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diff --git a/25872-h/25872-h.htm b/25872-h/25872-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5cabdd7 --- /dev/null +++ b/25872-h/25872-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13431 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Girls of the Forest, by L. T. Meade. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.0em} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; color: silver; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + div.ra p {text-align: right; margin: auto 0;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.2em} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Girls of the Forest, by L. T. Meade + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Girls of the Forest + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: June 22, 2008 [EBook #25872] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GIRLS OF THE FOREST *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.8em;'>GIRLS OF THE FOREST</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-emb.png' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:2em;'>GIRLS OF THE FOREST</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>L. T. MEADE</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>AUTHOR OF ALWYN’S FRIENDS, BEYOND THE BLUE MOUNTAINS,</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>GOOD LUCK, PLAYMATES, PRETTY GIRL AND</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:2em;'>THE OTHERS, THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL, ETC.</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>AKRON, OHIO</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>MACLELLAN ·N·Y· COMPANY</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:2em;'>PUBLISHERS</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1em;'>BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: 0 5em; font-size:smaller;'> + +<p>L. T. Meade (Mrs. Elizabeth Thomasina +Smith), English novelist, was born at Bandon, +County Cork, Ireland, 1854, the daughter of Rev. +R. T. Meade, rector at Novohal, County Cork, +and married Toulmin Smith in 1879. She wrote +her first book, <i>Lettie’s Last Home</i>, at the age of +17, and since then has been an unusually prolific +writer, her stories attaining wide popularity on +both sides of the Atlantic. +</p> +<p>She worked in the British Museum, lived in +Bishopsgate Without, making special studies of +East London life, which she incorporated in her +stories. She edited the <i>Atlanta</i>, a magazine, for +six years. Her pictures of girls, especially in the +influence they exert on their elders, are drawn +with intuitive fidelity, pathos, love, and humor, +as in <i>Girls of the Forest</i>, flowing easily from +her pen. She has traveled extensively, and is +devoted to motoring and other outdoor sports. +</p> +<p>Among more than fifty novels she has written, +dealing largely with questions of home life, are: +<i>A Knight of To-day</i> (1877), <i>Bel-Marjory</i> (1878), +<i>Mou-setse: a Negro Hero</i> (1880), <i>Mother Herring’s +Chickens</i> (1881), <i>A London Baby: The +Story of King Roy</i> (1883), <i>Two Sisters</i> (1884), +<i>The Angel of Life</i> (1885), <i>A World of Girls</i> +(1886), <i>Sweet Nancy</i> (1887), <i>Nobody’s Neighbors</i> +(1887), <i>Deb and The Duchess</i> (1888), <i>Girls +of the Forest</i> (1908), <i>Aylwyn’s Friends</i> (1909), +<i>Pretty Girl and the Others</i> (1910). +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.8em;'>GIRLS OF THE FOREST.</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> +<h3>THE GUEST WHO WAS NEITHER OLD NOR YOUNG.</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was a beautiful summer’s afternoon, and the girls were +seated in a circle on the lawn in front of the house. The +house was an old Elizabethan mansion, which had been +added to from time to time—fresh additions jutting out +here and running up there. There were all sorts of unexpected +nooks and corners to be found in the old house—a +flight of stairs just where you did not look for any, and +a baize door shutting away the world at the moment when +you expected to behold a long vista into space. The house +itself was most charming and inviting-looking; but it was +also, beyond doubt, much neglected. The doors were nearly +destitute of paint, and the papers on many of the walls had +completely lost their original patterns. In many instances +there were no papers, only discolored walls, which at one +time had been gay with paint and rendered beautiful with +pictures. The windows were destitute of curtains; the carpets +on the floors were reduced to holes and patches. The +old pictures in the picture gallery still remained, however, +and looked down on the young girls who flitted about there +on rainy days with kindly, or searching, or malevolent eyes +as suited the characters of those men and women who were +portrayed in them. +</p> +<p>But this was the heart of summer, and there was no need +to go into the musty, fusty old house. The girls sat on the +grass and held consultation. +</p> +<p>“She is certainly coming to-morrow,” said Verena. +“Father had a letter this morning. I heard him giving +directions to old John to have the trap patched up and the +harness mended. And John is going to Lyndhurst Road to +meet her. She will arrive just about this time. Isn’t it too +awful?” +</p> +<p>“Never mind, Renny,” said her second sister; “the sooner +she comes, the sooner she’ll go. Briar and Patty and I have +put our heads together, and we mean to let her see what +we think of her and her interfering ways. The idea of +Aunt Sophia interfering between father and us! Now, I +should like to know who is likely to understand the education +of a girl if her own father does not.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span></p> +<p>“It is all because the Step has gone,” continued Verena. +“She told us when she was leaving that she meant to write +to Aunt Sophia. She was dreadfully cross at having to go, +and the one mean thing she ever did in all her life was to +make the remark she did. She said it was very little short +of disgraceful to have ten girls running about the New +Forest at their own sweet will, without any one to guide +them.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, what a nuisance the Step is!” said Rose, whose pet +name was Briar. “Shouldn’t I like to scratch her! Dear +old Paddy! of course he knows how to manage us. Oh, here +he comes—the angel! Let’s plant him down in our midst. +Daisy, put that little stool in the middle of the circle; the +Padre shall sit there, and we’ll consult as to the advent of +precious Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>Patty, Briar, and Verena now jumped to their feet and +ran in the direction where an elderly gentleman, with a +stoop, gray hair hanging over his shoulders, and a large +pair of tortoise-shell spectacles on his nose, was walking. +</p> +<p>“Paddy, Paddy! you have got to come here at once,” called +out Briar. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Verena took one of his arms, Patty clasped the +other, Briar danced in front, and so they conducted him into +the middle of the group. +</p> +<p>“Here’s your stool, Paddy,” cried Briar. “Down you +squat. Now then, squatty-<i>vous</i>.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale took off his spectacles, wiped them and gazed +around him in bewilderment. +</p> +<p>“I was construing a line of Virgil,” he said. “You have +interrupted me, my dears. Whatever is the matter?” +</p> +<p>“We have brought the culprit to justice,” exclaimed +Pauline. “Paddy, forget the classics for the time being. +Think, just for a few moments, of your neglected—your +shamefully neglected—daughters. Ten of them, Paddy, all +running wild in the Forest glades. Aren’t you ashamed of +yourself? Don’t you feel that your moment of punishment +has come? Aunt Sophia arrives to-morrow. Now, what +have you got to say for yourself?” +</p> +<p>“But, my dear children, we can’t have your Aunt Sophia +here. I could not dream of it. I remember quite well she +came here once a long time ago. I have not got over it yet. +I haven’t really.” +</p> +<p>“But she is coming, Paddy, and you know it quite well, +for you got the letter. How long do you think you can +put up with her?” +</p> +<p>“Only for a very short time, Pauline; I assure you, my +darling, she is not—not a pleasant person.” +</p> +<p>“Describe her, Paddy—do,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>She spoke in her very gentlest tone, and held out one of +her long white hands and allowed her father to clasp it. +Verena was decidedly the best-looking of the eight girls +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +sitting on the grass. She was tall; her complexion was fair; +her figure was naturally so good that no amount of untidy +dressing could make it look awkward. Her hair was golden +and soft. It was less trouble to wind it up in a thick rope +and hairpin it at the back of her head than to let it run +wild; therefore she was not even untidy. Verena was +greatly respected by her sisters, and Briar was rather afraid +of her. All the others sat silent now when she asked the +old Padre to describe Aunt Sophia. +</p> +<p>“My dear,” he answered, “I have not the slightest idea +what her appearance is like. My memory of her is that she +was fashionable and very conventional.” +</p> +<p>“What on earth is ‘conventional’?” whispered Pat. +</p> +<p>“Don’t interrupt, Patty,” said Verena, squeezing her +father’s hand. “Go on, Paddy; go on, darling of my heart. +Tell us some more. Aunt Sophia is fashionable and conventional. +We can look out the words in the dictionary +afterwards. But you must know what she is like to look at.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t, my dears; I cannot remember. It was a good +many years ago when she came to visit us.” +</p> +<p>“He must be prodded,” said Briar, turning to Renny. +“Look at him; he is going to sleep.” +</p> +<p>“Excuse me, girls,” said the Squire, half-rising, and then +sitting down again as Verena’s young hand pushed him into +his seat. “I have just made a most interesting discovery +with regard to Virgil—namely, that——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, father! we don’t want to know about it,” said Briar. +“Now, then, Renny, begin.” +</p> +<p>“Her appearance—her appearance!” said Verena gently. +</p> +<p>“Whose appearance, dear?” +</p> +<p>“Why, Aunt Sophia’s; the lady who is coming to-morrow.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” said Mr. Dale; “but she must not come. This +cannot be permitted; I cannot endure it.” +</p> +<p>“Paddy, you have given John directions to fetch her. +Now, then, what is she like?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know, children. I haven’t the slightest idea.” +</p> +<p>“Prod, Renny! Prod!” +</p> +<p>“Padre,” said Verena, “is she old or young?” +</p> +<p>“Old, I think; perhaps neither.” +</p> +<p>“Write it down, Briar. She is neither old nor young. +Paddy, is she dark or fair?” +</p> +<p>“I really can’t remember, dear. A most unpleasant +person.” +</p> +<p>“Put down that she is—not over-beautiful,” said Verena. +“Paddy, must we put on our best dresses when she comes—our +Sunday go-to-meeting frocks, you know?” +</p> +<p>“Children, wear anything on earth you like, but in +Heaven’s name let me go away now! Only to think that +she will be here to-morrow! Why did Miss Stapleton leave +us? It is really too terrible.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span></p> +<p>“She left,” said Briar, her eyes twinkling, “because we +would call her Step, which means step-mother. She was +so dreadfully, dreadfully afraid that you might find it out.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, children, how incorrigible you are! The poor +woman! I’d sooner have married—— I—I never mean to +marry anybody.” +</p> +<p>“Of course you don’t, Padre. And you may go now, +darling,” said Verena. “Go, and be happy, feeling that your +daughters will look after you. You are not lonely, are you, +darling, with so many of us? Now go and be very +happy.” +</p> +<p>Eight pairs of lips blew kisses to the departing figure. +Mr. Dale shambled off, and disappeared through the open +window into his study. +</p> +<p>“Poor dear!” said Verena, “he has forgotten our existence +already. He only lives when he thinks of Virgil. Most +of his time he sleeps, poor angel! It certainly is our bounden +duty to keep him away from Aunt Sophia. What a terror +she must be! Fancy the situation. Eight nieces all in a +state of insurrection, and two more nieces in the nursery +ready to insurrect in their turn!” +</p> +<p>“Something must be done,” interrupted Pauline. “Nurse +is the woman to help us. Forewarned is forearmed. Nurse +must put us up to a wrinkle or two.” +</p> +<p>“Then let’s go to her at once,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>They all started up, and, Verena leading the way, they +went through the little paddock to the left of the house, and +so into a yard, very old-fashioned and covered with weeds +and cobble-stones. There were tumble-down stables and +coach-houses, hen-houses, and buildings, useful and otherwise, +surrounding the yard; and now in the coach-house, +which for many years had sheltered no carriage of any sort, +sat nurse busy at work, with two little children playing at +her feet. +</p> +<p>“Don’t mind the babies at present,” said Verena. “Don’t +snatch them up and kiss them, Briar. Patty, keep your +hands off. Nurse, we have come.” +</p> +<p>“So I see, Miss Verena,” said nurse. +</p> +<p>She lifted her very much wrinkled old face and looked +out of deep-set, black eyes full at the young girl. +</p> +<p>“What is it, my darling child?” +</p> +<p>“How are we to bear it? Shall we fall on our knees and +get round you in a little circle? We must talk to you. You +must advise us.” +</p> +<p>“Eh, dears!” said nurse. “I am nearly past that sort of +thing. I’m not as young as I wor, and master and me we’re +both getting old. It doesn’t seem to me to matter much now +whether a body’s pretty or not, or whether you dress beautiful, +or whether a thing is made to look pretty or otherwise. +We’re all food for worms, dears, all of us, and where’s +the use of fashing?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></p> +<p>“How horrid of you, nurse!” said Verena. “We have got +beautiful bodies, and our souls ought to be more beautiful +still. What about the resurrection of the body, you dreadful +old nurse?