The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. VIII, 
No. 357, October 30, 1886 
 
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357, 
October 30, 1886, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone 
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Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 357, October 30, 1886 
Author: Various 
Release Date: June 4, 2006 [EBook #18501] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GIRL'S 
OWN PAPER *** 
 
Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed Proofreading 
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THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER.
VOL. VIII.--NO. 357. 
OCTOBER 30, 1886. 
PRICE ONE PENNY. 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S FAIRY 
A PASTORALE. 
BY DARLEY DALE, Author of "Fair Katherine," etc. 
[Illustration: "THE POOR LITTLE BARONESS, WHO WAS 
ASLEEP, STARTED UP."] 
CHAPTER V. 
THE CHATEAU AFTER THE LOSS OF THE BABY. 
As the baron had conjectured, the housemaid whom he had called out 
of the nursery to look for Léon's cane, on finding her master had gone 
without it, did not hurry back, but stopped talking to some of the other 
servants for perhaps a quarter of an hour, when she returned to the 
nursery, and to her amazement found the baby was gone. She was not 
alarmed at first, except she supposed she should get a scolding from the 
nurse, who she imagined had come in and taken the child to another 
room; however, having the excellent excuse that her master had called 
her away she went in search of the nurse, but now not finding her 
anywhere, and hearing from the footman that she was not expected 
back till very late, Marie became seriously alarmed. 
"Perhaps madame has taken it into her room; she might have heard it 
crying, and fetched it," suggested the footman, and Marie, very much 
against her will, felt she was in duty bound to go and see. 
So, knocking at her mistress's door, she called out, "Madame, has she 
taken the baby?"
The poor little baroness, who was asleep, started up, and called to the 
servant to come in. 
"Madame, has she the baby?" repeated the girl. 
"The baby? No, what do you mean? Where is it, and where is nurse?" 
cried the baroness, jumping up and slipping on a dressing-gown and 
slippers. 
Marie began to cry, and to pour forth such a volley of words, excuses, 
fears, alarms, and wonders that the baroness could make out nothing, 
and rushed to the nursery to see for herself what had happened. The 
empty cradle did not, however, throw much light upon it, and the 
servants who answered the bell, which the baroness clashed wildly, 
looked as scared as the sobbing Marie to find the baby had disappeared. 
A search from attic to basement was at once instituted, the 
men-servants were sent into the grounds with lanterns, the whole house 
was turned topsy-turvy, in the midst of which the nurse returned, and 
finding her baby was gone, went into violent hysterics, while the young 
baroness, with flying hair and dilated eyes, rushed about, wringing her 
hands, and looking, as she felt, distracted with grief. 
The search was, of course, in vain, and they were just coming to the 
conclusion that the baby had been stolen, when the baron returned from 
seeing Léon off. 
The moment the baroness heard his voice in the hall she flew down the 
wide oak staircase, crying, "Arnaud! Arnaud! My precious baby is gone, 
it is stolen; find her, find her, or I shall go mad." And a glance at her 
wild eyes almost testified she spoke the truth. 
"She is not stolen, she is safe enough," said the baron, sulkily. 
"Safe? Where? Where? Take me to her, my precious one; where is 
she?" cried the baroness, with a loud burst of hysteric laughter on 
hearing her child was safe. 
"Silence, Mathilde, don't behave in this ridiculous style. Come with
me," said the baron, in a tone his wife had never heard him use to her 
before, and which had the effect of reducing her to tears; and, sobbing 
wildly, she hung on her husband's arm as he half led, half carried her 
upstairs, and laid her on a sofa in her own room. 
"Now, Mathilde, if you will try and compose yourself, I will tell you 
what I have done with the baby. For some time I have felt sure that you 
were ruining the child's health by the absurd way in which you coddle 
it up, and, moreover, making yourself a perfect slave to it, neglecting 
all your other duties," began the baron, as he seated himself on the edge    
    
		
	
	
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