The Palace in the Garden

Mrs. Molesworth

Molesworth Mrs.

The Palace in the Garden

CHAPTER I

WE THREE

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,

How many may you be?"

think the best beginning is the morning that grandpapa sent for us to come down to the study. Tib and Gerald, don't think so. They say I should begin by telling our names, and how old we were, and all that – at least, Gerald says so; Tib isn't quite sure. Tib very often isn't quite sure. She has got too grand ideas, and if she were going to write a story, she would make it like poetry, very difficult to understand, and awfully long words, and lots about feelings and sorrows and mysteries. I like mysteries, too – I think they are very interesting, and I have one to tell about, as you will see, only I must tell it my own way, and after all, as this story is only to be read by Tib and Gerald – and our children – we have settled that when we are all three grown-up and married, and have children, it shall be made into a book for them – I daresay it doesn't much matter how it is told.

Well, that morning we were all poking our heads as far as we dared out of the school-room window – Miss Evans hadn't yet come – to see the first primrose man that had passed that year. We heard his "All a blowing, all a growing," far off down the street, but we hadn't yet seen him and his basket with the beautiful light yellow bunches at the top, and we were wondering if we could get Fanny to run out and buy us twopence-worth, when Bland stuck his solemn and rather crabbed-looking face in at the door. Bland is grandpapa's "own man," as they say, and his name doesn't suit him at all – at least, it didn't then – he's not so bad now we're older.

"Young ladies and Master Gerald," he said, "my master wishes you all to come down stairs to speak to him before he goes out."

Down we all tumbled from the window-sill. Tib and I began smoothing our aprons and tugging at each other's hair – grandpapa was very particular. Gerald only looked at his hands.

"They are rather dirty," he said seriously. "But I did wash them so very well this morning, and it's not ten o'clock yet. Do you think, Gussie – ?"

I knew what he was going to say, so I cut him short.

"Yes, I do think you'd better run and wash them at once– why, you might have had them done by now – they are just perfectly grimy."

For Gerald would any day talk for ten minutes about why he needn't wash his hands rather than run off and do them. I am afraid he was rather a dirty little boy – he'll be very angry if he sees that, for he is now getting to be very particular indeed – for though he liked bathing in the sea, he would do anything to avoid washing – regular good soapy washing. But he was too afraid of grandpapa to stand out when I said his hands were as bad as "grimy;" so off he went.

"Are we to come down at once?" asked Tib.

"Yes, miss. Your grandpapa has ordered the brougham to be round in ten minutes," Bland graciously informed us as Gerald started off.

"I wonder what it's about?" said Tib. "I hope he's not vexed with us."

For it wasn't often that grandpapa sent for us in the morning, except on birthdays or Christmas Day, when he had presents for us. He never forgot about that, I must say.

"Why should he be vexed with us?" I said. "We've not done anything naughty;" for Tib was standing there with the tears on their way to her big blue eyes, as I could see quite well – and I've no patience with people who look as if they had been naughty when they haven't.

"Well, you go in first, then, Gussie," said Tib. "I wish I wasn't frightened, but I can't help it."

By this time we were on the stairs, not far from the study door, and Gerald had run after us, with very red shiny paws, you may be sure, and in another moment we were all three in "the august presence," as Tib called it afterwards.

Grandpapa had just finished his breakfast. He used often to have it like that, just on a little tray in the study. It didn't look very comfortab