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind me, dears; it was only a sort of dream +I were dreaming of the funeral of your poor dear mother, +who died when this dear lamb was born.” +</p> +<p>Here nurse patted the fat arm of the youngest hope of +the house of Dale, little Marjorie, who looked round at her +with rosy face and big blue eyes. Marjorie was between +three and four years old, and was a very beautiful little +child. Verena, unable to restrain herself any longer, bent +down and encircled Marjorie with her strong young arms +and clasped her in an ecstatic embrace. +</p> +<p>“There, now,” she said; “I am better. I forbid all the +rest of you girls to touch Marjorie. Penelope, I’ll kiss you +later.” +</p> +<p>Penelope was seven years old—a dark child with a round +face—not a pretty child, but one full of wisdom and audacity. +</p> +<p>“Whatever we do,” Verena had said on several occasions, +“we must not let Penelope out of the nursery until she is +quite eight years old. She is so much the cleverest of us +that she’d simply turn us all round her little finger. She +must stay with nurse as long as possible.” +</p> +<p>“I know what you are talking about,” said Penelope. “It’s +about her, and she’s coming to-morrow. I told nurse, and +she said she oughtn’t never to come.” +</p> +<p>“No, that she oughtn’t,” said nurse. “The child is +alluding to Miss Tredgold. She haven’t no call here, and +I don’t know why she is coming.” +</p> +<p>“Look here, nurse,” said Verena; “she is coming, and +nothing in the world will prevent her doing so. The thing +we have to consider is this: how soon will she go?” +</p> +<p>“She’ll go, I take it,” said nurse, “as soon as ever she +finds out she ain’t wanted.” +</p> +<p>“And how are we to tell her that?” said Verena. “Now, +do put on your considering-cap at once, you wise old +woman.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, do show us the way out, for we can’t have her here,” +said Briar. “It is absolutely impossible. She’ll try to turn +us into fine ladies, and she’ll talk about the dresses we +should have, and she’ll want father to get some awful woman +to come and live with us. She’ll want the whole house to +be turned topsy-turvy.” +</p> +<p>“Eh!” said nurse, “I’ll tell you what it is. Ladies like +Miss Tredgold need their comforts. She won’t find much +comfort here, I’m thinking. She’ll need her food well +cooked, and that she won’t get at The Dales. She’ll need +her room pretty and spick-and-span; she won’t get much +of that sort of thing at The Dales. My dear young ladies, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +you leave the house as it is, and, mark my words, Miss Tredgold +will go in a week’s time at the latest.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>A HANDFUL.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The girls looked full at nurse while she was talking. A +look of contentment came into Verena’s face. She shook +herself to make sure she was all there; she pinched herself +to be certain that she was not dreaming; then she settled +down comfortably. +</p> +<p>“There never was anybody like you, nursey,” she said. +“You always see the common-sense, possible side of +things.” +</p> +<p>“Eh!” said nurse. “If I hadn’t seen the common-sense, +possible side of things many years ago, where would I be +with the handling and bringing up of you ten young ladies? +For, though I say it that shouldn’t, there ain’t nicer or +bonnier or straighter children in the whole Forest; no, nor +better-looking either, with cleaner souls inside of them; +but for all that, anybody else”—and here nurse gave a little +sort of wink that set Pauline screaming—“anybody else +would say that you were a handful. You are a handful, too, +to most people. But what I say now is this. You needn’t +take any notice of me; you can keep your own counsel and +say nothing; but if you want her to go—the lady that has +no call to be here—the lady that’s forced herself where she +ain’t wanted—why, you have <i>got</i> to be handfuls. And now +I’ll go into the house with my two precious lambs.” +</p> +<p>The elder “precious lamb” looked very cross at being +suddenly informed that she was to go indoors while the +sun shone so brightly and the summer warmth surrounded +her. +</p> +<p>“No, I won’t,” said Penelope. “I am going to stay out +with the others. I’m a very big girl; I am not a baby any +longer. And you aren’t to keep me in the nursery any +longer, Verena. And I won’t be naughty. I’ll make up to +Aunt Sophia like anything—that I will—if you keep me +in the nursery any longer.” +</p> +<p>This was such a daring threat that, although Penelope +was not thought much of as a rule, the girls looked at her +now with a sort of awe. +</p> +<p>“She might as well stay for a quarter of an hour longer, +mightn’t she, nursey?” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“No, that she ain’t to do, Miss Rose. She comes right +indoors and prepares for her bed like a good child. Is it +me that’s to be shortened of my hours of rest by a naughty +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +little thing like this? Come along this minute, miss, and +none of your nonsense.” +</p> +<p>So Penelope, her heart full of rage, retired into the house +with nurse and baby Marjorie. +</p> +<p>“I hope she won’t do anything mean and nasty,” said +Pauline. “It’s the sort of thing she would do, for she’s +frightfully clever.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, we needn’t consider her,” said Verena. “Do let’s +make up our minds what to do ourselves.” +</p> +<p>“I have all sorts of things in my head,” said Patty. “The +pony-carriage might break down as it was coming from +the station. I don’t mean her to be badly hurt, but I thought +she might get just a little bit hurt, so that she could stay +in her bed for twenty-four hours. An aunt in bed wouldn’t +be so bad, would she, Renny?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Verena. “I suppose we must be +polite. She is mother’s half-sister, you know. If mother +were alive she would give her a welcome. And then Padre +will have to talk to her. He must explain that she must go. +If he doesn’t, we will lead him a life.” +</p> +<p>The girls talked a little longer. They walked round and +round the ugly, ill-kept lawn; they walked under the beautiful +trees, entwined their arms round each other’s waists, +and confabbed and confabbed. The upshot of it all was that +on the following day a very large and very shabby bedroom +was got ready after a fashion for Miss Tredgold’s arrival; +and John, the sole factotum of the establishment—the man +who cleaned the boots and knives, and swept up the avenue, +removed the weeds from the flower-beds, cleaned the steps +whenever they were cleaned, and the windows whenever +they were cleaned—appeared on the scene, leading a tumble-down, +knock-kneed pony harnessed to a very shabby pony-cart. +</p> +<p>“I’m off now, miss,” he said to Verena, pulling a wisp +of hair as he spoke. “No, miss, there ain’t any room. You +couldn’t possibly sit on the back seat, for it’s as much as +ever I’ll do to bring the lady home in this tumble-down +conveyance. Our own is too bad for use, and I had to borrow +from Farmer Treherne, and he said he wouldn’t trust any +horse but old Jock; this carriage will just keep together +until the lady’s here.” +</p> +<p>“But whatever he thinks,” said Verena, “do you suppose +we can have a smart, neat carriage ready to take Miss Tredgold +back again this day week? You will see about that, +won’t you, John?” +</p> +<p>“I will, miss. There’ll be no difficulty about that; we’ll +get the lady away whenever she wants to go.” +</p> +<p>“Very well. You had better be off now. You must wait +outside the station. When she comes out you are to touch +your hat and say, ‘This is the carriage from The Dales.’ +Be sure you say that, John. And look as important as ever +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +you can. We must make the best of things, even if we are +poor.” +</p> +<p>“You never saw me, miss, demeaning the family,” said +John. +</p> +<p>He again touched his very shabby hat, whipped up the +pony, and disappeared down the avenue. +</p> +<p>“Now, then,” said Briar, “how are we to pass the next +two hours? It will take them quite that time to get here.” +</p> +<p>“And what are we going to give her to eat when she does +come?” said Patty. “She’ll be awfully hungry. I expect +she’ll want her dinner.” +</p> +<p>“Dinner!” cried Josephine. “Dinner! So late. But +we dine at one.” +</p> +<p>“You silliest of silly mortals,” said Verena, “Aunt Sophia +is a fashionable lady, and fashionable ladies dine between +eight and nine o’clock.” +</p> +<p>“Do they?” said Josephine. “Then I’m glad I’m not a +fashionable lady. Fancy starving all that long time! I’m +always famished by one o’clock.” +</p> +<p>“There’s Penelope!” suddenly said Patty. “Doesn’t she +look odd?” +</p> +<p>Penelope was a very stout child. She had black eyes and +black hair. Her hair generally stood upright in a sort of +halo round her head; her face was very round and rosy—she +looked like a kind of hard, healthy winter-apple. Her +legs were fat, and she always wore socks instead of stockings. +Her socks were dark blue. Nurse declared that she +could not be fashed with putting on white ones. She wore a +little Turkey-red frock, and she had neither hat nor coat on. +She was going slowly and thoughtfully round the lawn, +occasionally stooping and picking something. +</p> +<p>“She’s a perfect mystery,” said Pauline. “Let’s run up +to her and ask her what she’s about.” +</p> +<p>Catching Patty’s hand, the two girls scampered across the +grass. +</p> +<p>“Well, Pen, and what are you doing now? What curious +things are you gathering?” they asked. +</p> +<p>“Grasses,” replied Penelope slowly. “They’re for Aunt +Sophia’s bedroom. I’m going to make her bedroom ever so +pretty.” +</p> +<p>“You little horror!” said Pauline. “If you dare to go +against us you will lead a life!” +</p> +<p>Penelope looked calmly up at them. +</p> +<p>“I’ll make a bargain,” she said. “I’ll throw them all away, +and be nastier than you all—yes, much nastier—if you will +make me a schoolroom girl.” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked at her. +</p> +<p>“We may be low,” she said, “and there is no doubt we +are very poor, but we have never stooped to bribery and +corruption yet. Go your own way, Penelope. If you think +you can injure us you are very much mistaken.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></p> +<p>Penelope shook her fat back, and resumed her peregrinations +round and round the lawn. +</p> +<p>“Really she is quite an uncomfortable child,” said Pauline, +returning to her other sisters. “What do you think she is +doing now? Picking grasses to put in Aunt Sophia’s room.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, let her alone,” said Verena; “it’s only her funny +little way. By the way, I wonder if Padre has any idea that +Aunt Sophia is coming to-day.” +</p> +<p>“Let’s invade him,” said Patty. “The old dear wants his +exercise; he hasn’t had any to-day.” +</p> +<p>The eight girls ran with whoops and cries round the +house. Penelope picked her grasses with more determination +than ever. Her small, straight mouth made a scarlet +line, so tightly was it shut. +</p> +<p>“I am only seven, but I’m monstrous clever,” she whispered +to herself. “I am going to have my own way. I’ll +love poor Aunt Sophy. Yes, I will. I’ll kiss her, and I’ll +make up to her, and I’ll keep her room full of lovely grasses.” +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the other girls burst into the study. A voice +was heard murmuring rapidly as they approached. A silvery-white +head was bending over a page, and some words +in Latin came like a stream, with a very beautiful pronunciation, +from the scholar’s lips. +</p> +<p>“Ah, Verena!” he said, “I think I have got the right lines +now. Shall I read them to you?” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale began. He got through about one line when +Patty interrupted him: +</p> +<p>“It can’t possibly be done, Paddy. We can’t listen to another +line—I mean yet. You have got to come out. Aunt +Sophia is coming to-day.” +</p> +<p>“Eh? I beg your pardon; who did you say was coming?” +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophia—Miss Tredgold. She’s coming to-day on +a visit. She’ll be here very soon. She’s coming in an old +cart that belongs to Farmer Treherne. She’ll be here in an +hour; therefore out you come.” +</p> +<p>“My dears, I cannot. You must excuse me. My years of +toil have brought to light an obscure passage. I shall write +an account of it to the <i>Times</i>. It is a great moment in my +life, and the fact that—— But who did you say was coming, +my dears?” +</p> +<p>“Really, Paddy, you are very naughty,” said Verena. +“You must come out at once. We want you. You can’t +write another line. You must not even think of the subject. +Come and see what we have done for Aunt Sophia. +If you don’t come she’ll burst in here, and she’ll stay here, +because it’s the most comfortable room in the house. And +she’ll bring her work-basket here, and perhaps her mending. +I know she’ll mend you as soon as she arrives. She’ll make +you and mend you; and you need mending, don’t you, dear +old Padre?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span></p> +<p>“I don’t know, my dears. I’m a stupid old man, and don’t +care about dress. Who is the person you said was coming? +Give her some tea and send her away. Do you hear, Verena? +Give her tea, my darling, and—and toast if you like, +and send her away. We can’t have visitors here.” +</p> +<p>“Patty!” said Verena. +</p> +<p>Patty’s eyes were shining. +</p> +<p>“Pauline!” +</p> +<p>The two girls came forward as though they were little +soldiers obeying the command of their captain. +</p> +<p>“Take Padre by the right arm, Pauline. Patty, take +Padre by the left arm. Now then, Paddy, quick’s the word. +March!” +</p> +<p>Poor Mr. Dale was completely lifted from his chair by +his two vigorous daughters, and then marched outside his +study into the sunshine. +</p> +<p>“We are not going to be cross,” said Verena, kissing him. +“It is only your Renny.” +</p> +<p>“And your Paulie,” said the second girl. +</p> +<p>“And your Rose Briar,” said the third. +</p> +<p>“And your Patty,” said the fourth. +</p> +<p>“And your Lucy,” “And your Josephine,” “And your +Helen,” “And your Adelaide,” said four more vigorous pairs +of lips. +</p> +<p>“And we all want you to stand up,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Good heavens! I did think I had come to the end of +my worries. And what on earth does this mean? Penelope, +my child, what a hideous bouquet you have in your hand! +Come here and kiss father, my little one.” +</p> +<p>Penelope trotted briskly forward. +</p> +<p>“Do you like my red frock, father?” she asked. +</p> +<p>“It is very nice indeed.” +</p> +<p>“I thought it wor. And is my hair real tidy, father?” +</p> +<p>“It stands very upright, Penelope.” +</p> +<p>“I thought it did. And you like my little blue stockings, +father?” +</p> +<p>“Very neat, dear.” +</p> +<p>“I thought they wor.” +</p> +<p>“You look completely unlike yourself, Penelope. What +is the matter?” +</p> +<p>“I want to be a true, kind lady,” said the little girl. “I +am gathering grasses for my aunty; so I are.” +</p> +<p>She trotted away into the house. +</p> +<p>“What a pretty, neat, orderly little girl Penelope has become!” +said Mr. Dale. “But—— You really must excuse +me, my dear girls. You are most charming, all of you. Ah, +my dears!