The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade (free reads .TXT) 📕

me when we came to terms. We have not come to the money part yet, dear Poppy. Yes, sir, I am most anxious to listen to you."

"Well, Miss Mainwaring, the facts are these—yes, I fear it is a question of money, after all. The Joy-bell is a new magazine; we are most anxious to extend its circulation by every means in our power. We have hit on what we consider a novel, but effective expedient. Each contributor to our pages is expected to subscribe for a hundred copies per month of our magazine—these copies he is asked to disseminate as widely as possible amongst his friends. The magazine is only sixpence a month. Of course you get your friends to take the copies off your hands. Your story will, I think, run for six months—you are really put to no expense, for, of course, you must know a hundred people who will gladly take a magazine in which you appear. Thus you gain the advantage of having your story widely read and published not at your own expense."

"But please—" began Jasmine.

"If I might speak who am brought here for the purpose," here burst from Poppy, "what pay is the young lady to have for the words of genius that she has wrote upon the paper? Yes, Miss Jasmine, you said I was to let my voice be heard here—I'm not afraid, not of nobody, and here, I puts down my foot, and I says, 'What's the pay?'"

"The pay?" echoed the editor. "Surely the young lady does not expect to be paid for anything so very amateur—no, she cannot expect to be paid in money—in another way she is paid, and largely; she obtains a reputation, and what immature talent she has is brought to the fore! I am afraid, Miss Mainwaring, I must not take up any more of your valuable time—I think I have explained myself quite clearly—do you accept my offer? If you are willing to become a subscriber for one hundred copies monthly of The Joy-bell your story shall appear; if not, I must return you your MS. with regret."

Poor Jasmine's white little face grew piteous.

"Oh, Poppy!" she began.

"Do you want it, Miss Jasmine?" said Poppy. "I calls it a cheat; but do you want it?"

"Oh, dear Poppy, I thought my words would look so lovely in Print—I am disappointed!"

"Then you shan't be, Miss Jasmine, darling. Here, sir, you're another of the Aunt Flint tribe, but my darling Miss Jasmine shall not look as she does now if I can prevent it. Please, sir, will you look in this here little purse given to you by the honest hand of toil, and see if it contains the price of a hundred of those nasty Joy-bells. There's my three months' wage in that purse, sir, so I expect it will prove sufficient."

The editor opened the little purse gingerly.

"Do you wish your friend to subscribe for you?" he asked, looking at Jasmine. "I will allow you to have the first instalment at a reduction. The full price for a hundred copies of The Joy-bell at sixpence a copy will be, of course, fifty shillings. On this occasion you shall have these delivered to you at your residence for forty-five shillings."

"It's in the purse, sir," said Poppy, with an air of modest pride. "Forty-five shillings, and fifteen shillings over, for my wage with Aunt Flint comes exactly to three pounds a quarter. The fifteen shillings will find me in boots and house shoes, Miss Jasmine; and as my 'at is fresh trimmed, and I have enough cotton dresses to go on with, you are more than welcome to the two pound five."

"We will arrange it so, then," said the editor. "Miss Mainwaring, you must give me your address, and you shall receive proofs in a day or two. This sum of money provides for the appearance of the first instalment of your story. From the sale of the hundred copies you will be provided with funds for the second instalment, and so on."

"But how am I to pay Poppy back if I must give you the money that I get for the magazines?" asked Jasmine, her face becoming more crimson each moment.

"Ah! that," said the editor, with a slightly sarcastic smile, "that is surely not my affair."

After this a few comparatively trivial arrangements were made. Jasmine gave the address of the Palace Beautiful to Mr. Potter, and walked downstairs, feeling excited, pleased, and disappointed.

"Oh, Poppy!" she said, "how light, how very light your purse is."

"No, Miss Jasmine," answered Poppy, "you're out altogether there, for fifteen shillings in silver weighs more than three pounds in gold. It's my heart, not my purse, that's light, Miss Jasmine—it has done me a sight of good to help you, Miss Jasmine; I know he is a cheat in there, but never mind, when your pretty, beautiful tale appears there'll be a run on it, I think, and that Joy-bell will be asked for high and low. You'll pay me back, never fear, and I'll be real proud to my dying day to feel that I was the first to help you."

That evening, as Jasmine and Daisy sat together waiting for Primrose to return, Daisy said suddenly—

"Did you soar to-day, Jasmine, when you took Poppy's wages to have your story printed?—was that what you call a soaring flight?"

Daisy spoke innocently, and with real desire for information, but at her words Jasmine covered her face and burst into tears.

"What a cruel remark, Eyebright," she said. "Do you know I'm quite miserable about this; I've been getting more and more wretched ever since I left that man's office. Suppose, Daisy, I don't sell a hundred copies of The Joy-bell; then I shall never be able to have any more of my story printed, and I shall never have it in my power to pay Poppy back. I think I must have yielded to temptation that time; perhaps I'm nothing but a vain little girl, and think myself cleverer than I am."

