The Treasure of Netherstrand

Chapter 10

Two whole days passed. Grace saw no more of the little spy whom she had caught in the window. But Tim caught glimpses of her once in a while. On his way from one errand to the next, he sometimes saw her and her family sitting in one of the bright drawing rooms. They looked as pretty as a picture in their fine clothes, and they had all kinds of things to delight themselves with.

Enna had two gorgeous dolls which she caressed and doted on. Her brother Alfred had toy soldiers which he marched up and down the furniture. And besides that, they had books to read, and stationary to write on, and sometimes Mrs. Carlyle would sit down at the piano to play and sing. But for all of those nice things, no one in the family seemed very happy.

The only one who smiled often was Grace, but it was a shy, sad smile. She usually sat in a corner of her own with a journal and a pen in hand. She would scribble in that book for a long, long time. Then she would look over at her playing cousins with a wistful glance.

"Enna," she began one morning, "would you like me to play with you? We could have so much fun together! Can I hold the other doll?"

Enna flashed her a teasing, defiant look and shook her head. "They're my dollies!" she said firmly.

Grace's face clouded with disappointment. "But, Enna," she pled, "that isn't true. They were my dolls first. Mamma and Papa gave them to me before they died!"

The naughty child shrugged her shoulders carelessly and went on with her game.

"Auntie," Grace began sadly, "please may I not play with Enna? I don't mind her playing with my dolls, but she never shares them!"

Mrs. Carlyle lifted her eyes from a beautiful piece of cross stitch, pulling her needle and thread through the fabric before answering. She cast a loving glance upon her little daughter, and then looked at her niece with a scolding frown. "Dearest Grace," she began to chide, "how old are you?"

The girl looked down, blushing with shame. "Eleven," she answered quietly.

"Eleven! And does such a grown-up girl as you play with dolls still? Really, my dear, you must learn to do without those childish things. You are a young lady, not an infant. Have you studied your lessons for the day yet?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Then you ought to begin."

"Are Enna and Alfred going to do their lessons with me?" Grace asked.

The other two children gave a start. "Lessons!" they shrieked together. "No, no, no! We won't do them! Papa promised this was going to be a holiday! He promised! He promised!"

Mr. Carlyle smiled pleasantly. "So I did!" he laughed. "And I meant every word of it, my dears. Amelia, our children needn't worry their heads about lessons right now. This is a time for them to enjoy themselves! It isn't every day that we take a trip to the seaside! Grace, however, may do her lessons. She seems to have nothing better to do at the moment, and a great deal of wholesome study is vital in cultivating an intelligent, practical, sound mind in the young."

Grace sat for a moment, looking down at the floor in a joyless way. Then, silently, she got her lesson books and began to study.

Pausing outside of the drawing room door to watch, Timothy eyed those books, wondering what kind of things they held. He almost wished that he could have done her lessons for her. It was plain to see that she didn't want to. But the little boy's heart yearned to read, and to study, and know.

Duties called Timothy away from the parlor scene. But he couldn't get the picture of Grace out of his mind. All through his chores, he saw her in his mind's eye, sitting with her books in her lap and reading them with sad eyes.