—so fresh, so unsophisticated, so—yes, that is the +word—so unworldly. But I must get back to my beloved +Virgil. You don’t know—you can never know—what a moment +of triumph is mine. You must excuse me, darlings—Verena, +you are nearly grown up; you will see to the others. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +Do what you can to make them happy—a little treat if +necessary; I should not mind it.” +</p> +<p>“Give us fourpence to buy a pound of golden syrup for +tea, please, Padre,” suddenly said Briar. “If there is a thing +I love, it is golden syrup. A pound between us will give us +quite a feast—won’t it, Renny?” +</p> +<p>“Only we must save a little for the aunt,” cried Patty. +</p> +<p>“I do hope one thing,” said Pauline: “that, whatever her +faults, she won’t be greedy. There isn’t room for any one +to be greedy in this house. The law of this house is the +law of self-denial; isn’t it, Padre?” +</p> +<p>“I begin to perceive that it is, Pauline. But whom are +you talking of?” +</p> +<p>“Now, Padre,” said Verena, “if you don’t wake and rouse +yourself, and act like a decent Christian, you’ll be just +prodded—you’ll be just shaken. We will do it. There are +eight of us, and we’ll make your life a burden.” +</p> +<p>“Eh—eh!” said Mr. Dale. “Really, girls, you are enough +to startle a man. And you say——” +</p> +<p>“I say, Paddy, that Miss Sophia Tredgold is on her way +here. Each instant she is coming nearer. She is coming +in the old pony cart, and the old pony is struggling with all +his might to convey her here. She is coming with her luggage, +intending to stay, and our object is to get her to go +away again. Do you hear, Padre?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, my dear, I hear. I comprehend. It takes a great +deal to bring a man back down the ages—down—down to +this small, poor, parsimonious life; it takes a great deal. A +man is not easily roused, nor brought back; but I am back +now, darlings.—Excuse me, Briar; no more prodding.—Hands +off, Pauline.—Hands off, Patty. Perhaps I had better +tidy myself.” +</p> +<p>“You certainly would look nicer, and more like the owner +of The Dales, if you got into your other coat,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“Shall we all come up and help you, Padre?” called out +the eight in a breath. +</p> +<p>“No, no, dears. I object to ladies hovering about my +room. I’ll run away now.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; and you’d better be quick, Padre, for I hear +wheels.” +</p> +<p>“I am going, loves, this moment.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale turned and absolutely ran to the shelter of the +house, for the wheels were getting near—rumbling, jumping, +uncertain. Now the rumbling and the jumping and the +uncertainty got into the avenue, and came nearer and nearer; +and finally the tumble-down pony cart drew up at the house. +The pony printed his uncertain feet awkwardly but firmly +on the weed-grown sweep in front of the unpainted hall +door, and Miss Tredgold gazed around her. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold was a very thin, tall woman of about forty-five +years of age. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +She wore a perfectly immaculate traveling dress of +dark-gray tweed. It fitted her well-proportioned figure like +a glove. She had on a small, very neat black hat, and a +spotted veil surrounded her face. She stepped down from +the pony cart and looked around her. +</p> +<p>“Ah!” she said, seeing Verena, “will you kindly mention +to some of the ladies of the family that I have arrived?” +</p> +<p>“I think I need not mention it, because we all know,” +said Verena. “I am your niece Verena.” +</p> +<p>“You!” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold could throw unutterable scorn into her +voice. Verena stepped back, and her pretty face grew first +red and then pale. What she would have said next will +never be known to history, for at that instant the very good +child, Penelope, appeared out of the house. +</p> +<p>“Is you my Aunty Sophy?” she said. “How are you, +Aunty Sophy? I am very pleased to see you.” +</p> +<p>Miss Sophia stared for a moment at Penelope. Penelope +was hideously attired, but she was at least clean. The +other girls were anyhow. They were disheveled; they wore +torn and unsightly skirts; their hair was arranged anyhow +or not at all; on more than one face appeared traces of +recent acquaintance with the earth in the shape of a tumble. +One little girl with very black eyes had an ugly +scratch across her left cheek; another girl had the gathers +out of her frock, which streamed in the most hopeless +fashion on the ground. +</p> +<p>“How do you do?” said Aunt Sophia. “Where is your +father? Will you have the goodness, little girl, to acquaint +your father with the fact that his sister-in-law, Sophia +Tredgold, has come?” +</p> +<p>“Please come into the house, Aunt Sophy, and I’ll take +you to father’s study—so I will,” exclaimed champion +Penelope. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>PREPARING FOR THE FIGHT.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Penelope held up a chubby hand, which Miss Tredgold +pretended not to see. +</p> +<p>“Go on in front, little girl,” she said. “Don’t paw me. +I hate being pawed by children.” +</p> +<p>Penelope’s back became very square as she listened to +these words, and the red which suffused her face went right +round her neck. But she walked solemnly on in front without +a word. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></p> +<p>“Aunties are unpleasant things,” she said to herself; +“but, all the same, I mean to fuss over this one.” +</p> +<p>Here she opened a door, flung it wide, and cried out to her +parent: +</p> +<p>“Paddy, here comes Aunt Sophia Tredgold.” +</p> +<p>But she spoke to empty air—Mr. Dale was still busy over +his toilet. +</p> +<p>“Whom are you addressing by that hideous name?” said +Miss Sophia. “Do you mean to tell me you call your father +Paddy?” +</p> +<p>“We all do,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Of course we do,” said Verena, who had followed behind. +</p> +<p>“That is our name for the dear old boy,” said Pauline, who +stood just behind Verena, while all the other children stood +behind Pauline. +</p> +<p>It was in this fashion that the entire party invaded Mr. +Dale’s sanctum. Miss Tredgold gazed around her, her face +filled with a curious mixture of amazement and indignation. +</p> +<p>“I had an intuition that I ought to come here,” she said +aloud. “I did not want to come, but I obeyed what I now +know was the direct call of duty. I shall stay here as long as +I am wanted. My mission will be to bring order out of +chaos—to reduce all those who entertain rebellion to submission—to +try to turn vulgar, hoydenish little girls into +ladies.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, oh! I say, aunty, that is hard on us!” burst from +Josephine. +</p> +<p>“My dear, I don’t know your name, but it is useless for +you to make those ugly exclamations. Whatever your remarks, +whatever your words, I shall take no notice. You +may struggle as you will, but I am the stronger. Oh! here +comes—— Is it possible? My dear Henry, what years it is +since we met! Don’t you remember me—your sister-in-law +Sophia? I was but a little girl when you married my dear +sister. It is quite affecting to meet you again. How do +you do?” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold advanced to meet her brother-in-law. Mr. +Dale put both his hands behind his back. +</p> +<p>“Are you sorry to see me?” asked Miss Tredgold. “Oh, +dear, this is terrible!” +</p> +<p>The next instant the horrified man found that Miss Tredgold +had kissed him calmly and with vigor on each cheek. +Even his own children were never permitted to kiss Mr. +Dale. To tell the truth, he was the last sort of person anybody +would care to kiss. His face resembled a piece of +parchment, being much withered and wrinkled and dried +up. There was an occasion in the past when Verena had +taken his scholarly hand and raised it to her lips, but even +that form of endearment he objected to. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></p> +<p>“I forgive you, dear,” he said; “but please don’t do it +again. We can love each other without these marks of an +obsolete and forgotten age. Kissing, my dear, is too silly +to be endured in our day.” +</p> +<p>That Miss Tredgold should kiss him was therefore an indignity +which the miserable man was scarcely likely to +get over as long as he lived. +</p> +<p>“And now, girls,” said the good lady, turning round and +facing her astonished nieces, “I have a conviction that your +father and I would have a more comfortable conversation if +you were not present. Leave the room, therefore, my +dears. Go quietly and in an orderly fashion.” +</p> +<p>“Perhaps, children, it would be best,” said Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>He felt as though he could be terribly rude, but he made +an effort not to show his feelings. +</p> +<p>“There is no other possible way out of it,” he said to +himself. “I must be very frank. I must tell her quite +plainly that she cannot stay. It will be easier for me to be +frank without the children than with them.” +</p> +<p>So the girls left the room. Penelope, going last, turned a +plump and bewildered face towards her aunt. +</p> +<p>But Miss Tredgold took no more notice of Penelope than +she did of the others. When the last pair of feet had vanished +down the passage, she went to the door and locked it. +</p> +<p>“What are you doing that for?” asked Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>“My dear Henry, I locked the door because I wish to have +a quiet word with you. I have come here—I will say it +plainly—for the sole purpose of saving you.” +</p> +<p>“Of saving me, Sophia! From what?” +</p> +<p>“From the grievous sin you are committing—the sin of +absolutely and completely neglecting the ten daughters given +to you by Providence. Do you do anything for them? Do +you try in the least to help them? Are you in any sense +of the word educating them? I scarcely know the children +yet, but I must say frankly that I never came across more +terribly neglected young people. Their clothes are in rags, +they are by no means perfectly clean in their persons, and +they look half-starved. Henry, you ought to be ashamed of +yourself! I wonder my poor sister doesn’t turn in her +grave! When I think that Alice was their mother, and that +you are bringing them up as you are now doing, I could +give way to tears. But, Henry, tears are not what are required. +Action is the necessary thing. I mean to act, and +nothing will turn me from that resolution.” +</p> +<p>“But, my dear Sophia, I have not met you for years. To +be frank with you, I had almost forgotten your existence. +I am a terribly busy man, Sophia—a scholar—at least, I +hope so. I do not think the children are neglected; they are +well, and no one is ever unkind to them. There is no doubt +that we are poor. I am unable to have the house done up +as poor Alice would have liked to see it; and I have let the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +greater part of the ground, so that we are not having dairy +produce or farm produce at present. The meals, therefore, +are plain.” +</p> +<p>“And insufficient; I have no doubt of that,” said Miss +Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“They are very plain,” he answered. “Perhaps you like +dainty food; most ladies of your age do. I must be as frank +with you as you are with me. You won’t like our table. +Sometimes we do without meat for a week at a time.” +</p> +<p>“I do not care if you never touch meat again,” said Miss +Sophia. “Thank goodness, with all my faults, I am not +greedy.” +</p> +<p>“What a pity!” murmured Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>“What was that you said? Do you like greedy women?” +</p> +<p>“No, Sophia; but I want to put matters so straight before +you that you will consider it your bounden duty to leave The +Dales.” +</p> +<p>“Where my duty calls me I stay, whatever the circumstances, +and however great the inconveniences,” remarked +Miss Sophia. +</p> +<p>“Well, Sophia, your attitude and manner and words distress +me considerably. But I must speak to you again. I am +busy now over a most important matter. I have just discovered——” +</p> +<p>“A gold mine on your estate?” +</p> +<p>“No; something fifty times more valuable—a new rendering——” +</p> +<p>“Of what, may I ask?” +</p> +<p>“‘The noblest meter ever moulded by the lips of man.’ +Bowen is quite wrong in his translation; I am about to +prove it. I allude to Virgil’s <i>Æneid</i>.” +</p> +<p>“Good heavens!” exclaimed Miss Tredgold, “is the man +staring mad? Now, my dear fellow, you have got to put up +with me. I can tell you plainly that it will be no treat to +live with you. If it were not for my sister I would leave this +house and let you and your family go your own way to destruction; +but as Alice was so fond of me, and did her best +for me when I was a little girl, I mean to do my best for +your children.” +</p> +<p>“But in what way, Sophia? I told you I was poor. I +am poor. I cannot afford a governess. Verena can darn +quite nicely, and she knows a little about plain needlework. +She turned a skirt of her own a month ago; her work +seemed quite creditable, for I did not notice it one way or +the other.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, you man—you man!” