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Updated: September 8, 2025
She would now go from Miss Unity's house instead of from Easney, and Mrs Hawthorn was not at all sorry to think that the children would be separated a little earlier than was first intended. So, with many cautions not to be troublesome, not to talk in bed, and not to touch the china, she told the little girls that they were to go to Nearminster.
Nothing remained after dinner was over but to wait until four o'clock, by which time the carriage might be expected to arrive from Nearminster station. Long before that the children were ready in their places, standing two on each side of the "triumphant" arch, which nodded proudly over the white gate. "They've lost the train, I expect," said Ambrose, "and Andrew's waiting for the next."
But if it was a trial to Miss Unity it was none the less so to Pennie, who looked upon herself as a sort of victim chosen out of the family to be sacrificed. She was to go alone to the deanery without Nancy, and learn to dance with the Merridews, who were almost strangers to her. It was a most dreadful idea. Quite enough to spoil Nearminster, or the most pleasant place on earth.
We must now leave Pennie at Nearminster for a while and return to Easney, where things had been quite put out of their usual order by the arrival of the measles. The whole house was upset and nothing either in nursery or school-room went on as usual, for everything had to give way to the invalids. There was always someone ill. First Dickie, who took it "very hard," Nurse said.
"I should advise you in future, Miss Barnicroft," said the vicar when she at last took her departure, "to bring me anything you wish taken care of it would be safer here than burying it. And there's the bank, you know, in Nearminster. I should be glad to take any money there for you at any time."
"Well," said David, "Nancy's got to be 'sponsible, because I took care of her mouse." "If I were you," said Ambrose with a superior air, "I wouldn't use such long words; you never say them right." "I say," interrupted Pennie, putting down her book, "what do you all like best when you go to Nearminster? I know what I like best."
After a visit to Nearminster, where Miss Unity's library consisted of rows and rows of solemn old brown volumes, Pennie's stories were chiefly religious and biographical, taken, with additional touches of her own, from the lives of bygone worthies.
"And I like the drive back here best," said Ambrose, "because, when we're going there's only Miss Unity to see at the end; but when we get here there are all the animals and things." "I don't call that liking Nearminster. I call it liking home," said Nancy. "Now, it's your turn, David." "I don't know what I like best," said David solemnly. "I only know what I like least." "What's that?"
Ever since Ambrose had been with his father to the museum at Nearminster he and David had made up their minds to have one, and had begun with great fervour to collect objects for it. Other interests, however, had come in the way, and the museum languished until one day Mrs Hawthorne had offered them a tiny empty room at the top of the house for their own.
So the time went on, very slowly for Nancy just now, but at last the week ended and Saturday came. The house at Easney was merrier and more noisy than it had been for some time on the day of Pennie's return, but the house at Nearminster went back at once to its old gravity and silence. Had it always been so still and quiet? Miss Unity wondered.
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