a story was begged for.

There was the story of the jolly sea-captain and his one wee
daughter--their own mother--and of how they had sailed the seas and seen
many people and many lands. There was the story of the old house within
the iron gates--built by convicts more than fifty years ago--and of how
the sea-captain had bought it and built a tower and spiral staircase and
a roof promenade, which he called his "deck." And of how he and his
small daughter settled down in the great house together; and how her
wardrobe was always full of beautiful clothes and her purse full of real
sovereigns; and two ponies she had to her name, and a great dog that was
the terror of the neighbourhood, and a little dog that lived as much as
it could in her lap. There was the story of her garden full of rare
flowers, and her ferneries of rare ferns, and her aviary of rare birds.

Then there was the story of the little girl "grown up," with hair done
on the top of her head, and long sweeping dresses, and a lover chosen by
her father himself--by name John Brown; and of the pale young author
who lived beyond the iron gates, in a small weather-board cottage with
an iron roof who wrote dainty little sonnets and ballads, which he read
to her under the old gum trees.

And lastly, there was the story of the captain's pretty daughter
slipping away from the great house--to become mistress of the wee
cottage behind the pine trees. And of how the captain returned all
letters unopened and sailed away to other lands for five years; of how
afterwards the poor author lay ill unto death, and the little
wife--"mother" now--carried pretty Dorothy to the great house and sent
her trotting into the library, saying "grandpa" as she ran; and of how
the little girl had been lifted outside the house by a servant, who had
civilly stated the orders he had received, never to allow any one from
the author's house to "cross the threshold" of that other great one.

And now it was to-day--and besides Dorothea there were the twins (Cyril
and Elizabeth), Nancy and the baby; a goodly number for the small
weather-board cottage to shelter and for the author, who had only had
one book published, to bring up.

So it fell out that there was only a rough state girl to do the work of
the cottage, and much sweeping and dusting was Elizabeth's "share"; much
"washing-up" and tidying. To Nancy belonged the task of setting the
tables and amusing the baby; and Cyril was engaged at a p