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“And the other children are also learning to use the +needle; and most of them can read, for all the novels that +I happen to possess have been removed from the bookshelves. +The girls can read, they can write, and they can +use their needles. They are thoroughly happy, and they are +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +healthy. They do not feel the heat of summer or the cold +of winter. The food is plain, and perhaps not over-abundant, +but they are satisfied with it. They don’t worry me +much. In short, it is only fair to say that I am not well +enough off to keep you here. I cannot possibly give you the +comforts you require. I should be glad, therefore, my dear +Sophia, if you would be kind enough to leave The Dales.” +</p> +<p>“Now listen to me, Henry. I have resolved to stay, and +only force will turn me out. My heavier luggage is coming +by the carrier to-morrow. I brought a small trunk in +that awful little conveyance which you sent to meet me. +As to the money question, it needn’t trouble you, for I shall +pay for all extras which my presence requires. As to luxuries, +I am indifferent to them. But I mean the girls to +eat their food like ladies, and I mean the food to be well +cooked; and also everything in the house shall be clean, +and there shall be enough furniture in the rooms for the +ordinary requirements of ordinary gentlefolks. I shall stay +here for at least three months, and if at the end of that time +you do not say to me, ‘Sophia, I can never thank you enough +for what you have done,’ I shall be surprised. Now I have +stated exactly the position of things, and, my dear Henry, +you are welcome to go back to your work. You can study +your beloved Virgil and gloat over your discovery; but for +goodness’ sake come to dinner to-night looking like a gentleman.” +</p> +<p>“My wardrobe is a little in abeyance, Sophia. I mean +that I—I have not put on an evening coat for years.” +</p> +<p>“You probably have one at the back of nowhere,” said +Miss Tredgold in a contemptuous tone. “But, anyhow, put +on the best you have got. Believe me, I have not come to +this house to sit down with my hands before me. I have +come to work, to renovate, to restore, to build up. Not another +word, Henry. I have put the matter into a nutshell, +and you and your children must learn to submit to the arrival +of Sophia Tredgold.” +</p> +<p>At these words the good lady unlocked the door and +stepped out. +</p> +<p>As she walked down the passage she heard the quick +trampling of many feet, and it occurred to her that some +of the girls must have been listening at the keyhole. +</p> +<p>“I can’t allow that sort of thing again,” she said to herself. +“But now—shall I take notice?” +</p> +<p>She stood for a moment thinking. The color came into +her cheeks and her eyes looked bright. +</p> +<p>“For my sister’s sake I will put up with a good deal,” +was her final comment; and then she went into the hall. +</p> +<p>There was a wide old hall leading to the front stairs, and +in this hall now stood the good child Penelope. She had +brought in a quantity of fresh grasses, and had a piteous +and beseeching expression on her face. Miss Tredgold took +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +no notice of her. She stood by the open hall door and +looked out. +</p> +<p>“Might be made a pretty place,” she said aloud. +</p> +<p>Then she turned to go upstairs, sighing as she did so. +Penelope echoed the sigh in a most audible manner. Miss +Tredgold was arrested by the sound, and looked down. +</p> +<p>“Ah, little girl!” she said. “What are you doing here?” +</p> +<p>“I thought perhaps you’d like me to help you,” said Penelope. +“I wor waiting for you to come out of Pad’s +room.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t use that hideous word ‘wor.’ W-a-s, was. Can +you spell?” +</p> +<p>“No; and I don’t want to,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“We’ll see about that. In the meantime, child, can you +take me to my room?” +</p> +<p>“May I hold of your hand?” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“May you hold my hand, not <i>of</i> my hand. Certainly not. +You may go on in front of me. You have got clearly to understand—— But +what did you say your name was?” +</p> +<p>“Penelope.” +</p> +<p>“You must clearly understand, Penelope, that I do not +pet children. I expect them to be good without sugar-plums.” +</p> +<p>Now, Penelope knew that sugar-plums were delicious. +She had heard of them, and at Christmas-time she used to +dream of them, but very few had hitherto come into her life. +She now looked eagerly at Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“If I are good for a long time without them, will you +give me two or three?” she asked. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold gave a short, grim laugh. +</p> +<p>“We’ll see,” she said. “I never make rash promises. +Oh! so this is my room.” +</p> +<p>She looked around her. +</p> +<p>“No carpet,” she said aloud; “no curtains; no pictures on +the walls. A deal table for a dressing-table, the muslin +covering much the worse for dirt and wear. Hum! You do +live plain at The Dales.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; don’t us?” said Penelope. “And your room is +much the handsomest of all the rooms. We call it very +handsome. If you wor to see our rooms——” +</p> +<p>“Were to see——” +</p> +<p>“Yes, were to see,” repeated Penelope, who found this +constant correction very tiresome. +</p> +<p>“And may I ask,” exclaimed Miss Tredgold suddenly, not +paying any heed to the little girl’s words, “what on earth is +that in the blue mug?” +</p> +<p>She marched up to the dressing-table. In the center was +a large blue mug of very common delft filled with poor Penelope’s +grasses. +</p> +<p>“What horror is this?” she said. “Take it away at once, +and throw those weeds out.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span></p> +<p>At that moment poor Penelope very nearly forsook her +allegiance to Aunt Sophia. She ran downstairs trembling. +In the hall she was received by a bevy of sisters. +</p> +<p>“Well, Pen, and so you have bearded the lion! You took +her to her room, did you? And what did she say? Did she +tell you when she was going away?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, did she?” came from Verena’s lips; and Pauline’s +eager eyes, and the eyes of all the other children, asked the +same question. +</p> +<p>Penelope gave utterance to a great sigh. +</p> +<p>“I thought I’d be the goodest of you all,” she said. “I +maded up my mind that I just would; but I doesn’t like +Aunt Sophia, and I think I’ll be the naughtiest.” +</p> +<p>“No, you little goose; keep on being as good as you can. +She can’t possibly stay long, for we can’t afford it,” said +Verena. +</p> +<p>“She’ll stay,” answered Penelope. “She have made up +her mind. She throwed away my lovely grasses; she called +them weeds, my darlings that I did stoop so much to pick, +and made my back all aches up to my neck. And she said +she hated little girls that pawed her. Oh, I could cry! I did +so want to be the goodest of you all, and I thought that I’d +get sugar-plums and perhaps pennies. And I thought she’d +let me tell her when you was all bad. Oh, I hate her now! +I don’t think I care to be took out of the nursery if she’s +about.” +</p> +<p>“You certainly are a caution, Penny,” said Verena. “It +is well that you have told us what your motives are. Believe +me, there are worse places than that despised nursery +of yours. Now, I suppose we must get some sort of dinner +or tea for her. I wonder what Betty is doing to-day, if her +head aches, and if——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, come along; let’s go and find out,” said Pauline. +“I feel so desperate that I have the courage for anything.” +</p> +<p>It is to be owned that the Dales did not keep an extensive +establishment. Old John pottered about the gardens and did +what little gardening he thought necessary. He also did +odd jobs about the house. Besides John, there was Betty. +Betty ruled supreme as cook and factotum in the kitchen. +Betty never asked any one for orders; she got what she considered +necessary from the local tradesmen, or she did without. +As a rule she did without. She said that cooking was +bad for her—that it made her head and back ache. On the +days when Betty’s head or back ached there was never any +dinner. The family did not greatly mind. They dined on +these occasions on bread, either with butter or without. +Betty managed to keep them without dinner certainly at +the rate of once or twice a week. She always had an excellent +excuse. Either the boiler was out of gear, or the +range would not draught properly, or the coals were out, or +the butcher had failed to come. Sometimes the children +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +managed to have jam with their bread-and-butter, and then +they considered that they had a very fine meal indeed. It +mattered little to them what sort of food they had if they +only had enough; but sometimes they had not even enough. +This more constantly happened in the winter than in the +summer, for in the summer there was always plenty of milk +and always plenty of fruit and vegetables. +</p> +<p>When Betty heard that Miss Tredgold was coming to stay +she immediately gave Verena notice. This was nothing at +all extraordinary, for Betty gave notice whenever anything +annoyed her. She never dreamed of acting up to her own +words, so that nobody minded Betty’s repeated notices. +But on the morning of the day when Miss Tredgold was expected, +Betty told nurse that she was about to give a real, +earnest notice at last. +</p> +<p>“I am going,” she said. “I go this day month. I march +out of this house, and never come back—no, not even if a +dook was to conduct me to the hymeneal altar.” +</p> +<p>Betty was always great on the subject of dukes and marquises. +She was seldom so low in health as to condescend +to a “hearl,” and there had even been a moment when she +got herself to believe that royalty might aspire to her +hand. +</p> +<p>“She must be really going,” said Verena when nurse repeated +Betty’s speech. “She would not say that about the +duke if she was not.” +</p> +<p>“You leave her alone,” said nurse. “But she’s dreadful +put out, Miss Renny; there’s no doubt of that. I doubt if +she’ll cook any dinner for Miss Tredgold.” +</p> +<p>Verena, Pauline, and Penelope now rushed round to the +kitchen premises. They were nervous, but at the same +time they were brave. They must see what Betty intended +to do. They burst open the door. The kitchen was not too +clean. It was a spacious apartment, which in the days when +the old house belonged to rich people was well taken care +of, and must have sent forth glorious fires—fires meant to +cook noble joints. On the present occasion the fire was dead +out; the range looked a dull gray, piles of ashes lying in a +forlorn manner at its feet. Betty was sitting at the opposite +side of the kitchen, her feet on one chair and her capacious +person on another. She was busily engaged devouring the +last number of the <i>Family Paper</i>. She had come to a most +rousing portion in her story—that part in which the duke +marries the governess. Betty was, as she said, all in a twitter +to see how matters would end; but just at this crucial +moment the girls burst in. +</p> +<p>“Betty, do stop reading,” said Verena. “She’s come, +Betty.” +</p> +<p>“I know,” cried Betty. “I’m not deaf, I suppose. John +told me. He brought her, drat him! He says she’s the +sort to turn the house topsy-turvy. I’ll have none of her. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +I won’t alter my ways—no, not a hand’s-turn—for the like +of her, and I go this day month.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Betty!” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“I do, my dear; I do. I can’t put up with the ways of +them sort—never could. I like you well enough, young +ladies, and your pa; and I’d stop with you willing—so I +would, honey—but I can’t abide the likes of her.” +</p> +<p>“All the same, she’s come, Betty, and we must have something +for dinner. Have you anything in the house?” +</p> +<p>“Not a blessed handful.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Betty!” said Verena; “and I told you this morning, +and so did nurse. We said we must have dinner to-night +at seven o’clock. You should have got something for +her.” +</p> +<p>“But I ain’t done it. The stove’s out of order; we want +the sweep. I have a splitting headache, and I’m just reading +to keep my mind off the pain.” +</p> +<p>“But what are we to do? We must get her something.” +</p> +<p>“Can’t she have tea and bread-and-butter? We’ve half-a-pound +of cooking butter in the house.” +</p> +<p>“Are there any eggs?” +</p> +<p>“No. I broke the last carrying it across the kitchen an +hour ago. My hands were all of a tremble with the pain, +and the egg slipped.” +</p> +<p>“Betty, you are too dreadful! Won’t you put that paper +down and try to help us?” +</p> +<p>Betty looked at the three faces. In their shabby dresses, +and with their pretty, anxious eyes, Verena having a frown +between her charming brows, they made a picture that +struck the cook’s heart. With all her odd and peculiar +ways, she was affectionate. +</p> +<p>“Are you fretting about it, Miss Renny?” she asked. +</p> +<p>As she spoke she put down her feet and pushed the +tempting number of the <i>Family Paper</i> from her. +</p> +<p>“There!” she said; “poor little Miss Dunstable may +marry the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton just as soon +as she pleases, but I won’t have you put out, Miss Renny.” +</p> +<p>“I did want something nice for dinner,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Then I’ll manage it. There ain’t a better cook than I +anywhere when I’m put on my mettle. Miss Penny, will +you help me?” +</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Well, run into the garden and pick all the peas you can +find. There’s a nice little joint in the larder, and I’ll roast +it, and you shall have a beautiful dinner. Now off you go, +dears. You shall have custard-pudding and cream and +strawberry-jam afterwards.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, how nice!” cried Penelope, with a little gasp. “Be +sure you give us <i>plenty</i> of strawberry-jam, and make a +very large custard-pudding, for there’s such a lot of us to +eat the things, and I generally get the teeniest little bit.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></p> +<p>“You are a nursery child, and it’s in the nursery you’ll +have your tea,” said Verena in a stern tone. “Go and pick +the peas.” +</p> +<p>“Not me,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>She sat down just where she was, in an obstinate heap, +in the middle of the floor. +</p> +<p>“If I are not to eat those peas I don’t pick ’em,” she said. +“I wor going to be kind, but I won’t be kind if I’m to be +turned into a nursery child.” +</p> +<p>“Oh! do let her come to the dining-room just for to-night,” +pleaded Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Very well, then; just for once,” said Verena. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>THE LIFE OF MISRULE.