Eight Cousins
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Preface
The Author is quite aware of the defects of this little story, many
of which were unavoidable, as it first appeared serially. But, as
Uncle Alec's experiment was intended to amuse the young folks,
rather than suggest educational improvements for the
consideration of the elders, she trusts that these shortcomings will
be overlooked by the friends of the Eight Cousins, and she will try
to make amends in a second volume, which shall attempt to show
The Rose in Bloom.
L.M.A.
Chapter 1 - Two Girls
Rose sat all alone in the big best parlor, with her little
handkerchief laid ready to catch the first tear, for she was thinking
of her troubles, and a shower was expected. She had retired to this
room as a good place in which to be miserable; for it was dark and
still, full of ancient furniture, sombre curtains, and hung all around
with portraits of solemn old gentlemen in wigs, severe-nosed
ladies in top-heavy caps, and staring children in little bob-tailed
coats or short-waisted frocks. It was an excellent place for woe;
and the fitful spring rain that pattered on the window-pane seemed
to sob, "Cry away: I'm with you."
Rose really did have some cause to be sad; for she had no mother,
and had lately lost her father also, which left her no Home but this
with her great-aunts. She had been with them only a week, and,
though the dear old ladies had tried their best to make her happy,
they had not succeeded very well, for she was unlike any child they
had ever seen, and they felt very much as if they had the care of a
low-spirited butterfly.
They had given her the freedom of the house, and for a day or two
she had amused herself roaming all over it, for it was a capital old
mansion, and was full of all manner of odd nooks, charming
rooms, and mysterious passages. Windows broke out in
unexpected places, little balconies overhung the garden most
romantically, and there was a long upper hall full of curiosities
from all parts of the world; for the Campbells had been
sea-captains for generations.
Aunt Plenty had even allowed Rose to rummage in her great china
closet a spicy retreat, rich in all the "goodies" that children love;
but Rose seemed to care little for these toothsome temptations;
and when that hope failed, Aunt Plenty gave up in despair.
Gentle Aunt Peace had tried all sorts of pretty needle-work, and
planned a doll's wardrobe that would have won the heart of even
an older child. But Rose took little interest in pink satin hats and
tiny hose, though she sewed dutifully till her aunt caught her
wiping tears away with the train of a wedding-dress, and that
discovery put an end to the sewing society.
Then both old ladies put their heads together and picked out the
model child of the neighbourhood to come and play with their
niece. But Ariadne Blish was the worst failure of all, for Rose
could not bear the sight of her, and said she was so like a wax doll
she longed to give her a pinch and see if she would squeak. So
prim little Ariadne was sent Home, and the exhausted aunties left
Rose to her own devices for a day or two.
Bad weather and a cold kept her in-doors, and she spent most of
her time in the library where her father's books were stored. Here
she read a great deal, cried a little, and dreamed many of the
innocent bright dreams in which imaginative children find such
comfort and delight. This suited her better than anything else, but
it was not good for her, and she grew pale, heavy-eyed and listless,
though Aunt Plenty gave her iron enough to make a cooking-stove,
and Aunt Peace petted her like a poodle.
Seeing this, the poor aunties racked their brains for a new
amusement and determined to venture a bold stroke, though not
very hopeful of its success. They said nothing to Rose about their
plan for this Saturday afternoon, but let her alone till the time
came for the grand surprise, little dreaming that the odd child
would find pleasure for herself in a most unexpected quarter.
Before she had time to squeeze out a single tear a sound broke the
stillness, making her prick up her ears. It was only the soft twitter
of a bird, but it seemed to be a peculiarly gifted bird, for while she
listened the soft twitter changed to a lively whistle, then a trill, a
coo, a chirp, and ended in a musical mixture of all the notes, as if
the bird burst out laughing. Rose laughed also, and, forgetting her
woes, jumped up, saying eagerly
"It is a mocking-bird. Where is it?"
Running down the long hall, she peeped out at both doors, but saw
nothing feathered except a draggle-tailed chicken under&
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