingering a little in the room, under cover of talking to Jasmine, to watch Primrose's face as she opened the cover.

"It is from Mr. Danesfield, is it not, Primrose?" exclaimed Jasmine--"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Dove; no I didn't much care for that new story which is begun in _The Downfall_."

Mrs. Dove had a habit of dropping little curtseys when she meant to be particularly deferential--she now dropped three in succession, and said in a high-pitched, and rather biting voice--

"It isn't to be expected that the opinions of young ladies and of women who have gone through their world of experience, and therefore know what's what, should coincide. I leave you ladies three to read your refreshing news from absent friends."

Mrs. Dove then turned her back, and meekly shutting the door behind her, left the girls to themselves.

"Them attics have become rather too uppish for my taste," she said to Dove when she got downstairs. "I took them a letter just now, and, my word! they had not eyes nor ears for me, though I toiled up all the weary stairs, which my shortness of breath don't agree to. It wasn't even 'Thank you very much, Mrs. Dove,' but all three of them, their eyes was fixed on the letter as if they'd eat it. It's my belief, Dove, that they're short of funds, for when I went yesterday to ask for the trifling loan of tenpence three-farthings to pay the cobbler for Tommy's boots, Miss Mainwaring said, as pretty as you please, but very prim and firm--'I haven't really got the money, Mrs. Dove.' Well, well, I've done a deal for those girls--elbow grease I've given them, and thought I've given them, and books for the improving of their intellecs I've lent them, and that's all the return I get, that when I bring up a letter it isn't even 'Thank you, Mrs. Dove.' What I say is this, Dove, shall I give the attics notice to quit?"

"By no manner of means," answered Dove--"you mark my words, Mrs. Dove, my only love, that why they were so flurried over the letter just received was because there was money in it. Don't you turn away nice, genteel, quiet-spoken young ladies from this house. There's most likely a postal order in that letter, and my name ain't Dove if I don't get my gleanings from it."

"Oh, fie, Dove! you will have your joke," answered his wife; but she said nothing further about giving the Mainwarings notice to quit.

CHAPTER XXV.

DAISY'S PROMISE.

Mr. Danesfield always forwarded the girls' allowance in such a way that Primrose could easily obtain it--he did not trouble her with cheques or bank notes, but sent a money-order, which she could cash at the nearest post-office.

The three went out gleefully that day, and obtained their much needed money--then Primrose bought a new pair of boots for Daisy, and allowed Jasmine to spend sixpence on scribbling paper. Having obtained this delightful possession, Jasmine determined to begin her great work of fiction without a moment's delay; she felt that she had listened quite long enough to Miss Egerton's gentle warnings--that she had been discouraged sufficiently, and that what she had really to do was to prove the stuff which was in her, and to take the world by storm. She hesitated a little as to whether her great work was to appear before the world in the form of a novel or a poem. She thought that to produce a second "Evangeline" would be a matter of but slight difficulty, but on the whole she was inclined to give the world her experience in the fiery and untrammelled words of prose.

"My theme burns within me," she said to herself. "I won't be kept back by metres or rhymes, or numbers of feet, or any of those tiresome rules which Miss Egerton tries to instil into me. Oh, I shall be happy over my work! I will forget that we are poor, and forget that we live in attics. I will work with Miss Egerton in the daytime, and I will help Primrose in her house-keeping, and take Daisy for a walk, but morning and evening I will get into my Palace Beautiful, and write away, and forget the sordid cares of life."

The little maid had really a certain amount of genius to guide her, and although all her ideas were crude and unpractised, she managed to be happy in the castle which she built, and her dark eyes grew bright once more, and her pretty face resumed its animated and contented expression.

Primrose, who worked very steadily at her china-painting, was much cheered at this time with one or two small, but _bona-fide_ orders for work. They came not through Mr. Jones, who pocketed her money and exhibited her wares in a dusty and uncertain fashion, but through Miss Egerton, who was proving herself a real friend to the girls. Primrose was immensely cheered by these little orders, and, in consequence, Christmas Day--the girls' first Christmas Day without a home and a mother--pa.s.sed not uncheerfully. Things might have gone well with the three but for an incident which occurred just at the beginning of the New Year.

One morning Daisy awoke shivering, and complaining of fresh cold. She refused, however, to stay at home by herself, and begged of Jasmine to wrap her up, and take her across to Miss Egerton's, but when the two girls reached the kind mistress's door they were informed that she had been suddenly sent for to the country, and would not be back until the following day.

"You must go back now, my pet," said Jasmine. "I'll take you back myself, and I'll build up such a nice fire for you, and you shall look at the dear old sc.r.a.p-book which we made when we were all happy at Rosebury."

"I wish we were back at Rosebury," said little Daisy, in a very sad and plaintive voice. "I don't think London is at all a cheerful place.