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Dinner went off better than the girls had expected. But +to Miss Tredgold it was, and ever would be, the most awful +meal she had eaten in the whole course of her existence. +The table was devoid of all those things which she, as a +refined lady, considered essential. The beautiful old silver +spoons were dirty, and several of them bent almost out of +recognition. A like fate had befallen the forks; the knives +were rusty, the handles disgracefully dirty; and the tablecloth, +of the finest damask, was almost gray in color, and +adorned with several large holes. The use of serviettes had +been long abolished from The Dales. +</p> +<p>The girls, in honor of the occasion, had put on their best +frocks, and Verena looked fairly pretty in a skimpy white +muslin made in an obsolete style. The other girls each presented +a slightly worse appearance than their elder sister, +for each had on a somewhat shabbier frock, a little more +old-fashioned and more outgrown. As to Mr. Dale, it had +been necessary to remind him at least three times of his +sister-in-law’s arrival; and finally Verena had herself to +put him into his very old evening-coat, to brush him down +afterwards, and to smooth his hair, and then lead him into +the dining-room. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold, in contradistinction to the rest of the +family, was dressed correctly. She wore a black lace dress +slightly open at the neck, and with elbow sleeves. The children +thought that she looked dazzlingly fashionable. Verena +seemed to remember that she had seen figures very like +Aunt Sophia’s in the fashion books. Aunt Sophia’s hair in +particular absorbed the attention of four of her nieces. How +had she managed to turn it into so many rolls and spirals +and twists? How did she manage the wavy short hair on +her forehead? It seemed to sit quite tight to her head, and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +looked as if even a gale of wind would not blow it out of +place. Aunt Sophia’s hands were thin and very white, and +the fingers were half-covered with sparkling rings, which +shone and glittered so much that Penelope dropped her +choicest peas all over her frock as she gazed at them. +</p> +<p>John was requisitioned to wait at table, and John had no +livery for the purpose. The family as a rule never required +attendance at meals. On this occasion it was supposed to be +essential, and as Betty refused point-blank to stir from the +kitchen, John had to come to the fore. +</p> +<p>“No, no, Miss Renny,” said Betty when poor Verena begged +and implored of the good woman to put in an appearance. +“No, you don’t. No, you certain sure don’t. Because you +looked pretty and a bit coaxing I gave up Miss Dunstable +and the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton two hours ago, +but not another minute will I spare from them. It’s in their +select society that I spend my haristocratic evening.” +</p> +<p>Verena knew that it would be useless to coax Betty any +further. So John appeared with the potatoes in a large +dish on a rusty tray, each potato having, as Betty expressed +it, a stone inside. This she declared was the proper +way to cook them. The peas presently followed the potatoes. +They were yellow with age, for they ought to have +been eaten at least a week ago. The lamb was terribly underdone, +and the mint sauce was like no mint sauce that +Miss Tredgold had ever dreamed of. The pudding which +followed was a pudding that only Betty knew the recipe for, +and that recipe was certainly not likely to be popular in +fashionable circles. But the strawberry-jam was fairly +good, and the cream was excellent; and when, finally, Miss +Tredgold rose to the occasion and said that she would make +some coffee, which she had brought down from town, in her +own coffee-pot on her own etna, the girls became quite +excited. +</p> +<p>The coffee was made, and shed a delicious aroma over the +room. Mr. Dale was so far interested that he was seen to +sniff twice, and was found to be observing the coffee as +though he were a moth approaching a candle. He even +forgot his Virgil in his desire to partake of the delicious +stimulant. Miss Tredgold handed him a cup. +</p> +<p>“There,” she said. “If you were ever young, and if there +was ever a time when you cared to act as a gentleman, this +will remind you of those occasions.—And now, children, I +introduce you to ‘Open sesame;’ and I hope, my dear +nieces, by means of these simple cups of coffee you will +enter a different world from that which you have hitherto +known.” +</p> +<p>The girls all drank their coffee, and each pronounced it +the nicest drink they had ever taken. +</p> +<p>Presently Miss Tredgold went into the garden. She invited +Verena and Pauline to accompany her. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></p> +<p>“The rest of you can stay behind,” she said. “You can +talk about me to each other as much as you like. I give +you leave to discuss me freely, knowing that, even if I did +not do so, you would discuss me all the same. I am quite +aware that you all hate me for the present, but I do not +think this state of things will long continue. Come, Verena; +come, Pauline. The night is lovely. We will discuss nature +a little, and common sense a great deal.” +</p> +<p>The two girls selected to walk with Miss Tredgold looked +behind at the seven girls left in the dining-room, and the +seven girls looked back at them with a mixture of curiosity +and pity. +</p> +<p>“Never mind your sisters now,” said Miss Tredgold. “We +want to talk over many things. But before we enter into +any discussion I wish to ask a question.” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Verena in her gentle voice. +</p> +<p>“Verena,” said her aunt suddenly, “how old are you?” +</p> +<p>“Fifteen,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Precisely. And on your next birthday you will be sixteen, +and on the following seventeen, and on the next one +again eighteen. You have, therefore, nearly three years in +which to be transformed from a little savage into a lady. +The question I now want to ask you is: Do you prefer to +remain a savage all your days, uneducated, uncultured, your +will uncontrolled, your aspirations for good undeveloped; +or do you wish to become a beautiful and gracious lady, +kind, sympathetic, learned, full of grace? Tell me, my dear.” +</p> +<p>“How can I?” replied Verena. “I like my life here; we +all suit each other, and we like The Dales just as it is. +Yes, we all suit each other, and we don’t mind being barbarians.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold sighed. +</p> +<p>“I perceive,” she said, “that I shall have uphill work before +me. For you of all the young people, Verena, are the +easiest to deal with. I know that without your telling me. +I know it by your face. You are naturally gentle, courteous, +and kind. You are easy to manage. You are also the most +important of all to be brought round to my views, for whatever +you do the others will do. It is on you, therefore, +that I mean to exercise my greatest influence and to expend +my heaviest forces.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t quite understand you, Aunt Sophia. I know, of +course, you mean kindly, but I would much rather——” +</p> +<p>“That I went away? That I left you in the disgraceful +state in which I have found you?” +</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t consider it disgraceful; and——” +</p> +<p>“Yes? You would rather I went?” +</p> +<p>Verena nodded. After a moment she spoke. +</p> +<p>“It seems unkind,” she said—“and I don’t wish to be unkind—but +I <i>would</i> rather you went.” +</p> +<p>“And so would I, please, Aunt Sophia,” said Pauline. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></p> +<p>Miss Tredgold looked straight before her. Her face became +a little pinched, a little white round her lips. +</p> +<p>“Once,” she said slowly, “I had a sister—a sister whom I +loved. She was my half-sister, but I never thought of +that. She was to me sister and mother in one. She brought +me up from the time I was a little child. She was good to +me, and she instilled into me certain principles. One of +these principles can be expressed in the following words: +God put us into the world to rise, not to sink. Another of +her principles was that God put us into the world to be +good, to be unselfish. Another one, again, was as follows: +We must give account for our talents. Now, to allow the +talent of beauty, for instance, to degenerate into what it +is likely to do in your case, Verena, is distinctly wicked. +To allow you to sink when you might rise is sinful. To +allow you to be selfish when you might be unselfish is also +wrong. Your talents, and the talents of Pauline, and the +talents of your other sisters must be cultivated and brought +to the fore. I want to tell you now, my dear girls, that for +years I have longed to help you; that since your mother’s +death you have scarcely ever been out of my mind. But +circumstances over which I had no control kept me away +from you. At last I am free, and the children of my sister +Alice are the ones I think most about. I have come here +prepared for your rebellion, prepared for your dislike, and +determined not to be discouraged by either the one or the +other. I have come to The Dales, Verena and Pauline, and +I mean to remain here for at least three months. If at the +end of the three months you ask me to go, I will; although +even then I will not give you up. But until three months +have expired you can only turn me out by force. I don’t +think you will do that. It is best that we should understand +each other clearly; is it not, Verena?” +</p> +<p>Verena’s face was very white; her big brown eyes were +full of tears. +</p> +<p>“I ought to be glad and to say ‘Welcome.’ But I am not +glad, and I don’t welcome you, Aunt Sophia. We like our +own way; we don’t mind being savages, and it is untrue +that we are selfish. We are not. Each would give up anything, +I think, for the other. But we like our poverty and +our rough ways and our freedom, and we—we don’t want +you, Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“Nevertheless you will have to put up with me,” said +Miss Tredgold. “And now, to start matters, please tell me +exactly how you spend your day.” +</p> +<p>“Our life is not yours, Aunt Sophia. It would not interest +you to know how we spend our day.” +</p> +<p>“To-morrow, Verena, when the life of rule succeeds the +life of misrule, I should take umbrage at your remark, but +to-night I take no umbrage. I but repeat my question.” +</p> +<p>“And I will tell you,” said Pauline in her brisk voice. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +“We get up just when we like. We have breakfast when +we choose—sometimes in the garden on the grass, sometimes +not at all. We walk where we please, and lose ourselves +in the Forest, and gather wild strawberries and wild +flowers, and watch the squirrels, and climb the beech-trees. +When it is fine we spend the whole day out, just coming +back for meals, and sometimes not even then, if Betty gives +us a little milk and some bread. Sometimes we are lazy and +lie on the grass all day. We do what we like always, and +always just when we like. Don’t we, Renny?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Verena. “We do what we like, and in our +own way.” +</p> +<p>“In future,” said Miss Tredgold, “you will do things in +my way. I hope you will not dislike my way; but whether +you like or dislike it, you will have to submit.” +</p> +<p>“But, Aunt Sophia,” said Verena, “what authority have +you over us? I am exceedingly sorry to seem rude, but I +really want to know. Father, of course, has authority over +us, but have you? Has anybody but father? That is what +I want to know.” +</p> +<p>“I thought you might ask something of that sort,” said +Miss Tredgold—“or, even if you did not ask it, you might +think it—and I am prepared with my answer. I quite recognize +that in the case of girls like you I have no authority, +and I cannot act fairly by you until I have. Now, my dear +girls, please understand that before I go to bed to-night I get +that authority. I shall get it m writing, too, so that you +can none of you gainsay it, or slip past it, or avoid it. When +the authority comes, then will also come the happy life of +rule, for the life of misrule can never be really happy—never +for long. Believe me, I am right.” +</p> +<p>Pauline pulled her hand away from Aunt Sophia’s. She +ran to the other side of Verena. +</p> +<p>“I don’t like you, Aunt Sophia,” she said, “and I don’t +want you to stay. Renny, you don’t like her either, and you +don’t want her to stay. We don’t believe all the things you +are saying, Aunt Sophia. You can’t look into our hearts, and +although you are clever, you can’t know all about us. Why +shouldn’t we be wild in our own fashion? We are very +happy. To be happy is everything. We have only been +unhappy since we knew you were coming. Please go away; +please do.” +</p> +<p>“You cannot influence me, Pauline. I love you too well +to desert you. Now I am going into the house. You can +discuss me then with your sister to your heart’s content.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold went very slowly towards the old and +dilapidated house. When she reached the hall door she +turned and looked around her. +</p> +<p>“I certainly have tough work before me. How am I to +manage? If I were not thinking so much of Alice, I should +leave these impertinent, neglected, silly girls to their fate. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +But no—I seem to see my sister’s eyes, to hear her voice. +I can so well understand what she would really want me to +do. I owe a great debt of gratitude to my beloved sister. +I am free, hampered by no ties. I will reform these wild +young nieces. I will not be easily deterred.