



Produced by Lionel Sear









ANXIOUS AUDREY.

By

MABEL QUILLER-COUCH.

Author of 'A Waif and a Welcome,' 'Troublesome Ursula,' 'Zach and Debby,'
'In Cornwall's Wonderland,' Etc.


ILLUSTRATED BY HELEN JACOBS.


LONDON: SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE
Northumberland Avenue, W.C.
BRIGHTON: 129, North Street.


[Illustration: When, though, it came to carrying up the chest of drawers,
they all had to give a hand.]


CHAPTER I.


    "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,
        The field-mouse has gone to her nest;
     The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,
        And the birds and the bees are at rest."

Mr. Carlyle, standing outside the nursery door, stayed a moment until the
sweet low voice had reached the end of the verse, then, turning the handle
very gently, entered the room on tiptoe.

Faith looked up with a smile, but with a warning finger held out, while in
a lower and more crooning voice she began the next verse:

    "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home,
        The glow-worm is lighting her lamp----"

"Oh, dear!" as two round blue eyes looked up at her, full of sleepy
wickedness, "She is as wide awake when I began!  Baby, you are not a nice
little girl and I shan't be able to go on loving you if you don't go to
sleep soon."

The blue eyes, wandering from Faith's reproving face, fell on her father,
and with a croon of delight a pair of plump dimpled arms was held out
pleadingly.  "Dad! Dad!" cooed the baby voice coaxingly, and the arms were
not held out in vain.

Faith handed over her heavy, lovable burden with a mingled sigh of relief
and hopelessness.  "This is all wrong, you know, father," with a weary
little laugh, "a well brought up baby should be sound asleep by this
time--but how is one to make her sleep if she absolutely refuses to?"

Mr. Carlyle looked down at his little daughter snuggling so happily in his
arms.  "I don't know, dear," he said helplessly.  "I suppose we aren't
very good nurses.  Perhaps we are not stern enough.  I am sorry I came in
just then, she might have gone off if I hadn't, but I wanted to speak to
you particularly; there is a great deal I want to discuss.  How is your
mother?  I haven't been in to see her.  I saw that her room was dark,
so I thought she was probably asleep."

"I expect she is.  She seemed very sleepy when I gave her her cornflour at
seven.  I haven't been able to go to her since, baby has been so
restless."

"Isn't she well?"

"Oh, yes, she is well, but while I was down making the cornflour I had to
leave her with Tom and Debby, and they got playing, of course, and excited
her so much she can't go to sleep."

"Couldn't Mary have made the cornflour or have looked after baby for the
time?"

"No, she was ironing, and she doesn't know yet just how mother likes it."

"Oh! but can't you come down, dear, until this minx is slumbering?"

Faith looked at the grate where a few cinders only lay grey and lifeless
at the bottom; then she looked at her father with a mischievous twinkle in
her pretty brown eyes.  "I can't unless we take baby too," she said.
"Of course it is very wrong and a real nurse would faint at such
behaviour, but, shall we, daddy? It is cold up here, and lonely--and,
oh! I am so hungry and quite hoarse with singing lullabies."

"Poor child!  Come downstairs and we will not think about what real nurses
would say.  This little person is really so sleepy she will hardly realise
what has happened."

Faith's eyes sparkled.  "We mustn't let Tom and Debby know, or they will
be down too.  If we go very softly perhaps they won't hear, they were
nearly asleep when I looked in at them just now.  I hope baby won't give a
yell on the stairs."

"I will try to prevent her.  Now then, come along."

Baby Joan, as though she understood all about it, and what was expected of
her, smiled up at them knowingly, but she did not make a sound, not even
when they paused at her mother's bedroom door and looked in.

The firelight shining on the invalid's face showed that she