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Two Little Travellers A Story for Girls   By:

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TWO LITTLE TRAVELLERS

A Story for Girls

by

RAY CUNNINGHAM

(FRANCES BROWNE ARTHUR)

Author of "For Gilbert's Sake," "John Carew's Daughter," &c., &c.

Thomas Nelson and Sons London, Edinburgh, and New York 1903

"Oh! there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child."

CHARLES DICKENS.

TO MY CHILDREN

CONTENTS.

I. UNDER THE CEDAR TREE

II. LEFT BEHIND!

III. THE BABES IN THE WOOD

IV. FAR, FAR AWAY!

V. GONE AMISSING!

VI. THE CRUISE OF H.M.S. "DREADNOUGHT"

VII. HILL DIFFICULTY

VIII. BAMBO AND BRUNO

IX. THE NEXT MORNING

X. THE HAPPY LAND

XI. A SUDDEN FLIGHT

XII. FOLLOWED BY THE ENEMY

XIII. A TERRIBLE FRIGHT

XIV. AT EVENING TIME

XV. BAMBO'S FRIEND

XVI. COMING AND GOING

XVII. ADIEU!

TWO LITTLE TRAVELLERS.

CHAPTER I.

UNDER THE CEDAR TREE.

"There are twelve months throughout the year, From January to December, And the primest month of all the twelve Is the merry month of September! Then apples so red Hang overhead, And nuts, ripe brown, Come showering down In the bountiful days of September!"

MARY HOWITT.

It was pleasant under the shade of the huge cedar tree on the lawn at Firgrove that golden Sunday afternoon. It was autumn, really and truly, going by the calendar at the back of the small cat eared diary which Darby had coaxed from his father and always carried in his pocket. Yet the sunshine was so bright and warm, the birds were singing so joyously in the thickets, the rooks cawed so loudly as they wheeled and circled like a dense black battalion at drill up against the cloudless blue of the sky, that it was hard to believe the diary people had not made a mistake in their reckonings or stupidly mixed their dates.

Indeed, one would have been quite sure they had done something of the sort, and that it was still summer, only for the unmistakable signs and tokens of harvest that everywhere met the eye. In the fields on the hillside sloping up to meet the sky there were stooks of rich, ripe, yellow grain still standing, waiting to be carted home to Mr. Grey's stackyard, and there heaped into high domed castles round which children loved to play or linger silently, watching the sleek dun mice that darted so swiftly hither and thither, planning for themselves such glorious games in and out and round about their well stocked store houses amongst the crisp, rustling corn. Red cheeked apples, dark skinned winter pears ripened slowly on the orchard trees. Big bronze plums and late Victorias mellowed against the garden wall. And now and then when a breeze, gentle as the flutter of a fairy's wing, fanned the branches of the stately spreading lime tree that was comrade of the shining cedar on the lawn, there dropped on the grass border beside the tall hollyhocks a pale dry leaf, falling softly to the earth from which it grew, silently as a tired bird sinks to her nest amongst the clover blooms of summer.

On a wide wooden seat beneath the sheltering branches of the cedar tree Captain Dene sat with his little ones close beside him. They were very close to him indeed as close as they could come: for Darby was bunched up on the bench, legs and all, with his head tucked under his father's elbow; while Joan was folded in his arms so tightly that the golden tangle of her shining curls mingled with the deeper hue of the dark cropped head which bent so lovingly over hers.

And no wonder that those three cuddled so close together this balmy September afternoon. No wonder they looked sad in spite of the sunbeams that boldly forced their way through the spikes on the cedar branches in long, slanting shafts of light that rested lovingly on Joan's burnished hair like the tender touch of caressing fingers... Continue reading book >>




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