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold clasped her hands before her. The moon +was rising in a silvery bow in the sky; the air was deliciously +fresh and balmy. +</p> +<p>“The place is healthy, and the children are strong,” she +thought, “notwithstanding their bad food and their disreputable, +worn-out clothes. They are healthy, fresh, good-looking +girls. But this is summer-time, and in summer-time +one puts up with discomforts for the sake of air like +this. But what about winter? I have no doubt they have +scarcely any fires, and the house must be damp. As the +children grow older they will develop rheumatism and all +kinds of troubles. Yes, my duty is plain. I must look +after my nieces, both soul and body, for the future.” +</p> +<p>As Miss Tredgold thought these last thoughts she re-entered +the house. She walked through the desolate rooms. +It was now twilight, but no one thought of lighting lamps, +or drawing curtains, or shutting windows. Miss Tredgold +stumbled as she walked. Presently she found that she had +wandered in the neighborhood of the kitchen. She had +no intention of bearding Betty in her den—she had no idea +that there was a Betty—but as she was near the kitchen, +and as under that doorway alone there streamed a light, +she opened the door. +</p> +<p>“Is there any one inside?” she asked. +</p> +<p>A grunt in the far distance came by way of response. +The fire was out in the stove, and as Miss Tredgold grew +accustomed to the gloom she saw in the farthest corner something +that resembled the stout form of a woman, whose legs +rested on one chair and her body on another. A guttering +dip candle was close to her side, and a paper book was held +almost under her nose. +</p> +<p>“I am sorry to disturb you,” said Miss Tredgold, “but I +have come for a light. Will you kindly inform me where +I can get a candle?” +</p> +<p>“There ain’t none in the house.” +</p> +<p>The book was put down, and the angry face of Betty appeared +to view. +</p> +<p>“Then I fear I must trouble you to resign the one you +yourself are using. I must have a light to see my way to my +bedroom.” +</p> +<p>“There ain’t no candles. We don’t have ’em in summer. +This one I bought with my own money, and I don’t give it +up to nobody, laidy or no laidy.” +</p> +<p>“Am I addressing the cook?” +</p> +<p>“You are, ma’am. And I may as well say I am cook and +housemaid and parlor-maid and kitchen-maid and scullery-maid +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +all in one; and I does the laundry, too, whenever it’s +done at all. You may gather from my words, ma’am, that I +have a deal to do, so I’ll thank you to walk out of my +kitchen; for if I am resting after my day of hard work, I +have a right to rest, and my own candle shall light me, and +my own book shall amuse me. So have the goodness to go, +ma’am, and at once.” +</p> +<p>“I will go,” replied Miss Tredgold very quietly, “exactly +when I please, and not a moment before. I wish to say now +that I require breakfast to be on the table at nine o’clock, +and there must be plenty of good food. Do you mean to say +that you have not got food in the house? You can, I presume, +send out for it. Here is a half-sovereign. Spend it +in what is necessary in order to provide an abundant meal +on the table to-morrow morning for the use of Mr. Dale, +myself, and my nieces.” +</p> +<p>What Betty would have said had there been no half-sovereign +forthcoming history will never relate. But half-sovereigns +were very few and very precious at The Dales. +It was almost impossible to get any money out of Mr. Dale; +he did not seem to know that there was such a thing as +money. If it was put into his hand by any chance, he spent +it on books. Betty’s wages were terribly in arrears. She +wanted her wages, but she was too generous, with all her +faults, to press for them. But, all the same, the touch of the +gold in her hand was distinctly soothing, and Miss Tredgold +immediately rose in her estimation. A lady who produced +at will golden half-sovereigns, and who was reckless enough +to declare that one of these treasures might be spent on a +single meal, was surely not a person to be sniffed at. Betty +therefore stumbled to her feet. +</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, I’m sure, ma’am; and it’s badly we +does want some things here. I’ll get what I can, although +the notice is short, and the dook’s nuptials, so to speak, at +the door.” +</p> +<p>“What!” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon again, ma’am, but my head aches and +I’m a bit confused. I’m reading a most wonderful account +of the wedding of the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton.” +</p> +<p>“I never heard of him.” +</p> +<p>“He’s marrying a young girl quite in my own station of +life—one that was riz from the cottage to the governess-ship, +and from the governess-ship to the ducal chair. My +head is full of Her Grace, ma’am, and you’ll excuse me if +I didn’t rightly know to whom I had the honor of talking. +I’ll do what I can. And perhaps you’d like to borrow one of +my dip candles for the present night.” +</p> +<p>“I should very much,” said Miss Tredgold. “And please +understand, Betty—I think you said your name was Betty—please +understand that if you are on my side I shall be on +your side. I have come here meaning to stay, and in future +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +there will be a complete change in this establishment. You +will receive good wages, paid on the day they are due. There +will be plenty of money and plenty of food in the house, and +the cook who pleases me stays, and the cook who displeases +me goes. You understand?” +</p> +<p>“Sakes!” muttered Betty, “it’s nearly as exciting as the +doocal romance.—Well, ma’am, I’m of your way of thinking; +and here’s your candle.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>IN THE STUDY.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Miss Tredgold was the sort of woman who never let the +grass grow under her feet. She felt, therefore, altogether +out of place at The Dales, for at The Dales there was time +for everything. “Time enough” was the motto of the establishment: +time enough for breakfast, time enough for +dinner, time enough for supper, time enough for bed, time +enough for getting up, time enough for mending torn garments; +surely, above all things, time enough for learning. +To judge by the manner in which the family at The Dales +went on, life was to last for ever and a day. They never +hurried; they put things off when it pleased them; they +stopped in the middle of one pursuit and turned to something +else when the fancy took them; they were unruffled +by the worries of life; they were, on the whole, gay, daring, +indifferent. There was no money—or very little—for the +future of these girls; they were absolutely uneducated; +they were all but unclothed, and their food was poor and +often insufficient. Nevertheless they were fairly happy. +“Let well alone” was also their motto. “Never may care” +was another. As to the rush and toil and strain of modern +life, they could not even comprehend it. The idea of not being +able to put off an engagement for a week, a month, or a +year seemed to them too extraordinary to be believed. They +were too young, too healthy, too happy to need to kill time; +for time presented itself to them with an agreeable face, and +the hours were never too long. +</p> +<p>But although they were so indifferent to weighty matters, +they had their own enthusiasms, and in their idle way +they were busy always and forever. To have, therefore, a +person like Aunt Sophia put suddenly into the middle of +their gay and butterfly lives was something which was +enough to madden the eight healthy girls who lived at The +Dales. Aunt Sophia was, in their opinion, all crotchets, all +nervousness, all fads. She had no tact whatsoever; at least, +such was their first opinion of her. She put her foot down +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +on this little crotchet, and pressed this passing desire out +of sight. She brought new rules of life into their everyday +existence, and, what is more, she insisted on being obeyed. +With all their cleverness they were not half so clever as +Aunt Sophia; they were no match for this good lady, who +was still young at heart, who had been highly educated, who +was full of enthusiasm, full of method, and full of determination. +Aunt Sophia brought two very strong essentials +with her to The Dales, and there was certainly little chance +of the girls getting the victory over her. One thing which +she brought was determination, joined to authority; the +other thing was money. With these two weapons in her +hand, what chance had the girls? +</p> +<p>It might have been supposed that Miss Tredgold had done +enough on the first night of her arrival. She had to a great +extent vanquished the cook; and she had, further, told +Verena and Pauline what lay before them. Surely she might +have been contented, and have taken her dip candle in its +tin candlestick and retired to her own room. But that was +not Aunt Sophia’s way. She discovered a light stealing from +under another door, and she made for that door. +</p> +<p>Now, no one entered Mr. Dale’s room without knocking. +None of the girls would have ventured to do so. But Aunt +Sophia was made of sterner stuff. She did not knock. She +opened the door and entered. The scholar was seated at the +far end of the room. A large reading-lamp stood on the +table. It spread a wide circle of light on the papers and +books, and on his own silvery head and thin aquiline features. +The rest of the room was in shadow. Miss Tredgold +entered and stood a few feet away from Mr. Dale. Mr. Dale +had already forgotten that such a person as Miss Sophia existed. +It was his habit to work for a great many hours each +night. It was during the hours of darkness that he most +thoroughly absorbed himself in his darling occupation. His +dinner had been better than usual, and that delicious coffee +had stimulated his brain. He had not tasted coffee like that +for years. His brain, therefore, being better nourished, was +keener than usual to go on with his accustomed work. As +Miss Sophia advanced to his side he uttered one or two +sighs of rapture, for again a fresh rendering of a much-disputed +passage occurred to him. Light was, in short, +flooding the pages of his translation. +</p> +<p>“The whole classical world will bless me,” murmured Mr. +Dale. “I am doing a vast service.” +</p> +<p>“I am sorry to interrupt you, Henry,” said the sharp, incisive +tones of his sister-in-law. +</p> +<p>At Miss Tredgold’s words he dropped his pen. It made a +blot on the page, which further irritated him; for, untidy as +he was in most things, his classical work was exquisitely +neat. +</p> +<p>“Do go away,” he said. “I am busy. Go away at once.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p> +<p>“I am sorry, Henry, but I must stay. You know me, don’t +you? Your sister-in-law, Sophia Tredgold.” +</p> +<p>“Go away, Sophia. I don’t want to be rude, but I never +see any one at this hour.” +</p> +<p>“Henry, you are forced to see me. I shall go when I +choose, not before.” +</p> +<p>“Madam!” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale sprang to his feet. +</p> +<p>“Madam!” he repeated, almost sputtering out his words, +“you surely don’t wish me to expel you. You don’t intend +to stand there all night. I can’t have it. I don’t allow people +in my study. I am sorry to be discourteous to a lady, +but I state a fact; you must go immediately. You don’t +realize what it is to have a brain like mine, nor to have undertaken +such a herculean task. Ah! the beautiful thought +which meant so much has vanished. Madam, you are responsible.” +</p> +<p>“Stop!” interrupted Miss Tredgold. “I will go the moment +you do what I want.” +</p> +<p>“Will you? I’ll do anything—anything that keeps you out +of this room.” +</p> +<p>“That is precisely what I require. I don’t wish to come +into this room—that is, for the present. By-and-by it must +be cleaned, for I decline to live in a dirty house; but I give +you a fortnight’s grace.” +</p> +<p>“And the rendering of the passage is beyond doubt, according +to Clericus—— I beg your pardon; are you still +speaking?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, Henry. I am annoying you, I know; and, all things +considered, I am glad, for you need rousing. I intend to sit +or stand in this room, close to you, until morning if necessary. +Ah! here is a chair.” +</p> +<p>As Miss Tredgold spoke she drew forward an unwieldy +arm-chair, which was piled up with books and papers. +These she was calmly about to remove, when a shriek from +the anguished scholar stopped her. +</p> +<p>“Don’t touch them,” he exclaimed. “You destroy the +work of months. If you must have a chair, take mine.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold did take it. She now found herself seated +within a few yards of the scholar’s desk. The bright light +from the lamp fell on her face; it looked pale, calm, and +determined. Mr. Dale was in shadow; the agony on his face +was therefore not perceptible. +</p> +<p>“Take anything you want; only go, woman,” he said. +</p> +<p>“Henry, you are a difficult person to deal with, and I am +sorry to have to speak to you as I do. I am sorry to have +to take, as it were, advantage of you; but I intend to stay +in this house.” +</p> +<p>“You are not wanted, Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“I am not wished for, Henry; but as to being wanted, no +woman was ever more wanted.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>“That you are not.” +</p> +<p>“I say I am; and, what is more, I intend to remain. We +need not discuss this point, for it is settled. I take up my +sojourn in this house for three months.” +</p> +<p>“Three months!” said Mr. Dale. “Oh, my word! And +this is only June. From June to July, from July to August, +from August to September! It is very cruel of you, Sophia. +I did not think my poor wife’s sister would torture me like +this.” +</p> +<p>“For the sake of your family I intend to stay, Henry. +You will have to submit. I do not leave this room until +you submit. What is more, you have to do something further. +I want you to give me authority over your children. +The moment I have it—I want it in writing, remember—I +will leave you; and I will trouble you in the future as little +as woman can trouble man. You will have better meals; +but that you won’t care about.” +</p> +<p>“The coffee,” murmured Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>“Yes, you will have plenty of that delicious coffee. You +will also have cleaner rooms.” +</p> +<p>“This room is not to be touched; you understand?” +</p> +<p>“For the present we will let that matter lie in abeyance. +Come, give me your authority in writing, and I leave +the room; but if you don’t, I stay in this chair—your +chair, Henry Dale—all night if necessary.” +</p> +<p>If ever there was a poor, bewildered man, it was Mr. Dale +at that moment. He did not give many thoughts to anything +on earth but his beloved studies; but, all the same, +when he had time for a momentary reflection that he possessed +girls, he felt that he quite liked them. In his own +fashion he was fond of Verena; and once when Briar had a +very bad cold he sat with her for a very few minutes, and +recommended her to try snuff. He did not wish to make his +children unhappy, and he thought that the advent of Miss +Tredgold would have that effect on them. But, after all, +a determined woman like her must be humored; and what +were the children compared to his own most valuable work? +In the days to come they would be proud to own him. He +would be spoken of as the very great English scholar whose +rendering of Virgil was the most perfect that had ever been +put into English prose. Oh! it was impossible to hesitate +another moment. The woman was in his chair, and his +thoughts were leaving him. +</p> +<p>“Madam,” he said, “you have taken me at a cruel disadvantage. +I am seriously sorry for my poor children.” +</p> +<p>“Never mind about that now, Henry. You are, I perceive, +a wise man. You can rest assured that I will do what is best +both for you and for them.” +</p> +<p>“Very well, madam, I yield.” +</p> +<p>“You give me absolute authority to do what I think best +for your children?