‘Come, lass, and get your breakfast; ’tis near time you were starting for school.’
After bestowing a hearty kiss on Mrs. Peartree’s sunburnt cheek, Madeline took her seat at the table; then suddenly looking round she asked:—
‘Why, Aunt Jane, where be Uncle Luke?’
‘Gone away two hours or more wi’ Uncle Mark; they sailed up wi’ the tide an hour afore thou was out o’ thy bed!’
‘Gone to London without me!’ cried Madeline, her large eyes filling with tears. ‘Uncle Luke did promise to take me with him this time!’
‘There, there, ha’ done wi’ your crying, like a good lass!’ said Aunt Jane, soothingly. Your Uncle Luke he did want to take ye, but I would have none on’t this woyage. A pretty like morning to take you from your bed!—why the rain was falling and the wind blowing enough to give you your death. But if you are a good lass and learn your lessons well you shall go next time. They’ll bring down the barge to-morrow, and likely they’ll be for taking her back o’ Thursday. Then you shall go.’
With this assurance Madeline was fain to content herself. She had been on the barge once or twice when it had lain in Gray fleet basin, opposite the ferry; she had seen it spread out its great red wings and glide along the track of the river—until it looked like a great black swan—passing silently between the marshes, and fading behind the grey mist which for ever hung about them like a cloud; and her childish imaginations had often conjured up pictures of the strange scenes towards which the great black swan was drifting. London was to her the great world, the mysterious city, so different to the dark slimy river and low-lying marshes of Grayfleet. Ever since she could remember, this magic word ‘London’ had been the one which had ever urged her on to good deeds, the final goal to which all her virtuous deeds were to lead. Whenever she was bad, Aunt Jane never forgot to repeat the awful words—
‘There, Madlin, if you can’t be a better lass, you shall never go to London with me and Uncle Mark.’
And when she had been unusually good she never failed to hear the timeworn promise—
‘You’ve been downright good! You shall go to London with me, and see the great waxwork wi’ the kings and queens, and the Sleepin’ Beauty as large as life.’