Lena Graham

by Cecilia Selby Lowndes

Lena expected, and Milly also, that the former would be quite heart-broken at the prospect of parting from her Aunt. Milly was of rather a sentimental character, and had secret visions of herself comforting and consoling poor Lena; and felt rather disappointed, to say the least of it, when she saw her sister interested and busy in the preparations for their departure, and talking brightly and hopefully of what was to be done at Astbury. Not that Lena was unkind or unloving. She did love her Aunt very very dearly, and felt really sorry and unhappy at the prospect of losing her; but with the buoyancy and cheerfulness of youth, she soon learned to look on the bright and hopeful side of things. She had never written to Auntie in all her life, and she talked much of the long letters she would write to her, and then how nice it would be to show her the new home when she came to see them at Christmas. So very soon she was the same bright, lively little Lena of old. Occasionally, however, some little thought or action would cause her to sigh, and wish that changes would not come—at least she would add, "I wish people had not to go away from one another. I like going to new places."

There were other changes in store also, for an invitation came for Milly from her godmother, who lived in London. Mrs. Clifford wanted to see and know her little namesake and godchild. Would Colonel Graham, who was going to Astbury a few days earlier than the rest of the family, bring Milly and leave her with Mrs. Clifford on his way through London? So ran the invitation.

"I wish she had asked me!" exclaimed Lena, when she heard of the letter.

"O Lena, and leave Aunt Mary the last few days!" said Milly reproachfully.

"No, of course not—I did not think of that—but I should like to see London and all the sights."

Milly was not at all of this opinion. She shrank from the very thought of going away to a strange house without Mama. She had never left her before; and although she was called after Mrs. Clifford, she had only seen her once when they were in town, on first arriving from India. She begged very hard not to go, but her parents thought it was right for her to do so. Lena alternately teased and laughed at her for being shy and stupid for not wanting to go, and envied her for being invited, and wished she was going, for she was quite sure that Mrs. Clifford would take her to see all sorts of things and be ever so kind to her. If this invitation had come to Milly at any other time, I am afraid Lena would have been terribly disappointed at not being invited also; but these last few days at Aunt Mary's were too full of interest and occupation to allow much time for regrets of any sort. There were so many people and places to take farewell of, and so much to be seen to in the house, that Lena was what she called "deliciously busy." Hester was to go with them as nurse to Lucy, so she also was very busy, and also went away for a day or two to say good-bye to her parents, who lived in the neighbourhood of Meadenham. During those days Lucy was Lena's constant companion, and on the whole they got on capitally together. They were very much alike in disposition; and although Lucy was very fond of Lena, she found she was quite a different sort of sister in authority than Millicent.

Time slipped away very fast, as it always does when there is much to be done. It is only with the idle and lazy that time lags and creeps slowly along. How the minutes crawl while one is waiting without anything to do—they seem to lengthen themselves out in the most extraordinary manner. Let one of my little readers remark the length of five minutes when she or he, as the case may be, is busy and interested, and five minutes when they are standing idle, wondering what they shall do next, or perhaps grumbling because they are prevented doing something on which they had set their heart. Once a very small child, who was told to wait ten minutes for some reason, was seen to give the clock a great push and call it "a stupid, tiresome thing"—she was quite sure it had stopped just to tease her. She was too small to be able to tell the time herself, but nurse had shown her where the big hand would point when the ten minutes were up, and, oh dear! they were so long to that impatient little mortal who stood gazing up at it with such interest and anxiety. The last day came, and they all—that is, Mama, Auntie, Lena, Lucy, and Hester—all started for London, at which place they were to meet Milly. Mrs. Clifford was to meet them with her at the station, and there also Aunt Mary was to part from them.

On reaching London, they drove from the station at which they arrived from Meadenham to one on the other side of the town, from which they were to go to the town near which their future home was situated. Aunt Mary was to drive with them and see them off. At first Lena and Lucy were in the wildest of spirits, everything was new and pleasant; but before they reached London they both became tired of the monotony of being shut up in one place; and as the train was a fast one, it whirled along too rapidly for them to get more than a passing glimpse of the different places on the road.

Most children delight in going away, but I never yet met with one that liked being in the train. The Grahams were no exception to this rule. Lucy first became restless and inclined to be cross, then Mama seated her on her knee, to look out, and very soon the rapid motion wearied the little frame, the blue eyes began to blink, then close, the head fell back on Mama's shoulder, and Lucy was sound asleep, to the relief and comfort of her fellow-passengers. Lena nestled up against Aunt Mary, and as she thus sat with the kind arm round her, the remembrance came to her with startling distinctness, that this would be the last time for many months that she would feel the pressure of that kind hand; and then thought after thought came thronging into her mind of all the love and goodness that Aunt Mary had showered upon her during the last six years. Her whole life, as it seemed to the child, had been passed with Auntie, and now that they were to be separated, she wished, oh so much, that she had been a better and more obedient girl. When she came to them at Christmas she would show her how much she loved her by being so good, and all that she could wish. And she crept closer to her Aunt as she thus thought of the past and of the future. She would have liked to throw her arms round her neck, and tell her how much she loved her, and how sorry she was to part with her; but there were strangers in the compartment with them, and Lena did not like any one but her own people to see her in tears, so she only crept close, and squeezed the hand that clasped hers very tight. Lena's thoughts were good and loving, but mingled with all the goodness was the one thing that was so seldom wanting from her good resolutions, and was the invariable cause of their failure, self-confidence—she would be good she was determined. How often and often had Auntie shown this to Lena, and now Mama was trying to teach her the same lesson of humility and trust in God. If Lena had said to her own heart, "I will try, by God's help, to be good and do what I know will please Auntie," she would certainly have succeeded. But fortunately for Lena, both Mama and Auntie were asking for her what she forgot to ask for herself—the grace of humility.

When the train reached its destination, it was a very sobered, quiet Lena that got out of it; she was so gentle, and waited so quietly, holding Lucy's hand, while the luggage was being collected and placed on a cab, that Mama said, "Why, Lena, what a capital little traveller you are! I shall tell Papa that he need not be afraid of my travelling without him when I have you."