Miss Jameson's Grand Idea

IT was Mrs. Bartlett's habit, when well enough, to go to the schoolroom at five o'clock, and have a cup of tea with the children. The schoolroom tea was emphatically a "hungry" meal, to borrow a Scotch term. The children were wont to come in from their walk or their games with powerful appetites, and it was marvellous the quantity of bread and butter and home-made cake they would contrive to dispose of. The tea hour was such a bright cosy time, when their mother was ready to listen to all they liked to say, and to answer as many questions as they chose to put. But this evening the room looked less cheery, although there was a bright clear fire burning in the grate, for their mother's easy chair stood empty. The children were disposed to grumble as they took their places at the table, until Kate conceived the grand idea of making toast.

"You would like some toast, wouldn't you, Miss Jameson?" she said, and Miss Jameson kindly said that she would like some, although she knew by sad experience that Kate's toast was not over nice. So Gertie was despatched to the kitchen to fetch a toasting fork, Florrie armed herself with the bread knife, and the toasting began.

Florrie's piece of bread fell into the fire almost immediately, and when rescued was so blackened that Miss Jameson decided that it was fit only to be given to the dog, if he would condescend to eat it. Kate's attempt was not much more successful. She did not indeed drop her slice into the fire; but she first smoked it and then burnt it, so that a good deal of scraping was necessary ere the blackened slice could be eaten. Florrie decided that toasting was stupid work, and gave it up; but Kate persevered in spite of scorched cheeks and tingling fingers, until everyone at the table had been provided with a piece of toast of her making, which, hot-buttered, was thoroughly appreciated by the children, though Miss Jameson found her portion rather over toasted.

"Whatever shall we do this evening?" asked Gertie; "you will tell us a story, won't you, Miss Jameson?"

"Perhaps I will by-and-by, if you take your work and sit down," she replied; "I want you to do a good deal of needlework whilst your mamma is away."

"I hate needlework," grumbled Kate, "I am sick of that antemacassar. What is the good of antemacassars? I think they are stupid things—always sticking to people's backs, or falling out of their right places."

"Oh, Miss Jameson, need I finish hemming that duster?" asked Florrie, "I am so tired of it; I would so much rather do wool-work."

"That's just like Florrie," exclaimed Kate, "she always gets tired of her work, and wants to do something different; but she must finish it, mustn't she, Miss Jameson?"

"She can finish it this evening if she is industrious," said the governess; "and then I can find her some pleasanter work to-morrow."

"I am going to make a new apron for my doll," said Gertie, with an air of importance; "mamma gave me a piece of muslin yesterday."

"How would you all like to have some new dolls to dress?" asked Miss Jameson.

"Oh, Miss Jameson!" cried all three at once, "that would be too lovely! Did mamma say that we might have some?"

"Yes," said Miss Jameson, smiling to see their delight, "I have some money to spend for you in any way you like best. But I hardly think that you want dolls; you have so many already."

"Oh, but they are getting shabby," said Florrie; "and it would be so lovely to get new ones, and dress them all ourselves. I should like that work, Miss Jameson."

"I don't want a doll," said Harry, a sturdy little fellow of five; "I should like an engine."

"Well, I'll see if I can afford you one," said Miss Jameson; "but now, children, I must tell you that I have a grand idea in connection with these dolls."

"A grand idea!" echoed the little girls; "oh, what is it?"

"You know that my sister is a nurse in a children's hospital?"

"Oh, yes," said the children, for they had often heard their governess speak of this sister.

"Well, the ward of which she has the oversight is full of poor children, some of them the most miserable little creatures you can possibly imagine."

"Are they very ill?" asked Gertie.

"Some of them are very ill, and suffering constant pain; and, what is most sad to think of, many of them are sufferers through the wicked neglect and cruelty of their parents. When I have gone to the hospital from this bright and happy home, my heart has ached when I have thought of your happy lot, and contrasted with it the lives of these poor little ones."

"It does seem hard," said Katie, looking thoughtful; "I cannot think why God lets them be so unhappy."

"Ah, that we cannot tell," said Miss Jameson; "but we know that God loves these poor little children, and that He is pleased when we do what we can to brighten their sad lives."

"You take them flowers sometimes when you go to see your sister, don't you, Miss Jameson?" asked Florrie.

"Yes, dear; and you can't think how pleased they are to see even the commonest flowers."

"I wish I could do something for them," said little Gertie. "There is a lovely chrysanthemum coming out in my garden. If I pick it, will you take it to those poor little children, Miss Jameson?"

"I am afraid your flower will have faded, Gertie, before I am able to go again to the hospital," said Miss Jameson, smiling at her; "but I have thought of something you might do for these children, if you felt inclined, which would give them great pleasure."

"Oh, what is that?" asked the child, eagerly.

"My sister was telling me that at her hospital, which is situated in a disagreeable neighbourhood, and is not so well known as the larger hospitals, the children are badly off for toys. One day a lady visitor gave one of the children a doll, and that doll was the delight of the whole ward. It was handed about from bed to bed, and they all wanted to have it at once."

"Oh, I know, I know!" cried the little girls simultaneously; "I know your grand idea, Miss Jameson."

"You mean us to get some dolls and dress them," said Kate, "and then give them to the poor little children in the hospital. Oh, that will be nice; that will be far nicer than dressing them for ourselves."

"I am very glad you think so," said Miss Jameson; "what do you say to it, Florrie?"

"Oh, it will be splendid!" she exclaimed. "I only wish we could begin to-night."

"It will be 'more blessed' than keeping the dolls ourselves," said Gertie, who had repeated for her text that morning the words: "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

"You might make some scrap-books too if you like," said Miss Jameson; "there are plenty of pictures and Christmas cards that you could use. Harry could help with that perhaps."

"Oh, what a splendid idea!" said Kate, and immediately rushed away to examine her store of Christmas cards.

"What shall we dress the dolls in?" asked Florrie; "will you buy some stuff; Miss Jameson?"

"I shall have to buy some, I daresay," she replied; "but I was thinking that we might ask Mr. Carter, the draper, if he could give us some scraps. I am sure he would be glad to help, if he knew what you were going to do."

"Oh, I daresay he would," said Florrie; "he gave me a lovely piece of pink satin one day, and I made it into a hood for Belinda."

"The things will have to be made very neatly," said the governess; "you will need to take pains, Florrie. The dolls must be well turned out, or I shall be ashamed to send them as your gift to the children's hospital."

"And we must make all the clothes to unfasten, mustn't we?" said Gertie; "it is no fun to play with a doll unless you can dress and undress it."

"To be sure not," said Florrie. "When shall we get the dolls, Miss Jameson?"

"To-morrow after school, if you do your lessons well," she replied; "but now, Florrie, remember that that duster must be finished before you begin your doll's clothes."

"Oh, dear! that horrid duster!" exclaimed Florrie, impatiently. But she fetched it, and sat down to her hemming.

"Oh, I wish to-morrow would make haste and come," said Gertie, as she turned over the heap of Christmas cards that Kate had tossed on to the table.

"Suppose it should rain," suggested Kate. But that was too sad a prospect to contemplate.

As they continued to discuss their delightful plans, the children quite forgot to ask Miss Jameson to tell them a story, and they could hardly believe that it was bed-time when the clock struck eight. All but Florrie, who gave a sigh of relief as, her hem complete, she folded up the tiresome duster.