So Allison began:
"Well, this is a story about a girl like yourselves. Her name? We'll call her Alice. Unfortunately, Alice's parents died when she was quite young and she was left in the charge of her uncle, who was made her guardian. He was a soldier and was abroad a good deal, so Alice couldn't live with him. Instead, she lived in the country, in charge of her nurse. Alice led rather a lonely life, for she never went to school but had lessons instead at the Rectory, where the Rector taught her and several delicate little boys who were not robust enough to go to preparatory boarding-schools."
"What a rotten time she must have had!" remarked Glenda. "Didn't she know any other children?"
"Well, sometimes she visited the other children who lived near, but very often she had to make her own amusements and formed the habit of reading a great deal and dreaming over the books she read. The red-letter days in her life were her uncle's visits. Other children had mothers and fathers, it is true, but very few had for a guardian an officer in the British Army who wore rows of medals for brave and gallant deeds, and who could tell you breathless stories of daring and heroic actions, who was always kind to you and who made you want to grow up as brave and generous as he was."
"I'd rather have a mother and father," observed Ida, selecting a chestnut from the hearth and peeling off the shell. "However, I suppose he was the next best thing."
"Anyway," Allison went on, "Alice thought the world of him, and like many other young people she cherished a passionate hero-worship for this idol of hers—who, she felt, possessed all the virtues of nobility, gallantry, honesty and courage. You may guess how delighted she was when she heard that he had resigned his commission and had settled down to live in England, and that she was to make her home with him and his sister in the future. But a dreadful blow fell before she experienced this new happiness——"
"What blow?" demanded Ida, pausing in the act of popping the chestnut into her mouth. She hadn't been very interested in Alice up to that point, but now the story began to be more exciting.
"I warned you not to interrupt," Allison said severely. "I'm just going to tell you. Alice's nurse received the news, but kept it from her charge, and in answer to Alice's constant inquiries, 'When is uncle coming to fetch me?' she could only shake her head sadly. But her aunt came to fetch her at last, and Alice's sensitive spirit was chilled by her cold, unloving greeting. She soon learnt the truth. Her uncle and guardian had become involved in money difficulties and had fled the country secretly, taking with him the little fortune which Alice's parents had left in his charge for their child."
"What a shame!" cried several girls together. "Whatever did Alice do?" added Glenda. "I suppose she had nothing at all after that."
"For a little while after she heard the news she had a sort of lost, bewildered feeling as if she could feel no solid ground under her feet," continued Allison. "If her uncle could do this thing, then it seemed as if there was no honour, nor honesty, nor kindliness in the world. The lost, lonely feeling changed and hardened into a spirit of sullen resentment, which grew worse under her aunt's treatment of her. Her aunt, unfortunately, hadn't a very loving disposition and did not care for young people; but being very conscientious, she regarded it as her duty to look after the child her brother had robbed and deserted, though she made it quite plain to Alice that the duty was an unpleasant one. Alice, I suppose, argued that if people in this world had no scruples and were all selfish, why should she bother either? You can understand how she felt, can't you?"