“We must begin rightly at once, or we shall get into wrong ways,” thought Mrs Fortescue. “The servants must both go to church; one in the morning, and one in the evening, turn about. And we must have a cold meal once a day. Let me see—if Harriet goes to-morrow morning, we can have a hot luncheon and cold supper this first Sunday, and tea all together in the afternoon,” and she lay awake half the night thinking about it, which was not very wise, I must allow, as it made her sleep later than usual the next morning.
But she dressed quickly, and on her way downstairs to breakfast, glanced in at the little girls’ room, expecting to find them ready.
Alas! What was the spectacle that met her view?
Leila in bed reading—a candle still alight on the little table by her side, though the room was, of course, in full daylight. Christabel, half dressed, standing in front of the looking-glass, tearing wildly at her hair, and scolding furiously at her sister, who was calmly paying no attention to her. And the room! Its state may be imagined when I say that it looked as if every article of clothing the children possessed had been dragged out of wardrobe and drawers and flung pell-mell on beds, chairs, and floor. It was really difficult to believe that such confusion was possible in the same room that Nurse had left in perfect order the very afternoon before.
Mrs Fortescue’s heart sank. For a moment or two she stood there speechless—unobserved by Leila, absorbed in her book, or by Chrissie, in the noise and excitement of her temper. And when at last their mother spoke, it was only by raising her voice that she gained their attention.
“Leila,” she said, and her tone was more severe than either of the girls had ever before heard it, “Leila, get up at once. I am completely ashamed of you;” and Leila started up. She attempted no excuse.
“Christabel,” Mrs Fortescue went on, “be silent.”
“I can’t be, I won’t be,” stormed Chrissie. “It is all Leila’s fault. I got up very soon after that stupid Harriet brought the hot water, and she said she’d come back to help me to tie my hair, and I would have been ready, but Leila wouldn’t get up, and at last I threw a pillow at her, and it overturned the chair with her clothes on, and then she said I’d got out her Sunday frock instead of mine, and I hadn’t, and then she went on so, that I did get out hers and threw it on the floor, and her jacket and hat too, just to show her, and—”
“Christabel be silent,” repeated her mother, and this time the child, though with flaming cheeks and really shaking with anger, did obey her.