Children's stories; Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Didactic fiction; Domestic fiction; Pride and vanity -- Juvenile fiction
“No, no,” interrupted Mrs. Aumerle, “numbers are by no means desirable
where a man in brain fever is concerned. It is bad enough for your
father to have to undertake a long journey, without the whole family
hurrying off. You will stay here with me, my dear, and welcome back Mabel
to-morrow.”
A short time before Ida would have rebelled against a decision so much at
variance with her inclinations,—would have remonstrated, or at least have
murmured; but she had received too severe a lesson for its impression to
be speedily effaced, and reproaching herself for the sigh which alone
betrayed her disappointment, she hastened up-stairs to prepare a little
parcel of necessaries to be taken to Mabel.
As Ida was putting up, with other articles, the Bible which she knew that
her sister would especially welcome, she was unexpectedly joined by Mrs.
Aumerle.
“You may leave that business to me,” said the lady, with more real
kindness of intention than tenderness of manner; “your father says that
it would be hard not to let you make one of the party, so you had better
get ready for the journey at once.”
Joyful at the permission, Ida hastened to make her little preparations;
and Mrs. Aumerle, as she packed Mabel’s parcel, informed her
step-daughter of the arrangements which she had herself made for
the convenience of all. A messenger had been promptly despatched to
the nearest neighbour who kept a carriage, to ask the loan of the
conveyance to carry the travellers to the nearest railway station.
Nothing that could insure the comfort of the vicar was forgotten when
his carpet-bag was packed by the hands of his careful wife; Ida received
sundry injunctions to watch over the health of her father, and the good
housewife took care that the travellers should not fast on the way.
When the carriage drove away from the door of the vicarage, with its
eager, anxious occupants, Mrs. Aumerle, following it to the gate,
watched it from thence till it disappeared in a turn of the road. And
thus the woman of sense soliloquised on events, past, present, and
future:—
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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