Lena Graham (Illustrated)

"It does seem so strange not to know one's own Papa and Mama and sisters; does it not, Auntie?" remarked Lena Graham, leaning her arm on the mantelpiece as she spoke, and gazing thoughtfully at a photograph that stood there.
"You are not the only little girl in the world that has had, from one cause or another, to be separated from her parents, Lena dear," said her Aunt, looking up from her work to answer her little niece. "And I think you have been very happy with me, my pet," she continued.
In a moment Lena was beside her, saying, "Happy! oh yes, there never was such a good kind Auntie as you anywhere; but I cannot help wondering if they will love me. And"——
"Love you, Lena, your parents!" interrupted her Aunt.
"Not exactly that either, Auntie, for I know they do from their letters, but you know they have Milly and Lucy."
"And Aunt Mary has only her little Lena," said Miss Somerville, stroking back her niece's hair, and looking fondly at the young face lifted to hers. "You will be so happy altogether, dear, that you will wonder how you ever got on without companions of your own age."
"I mean to be so kind to them, Auntie, and lend them all my things, and help Milly with her lessons; for you know I am much older than she is."
"Only two years; and I fancy, from all I hear, that Milly is old for her age. She has seen more than my little girl, so I don't think you will find her so much younger in her ways than yourself."
"I am two years and five months older than she is," said Lena, who liked to have what she considered the full advantage.
"We shall know all about it very soon, for, if I am not much mistaken, there will be a letter to-night saying when they will arrive here."
Lena was too excited and impatient to settle down quietly that evening to either books or work; even the doll was neglected, which was not often the case, for Lena was devoted to this especial one, who was called after her two unknown sisters, "Millicent Lucy," as a special token of affection.
She wandered aimlessly about the room, now stopping to gaze at the photograph on the mantel-piece, and ask, for the hundredth time, "if it was really like," then to the window to peep out and wonder when the "postman would come," and if, when he did come, he would bring a letter from the expected travellers.
The photograph that engrossed so much of her thoughts and attention consisted of a group of four persons. Mrs. Graham was seated, holding little Lucy on her knee; at her feet, Milly was sitting on a stool; while Colonel Graham stood, leaning one arm on his wife's chair, and looking, Lena thought, very grave and a little bit stern. Perhaps, thought Lena, "that was because he was accustomed to command his soldiers, and had been in battle." She hoped he did not always look like that, for if he did she might be a little bit afraid of him, though Auntie did say, "there was no fear of such a thing happening."
Lena Graham had only a very dim, childish remembrance of her parents, for it was fully six years since she had seen them. Just half her young life had been passed under Aunt Mary's loving care.
Six years before our story commences, Colonel Graham's regiment was ordered to India. At first both he and his wife had hoped to take their little girls out with them, but just at that time Lena was taken ill; and though better and stronger when the time came for their leaving England, she was not strong enough, the doctor said, to stand a hot climate. It was then that Miss Somerville, Mrs. Graham's sister, had offered to take charge of the little Lena.
Millicent was a strong, healthy child, and well able to stand the climate, at any rate for a year or two. About a year after their leaving England, Colonel Graham was offered an appointment for five years at one of the hill stations, which he gladly accepted, as the climate was as cool and healthy as at home, and thus was able not only to keep Millicent with them, but the baby sister that had been born after their arrival in the far East.
The five years had now come to an end. And the day before we make the acquaintance of their daughter Helena, or Lena as she was always called, Colonel and Mrs. Graham had arrived in England.
The child was naturally all eagerness to see them; not even the knowledge that in a few days she would be separated from her Aunt could cast a shadow over her, and, childlike, she was too much absorbed in her own prospects of happiness, to note the shade of sadness that sometimes crossed her Aunt's kind face, as she listened to her merry chatter, at the thought that would intrude itself, of how sorely she would miss her little niece's loving companionship, and how dull the house would be when the sound of the bright young voice would be heard there no longer.