"Go upstairs, Rose—very, very quietly—and ask Christian—very, very quietly—if you may tell her story to us. If she says no, you will not tell it us; but if she says yes, then you will tell us the wonderful tale."
"Oh! it is wonderful and beautiful and everything else," said Rose. "Yes, I will go upstairs."
She ran quickly up the broad stairs, went down the White Corridor, and softly opened the door of the room where nurse sat by her darling's bedside. Christian, well enough now to be wide awake and smiling, was listening to words from the old woman's lips.
"Now, what is it, Rosy?" said Mrs. Peach. "What's the matter with you? You do seemed pleased about something."
"It's a message I have to give to Miss Christian," said Rose; "and it's from the lady they call Miss Peacock."
"My word!" cried nurse. "Why, she's the lady of the school; she's the head-mistress. She's a sort of queen here."
"What is the message?" asked Christian.
"It's nothing as is to bother Miss Christian," said nurse. "There! you have made her cheeks quite pink. What is it, Rose? Out with it."
"They want a story," said Rose. "There are a lot of 'em downstairs. Some of 'em are beautiful-looking young ladies, and others dull and stupid enough. There's one I didn't like a bit. I wouldn't know her if I had to live in the slums all my life. They all want a story just like any other girls. They know their own stories, they say, and they want a new one from me; and I thought I'd tell 'em the story of me and you, Miss Christian. And Miss Peacock, the grand head-mistress, the queen of the place, said: