Forgotten Tales of Long Ago

by E. V. Lucas

Mr. Placid was a clergyman of distinguished merit, and had been for many years the vicar of Smiledale. The situation of the parsonage was truly beautiful, but the income of the living was not very considerable; so, as the old gentleman had two sons with the young Jemima to provide for, it was necessary to be rather frugal in his expenses. Mrs. Placid was remarkably handsome in her youth, but the beauty of her person was much impaired by a continued state of ill-health, which she supported with such a degree of cheerful fortitude as did honour to human nature. As she had had the advantage of a liberal education, and had been always accustomed to genteel company, her conversation was uncommonly agreeable; and her daughter derived from her instructions those engaging qualities which are the most valuable endowments a parent can bestow. The eldest son, whose name was Charles, was about three years, and William, the youngest, near a year and a half older than his sister. Their dispositions were not in all respects so gentle as hers; yet, on the whole, they formed the most agreeable family.

When Jemima was about six years old, her mother's health rendered it necessary that she should take a journey to Bristol; and it being out of her power to have Jemima with her, she left her with an aunt, whose name was Finer, and who had two daughters a few years older than their cousin. Miss Placid, who had never before been separated from her mother, was severely hurt at the thought of leaving home; but as she was told it was absolutely necessary, she restrained her tears, from fear of increasing the uneasiness which her mother experienced.

At last the day arrived when her uncle (whom I before forgot to mention) and his wife came to dinner at Smiledale, with an intention of conducting Jemima back with them. She was in her father's study at the time they alighted, and could not help weeping at the idea of quitting her friends; and throwing her arms around her brother William's neck, silently sobbed forth that grief she wanted power to restrain. The poor boy, who loved his sister with great tenderness, was nearly as much agitated as herself, and could only, with affectionate kisses, every now and then exclaim:

'Do not cry so, Jemima. Pray, do not! We shall soon meet again, my love. Pray, do not cry!'

When she had relieved her little heart with this indulgence of her sorrow, she wiped her eyes, and walked slowly upstairs to have her frock put on.

'So your aunt is come, miss?' said Peggy, as she put down the basin on the table to wash her hands.

Poor Jemima was silent.

'I am sorry we are going to lose you, my dear,' added she, as she wiped the towel over her forehead.

Peggy's hand held back her head, and at the same time supported her chin, so that her face was confined and exposed to observation. She wanted to hide her tears, but she could not; so at last, hastily covering herself with the maid's apron, and putting her two hands round her waist, she renewed the sorrow which she had so lately suppressed.