CHAPTER VI.
It was a lovely day early in October, and the children enjoyed gazingout upon the landscape, so new to them, the gorgeous coloring of theforest trees particularly attracting their attention. They were closetogether, having possession of a corner near the door of the car, wheretwo seats at right angles gave them abundance of room to move about andgaze their fill, now on the outer world, now at the occupants of theseats near at hand. They were pretty quiet, and disturbed no one buteach 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 alongthe street by Mr. Coote, who seemed in hot haste to reach his parsonage,some two or three squares distant. Poor little Nannette found it veryhard--indeed quite impossible--to keep up with him in his rapid strides,though Ethel on one side and Blanche on the other were doing theirutmost to help her along. And even they, without that hindrance, couldnot possibly have kept pace with their conductor. Nor could Harry, andhe too fell behind with them, and all four were crying more or less whenthey reached the gate where Coote stood awaiting their coming, with ascowl of impatience upon his ugly features.
"I thought you were close behind me. You'll have to learn to walkfaster. Dawdling along is something I'll not put up with," he growled,snatching Nannette up roughly and carrying her into the house, theothers following in obedience to the gruff order, "Come along in, all o'you."
A middle-aged woman--tall, rawboned, of scowling countenance and stifflystarched in manner, stood waiting in the hall.
"So you've brought 'em," she said in icy tones. "Well, they'll maketrouble and work enough, but the pay will help to eke out thatstarvation salary of yours."
"Take care, Sarah," he muttered, setting down the sobbing Nannette, nonetoo gently, upon the floor, "little pitchers have big ears, and there'sno knowing when or where they might blab."
"Just let me catch 'em at it and they'll not be apt to do it a secondtime," she said, turning upon the trembling little ones a look so angryand threatening that they clung together in affright, tears coursingdown their cheeks and their young bosoms heaving with sobs.
"Stop your crying, every one of you!" she commanded. "Come right in hereand eat your suppers," opening a door near where she stood, "and thenyou shall go to bed. But no. Pull off your hats and coats first and hangthem 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 itsplace, and the sooner you learn it the better it'll be for you; for dirtand disorder are never allowed in the house where I'm at the head ofaffairs. I'll help you this time, but you've got to help yourselvesafter 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 atone 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 Ican tell you it'll be one while before they get any more."
At that Nannette looked up piteously, and with quivering lip, intoEthel's face, but did not dare to so much as whimper. It was a veryfaint and watery smile Ethel gave her in reply.
They were hurried into the dining room, a barely furnished apartmentwith whitewashed walls, green paper window blinds, and rag carpet;exquisitely neat and clean, but wearing like its mistress a cold andcheerless aspect in striking contrast with the beautiful homes of theiruncles, which the children had left but a few hours before.
The table was covered with a very white and smoothly ironed but coarsecloth, and on it stood a pitcher of milk, a plate of bread, and fourbowls of heavy ironstone china, each with a silver-plated spoon besideit. The children were quickly seated, told to fold their hands and shuttheir eyes while repeating a short grace after Mrs. Coote. Then milk waspoured into each bowl, a piece of bread laid beside it, and they wereordered to break the bread into the milk, take up their spoons and eat,which they did, Mrs. Coote seating herself opposite them and watchingwith eagle eyes every movement they made.
No one of the four ventured a word, much less to refuse obedience to theorder given. Both bread and milk were sweet and good, and after thefirst taste the little folks ate with appetite, Mrs. Coote refilling thebowls and supplying the bread without stint.
"Eat all you want," she said in a slightly softened tone; "I was neverone to starve man or beast; you'll not be fed on dainties here, butshall have all you can eat of good, wholesome victuals."
Presently the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall was followed by theopening 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 shallgo up to your room and beds," and they followed submissively as she ledthe way through the hall and up a back staircase.
The room into which she presently ushered them looked as scrupulouslyclean 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 tooccupy, and in another corner a cot bed which she said was for Harry.The remaining pieces of furniture were a washstand with bowl andpitcher, a chest of drawers with a small mirror over it, two woodenchairs of ordinary height and two little ones.
"Sit down on those chairs, every one of you, and keep still while I takeout your night clothes from this trunk," said Mrs. Coote. "Where's thekey?" looking at Ethel.
"In my pocket, ma'am," returned the little girl, producing it with allpossible despatch. "The nurse told me she had put all our nightgownsright on top."
"Yes, here they are; looking well rumpled too. Plenty o' folks in thisworld that don't care whether they do a thing right or wrong. I hopeyou'll not make one of that sort, Ethel."
"I'll try not to, ma'am," replied the little girl meekly.
"Well, help your sisters and brother to undress, hang their clothes upneatly on those pegs along the wall there--so they'll get a good airingthrough the night--then undress yourself and do the same with your ownclothes. Don't forget your prayers either. I'm going downstairs now, butI'll be in again presently to see that you are all snug and comfortable,and to finish unpacking your trunk." With these concluding words shehurried out, closing the door after her.
"Oh, me don't 'ike dis place; me wants to go home," sobbed Nannette.
"So do I," said Harry, tears rolling down his cheeks. Blanche too wascrying, though softly, and Ethel's eyes were full of tears. But shetried to be cheerful and brave.
"We'll make haste to bed and to sleep, and in the morning we'll all feelbetter," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. "Blanche and I willundress you little ones, then get undressed ourselves, and soon we'llall be in bed."
And so they were, Ethel last of all; the other three were asleep when atlast her weary little head was laid upon its pillow. Her young heart wassad and sore, for it seemed a cheerless sort of home they had cometo--oh, so different from that which had been theirs but a few shortmonths before, with the dear parents whom she would see never again uponearth. With that thought in her mind she wept herself to sleep.