"Oh, I'm sure you're a genius, Jasmine," said Daisy. "I know, for I have studied your face a great deal; in the story-books I generally notice that the geniuses have the same kind of face that you have—they generally have a little discontented, surprised look about them. I admire the expression very much myself, and sometimes when I'm alone—for you know you and Primrose have to leave me a good deal alone—I try to practice it before the glass. I think it's mostly done with a rise of the eyebrows, but I never can keep mine up long enough."

Jasmine laughed.

"I do hope I am a genius," she said; "I have always longed so to be one. If I really am, it will be all right about Poppy's money, for, of course, the public will try to buy my story. It's really rather a striking story, Daisy. There's a girl in it who does such wonderfully self-denying things—she never thinks of herself for a moment—she is very poor, and yet she earns money in all sorts of delightful ways, and supports her family—she has got two sisters—they are not half as clever as she is at earning money. The story begins by the sisters rather despising Juliet, but in the end they find out how much she is worth. The leading idea in the story is the inculcation of unselfishness—oh dear! oh dear! I hope I shall prove myself a genius in having developed this character. If so, I shall be able to pay Poppy back."

"There is something so beautiful in unselfishness," said Daisy, in a rather prim, moralizing little tone. "Do you know, Jasmine, that I was once going to be frightfully selfish?—I should have been but for the Prince, but he spoke to me; he made up a lovely little story, and he told me about the Palace Beautiful."

"I never can make out why you call these rooms the Palace Beautiful, Daisy," said Jasmine.

"It's because of the way they've been furnished," said Daisy. "They are full of Love, and Self-denial, and Goodness. I do so dearly like to think of it. I lie often on the sofa for hours, and make up stories about three fairies, whom I call by these names; they are quite playmates for me, and I talk to them. I often almost fancy they are real, but the strange thing is, Jasmine, they will only come to me when I have tried to be unselfish, and cheerful, and done my best to be bright and happy. Then Goodness comes, and makes the walls shine with his presence, and Self-denial makes my sofa so soft and easy, and Love gives me a nice view through the window, for I try to take an interest in all the men and women and little children who pass, and when I sit at the window and look at them through Love's glass you cannot think how nice they all seem. I told the Prince about it one day, and he said that was making a real Palace Beautiful out of our rooms."

Jasmine sighed.

"I hear Primrose's step," she said. "Oh, Daisy! you are a darling! how sweetly you think. I wonder if these rooms could ever come to mean a Palace Beautiful to me! I don't think fairies could come to me here, Daisy. I don't think I could see things through their eyes. I want my palace to be much larger and grander than this. Perhaps if I am a real genius it will come to me through my story; but, oh! I hope I did not do wrong in taking Poppy's money."

"No, for you are a genius," said little Daisy, kissing her affectionately.

CHAPTER XXXVII. ENDORSING A CHEQUE.

Primrose's life was very busy at this time. Certainly nothing could be more irksome than the daily task of reading to poor Mrs. Mortlock, but the fifteen shillings a week which she now earned regularly was a wonderful help to the household purse, and Primrose performed her irksome duties with a cheerful, and even thankful heart. Her anxieties about Daisy were almost laid to rest. Since the child had been moved to Miss Egerton's house she seemed quite a changed creature. Her old cheerfulness and sweet calm were returning to her. Morning after morning she bade Primrose good-bye with a bright smile on her little face, and however long and dull her day was, she greeted her sister happily at night. What, therefore, was poor Primrose's consternation to find, on returning home the evening after Jasmine had made arrangements for the publication of her manuscript not only Jasmine, but Miss Egerton and Bridget all surrounding poor little Daisy, who lay on the sofa with a ghastly white face, and burst into nervous troubled weeping whenever she was spoken to.

"We found her in such a queer state," said Jasmine; but Miss Egerton held up a warning hand.

"Let it rest now, my dear," she said; "we need not go into the story in Daisy's presence; she wants perfect quiet. Primrose, she has been longing so for you; will you sit down by her, and hold her hand?"

Daisy opened her eyes when she heard Primrose's name, and held up a hot little hand to her sister, who clasped it very firmly.

"I want to speak to you all by yourself, Primrose," she whispered. "Please ask Jasmine, and Miss Egerton, and Bridget to go away. I want to say something most important to you."

"Leave us for a moment," said Primrose to the others; and Jasmine went down with Miss Egerton to the sitting-room.

The moment Daisy found herself quite alone with Primrose she raised her head, ceased crying, and looked at her sister with bright feverish eyes, and cheeks that burned.

"Primrose," she said, "would you think it very, very wrong of me if I did something that wasn't in itself the very best thing to do, but something that I had to do to prevent a dreadful ogre putting me down into a dark dungeon? Would it be very wrong of me to do a very little thing to prevent it, Primrose?"

"My darling," said Primrose, "your poor little head must be wandering. I don't understand what you mean, my dear little one. Of course it would be only right of you to keep away from an ogre, and not to allow one to touch you—but there are no ogres. Daisy love—there never were such creatures. You need not make yourself unhappy about beings that never existed. The fact is, Daisy, you are too much alone, and your little head has got quite full of the idea of fairies. I must ask Mr. Noel not to talk to you in so fanciful a manner."

"Oh don't, Primrose, for it is my one and only comfort. Oh! I am glad you think I ought to keep out of the ogre's power. He is a dreadful, dreadful ogre,