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The Little Princess Of Tower Hill
The Little Princess Of Tower Hill
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CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Her Very Young Days 1
CHAPTER II.
Father's Short Visitor 12
CHAPTER III.
Snubbed 23
CHAPTER IV.
The Stable Clock 35
CHAPTER V.
The Empty Hutch 49
CHAPTER VI.
Jo's Room 63
CHAPTER VII.
In Violet 77
CHAPTER VIII.
Choosing Her Colors 103
CHAPTER IX.
A Jolly Plan 113
CHAPTER X.
A Great Fear 127
CHAPTER XI.
Going Home 142
CHAPTER XII.
In the Wood 151
CHAPTER XIII.
Thank God for All 165
THE LITTLE PRINCESS OF TOWER HILL
CHAPTER I.
HER VERY YOUNG DAYS.
All the other children who knew her thought Maggie a wonderfully fortunate
little girl. She was sometimes spoken about as the "Little Princess of
Tower Hill," for Tower Hill was the name of her father's place, and Maggie
was his only child. The children in the village close by spoke of her with
great respect, and looked at her with a good deal of longing and also no
slight degree of envy, for while they had to run about in darned and shabby
frocks, Maggie could wear the gayest and daintiest little dresses, and
while they had to trudge sometimes even on little bare feet, Maggie could
sit by her mother's side and be carried rapidly over the ground in a most
delicious and luxurious carriage, or, better still, she might ride on her
white pony Snowball, followed by a groom. The poor children envied Maggie,
and admired her vastly, and the children of those people who, compared to
Sir John Ascot, Maggie's father, might be considered neither rich nor poor,
also thought her one of the most fortunate little girls in existence.
Maggie was nearly eight years old, and from her very earliest days there
had been a great fuss made about her. At the time of her birth bonfires had
been lit, and oxen killed and roasted whole to be given away to the poor
people, and Sir John and Lady Ascot did not seem at all disappointed at
their baby being a girl instead of a son and heir to the old title and the
fine old place. There was a most extraordinary fuss made over Maggie while
she was a baby; her mother was never tired of visiting her grand nurseries
and watching her as she lay asleep, or smiling at her and kissing her when
she opened her big, bright blue eyes. The eyes in question were very
pretty, so also was the little face, and the father and mother quite
thought that there never was such a baby as their little Maggie. They had
christened her Margarita Henrietta Villiers; these were all old family
names, and very suitable to the child of proud old county folk. At least so
Sir John thought, and his pretty young wife agreed with him, and she gave
the servants strict directions that the baby was to be called Miss
Margarita, and that the name was on no account whatever to be abridged or
altered. This was very fine as long as the baby could only coo or make
little inarticulate sounds, but that will of her own, which from the
earliest minutes of her existence Maggie had manifested, came fully into
play as soon as she found the full use of her tongue. She would call
herself Mag-Mag, and would not answer to Margarita, or pay the smallest
heed to any summons which came to her in this guise, and so, simply because
they could not help themselves, Sir John and Lady Ascot had almost
virtually to rechristen their little daughter, and before she was two years
old Maggie was the only name by which she was known.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Her Very Young Days 1
CHAPTER II.
Father's Short Visitor 12
CHAPTER III.
Snubbed 23
CHAPTER IV.
The Stable Clock 35
CHAPTER V.
The Empty Hutch 49
CHAPTER VI.
Jo's Room 63
CHAPTER VII.
In Violet 77
CHAPTER VIII.
Choosing Her Colors 103
CHAPTER IX.
A Jolly Plan 113
CHAPTER X.
A Great Fear 127
CHAPTER XI.
Going Home 142
CHAPTER XII.
In the Wood 151
CHAPTER XIII.
Thank God for All 165
THE LITTLE PRINCESS OF TOWER HILL
CHAPTER I.
HER VERY YOUNG DAYS.
All the other children who knew her thought Maggie a wonderfully fortunate
little girl. She was sometimes spoken about as the "Little Princess of
Tower Hill," for Tower Hill was the name of her father's place, and Maggie
was his only child. The children in the village close by spoke of her with
great respect, and looked at her with a good deal of longing and also no
slight degree of envy, for while they had to run about in darned and shabby
frocks, Maggie could wear the gayest and daintiest little dresses, and
while they had to trudge sometimes even on little bare feet, Maggie could
sit by her mother's side and be carried rapidly over the ground in a most
delicious and luxurious carriage, or, better still, she might ride on her
white pony Snowball, followed by a groom. The poor children envied Maggie,
and admired her vastly, and the children of those people who, compared to
Sir John Ascot, Maggie's father, might be considered neither rich nor poor,
also thought her one of the most fortunate little girls in existence.
Maggie was nearly eight years old, and from her very earliest days there
had been a great fuss made about her. At the time of her birth bonfires had
been lit, and oxen killed and roasted whole to be given away to the poor
people, and Sir John and Lady Ascot did not seem at all disappointed at
their baby being a girl instead of a son and heir to the old title and the
fine old place. There was a most extraordinary fuss made over Maggie while
she was a baby; her mother was never tired of visiting her grand nurseries
and watching her as she lay asleep, or smiling at her and kissing her when
she opened her big, bright blue eyes. The eyes in question were very
pretty, so also was the little face, and the father and mother quite
thought that there never was such a baby as their little Maggie. They had
christened her Margarita Henrietta Villiers; these were all old family
names, and very suitable to the child of proud old county folk. At least so
Sir John thought, and his pretty young wife agreed with him, and she gave
the servants strict directions that the baby was to be called Miss
Margarita, and that the name was on no account whatever to be abridged or
altered. This was very fine as long as the baby could only coo or make
little inarticulate sounds, but that will of her own, which from the
earliest minutes of her existence Maggie had manifested, came fully into
play as soon as she found the full use of her tongue. She would call
herself Mag-Mag, and would not answer to Margarita, or pay the smallest
heed to any summons which came to her in this guise, and so, simply because
they could not help themselves, Sir John and Lady Ascot had almost
virtually to rechristen their little daughter, and before she was two years
old Maggie was the only name by which she was known.
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