CHAPTER XI.

JOSIE'S EXCURSION.

"LEVESON, it's such a time since you came home last," said Josie, one bright October day.

"A whole fortnight," said Leveson Therlock, stooping to kiss his little sister. Though only her half-brother, he loved her as much as ever brother loved little sister of his own.

"A fortnight is a dreadfully long time," said Josie. "Mother has been wanting you nearly as much as I have—haven't you, mother?"

"If not more," said Mrs. Therlock.

"O no, it couldn't be more, because I have wanted Leveson as much as could be. Do you know I cried for you in bed one night, Leveson?"

"I heard of a little child once who cried for the moon," said Leveson.

"That was a stupid thing to do," said Josie, "because he couldn't have the moon, but I can have you."

"You mean he was stupid to cry, because crying wouldn't bring the moon to him."

"No, I don't mean that," said Josie, not choosing to be caught in a trap. "You want me to say that I was just as stupid to cry for you, because crying wouldn't bring you either. But if I cried so as to make myself ill—wouldn't you come then?"

"I think I should send the doctor," said Leveson. He sat down and took Josie within his arm. "I have been very busy, Josie; still I have not forgotten my promise to my pet."

"You always are busy," said Josie. "I don't see why all the poor children in London are always to come before me."

"Which stands in the most need of help?"

"I think I do," said Josie decidedly, "because I haven't one single little girl to play games with me, and the poor children have hundreds."

"And not having a single little girl, you want a big brother instead."

"I'd rather have you than all the little girls in the world," said Josie. "But you see now, Leveson, I really do want you very much. It isn't only fancy."

"No, I see,—it is a question of health," said Leveson.

"Now, you needn't laugh at me."

"Was I laughing?"

"Yes, you know you were, down in your thoughts."

Leveson laughed now, at all events.

"But I don't know what promise you meant a minute ago," said Josie.

"Did I not once say I would take a certain little girl for a trip down the river?"

"Oh, you don't mean that!"

"You shall go to-day if you like. Perhaps it would be chilly on the water, but you shall take your choice. Down the river, or else over the Tower, or else off to Hampton Court."

Josie gave a little shriek at the third proposal, which showed what she thought of it.

"What, you would prefer the last?"

"Hampton Court! A real palace! I should think so!"

"Better than the river or the Tower?"

"I've been on the river before, and the Tower is in London. I want to get away. Does the Queen live at Hampton Court?"

"No, the last king that lived there was the Queen's great-great-grandfather, King George the Second."

"At all events, it's a real palace, because my history-book says so," observed Josie. "You don't really mean we are going?"

[Illustration: "You always are busy," said Josie.]

"Directly. Run away and dress. If we don't start at once, we shall miss our train. It would not be worth while going later, for the place is closed to visitors at four."

"But, mother," said Josie, making a spring towards the door, "won't you come too?"

Mrs. Therlock shook her head.

"I cannot stand sight-seeing, darling," she said gently. "Go and enjoy yourself as much as possible. I shall love to think how happy you are."

"Only it seems too bad to take Leveson from you."

"Leveson will sleep here to-night, so I shall see him all the evening. Run and dress, Josie."

"Make haste, or we shall be too late," said Leveson; and Josie flew off in overpowering excitement.

She would have flung on anything that came to hand, in her dread of being too late; but nurse had her own ideas as to propriety, and undertook the task of dressing her eager little charge. It was of no use for Josie to fume and struggle. She had to submit to being brushed and smoothed, arranged and patted, till frock, ribbons, hair, and feathers were all in proper order. Then, and not till then, Josie was released, almost in tears with repressed impatience. However, the final rush down-stairs dissipated all annoyance, and Leveson, who was engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Therlock, apparently sorrowful in its nature, rose at once.

"Come, we have no time to lose."

A hansom cab was Josie's special delight, so one was procured near at hand, and off they went at full speed—Josie's brown hair tossing to and fro in the wind, and her hand clasping Leveson's in grateful ecstasy.

"Oh, it is so delicious—so very delicious!" she said. "How good you are to take me." Then, after a minute or two,—"Do you know, Leveson, it was just there I saw that poor little starving girl—the very day you promised to take me on the river."

"Poor little girl," said Leveson.

"I wonder if she did starve?" remarked Josie. "I made nurse bring me a great many times along here, until I was tired of the walk; but I never saw her again. I am so afraid she must have starved to death."

"I trust not. It would be a terrible thing."

"Yes, it must be very dreadful to be so hungry. How fast we are going!"

"You were rather long dressing, little woman, so we have barely time to catch our train."

"Oh!—Oh, Leveson! There she is!" cried Josie. "The little girl that was starved—at least, starving. O dear!"

Leveson looked back, and caught a glimpse of a small figure on the pavement.

