Esther

Esther

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Esther, by Rosa Nouchette Carey #2
in our series by Rosa Nouchette Carey
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Title: Esther A Book for Girls
Author: Rosa Nouchette Carey
Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6850] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on February 2,
2003]
Edition: 10

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ESTHER:
A BOOK FOR GIRLS.
BY
ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
The Last Day at Redmayne House.

CHAPTER II.
The Arrival at Combe Manor.

CHAPTER III.
Dot.

CHAPTER IV.
Uncle Geoffrey.

CHAPTER V.

The Old House at Milnthorpe.

CHAPTER VI.
The Flitting.

CHAPTER VII.
Over the Way.

CHAPTER VIII.
Flurry and Flossy.

CHAPTER IX.
The Cedars.

CHAPTER X.
"I Wish I Had a Dot of My Own."

CHAPTER XI.
Miss Ruth's Nurse.

CHAPTER XII.
I Was Not Like Other Girls.

CHAPTER XIII.
"We Have Missed Dame Bustle."

CHAPTER XIV.

Playing in Tom Tidler's Ground.

CHAPTER XV.
Life at the Brambles.

CHAPTER XVI.
The Smugglers' Cave.

CHAPTER XVII.
A Long Night.

CHAPTER XVIII.
"You Brave Girl!"

CHAPTER XIX.
A Letter from Home.

CHAPTER XX.
"You Were Right, Esther."

CHAPTER XXI.
Santa Claus.

CHAPTER XXII.
Allan and I Walk to Eltham Green.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Told in the Sunset.

CHAPTER XXIV.
Ringing the Changes.

ESTHER

CHAPTER I.
THE LAST DAY AT REDMAYNE HOUSE.
What trifles vex one!
I was always sorry that my name was Esther; not that I found fault with
the name itself, but it was too grave, too full of meaning for such an
insignificant person. Some one who was learned in such matters--I
think it was Allan--told me once that it meant a star, or good fortune.
It may be so, but the real meaning lay for me in the marginal note of
my Bible: Esther, fair of form and good in countenance, that Hadassah,
who was brought to the palace of Shushan, the beautiful Jewish queen
who loved and succored her suffering people; truly a bright particular
star among them.
Girls, even the best of them, have their whims and fancies, and I never
looked at myself in the glass on high days and holidays, when a festive
garb was desirable, without a scornful protest, dumbly uttered, against
so shining a name. There was such a choice, and I would rather have
been Deborah or Leah, or even plain Susan, or Molly; anything homely,
that would have suited my dark, low-browed face. Tall and angular,
and hard-featured--what business had I with such a name?
"My dear, beauty is only skin-deep, and common sense is worth its
weight in gold; and you are my good sensible Esther," my mother said
once, when I had hinted rather too strongly at my plainness. Dear soul,
she was anxious to appease the pangs of injured vanity, and was full of

such sweet, balmy speeches; but girls in the ugly duckling stage are not
alive to moral compliments; and, well--perhaps I hoped my mother
might find contradiction possible.
Well, I am older and wiser now, less troublesomely introspective, and
by no means so addicted to taking my internal structure to pieces, to
find out how the motives and feelings work; but all the same, I hold
strongly to diversity of gifts. I believe beauty is a gift, one of the good
things of God; a very special talent, for which the owner must give
account. But enough of this moralizing, for I want to speak of a certain
fine afternoon in the year of our Lord, 18--well, never mind the date.
It was one of our red-letter days at Redmayne House--in other words, a
whole holiday; we always had