CHAPTER I.

LOLLA AT HOME.

"SEEMS to me Lolla does not eat any breakfast," said Aunt Delight, looking at a little girl who sat opposite to her at the table, with a well-filled plate before her, upon which, however, she did not seem to be making any impression.

"She never does," said Lolla's mother. "She never seems to have any appetite in the morning. She complains that nothing tastes good to her; and she almost always gets up tired and feverish."

"That is a pity," said Aunt Delight. "Little folks ought to be hungry in the morning, and to be as fresh and lively as birds and lambs are. We must see if we cannot cure that when we get her down in Dorchester."

"I dare say the sea-air will help her," said Lolla's mother. "I remember how hungry it used to make me when I was a little girl. I am very uneasy about Lolla, sometimes. It seems so unnatural for a child to be so languid in the morning. But you are quite sure, Aunt Delight, that you do not want to take nurse with you?"

"I am quite sure, my dear Laura. In the first place, I have no room for her; and in the second place, I have nothing for her to do."

"Then who will take care of me, Aunt Delight?" asked Lolla, very much interested in the discussion.

"I expect you will take care of yourself and of me too," replied Aunt Delight, smiling.

Lolla looked as if she were doubtful whether to be pleased or alarmed at this project. But she was very much delighted at the idea of the long journey, and the summer in Dorchester with Aunt Delight, and not displeased at being spoken to as if she were something more than a baby: so she made no further objections.

Lolla's father and mother lived in a very fine place near one of the great Western cities; but they were expecting to break up and remove to California during the summer, and it had been settled that Lolla was to go to Dorchester and spend a year at least with her mother's aunt, Miss Delight Wentworth, who had a pretty place of her own and was famous for her skill in nursing the sick and managing and teaching children. Lolla was considered rather a delicate child, and her mother had been out of health ever since her daughter was born; for which reasons it was thought best for both that they should be separated for a time.

About ten o'clock, as Aunt Delight was passing through the kitchen, she saw nurse giving Lolla a large piece of loaf-cake.

"Eating so soon after breakfast?" said Aunt Delight.

"Why, you know, aunt, I did not eat any breakfast," replied Lolla, in rather a tone of apology.

"She has got into a bad way about eating, that's a fact," said nurse. "She doesn't eat at meals, and she is always wanting something between-times; but her mother thinks there is no help for it. Now you will see that she won't want any thing at dinner; and by-and-by she will be asking for another piece of cake."

"Do you think it is good for her to eat in that way?"

"Well, no, I don't. She is spoiling her teeth, for one thing. But, being the only child for so long,—and delicate besides,—Mrs. Lane has got in the way of indulging her. She is a good child, too, in most things; but it won't do her any harm to have a change. She cares Were for eating than for any thing else."

As nurse had predicted, Lolla had no appetite for her dinner,—at least for the solid parts of it; but she ate two plates of rich pudding, and then she had almonds and raisins, besides filling her pocket with the nuts, which she was munching all the afternoon. A large piece of fresh maple-sugar helped the almonds to fill up the interval between dinner and tea, when Lolla supped upon pound-cake, preserved melon and cottage-cheese.

In the evening some friends came in, and about ten o'clock Lolla had her share of the supper prepared for them.

As Aunt Delight noted all these things, she no longer wondered that Lolla did not sleep well and had no appetite for her breakfast. She was not one of those people who think that children should never have any thing that they like; but she made up her mind that when Lolla came under her own care she should make some change in her habits.

"Well, Lolla, have you said good-by to all your pets?" asked Aunt Delight, as she met Lolla at breakfast on the day set for their journey.

Lolla did not seem as languid as usual, this morning. Her cheeks had a little colour, her eyes were bright, and she ate her bread-and-butter as if she liked it.

"Oh, yes, aunt. I have been out to the barn and the pasture to see the calves and the colts, and down by the river to see the little ducks, and over to Mrs. Merrie's to bid good-by to Fanny and Jenny. I have been up and running about ever since five o'clock; and I am so hungry,—you can't think! I believe it makes people hungry to get up early in the morning."

"It is said to have that effect," replied Aunt Delight, smiling. "But finish your breakfast, my dear. We have no time to lose."

The carriage came to the door, the last good-byes were said, and Aunt Delight and her little niece were soon speeding away over the Michigan Central Railroad.

Lolla felt very sadly at leaving home, and cried bitterly at parting from father, mother and nurse. But children are usually easily diverted from their grief; and Lolla's tears were soon dried. She had never been upon the railroad before; and she enjoyed the rapid motion, the constant change of scene, and the novelty of staying in a great hotel over-night.

She thought it rather hard that her aunt should refuse to buy oranges, candy and maple-sugar of all the boys who came upon the train, and a very unlucky circumstance that the package of rich cake and confectionery which her mother had put up for her should somehow have been lost directly, so that they had nothing left for their luncheon except biscuits, cold chicken and sponge-cake. But there was so much to see, and the change of air made her so hungry, that she did not feel disposed to complain: besides that, she felt too much awe of her aunt to go into one of her tantrums, as nurse used to call them.

The travellers arrived at home late in the evening; and when Lolla entered her aunt's cottage in Dorchester, she was too sleepy to notice any thing, except that her room was of an odd shape, and her little low bed very comfortable.