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></p> +<p>“Ye—s.” +</p> +<p>“To reorganize this household?” +</p> +<p>“Not this room.” +</p> +<p>“With the exception of this room.” +</p> +<p>“I suppose so.” +</p> +<p>“You will uphold my authority when the girls come to +you, as perhaps they will, and ask you to interfere?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Sophia, you won’t be hard on the poor children?” +</p> +<p>“I will be just to them. You will uphold my authority?” +</p> +<p>“Ye—s.” +</p> +<p>“If I think it necessary to punish them, you won’t condemn +the punishment?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, please, Sophia, do go away! The night is passing +quickly. I never think well by daylight.” +</p> +<p>“Put it on paper, Henry. Or stay! that will take too +long. Give me a sheet of paper; I will write what I require. +I only want your signature.” +</p> +<p>Poor Mr. Dale had to search among his papers for a blank +sheet. Miss Sophia seized his special stylographic pen, +pressed very hard on the nib, and wrote what she required. +Mr. Dale felt certain he would find it quite spoilt when he +came to use it again. But at last all her requirements were +on paper, and Henry Dale wrote his signature at the end. +</p> +<p>“Thank you, Henry; you have acted wisely. You have +your study now to yourself.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold bowed as she left the room. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<h3>TOPSY-TURVYDOM.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The fortnight that followed was not likely to be forgotten +by the young Dales. It would live in the remembrance of +each child old enough to notice. Even Penelope found the +course of events interesting—sometimes irritating, it is +true; sometimes also delightful; but at least always exciting. +Miss Tredgold never did things by halves. She had +got the absolute authority which she required from the +master of the house, and having got it she refrained from +annoying him, in any way whatsoever. His meals were +served with punctuality, and were far more comfortable +than they had ever been before. He was always presented +with a cup of strong, fragrant, delicious coffee after his dinner. +This coffee enabled him to pursue his translation with +great clearness and accuracy. His study up to the present +was left undisturbed. His papers were allowed to remain +thick with dust; his chairs were allowed to be laden with +books and papers; the carpet was allowed to remain full of +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +holes; the windows were left exactly as the scholar liked +them—namely, tightly screwed down so that not even the +faintest breath of heaven’s air could come in and disarrange +the terrible disorder. +</p> +<p>But the rest of the house was truly turned topsy-turvy. +It was necessary, Miss Tredgold assured the girls, to have +topsy-turvydom before the reign of order could begin. +</p> +<p>At first the young Dales were very angry. For the whole +of the first day Verena wept at intervals. Pauline sulked. +Briar wept one minute and laughed the next. The other +children followed in the footsteps of their elders. Penelope +was now openly and defiantly a grown-up child. She belonged +to the schoolroom, although no schoolroom as yet +existed at The Dales. She defied nurse; she took her meals +with her sisters, and pinched baby whenever she found her +alone. Miss Tredgold, however, took no notice of the tears +or smiles or groans or discontented looks. She had a great +deal to do, and she performed her tasks with rectitude and +skill and despatch. New furniture was ordered from Southampton. +She drove to Lyndhurst Road with Verena in the +shabby trap which had first brought her to The Dales. She +went from there to Southampton and chose new furniture. +Verena could not help opening her eyes in amazement. Such +very pretty white bedsteads; such charming chests of drawers; +such nice, clean-looking carpets! +</p> +<p>“Surely, Aunt Sophia,” she said, “these things are not +for us?” +</p> +<p>“They certainly are, my dear,” replied her aunt; “for in +future I hope you will live as a lady and a Christian, and no +longer as a savage.” +</p> +<p>The furniture arrived, and was put into the rooms. Pretty +white curtains were placed at the windows; the paint was +washed, and the paper rubbed down with bread. +</p> +<p>“Fresh decoration and repainting must wait until I get +the children to London for the winter,” thought Aunt +Sophia. +</p> +<p>But notwithstanding the fact that paint and paper were +almost non-existent by this time at The Dales, the house +assumed quite a new air. As to Betty, she was in the most +extraordinary way brought over absolutely to Miss Tredgold’s +part of the establishment. Miss Tredgold not only +raised her wages on the spot, but paid her every farthing +that was due in the past. She spoke to her a good deal about +her duty, and of what she owed to the family, and of what +she, Miss Tredgold, would do for her if she proved equal to +the present emergency. Betty began to regard Miss Tredgold +as a sort of marchioness in disguise. So interested was +she in her, and so sure that one of the real “haristocrats” +resided on the premises, that she ceased to read the <i>Family +Paper</i> except at long intervals. She served up quite good +dinners, and by the end of the fortnight few people would +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +have known The Dales. For not only was the house clean +and sweet—the drawing-room quite a charming old room, +with its long Gothic windows, its tracery of ivy outside, and +its peep into the distant rose-garden; the hall bright with +great pots of flowers standing about—but the girls themselves +were no longer in rags. The furniture dealer’s was +not the only shop which Miss Tredgold had visited at Southampton. +She had also gone to a linen draper’s, and had +bought many nice clothes for the young folks. +</p> +<p>The house being so much improved, and the girls being +clothed afresh, a sufficient staff of servants arrived from a +neighboring town. Betty was helped in the kitchen by a +neat kitchen-maid; there were two housemaids and a parlor-maid; +and John had a boy to help in the garden. +</p> +<p>“Now, Verena,” said Miss Tredgold on the evening of the +day when the new servants were pronounced a great success, +“what do you think of everything?” +</p> +<p>“You have made the place quite pretty, Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“And you like it?” +</p> +<p>“I think you mean to be very kind.” +</p> +<p>“My dear Verena, do talk sense. Don’t tell me that you +don’t feel more comfortable in that pale-gray, nicely fitting +dress, with the blush-rose in your belt, and that exceedingly +pretty white hat on your head, than you did when you +rushed up to welcome me, little savage that you were, a +fortnight ago.” +</p> +<p>“I was so happy as a savage!” +</p> +<p>“And you are not happy now?” +</p> +<p>“I think you are kind, Aunt Sophia, and perhaps—I shall +get accustomed to it.” +</p> +<p>Her aunt whisked round with some impatience. +</p> +<p>“I hope so,” she said; “for, whether you like it or not, +you will have to put up with it. I fully intend to be kind, +but I also mean to be very firm. I have now got the home +in which you live into decent order, and you yourselves are +respectably clothed. But I have not yet tackled the most +important part of my duties, my dear Verena.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, please, Aunt Sophia, what else is necessary?” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold threw up her hands. +</p> +<p>“A great, great deal more,” she cried. “I have not yet +touched your minds; and I fear, from the way you speak, +that I have scarcely touched your hearts. Well, your bodies +at least are attended to, and now come your minds. Lastly, +I hope to reach the most important of all—your hearts. +Verena, I must probe your ignorance in order to stimulate +you to learn. You, my dear, will be grown up in three +years, so that you in particular have a vast lot to do.” +</p> +<p>“But I hate learning, and I shouldn’t like to be a learned +woman,” said Verena. “Mother knew a lot of things, but +she wasn’t learned like father.” +</p> +<p>“Good gracious, child! I don’t want you to be like your +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +father. To tell the truth, a bookworm such as he is is one +of the most irritating persons in existence. But there! +What am I saying? I oughtn’t to speak against him in your +presence. And your poor mother loved him, oh, so much! +Now then, dear, to return to yourself and your sisters. I +presume that you would like to be a useful and valuable +member of society—a woman who has been trained to do +her best, and to exercise the highest influence over all those +with whom she comes in contact. Influence, which springs +from character, my dear Verena, is the highest power that +any one can get. Now, an ignorant person has little or no +influence; therefore, to be kind and sympathetic and useful +in the future, you must know many things. You have +not a minute to lose. I appeal to you for your mother’s +sake; for my dear, dear sister would have liked her eldest +child to be—ah, Verena!—so good and so true!” +</p> +<p>“You touch me, Aunt Sophy,” said Verena, “when you +talk of mother. You touch me more than words can say. +Yes, I will try to be good; but you must bear with me if +I don’t take the yoke too kindly at first.” +</p> +<p>“Poor child! I will try to make it light for you. Now +what is the matter, Penelope?” +</p> +<p>“Please, please, Aunt Sophy,” said that young person, +rushing up at the moment. +</p> +<p>“Hold yourself erect, my dear; don’t run quite so fast. +There! you have got a rent already in your new frock. +Now what do you want?” +</p> +<p>“May I be a schoolroom little girl in the future?” +</p> +<p>“What are you now?” +</p> +<p>“Nursey says I’m nursery. But I don’t want to be nursery; +I want to stay always with my own good Aunty Sophy. +That is what I want. May I be a schoolroom child?” +</p> +<p>“In the first place, you are not to call me ‘aunty.’ I am +Aunt Sophia to you. I dislike abbreviations.” +</p> +<p>“What’s them?” +</p> +<p>“Say, ‘What are they?’” +</p> +<p>“What are they?” +</p> +<p>“I will tell you another time. How old are you, Penelope?” +</p> +<p>“I wor seven my last birthday, one month agone.” +</p> +<p>“Your grammar is disgraceful, child. Please understand +that the schoolroom has its penalties.” +</p> +<p>“What’s them?” +</p> +<p>“Again I shall have to correct you. ‘What are they?’ is +the sentence you ought to use. But now, my dear, I don’t +approve of little girls learning much when they are only +seven years old; but if you wish to be a schoolroom girl +you will have to take your place in the schoolroom, and you +will have to learn to submit. You will have to be under +more discipline than you are now with nurse.” +</p> +<p>“All the same, I’ll be with my own aunt,” said Penelope, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +raising her bold black eyes and fixing them on Miss Sophia’s +face. +</p> +<p>But Miss Tredgold was not the sort of person to be influenced +by soft words. “Deeds, not words,” was her motto. +</p> +<p>“You have said enough, Penelope,” she said. “Take your +choice; you may be a schoolroom child for a month if you +like.” +</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t if I were you, Pen,” said Josephine. +</p> +<p>“But I will,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>In her heart of hearts she was terrified at the thought of +the schoolroom, but even more did she fear the knowledge +that nurse would laugh at her if she returned to the nursery. +</p> +<p>“I will stay,” she said. “I am a schoolroom child;” and +she pirouetted round and round Aunt Sophia. +</p> +<p>“But, please, Aunt Sophia,” said Verena, “who is going +to teach us?” +</p> +<p>“I intend to have that honor,” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>If there were no outward groans among her assembled +nieces at these words, there were certainly spirit groans, +for the girls did not look forward to lessons with Aunt +Sophia. +</p> +<p>“You are all displeased,” she said; “and I am scarcely +surprised. The fact is, I have not got any efficient teacher +to come here just yet. The person I should wish for is not +easy to find. I myself know a great deal more than you do, +and I have my own ideas with regard to instruction. I may +as well tell you at once that I am a very severe teacher, and +somewhat cranky, too. A girl who does not know her lessons +is apt to find herself seated at my left side. Now, my +right side is sunshiny and pleasant; but my left side faces +due northeast. I think that will explain everything to you. +We will meet in the schoolroom to-morrow at nine o’clock +sharp. Now I must go.” +</p> +<p>When Miss Tredgold had vanished the girls looked at each +other. +</p> +<p>“Her northeast side!” said Pauline. “It makes me +shudder even to think of it.” +</p> +<p>But notwithstanding these remarks the girls did feel a +certain amount of interest at the thought of the new life +that lay before them. Everything had changed from that +sunny, languorous, <i>dolce far niente</i> time a fortnight back. +Now the girls felt keen and brisk, and they knew well that +each moment in the future would be spent in active employment. +</p> +<p>The next day, sharp at nine o’clock, the young people who +were to form Miss Tredgold’s school entered the new schoolroom. +It was suitably and prettily furnished, and had a +charming appearance. Large maps were hung on the walls; +there was a long line of bookshelves filled partly with story +books, partly with history books, and partly with ordinary +lesson books. The windows were draped with white muslin, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +and stood wide open. As the girls took their seats at the +baize-covered table they could see out into the garden. +A moment after they had arrived in the schoolroom Miss +Tredgold made her appearance. +</p> +<p>“We will begin with prayers,” she said. +</p> +<p>She read a portion from the Bible, made a few remarks, +and then they all knelt as she repeated the Lord’s prayer. +</p> +<p>“Now, my dears,” said their new governess as they rose +from their knees, “lessons will begin. I hope we shall proceed +happily and quietly. It will be uphill work at first; +but if we each help the other, uphill work will prove to +have its own pleasures. It’s a long pull, and a strong pull, +and a pull all together that masters difficulties. If we are all +united we can accomplish anything; but if there is mutiny +in the camp, then things may be difficult. I warn you all, +however, that under any circumstances I mean to win the +victory. It will be much easier, therefore, to submit at first. +There will be no use in sulkiness, in laziness, in inattention. +Make a brave effort now, all of you, and you will never regret +this day. Now, Verena, you and I will have some conversation +together. The rest of you children will read this +page in the History of England, and tell me afterwards what +you can remember about it.” +</p> +<p>Here Miss Tredgold placed a primer before each child, +and she and Verena retired into the bay-window. They +came out again at the end of ten minutes. Verena’s cheeks +were crimson, and Miss Tredgold decidedly wore a little of +her northeast air. Pauline, on the whole, had a more successful +interview with her new governess than her sister. +She was smarter and brighter than Verena in many ways. +But before the morning was over Miss Tredgold announced +that all her pupils were shamefully ignorant. +</p> +<p>“I know more about you now than I did,” she said. “You +will all have to work hard. Verena, you cannot even read +properly. As to your writing, it is straggling, uneven, and +faulty in spelling.