CHRISTMAS,

A HAPPY TIME:

A Tale,

CALCULATED FOR

THE AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION

OF

YOUNG PERSONS.

BY MISS MANT.

LONDON:

T. ALLMAN, 42, HOLBORN HILL,

1832.

CHRISTMAS,

A HAPPY TIME.

Harriet and Elizabeth Mortimer were two very pretty, and generally speaking, very good little girls. Their kind papa and mamma had taken a great deal of pains that they should be good, and it was very seldom that they vexed them by being otherwise. A very happy time was now expected in the family at Beech Grove, by the arrival of John and Frederick Mortimer from school: it was within a few days of Christmas; and as the sisters and brothers had never, till the last few months, been separated, their meeting together again was looked forward to with general and lively pleasure.

'Do you see anything of the stage, Elizabeth?' said Harriet to her sister, who had been running down to the end of the plantation to peep over the gate, and listen if she could hear the approach of wheels.

'No: there is nothing in sight,' replied Elizabeth, whose teeth chattered from the cold, while her hands were so benumbed, she could scarcely close the gate, which she had ventured to open about half an inch.

'They will never come,' said Harriet; 'but you should not open the gate, you know papa and mamma both told us we should not do that. And how cold you are! you are all over in a shiver. Come let us have a run round, and that will warm you. Remember mamma begged of us not to stand still in this sharp cutting wind.'

'Yes, so she did,' replied Elizabeth; 'and indeed it is very, very cold, down at that corner. And they will not come any the sooner for our standing there.'

And according to Harriet's proposal, the two little girls began to run round the grounds, which put them in a complete glow; and Elizabeth's fingers very soon ceased to ache with cold.

As they passed the green house, they saw the gardener matting up some myrtles on the outside; and Elizabeth stopped, to enquire at what time the coach was likely to pass.

'I look for it every minute, Miss,' replied the man; 'and that's the reason I keep about here, that I may be handy to help the young gentlemen out, and bring in the boxes and that. I look for them to be much grown, Miss, for 'tis a fine bit now since we have seen them. I don't know what Master John will say about his myrtle that he used to be so proud of, for I am afraid its dead. But hark ye, Miss—sure that's wheels.—Yes, and there comes a coach too.'

And away posted the gardener, and both the little girls after him.

It was a coach; and it was a very noisy one, or at least the passengers were very noisy. Such a blowing of horns, and hallooing and huzzaing. But the coach went by without stopping at the gate; and although the gardener ran after it, and endeavoured to speak with the coachman, his voice was drowned in the multitude of little voices within and without the coach; and he was obliged to return, disappointed himself, to the disappointed young ladies, who stood anxiously looking out, within the gate.

Before there was time to express any regret, another coach appeared in sight, and this might be the coach so much longed for. This also approached with shouting and blowing of horns; again the gardener put himself forward and this time the coach seemed to draw down towards the gate. Harriet even fancied she saw her dear brother John looking out of one of the windows. But again she was disappointed. The coachman, though he drew to the side of the road, scarcely allowed his horses to stop; and flinging the servant a letter, which he took from his waistcoat pocket, again he flourished his whip, and again the coach passed on.

'A letter for your papa, Miss,' said the gardener, picking it up and offering it to the young ladies: 'Shall I take it to James to carry in?'

'No; I will—I will,' exclaimed both the little girls at once. Elizabeth, though the youngest, generally contrived to be forwardest; and seizing upon the letter, as the gardener held it between his finger and thumb, she scampered away, followed by Harriet, and they both arrived almost breathless in the drawing-room.

'The coaches are both past, papa,' said Harriet, 'without John and Frederick'; and as soon as the information had been given, she burst into tears.

'But here is a letter, which will tell about it, I dare say, papa,' added Elizabeth. 'To John Mortimer, Esq. Beech Grove,' she continued, reading the direction, as she presented the letter. 'It is John's writing, papa.'

Mrs. Mortimer looked uneasy; and Mr. Mortimer broke the seal of the letter with some little alarm.

'It is all well,' said the kind father, almost directly; 'nothing to apprehend, my love,' added he, as he handed the letter across to his wife.

The letter was as follows:—

My Dear Papa,

No room for us in either of the coaches—inside or out. Mr. Brown is going to send us in a post chaise, with two other boys.

Your affectionate and dutiful Son,

JOHN MORTIMER.

'Our pleasure is only delayed for a few hours,' said Mr. Mortimer, as he put an arm round the neck of each of his little girls. 'They will be here in the course of a short time, no doubt, and have you got every thing ready to receive them?'

'Oh yes, papa, quite ready,' replied Elizabeth, who was slipping her neck from under her father's arm, with the intention of again returning to the bottom of the shrubbery. Harriet directly followed her towards the door.

'And where now my little girls,' said Mrs. Mortimer; 'not to the shrubbery again this evening?'

'We were going, mamma,' replied Elizabeth: 'had you rather we should not?'

'I had,' answered Mrs. Mortimer; you have been out nearly two hours, and the air is now very sharp and cold; the sun is set, and in a short time it will be quite dusk. You can watch the road from the play-room window; and I think it very likely your brothers will not be here before quite night.'

Both the little girls would have preferred another run in the shrubbery, and another peep over the gate at the end of it: but they were accustomed to know, that their mother's judgment was better than their own; and without a murmur, therefore they repaired to the school-room.

'Oh! there they are,—there they are,' said Elizabeth, before she had scarcely reached the window: 'It must be my brothers,—I am sure it was a post-chaise.'

'Where—where?' said Harriet, jumping up upon the window seat, and straining her eyes to catch a sight of the desired object.

'I cannot see it now,' replied Elizabeth, 'it is gone behind the elm trees by the side of the road: we shall see it again, presently. Do go, dear Harriet, and ask mamma if we may go down and meet them.'

'But I do not know they are coming,' said Harriet: 'do dear Elizabeth tell me where you saw them. I do not think you could have seen them: and if you did, they must be a great way off.'