"Come, Lolla," said Aunt Delight, entering the room, next morning, just as Lolla was rubbing her eyes; "breakfast is almost ready. I have let you sleep late this morning, because you were tired. Here is your bath, all ready to brighten you up. Now let us see how soon you will be dressed."

"Nurse used to dress me at home," said Lolla, rather doubtfully.

"Yes, but nurse is not here; and, besides, you are old enough to wait upon yourself. You are eight years old, are you not?"

"Yes, aunt,—on my last birthday."

"Well, when I was as old as you, I dressed myself and my little brother every morning, besides putting my own room in order. You do not want to be a baby all your days, do you? Come; don't dawdle, but lace your boots quickly, and then put on the rest of your things, and I will fasten them for you."

"Is this my room, aunt?" asked Lolla.

"Yes, Lolla. How do you like it?"

"I think it is beautiful," replied Lolla, looking around upon the neat, old-fashioned furniture, the pretty red-and-white matting, and the little book-case full of books. "I never had a room of my own before. What a funny window! It is like a little room by itself. Oh, aunt, what is that out there?" exclaimed Lolla, catching a glimpse through the curtains of something bright and blue, and speckled with large and small white dots. "That 'blue,' I mean."

"That is the sea,—or the bay, rather," replied Aunt Delight, smiling at Lolla's excitement. "Don't you remember I told you, you would be able to see the ships and the bay from your window? See, there is a great steamer coming in. It must be the ocean steamer from Liverpool."

There seemed some danger that Lolla would not get dressed at all, so much interested was she in watching the steamer, and the fishing-boats, and a large ship just going out of the bay; but Aunt Delight found no fault with her. She knew how interesting all these things must be to the little girl who had never seen ships or salt water before. At last, however, Lolla was dressed; and she was about to run down-stairs at once,—when her aunt stopped her.

"It seems to me that you have forgotten something, Lolla," said she, gravely.

"Have I?" asked Lolla, surveying her dress. "I don't see any thing, except my apron; and you know you said you would give me a clean one out of the trunk."

"I was not thinking of your dress, but of something else."

Lolla still looked puzzled.

"Who has taken care of you all night while you have been asleep, and kept you from harm all through this long journey? And who is it you should ask to take care of you through the day?"

"Oh, you mean saying my prayers," said Lolla. "But, aunt, I never said my prayers in the morning,—only at night."

"Then you don't want God to take care of you in the daytime?" said Aunt Delight. "You think, perhaps, that you can do that for yourself?"

"Somehow, there never seems to be any time in the morning," said Lolla. "One has to hurry so to get ready for breakfast."

"Then one must get up earlier in the morning," said Aunt Delight. "But you will have plenty of time. I told Sarah to ring the bell five minutes before breakfast was ready. I will wait for you in my room."

Lolla, did not feel very much like saying her prayers; but she did not like to dispute with her aunt: so she hastily repeated the Lord's Prayer, without thinking much of its meaning, and then joined her aunt in her own room, and they went down-stairs together.

The breakfast-room would have been a large one if it had not been cut up into so many angles and corners. There was a large chimney, with a high, old-fashioned wooden mantel-piece, and a deep recess containing a book-case on each side of it. There was another deep recess, where stood a large, carved mahogany side-board. There was a corner cupboard, with glass doors, which seemed to be filled with china. There were two windows with deep window-seats, and a glass door opening into the garden. The walls were covered with old-fashioned paper ornamented with lilies and roses, with gayly-feathered birds flying about and perching on the flowers; and there were many pictures and prints, in black and gold frames.

The breakfast-table was set for them, and looked very inviting, with its snowy cloth and shining china and silver.

"Whose place is that, aunt?" asked Lolla.

"That is Mr. Locke's place; but he will not be here this morning," said Aunt Delight. "He has gone over to Boston, and will breakfast with a friend. This is your chair."

Lolla slipped into her chair. She was very hungry, and could not help taking a sly survey of the table, even while her aunt was saying grace, to see what they were likely to have for breakfast. There was a loaf of white bread, and another of brown, upon a beautifully-carved wooden plate. There was a silver egg-boiler, a pitcher of milk, and a dish of cold ham; and that was all.

Presently, however, Aunt Delight rang her bell, and Sarah brought in a plate of hot toast, and a coffee-pot.

"What is that, aunt?" said Lolla, pointing to the egg-boiler.

"That is a boiler to cook the eggs," replied her aunt, as she opened the cover and took out the rack filled with eggs. "Did you never see one before?"

"No," replied Lolla. "Mary always boils ours in a kettle; but I think this is a much nicer way. Our eggs are always too hard, or too soft, or something."

She had another question on her tongue's end; but she did not quite like to ask it. At last, however, out it came.

"Aunt Delight, don't you have any meat for breakfast? No beefsteak, or chicken, or any thing?"

"Sometimes," replied her aunt. "Don't you call cold ham meat?"

"Oh, yes," replied Lolla, feeling rather ashamed of her question. "Only I thought I would just ask, because—because—" Lolla paused in some confusion. She did not exactly know what to say.

"I dare say you can make a breakfast on ham-and-eggs and bread-and-butter," said Aunt Delight.

"Was it wrong to ask, aunt?"

"Oh, no. But, Lolla, it is not usually considered very polite to make remarks upon what is on the table. Little girls should eat what is set before them, without saying very much about it. See here: you shall have your coffee in this silver cup, which belonged to your great-grandmother,—and her grandmother before her, for aught I know. Just think how many little girls must have drunk out of it before you."