And Nellie followed with a face as colourless as the great white roses she had stuck in her belt so lightheartedly half an hour ago.
[228]
]CHAPTER XX.
MY LITTLE ONE DAUGHTER.
“Misery,—oh! Misery,
This world is all too wide for thee!”
The very next day came a letter from India.
“Oh, this beautiful, beautiful country!” wrote Esther. “Oh, the colouring, the life in everything! I cannot tell you how new, painfully new, Australia seems compared with it. Imagine a little perky, pretty cottage beside a grand old castle, whose walls bear the mark of centuries. India is the castle. Or a nice, clean, healthy child in pinafores, very fond of play, and more than a little inclined to be spoilt, beside an old, old seer with a grand head grown white with wisdom, and wide eyes dim with staring at eternity. Australia is the nice clean child.
“It is the age of the place that sobers me. I feel [229] ]I ought to go about on tiptoe and speak in a whisper half the time. We are at Ajmere just now: from the window here I can see a white temple on the peak of wild mountains. It is called Taraghur, or the abode of the stars, and the Mohammedans make pilgrimages to it. Yesterday we rode (I wear a white linen habit and a helmet, girls) to Pookur, twelve miles away. It is a spot considered sacred by the Hindoos; indeed, it is one of the most sacred places in India. There is a lake lying in a basin among the hills, with its banks studded with buildings, old temples, and gardens, and in the centre a ruined fane I am afraid to say how many hundreds and hundreds of years old.
“To-morrow we go to Musseerabad, where the garrison is that your father has to take notes about; then on to Oodeypore; after that I am not certain of the programme, only—don’t all exclaim at once, or I shall hear even at this distance—we cannot possibly be back in the time we said. Your father has written for two months’ extension, and really, though of course I want to see you all, and ache sometimes for a sight of my baby’s little dear dirty face, I shouldn’t like to come without seeing more. Fancy if we had to come back without visiting the Taj Mahal! My only anxiety is that any one should be ill; but then, again, I don’t see why any one should [230] ]be so inconsiderate,—you’ve all managed to keep in splendid health for years; just keep a clean bill till I get back, and then you shall all take it in turns if you like. Dear Meg, keep Essie’s hands from picking and stealing. I dreamt the other night she ate a cocoanut and went in a fit. And Peter, my precious son, don’t climb the pine tree till mum comes back—if you must break your dear little collar bone at least give me the satisfaction of seeing it done. Of course there is no earthly reason why any of you should be ill, but I worry a little at times; I suppose it is because of the difficulty in getting letters. We never know where we are going next, so they can’t send on the mails from Bombay to us till we write for them. I will send you, by the next mail, an address to write to: we have not decided yet whether we are going to Hyderabad, Madras, or Calcutta. We are picking up presents for you all,—the loveliest chessmen for Pip, a wonderful cabinet of Bhoondee carving for Meg, moonstones from Ceylon for Nell,—something for every one. Such a box we shall have.
“Good-bye, my chickies all; take care of yourselves, and have as good a time as you can. If you should be just a little extravagant with the housekeeping money, Meg, I won’t scold you much; you can let Bennett’s bill run if you like, and have a [231] ]little garden party or jollification. Every one kiss my little one daughter for me.
“Your loving old mother,
“Esther.”