"We can stop, and ask her where she lives, if you like," he said. "Only I fear we shall lose our train."

"Oh, I don't want to miss the train," said Josie, and they went on. But she said uneasily the next moment—"Do you think we ought?"

"I cannot decide for you. I have been to Hampton Court before, so it would not be the same disappointment to me as to you to miss it. Do as you wish."

"You see she isn't starved," said Josie.

"No, so I perceive."

"Perhaps she was trying to take me in that day, after all," said Josie, anxious to feel herself in the right.

"You did not think so at the time."

"But she told me she was starving—and she's alive now," said Josie, inclined for an argument.

"No doubt some one gave her food."

"I dare say I shall see her again some day," said Josie. "I'll walk there every morning for some days, and then I'm pretty nearly sure to do it."

"Very well, dear."

"And it may not have been the same little girl, after all," said Josie. "Her frock looked cleaner."

"But how about her face?"

"That was cleaner too," said Josie.

"Yes, but was it the same face?"

"Why, I thought so; but then you know I only had the littlest bit of a glimpse, so how could I tell? And fancy if I had missed Hampton Court for nothing."

"So we will decide that it was not the little girl after all," said Leveson.

"I can't, because—I suppose it was," said Josie, with a cloudy look. "Leveson, I know you think I ought to have wanted to stop to speak to her. But it would be so very very hard to bear, if I couldn't go to Hampton Court. And I hardly ever get any pleasure. It is very unkind of you."

Leveson put a kind hand under her chin, and made her look up into his face.

"My dear little woman, that is all fancy. You have talked so much of the poor child, that I thought you had a very particular interest in her—"

"And so I have,—but she isn't Hampton Court," murmured Josie.

"So that was why I put the question about speaking to her. But I dare say you will meet her again some day, as she seems to frequent that road. No doubt her home is near."

"She hasn't any home," said Josie.

"She had not, perhaps; but probably she has found friends of some description—or her mother may be out of jail before now.

"Why, so she may," said Josie, brightening. "I didn't think of that. And you don't think I was very wrong to want to go on?"

Josie's tender conscience was not easily set at rest, but Leveson was anxious that her day should be one of thorough pleasure, and he exerted himself to draw her attention to other matters. They soon reached the station, and, by the time she was seated in the train, her spirits had arisen to their usual pitch.

It was a very happy time that Josie spent. She walked through the galleries of beautiful paintings, wondering much why Leveson admired so many which she thought ugly, and why he spoke so slightingly of those which she thought lovely.

"Wait till you are older," he said, smiling, when she asked an explanation. "Your taste in pictures has to be trained and taught, like every other part of your mind. It seldom comes naturally."

Josie had no objection to waiting, though secretly she felt sure that some of his favourites she should esteem frightful all her life long. After the pictures, they went into the garden, and Josie raced about the terraces, and lost herself in the maze so completely, that Leveson had to follow her in and lead her out. Then she admired the great vine, belonging to the Queen, and wondered at the thought of its two thousand bunches of grapes, borne every year.

After that, Leveson took her into a refreshment-house for some lunch, and a long ramble in Bushey Park followed. How Josie skipped, and danced, and rushed about under the fine chestnut and lime trees, wearing their autumn tints. And, finally, a military band gave them some lively tunes, in the garden.

Josie was tired by this time, and sat listening on a bench by her brother's side, with the country breeze playing round her, and the sunlight kissing her round cheeks, and catching a reflection in her happy eyes. It was delightful to sit there and listen to the band, her feet pattering softly on the greensward in time with the tunes, while merry groups of children played near, and the lofty walls of the fine old palace rose behind.

Only it was all over too soon; and sadly Josie said, when Leveson intimated that they must think of returning—

"So it's done now—and, oh! Dear, dear, I shall have to go on with the old round again, in those dismal old streets. And all the while we might be living in the dear beautiful country. I do think it is very hard."

"Do you think this discontent is right?" asked Leveson, as he rose to take her away.

"No," said Josie.

"I have done what I can to make a happy day for you. Cannot you let mother and me have a bright face in return?"

"I didn't mean to be nasty and ungrateful," whispered Josie.

"I am sure you did not, and you will not be."

"Only you don't know how tired I do get of London, and having nobody to play with," said Josie.

"You have had no one to play with to-day."

"I've had you."

Leveson was silent a moment.

"Josie," he said at length, "many a poor little child in the streets of London cannot obtain such a sweet glimpse of beauty and freshness as you have had now to carry away with you."

"They don't know what country is, so they don't miss it," said Josie.

"I think that makes the matter only more grievous."

"But I have lived in the country, and I don't forget, though it was so long ago," said Josie.

"Many a poor little one may remember it too, without a hope of even a glimpse of it again," said Leveson.

And Josie knew from the sound of his saddened voice what was the subject of his thoughts just then.

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