and the woods and the walks, and all their well-known
play-places. They wept, too, at leaving their mother, and even Lydia,
cross, careless Lydia, for, after all, their mother and Lydia were the
only two beings they knew well, and to be obliged to leave them and go
entirely to utter strangers, in a quite unknown place, was very alarming.

"No one knows what it may be like at Dorsham," said Esther tragically,
"and we--and we are not like children accustomed to going about.
We don't know what are the right things to do--you know what I mean, we
don't know how to behave, at least I don't. I hate having to meet any one
in the street, for I never know what to say or do; and if I don't speak I
know I am rude, and they think all sorts of things about me, and then I am
miserable, and--and it'll be like that all the time at Cousin
Charlotte's."

The other children looked awed until Penelope brightened up a little.
"Never mind," she said hopefully, "we will go on just as we do now.
After all, we can't be so very very dreadful, for mother _is_ a lady, and
knows, and we aren't wild savages; and Cousin Charlotte must tell us if we
don't do things right, and we must remember for another time.
Don't you think that will be all right, Esther?"

"I wish I could remember all the things Aunt Julia used to tell us,"
sighed Angela regretfully. "If we could we should know exactly what to
do; but she was always telling me things and I've got them all mixed up."

"Will Tousin Charlotte whip us if we don't do right?" asked Poppy, in an
awe-stricken voice.

"No one knows," said Esther, still in the same tragic, woebegone manner.
"She may. I believe schoolmistresses are _very_ strict. We shall know
when we get there." Poppy's face grew longer and longer. "Mother says
she is a _dear_ old lady, but--but mother forgets, and she never had to
live with her, as we've got to."

So their hearts were heavy with mingled dread and shyness, as well as
sadness and a sense of desertion, as they took their seats in the train
which was to convey them to Dorsham. In the luggage van were two small
trunks containing their four scanty wardrobes, and all their toys and
other treasures. In her hand Esther carried a large old purse of her
mother's, containing their four tickets, and a sovereign which her mother
had at the last moment given her to provide them all with stamps and
notepaper and pocket-money for the next twelve months.

To children who ha