We made a great mistake about it, didn't we, Jasmine? Oh, Jasmine, darling, you are not going to leave me by myself, for I really don't feel well this morning."

"I'll come back ever so quickly, Eyebright, but I really think I must do Primrose's shopping for her, now that I am not going to Miss Egerton. Primrose is working very hard at her china-painting order, and it is not fair she should be interrupted. You won't be selfish, will you, Eyebright? You know we arranged long ago that the way you were to help matters forward was not to hinder us older girls in our work."

"I know," answered Daisy, with a patient sigh. "I won't be selfish, Jasmine. Just kiss me before you go."

Jasmine went away, and Daisy, taking the Pink into her arms, sat down close to the fire. She was not exactly nervous, but she scarcely liked to be left in the attics by herself. She wished Mrs. Dove would come up, or even that Tommy Dove, who was a rude boy, and whom, as a rule, she particularly disliked, would pay her a visit. Any company, however she reflected, would be better than none, for she was feeling heavy and depressed with her cold. The warm feel of the Pink's furry little body, elapsed tightly in her arms, comforted her not a little. She remembered with some satisfaction that Jasmine had locked the door, and she began already to count the moments for her sister's return.

An hour pa.s.sed, and still Daisy listened for Jasmine's light and springing step on the attic stairs.

She was very tired now, and her head ached. She thought she would go into the bedroom and, lying down on her little white bed, sleep away the weary moments. Taking the Pink with her, she did so, wrapping the counterpane well up over them both.

In a very few moments the child was in a heavy slumber.

She awoke, after what seemed to herself a very short nap, to hear sounds in the bedroom. She stirred sleepily, and, opening her eyes, said--

"Oh, Jasmine, what a time you've been away!"

No answer from Jasmine, but a smothered exclamation from some one else; a heavy tread on the uncarpeted boards, and Dove, his face red, his shoes off, and something which looked like a screw-driver in his hands, came up and bent over the child.

"Oh! what are you doing here, Mr. Dove?" exclaimed little Daisy. The man bent down over her, and stared hard into her wide open blue eyes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MAN BENT DOWN OVER HER. Palace B]

"I didn't know you was here, missie; it was very cunning of you to feign sleep like that--it was very cunning and over sharp, but it don't come round me. No, no; you has got to speak up now, and say what you has seen, and what you hasn't seen. I allow of no nonsense with little girls, and I can always see through them when they mean to tell a lie. You know where the children who tell lies go to, so you'd better speak up, and the whole truth, missie." Dove spoke in a very rough voice, and poor Daisy felt terribly frightened.

"I didn't see anything," she began, in her innocent way. "I was fast, fast asleep. I thought you were Jasmine--Jasmine should have been back long ago. I have a bad cold, and I was trying to pa.s.s the time by going to sleep. I haven't seen anything, Mr. Dove."

"Let me look into your eyes, miss," said Dove; "open them wide, and let me look well into them."

"Oh! you frighten me, Mr. Dove," said Daisy, beginning to cry. "I was very lonely, and I'd have liked you to come up half an hour ago; but you look so queer now, and you speak in such a rough voiced--what is the matter? Perhaps you were bringing up some of those books for Jasmine. Oh! I don't know why you should speak to me like that."

Dove's brow cleared; he began to believe that the child had really been asleep, and had not seen the peculiar manner in which he had been employing himself for the last ten minutes.

"Look here, miss," he said, "I don't mean to be rough to you, you pretty little lady. Look here, what I was after was all kindness. I only spoke rough as a bit of a joke. I has got some lollipops in my pocket for a nice little maid; I wonder now who these yere lollipops are for?"

"For me, perhaps?" said Daisy, who, although she could not have swallowed a sweety to save her life at that moment, had sense enough to know that her wisest plan was to propitiate Dove.

"You're fond of lollipops then, missie? you didn't think as 'twas because poor Dove guessed that, that he travelled up all these weary stairs? Kind of him, wasn't it? but you're real fond of lollipops, ain't you, missy?"

"Some kinds," answered Daisy, who was really a most fastidious child, and who shrank from the sticky-looking sweetmeats proffered to her by Dove. "I like the very best chocolate creams; Primrose brings them to me sometimes, but they are rather expensive. Oh! and I like sticky sweets too," she continued seeing an ominous frown gathering on Dove's brow. "I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Dove." Then making a great effort, she put out her little white hand to take one of the sweeties.

But Dove drew back quickly.

"No, no," he said, "not till they're arned--by no means until they're arned. You don't suppose as a poor man--a poor man with a large family, and an only love of a wife--can afford to bring sweeties all for nothing to rich little ladies like yourself. No, no, miss; you arn them, and you shall have them."

"But I'd rather not, please," said Daisy, "I'm not _very_ hungry for sweeties to-day on account of my cold, and I think, on the whole, you had better keep them, Mr. Dove. Indeed, I don't know how to earn them--Primrose and Jasmine say I'm too young to earn."