



Produced by Al Haines.





                        *THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.*


                                   BY

                             ETHEL TURNER,

                               AUTHOR OF
         "SEVEN LITTLE AUSTRALIANS," "THE STORY OF A BABY," ETC



"Ah that spring should vanish with the Rose!
That youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!"
           THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM.

"To youth the greatest reverence is due."
                                       JUVENAL.



                 _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. J. JOHNSON._



                                LONDON:
                       WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
                 WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
                        NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.




                                   TO
                             CHARLES COPE,
                        MY STEPFATHER AND FRIEND

E. S. T.,
LINDFIELD, SYDNEY.




                              *CONTENTS.*

CHAP.

      I. PICKING UP THREADS
     II. SCHOOL TROUBLES
    III. A PASSAGE-AT-ARMS
     IV. A SUMMER'S DAY
      V. BETWEEN A DREAM AND A DREAM
     VI. TO-MORROW
    VII. A LITTLE MAID-ERRANT
   VIII. ONE PARTICULAR EVENING
     IX. THAT MISCHIEVOUS CUPID
      X. NEEDLES AND PINS
     XI. A DAY IN SYDNEY
    XII. THREE COURSES ONE SHILLING
   XIII. PARNASSUS AND PUDDINGS
    XIV. MUSHROOMS
     XV. THE GOVERNMENT OF MEG
    XVI. MORE MUTINY
   XVII. A DINNER PARTY
  XVIII. "HOW GOOD YOU OUGHT TO BE!"
    XIX. HEADACHE AND HEARTACHE
     XX. MY LITTLE ONE DAUGHTER
    XXI. THE SEVENTH DAY
   XXII. AMARANTH OR ASPHODEL
  XXIII. LITTLE FAITHFUL MEG
   XXIV. "IN THE MIDNIGHT, IN THE SILENCE OF THE SLEEP-TIME"
    XXV. HERE ENDETH



[Illustration: Contents tailpiece]




                        *THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.*



                              *CHAPTER I.*

                         *PICKING UP THREADS.*

                 "Should auld acquaintance be forgot?"


There was discord at Misrule.

Nell, in some mysterious way, had let down a muslin frock of last season
till it reached her ankles.

And Meg was doing her best to put her foot down upon it.

In a metaphorical sense, of course.  Meg Woolcot at twenty-one was far
too lady-like to resort to a personal struggle with her young sister.

But her eyes were distressed.

"You can't say I don't look nice," Nell said. "Why, even Martha said,
'La, Miss Nell!' and held her head on one side with a pleased look for
two minutes."

"But you're such a child, Nellie," objected Meg. "you look like playing
at being grown up."

"Fifteen's very old, _I_ think," said Miss Nell, walking up and down
just for the simple pleasure of hearing the frou-frou of muslin frills
near her shoes.

"Ah well, I do think I look nice with my hair done up, and you can't
have it up with short frocks."

"Then the moral is easy of deduction," said Meg drily.

"Oh, bother morals!" was Nell's easy answer.

She tripped down the verandah steps with a glance or two over her
shoulder at the set of the back of her dress, and she crossed the lawn
to the crazy-looking summer-house.

"Oh dear!" sighed Meg.

She leaned her face on her hands, and stared sadly after the crisp,
retreating frills and the shimmer of golden hair "done up."  This was
one of the days when Meg's desires to be a model eldest sister were in
the ascendency, hence the very feminine exclamation.

She had not altered very much in all these live long years--a little
taller perhaps, a little more womanly, but the eyes still had their
child-like, straightforward look, and the powdering of freckles was
there yet, albeit fainter in colouring.

She still made resolutions--and broke them.  She still wrote verses--and
burnt them.  To-day she was darning socks, Pip's and Bunty's.  That was
because she had just made a fresh resolve to do her duty in her state of
life.

At other times she left them all to the fag end of the week, and great
was the cobbling thereof to satisfy the demands of "Clean socks, Meg,
and look sharp."

Besides darning, Meg had promised to take care of the children for the
afternoon, as Esther had gone out.

Who were the children? you will ask, thinking five years has taken that
title away from several of our young Australians.

The General is six now, and answers to the name of Peter on the
occasions that Pip does not call him Jumbo, and Bunty, Billy.  Nell, who
is inclining to elegant manners, ventures occasionally in company to
address him as Rupert; but he generally winks or says "Beg pardon