Last Christmas I was staying at Cranley Grange—Rosie’s home in the country,—when one morning at breakfast her mamma said to me—“Charlie is coming home to-day; I can’t go to meet him, my cough is so bad. I wonder if you would mind driving down to the station, and taking Rosie and Frank?”
Charlie, who was the eldest son, and a great favourite of mine, was coming home for his Christmas holidays. He was about fourteen years old, while Rosie was only ten, and Frank two years younger.
I said I should be delighted to go, thinking what a pleasant drive it would be with those merry laughing children. Little did I anticipate the trial to my nerves, and the succession of frights, that were in store for me.
We were soon seated in the open wagonette, and off we started. Though I should not say seated, for the children scarcely sat down at all: they kept jumping up, changing places, pushing each other, and playing all sorts of pranks. I was in an agony of fear lest they should tumble out; and during the whole drive, I sat with my arms extended, clutching hold, sometimes of one, sometimes of the other, to save them. This was fright number one.
At last we arrived at the station;—the children still in uproarious spirits, though with cherry noses, as well as rosy cheeks, from the cold. I must tell you that there was snow upon the ground; and as, unluckily, we had ten minutes to wait for the train, they began to amuse themselves by snowballing each other. Frank set the example, and they found it such fun that I scolded, and begged them to be quiet, in vain. At last I observed Rosie standing quite at the end of the platform, where the snow was thicker, and she had collected a large snowball, which she held up in her hands. As I looked at her, and thought what a pretty picture she made, I noticed, in the landscape behind her, a little puff of white smoke. It was the approaching train, at a distance of not more than half a mile. I thought her position, at the extremity of the platform, and just at the edge too, terribly dangerous. And this may be called—fright number two.
I had just opened my lips to call out to her that the train was coming, when a whole handful of snow came dab into my face, filling my mouth and eyes. It was that little rogue Frank, who had crept close up to me, and playfully bestowed upon my face the snow he had been collecting. Recovering from the shock, I looked out again for Rosie. She was no longer in the same place; but, quite beyond the platform, and close upon the rails, I saw her kneeling down in the snow. I screamed with all my might, and a railway porter ran to her, whisked her up in his arms, and brought her safely on to the platform again. This was fright number three; and never, I think, before or since, have I been so much frightened as I was for the moment.
Directly afterwards the train stopped, and Charlie jumped out. When he heard of Rosie’s danger, he scolded her as if he had been a little grandfather, and his words seemed to have much more weight than mine. I now observed that Rosie had a tiny white rabbit in her arms, and she told us that this was what she was picking up out of the snow upon the rails. She thought it was quite excuse enough for herself when she said:—“Only think, Charlie dear, haven’t I saved the life of this pretty little rabbit?”
On the way home, Charlie sat in front and drove, with the coachman beside him; but he contrived now and then to turn his head a little, and keep up his lecture to his brother and sister about their riotous behaviour all the way. Meanwhile I sat quiet, rather humbled at observing how much more respect they showed for the scolding they got from their big brother than for mine. But of one thing I am certain: nothing would ever induce me to take charge of those two lively young people on an expedition of the kind again.
THE ROBIN’S SONG.
