Nineteen hundred? A forecast and a storyFarningham, Marianne
General
Nineteen hundred? A forecast and a story
Farningham, Marianne
Christian life -- Fiction; England -- Social conditions -- Fiction; Reformers -- Fiction
A chair stood by the window; the little one had evidently stood on it to
gain access to the sill. Would she step back to the chair now?
“Sissie! Sissie, darling!” said Tom. But she was afraid to go too near
the window, for fear of frightening the little one. What should she do?
Had she better ring the bell and rouse the house? Or fetch Geoff to call
his sister?
Presently it occurred to her that if she went softly round by the wall
she could manage to suddenly clutch the little form. And she tried; but
Sissie saw her, and Tom’s heart sank with dismay.
“You can’t catch me, Miss Tom!” she said.
And Tom opened her arms, and said, “Come to me, darling; I have
something for you.”
The next moment Tom sank to the floor with the little one in her arms;
Sissie murmuring, in tones of contrition, “Poor auntie! Naughty, naughty
Sissie!”
Almost directly there were steps on the stairs, and sobs in the voices
of those who tried to ask questions.
But when Tom sat up, looking dazed, and Mr. and Mrs. Whitwell came into
the room with white faces, Sissie Hancourt was lying quietly in the
little bed, with her eyes closed as peacefully as if nothing had
happened.
Margaret lifted her out and wrapped her in a shawl. “I am afraid you are
a very, very naughty little girl,” she said; “and I am sure you must be
scolded; indeed, I think you must be punished as well.”
“I only wanted to look at the nest,” she said, “and I holded tight
nearly all the while. Geoff says there are some young ones in the nest.”
“But you might have fallen down and killed yourself.”
“Well, I don’t want you to scold me. I love my Auntie Tom the best.”
Tom tried to take her, but she was feeling so weak and giddy that she
could not hold her.
“I think,” said Mrs. Whitwell, “that we shall have to whip you, Sissie.
See how white Auntie Tom looks because you frightened her so much.”
“Don’t be frightened, Auntie Tom; I won’t hurt you.”
“You had better take her in hand,” said Mrs. Whitwell to her husband. It
was not the first time that she had passed a refractory and difficult
child over to the same management.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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