"My dear children, what an untidy room! What! Up to the eyes in dolls and dolls' belongings, Madge. I suppose you are preparing for the small cousins. But I thought by this time the whole establishment would be in order. Flossie, how have you gone on working amid such a racket? What has it been about?"
"Jack's new penny. He lost it, and would not be pacified until at length it was discovered—but not without enough fuss and turmoil to make the room in this state—in the very place where he had himself put it. I offered him another, two others, but nothing save the particular penny would do. As if the loss of a penny were of any consequence."
"It is of consequence," said Jack. "I did not want to lose it. I never like to lose anything, if taking a little trouble will find it. Besides, I don't believe in being beaten when I know the thing must be somewhere about, so I was determined not to give in, until I got my penny back again."
"Right, Jack," said mamma, "and I am very glad your perseverance was rewarded by its recovery. Still, you had no occasion to make the whole room and its contents look as though the place was the scene of a recent earthquake. Flossie, dear, how have you managed to move your elbows? You might be besieged. Let me say to you, dear, also, never undervalue a penny. I once heard a story which told how the future of two lives hung on a single penny."
Flossie's book was closed, and her pen wiped and put away in a moment.
"I have just finished my work, mamma, and am longing for a chat with you by the fireside. Tell us the story about the penny. Do, there's a darling."
Mamma's cosy chair was drawn forward, and a little fireside circle formed instanter. But mamma protested that she never could tell a story in the midst of a litter, so Madge and Jack began to clear away with great rapidity. The girl, who was naturally methodical, put things in their places; the boy made bad worse by the unceremonious fashion in which he huddled the dolls, their clothing and furniture into the miniature mansion, and closed the door upon them.
In her eagerness to hear her mother's story Madge forgot to find fault with Jack, and soon the girls were seated at each side of the family tale-teller, and the lad stretched on the rug at her feet, his upturned, intelligent face lighted by the blaze of the cheerful fire, gas having been vetoed by unanimous consent.
[CHAPTER II.]
TWENTY years ago two girls might have been seen approaching a London railway-station. They had evidently been on a shopping expedition, for they were quite laden with numbers of small parcels, besides which they had one of considerable bulk, though not very weighty. A glance at their fine, fresh faces and the lovely colour on their cheeks suggested the idea that they were country girls on a visit to the metropolis. Indeed, few persons could have met these girls without giving them a second glance. One, the elder by several years, was unusually tall; but her carriage was equally remarkable for grace and dignity, and her features for almost faultless regularity. No wonder that she attracted some attention amongst the many passers-by.