A Bevy of Girls by L.T. Meadefiction, novel, Girls, Mother, classic, Sympathy, lifeThe Departure.The girls stood in a cluster round Miss Aldworth. They surrounded her to right and left, both before and behind. She was a tall, dark-eyed, grave looking girl herself; her age was about twenty. The girls were schoolgirls; they were none of them more than fifteen years of age. They adored Marcia Aldworth; she was the favourite teacher in the school. She was going away to England suddenly, her mother was very ill, and she might not return. The girls all spoke to her in her native tongue. They belonged to several nationalities; some German, some French, some Dutch, some Hungarian; there was a sprinkling of Spanish girls and a good many English. The school was supposed to be conducted on English principles, and the head teacher was an Englishwoman.There was a distant sound of music in the concert room not far away, but the girls, the principal girls of the school, took no notice of it.“You will write to us, dear, dear Marcia,” said Gunda Lehman. “I’ll forget all my English and I’ll make all sorts of mistakes. You’ll write to me, and if I send you an English letter you’ll correct it, won’t you, dear, dear Miss?”Miss Aldworth made the necessary promise, which was echoed from one to another amongst the girls. There was an American girl with a head of tousled hair, very bright china-blue eyes, and a sort of mocking face. She had not spoken at all up to the present, but now she came forward, took Miss Aldworth’s hand, and said:“I’ll never forget you, and if ever you come to my country be sure you ask for me, Marie M. Belloc. I won’t forget you, and you won’t forget me, will you?”“No, I won’t forget you, Marie. I’ll ask for you if ever I come to your country.”Miss Aldworth moved off into the hall. Here the head mistress began to speak to her.“Move aside, girls,” she said, “move aside. You have said your good-byes. Oh, here are your flowers—”CONTENTSThe Departure.Share and Share Alike.Taking Mother.A Refreshing Tea.Seeking Sympathy.The Joy of her Life.Shirking Duty.A Feast to Delight the Eyes.The Truth about Mrs Aldworth.An Alarming Attack.Repentance and Afterwards.The New Leaf.A Surprise Visit.The Introduction.An Unwelcome Caller.Troublesome Consequences.Relief Intercepted.Seaside Anticipations.Nesta’s Cunning Scheme.The Missing Sovereign.Nurse Comforter.Wrong Set Right.Nesta Lost Again.An Uneasy Conscience.Nemesis.In Hiding.Unaccustomed Fare.Applying for a Situation.Making Sunshine All Round.Found at last.The Best of them All.

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This is the Story within the Story.Yes, I, Gwladys, must write it down; the whole country has heard of it, the newspapers have been full of it, and from the highest to the lowest in the land, people have spoken of the noble deed done by a few Welsh miners. But much as the country knows, and glad and proud as the country is, I don’t think she knows quite all—not exactly what mother and I know; she does not know the heart history of those ten days. This is the story within the other well-known story, which I want to write here.On a certain sunny afternoon in September, 1876, I was seated up in the window of the old nursery. I say in the window, for I had got my body well up on the deep oak seat, had flattened my nose against the pane, and was gazing with a pair of dismal eyes down on the sea, and on some corn-fields and hay-fields, which in panoramic fashion stretched before my vision.Yes, I was feeling gloomy, and my first remark, after an interval of silence, was decidedly in keeping with my face and heart.“Gwen,” I said, “what is it to be buried alive?” Gwen, who was singing her charge to sleep to a lively Welsh air, neither heeded nor heard me.“Gwen!” I repeated in a louder key.“Men are false and oft ungrateful, Derry derry dando,”sang Gwen, rocking the baby, as she sang, in the most dexterous manner.Gwen had a beautiful voice, and I liked the old air, so I stayed my impatient question to listen.“Maids are coy and oft deceitful, Derry derry dando, Few there are who love sincerely, Down a derry down.Say not so, I love thee dearly, Derry derry down down, Derry down down derry.”“None but thee torment and teaze me, Derry derry dando,”I shouted in my impetuous manner, and leaving my seat, I went noisily to her side.“Gwen, I will be heard. I have not another soul to speak to, and you are so cross and disagreeable. What is it to be buried alive?”“’Tis just like you, Gwladys,” said Gwen, rising indignantly. “Just after two hours of it, when I was getting the darling precious lamb off to sleep, you’ve gone and awoke him. Dear, dear! good gracious! there never was such a maid!”Gwen retired with the disturbed and wailing baby into the night nursery, and I was left alone.“None but thee torment and teaze me, Derry derry dando,”I sang after her.fiction, classic, novel, boy, action, adventure, childrenCONTENTSThis is the Story within the Story.David, I am Tired of Tynycymmer.Some Day, you will See that he is Noble.Owen is Coming Home.Why did you Hesitate?Gwen’s Dream.Very New and very Interesting.I said I would do much for these Children.Earth Air Fire Water.Little Twenty.They Talked of Money.You are Changed to me.Pride’s Pit.The Eye-Well.That Man was Owen.The Little Lad.Sight to the Blind.Our Father.A Rich Vein of Coal.The Jordan River.The Lord was not in the Wind.The Lord was not in the Fire.After the Fire—A Still, Small Voice.

A London Baby

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A wonderful story about two destitute children who are on their way to the Celestial City.

The Little School-Mothers, by L.T. Meade, is a story of Abbeyfield School, near the New Forest, working out - with the cunning of long experience and the charm of good feeling - the play of many and varied youthful characters.

A classic novel for girls, by L.T. Meade.

This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.

The Girls of St. Wode’s Mrs. L. T. Meade

First published in 1886, this early school story tells of the boarding-school life of Hetty Thornton, a studious, proud girl, and her various associates, most notably: warm-hearted, mischievous, lazy Annie Forest, the favorite of the school, and Hester\'s enemy.

I was born a month after my father\'s death, and my mother called me after him. His name was John Westenra Wickham, but I was Westenra Wickham alone. It was a strange name for a girl, and as I grew up people used to comment on it. Mother loved it very much, and always pronounced it slowly. She was devoted to father, and never spoke of him as most people do of their dead, but as if he were still living, and close to her and to me. When a very little child, my greatest treat was to sit on her knee and listen to wonderful stories of my brave and gallant father.

“Nora, Nora! Where are you?” called a clear, girlish voice, and Cara Burt dashed headlong into a pretty bedroom all draped in white, where a tall girl was standing by an open window. “Nora!” she cried, “what are you doing up in your room at this hour, when we are all busy in the garden preparing our tableaux? Mrs Hazlitt says that she herself will recite ‘A Dream of Fair Women,’ and by unanimous consent you are to be Helen of Troy. Did any one ever suit the part so well? ‘Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.’