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<h3>NANCY KING.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The rest of the day passed in a subdued state. The girls +hardly knew themselves. They felt as though tiny and invisible +chains were surrounding them. These chains pulled +them whenever they moved. They made their presence felt +when they spoke, when they sat down, and when they rose +up. They were with them at dinner; they were with them +whenever Miss Tredgold put in an appearance. Perhaps +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +they were silken chains, but, all the same, they were intensely +annoying. Verena was the most patient of the +nine. She said to her sisters: +</p> +<p>“We have never had any discipline. I was reading the +other day in one of mother’s books that discipline is good. +It is the same thing as when you prune the fruit trees. +Don’t you remember the time when John got a very good +gardener from Southampton to come and look over our +trees? The gardener said, ‘These trees have all run to +wood; you must prune them.’ And he showed John how, +and we watched him. Don’t you remember, girls?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t I!” said Pauline. “And he cut away a lot of +the little apples, and hundreds of tiny pears, and a lot of +lovely branches; and I began to cry, and I told him he was +a horrid, horrid man, and that I hated him.” +</p> +<p>“And what did he answer?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, he got ruder than ever! He said, ‘If I was your +pa I’d do a little pruning on you.’ Oh, wasn’t I angry!” +</p> +<p>Verena laughed. +</p> +<p>“But think a little more,” she said. “Don’t you remember +the following year how splendid the pears were? And we +had such heaps of apples; and the gooseberries and raspberries +were equally fine. We didn’t hate the man when we +were eating our delicious fruit.” +</p> +<p>Pauline made a slight grimace. +</p> +<p>“Look here, Renny,” she said suddenly; “for goodness’ +sake don’t begin to point morals. It’s bad enough to have an +old aunt here without your turning into a mentor. We all +know what you want to say, but please don’t say it. Haven’t +we been scolded and directed and ordered about all day long? +We don’t want you to do it, too.” +</p> +<p>“Very well, I won’t,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Hullo!” suddenly cried Briar; “if this isn’t Nancy +King! Oh, welcome, Nancy—welcome! We are glad to +see you.” +</p> +<p>Nancy King was a spirited and bright-looking girl who +lived about a mile away. Her father had a large farm which +was known as The Hollies. He had held this land for many +years, and was supposed to be in flourishing circumstances. +Nancy was his only child. She had been sent to a fashionable +school at Brighton, and considered herself quite a young +lady. She came whenever she liked to The Dales, and the +girls often met her in the Forest, and enjoyed her society +vastly. Now in the most fashionable London attire, Nancy +sailed across the lawn, calling out as she did so: +</p> +<p>“Hullo, you nine! You look like the Muses. What’s up +now? I have heard most wonderful, astounding whispers.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Nancy, we’re all so glad to see you!” said Briar. +She left her seat, ran up to the girl, and took her hand. +“Come and sit here—here in the midst of our circle. We +have such a lot to say to you!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></p> +<p>“And I have a lot to say to you. But, dear me! how +grand we are!” +</p> +<p>Nancy’s twinkling black eyes looked with mock approval +at Verena’s plain but very neat gray dress, and at the +equally neat costumes of the other girls. Then finally she +gazed long and pensively at Penelope, who, in an ugly dress +of brown holland, was looking back at her with eyes as black +and defiant as her own. +</p> +<p>“May I ask,” said Nancy slowly, “what has this nursery +baby to do in the midst of the grown-ups?” +</p> +<p>“I’m not nursery,” said Penelope, her face growing crimson; +“I’m schoolroom. Don’t tell me I’m nursery, because +I’m not. We’re all schoolroom, and we’re having a right +good time.” +</p> +<p>“Indeed! Then I may as well remark that you don’t look +like it. You look, the whole nine of you, awfully changed, +and as prim as prim can be. ‘Prunes and prisms’ wouldn’t +melt in your mouths. You’re not half, nor quarter, as nice +as you were when I saw you last. I’ve just come home for +good, you know. I mean to have a jolly time at Margate by-and-by. +And oh! my boy cousins and my two greatest +chums at school are staying with me now at The Hollies. +The girls’ names are Amelia and Rebecca Perkins. Oh, +they’re fine! Do give me room to squat between you girls. +You are frightfully stand-off and prim.” +</p> +<p>“Sit close to me, Nancy,” said Verena. “We’re not a bit +changed to you,” she added. +</p> +<p>“Well, that’s all right, honey, for I’m not changed to you. +Even if I am a very rich girl, I’m the sort to always cling +to my old friends; and although you are as poor as church +mice, you are quite a good sort. I have always said so—always. +I’ve been talking a lot about you to Amelia and +Rebecca, and they’d give their eyes to see you. I thought +you might ask us all over.” +</p> +<p>“Oh! I daren’t, Nancy,” said Verena. “We are not our +own mistresses now.” +</p> +<p>“Well, that’s exactly what I heard,” said Nancy. “Oh, +how hot it is! Pen, for goodness’ sake run and fetch me +a cabbage-leaf to fan my face.” +</p> +<p>Penelope ran off willingly enough. Nancy turned to the +others. +</p> +<p>“I sent her off on purpose,” she said. “If we can’t come +to you, you must come to us. We three girls at The Hollies, +and my two boy cousins, Tom and Jack, have the most daring, +delightful scheme to propose. We want to have a midnight +picnic.” +</p> +<p>“Midnight picnic!” cried Verena. “But we can’t possibly +come, Nancy.” +</p> +<p>“My good girl, why not? You know I talked about it last +year. We want to have one on a very grand scale; and +there are a few friends at Southampton that I would ask to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +join us. You won’t have any expense whatever. I’ll stump +up for the whole. Father gives me so much money that I +have at the present moment over five pounds in the savings-bank. +We will light fires in a clearing not far from +here, and we will have tea and supper afterwards; and we +shall dance—dance by the light of the moon—and I will +bring my guitar to make music. Can you imagine anything +in all the world more fascinating?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Nancy, it does sound too lovely!” said Briar. “I’d +just give the world to go.” +</p> +<p>“Well, then, you shall come.” +</p> +<p>“But Aunt Sophy would not hear of it,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” cried Briar; “we must go. It would be +such a jolly treat!” +</p> +<p>Nancy favored the eight girls with a sharp glance. +</p> +<p>“I have heard of that dreadful old body,” she said. +“Father told me. He said you’d be frumped up like anything, +and all the gay life taken out of you. I came over on +purpose. I pity you from the very bottom of my heart.” +</p> +<p>“But, Nancy, you can’t think how things are changed,” +said Pauline. “All our time is occupied. Lessons began to-day. +They are going to take hours and hours.” +</p> +<p>“But these are holiday times,” said Nancy. “All the +world has a holiday in the middle of the summer.” +</p> +<p>“That’s true enough,” said Verena; “but then we had +holidays for over a year, and Aunt Sophia says we must +begin at once. She is quite right, I’m sure; although of +course we scarcely like it. And anyhow, Nancy, she won’t +allow us to go to a midnight picnic; there’s no use thinking +about it.” +</p> +<p>“But suppose you don’t ask her. Of course, if she’s an +old maid she’ll refuse. Old maids are the queerest, dumpiest +things on the earth. I’m really thankful I’m not bothered +with any of them. Oh! here comes Pen. It’s nonsense to +have a child like that out of the nursery. We’d best not say +anything before her. Verena and Briar, will you walk down +to the gate with me? I thought perhaps we might have the +picnic in a week. It could be easily managed; you know it +could.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, we must go!” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“I’m going,” said Josephine. +</p> +<p>But Verena was silent. +</p> +<p>“Here’s your cabbage-leaf. How red your face looks!” +said Penelope. +</p> +<p>Nancy turned and gazed at her. She was a bold-looking +girl, and by no means pretty. She snatched the leaf angrily +from Penelope’s hand, saying: +</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear, go away! How you do worry, jumping and +dancing about! And what a stupid, good-for-nothing leaf +you’ve brought! Fetch me one that’s not completely riddled +with caterpillar holes.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></p> +<p>Penelope’s black eyes flashed fire, and her face flushed. +</p> +<p>“If I could, I would just,” she said. +</p> +<p>“If you could you would what?” said Nancy. +</p> +<p>“I know—I know! And I’ll do it, too.” +</p> +<p>A provoking smile visited the lips of the child. She +danced backwards and forwards in an ecstasy of glee. +</p> +<p>“I can punish you all fine,” said Penelope; “and I’ll do it, +too.” +</p> +<p>She vanished out of sight. Now, it must be admitted that +Penelope was not a nice child. She had her good points, +for few children are without them; but in addition to being +thoroughly untrained, to never having exercised self-control, +she had by nature certain peculiarities which the other +children had not. It had been from her earliest days her +earnest desire to curry favor with those in authority, and +yet to act quite as naughtily as any one else when she +thought no one was looking. Even when quite a tiny child +Penelope was wont to sit as still as a mouse in nurse’s +presence. If nurse said, “Miss Penelope, you are not to +move or you will wake baby,” then nurse knew that Penelope +would not stir. But if this same child happened to be left +with baby, so strong would be her jealousy that she would +give the infant a sharp pinch and set it howling, and then +run from the room. +</p> +<p>These peculiarities continued with her growth. Nurse +was fond of her because she was quiet and useful in the +nursery, fairly tidy in her habits, and fairly helpful. But +even nurse was wont to say, “You never can get at Miss +Penelope. You can never see through what is brewing in +her mind.” +</p> +<p>Now, when Aunt Sophia appeared on the scene, Penelope +instantly determined to carry out the darling wish of her +heart. This was no less than to be removed from the dullness +of the nursery to the fascinating life that she supposed +the elder children led. To accomplish this she thought it +would be only necessary to make a great fuss about Aunt Sophia, +to attend to her fads, and to give her numerous little +attentions. In short, to show that she, Penelope, cared very +much for her new aunt. But Aunt Sophia did not care for +Penelope’s fusses, and disliked her small attentions. Nevertheless, +the small girl persevered, and in the end she did +win a triumph, for she was promoted to the schoolroom, +with its superior privileges and—alas! alas!—also its undoubted +drawbacks. She, who hated lessons, must now try +to read; she must also try to write, and must make valiant +efforts to spell. Above and beyond all these things, she had +to do one yet harder—she had to sit mute as a mouse for +a couple of hours daily, with her hands neatly folded in her +lap; and by-and-by she had to struggle with her clumsy +little fingers to make hideous noises on the cracked old +piano. These things were not agreeable to the wild child, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +and so uncomfortable and restrained had she felt during the +first morning’s lessons that she almost resolved to humble +her pride and return to the nursery. But the thought of +her sisters’ withering, sarcastic remarks, and of nurse’s +bitterly cold reception, and nurse’s words, “I told you so,” +being repeated for ever in her ears, was too much for +Penelope, and she determined to give a further trial to the +schoolroom life. Now it occurred to her that a moment of +triumph was before her. In the old days she had secretly +adored Nancy King, for Nancy had given her more than one +lollypop; but when Nancy asked what the nursery child was +doing with the schoolroom folk, and showed that she did +not appreciate Penelope’s society, the little girl’s heart +became full of anger. +</p> +<p>“I’ll tell about her. I’ll get her into trouble. I’ll get +them all into trouble,” she thought. +</p> +<p>She ran into the shrubbery, and stood there thinking for +a time. She was a queer-looking little figure as she stood +thus in her short holland overall, her stout bare legs, brown +as berries, slightly apart, her head thrown back, her hair +awry, a smudge on her cheek, her black eyes twinkling. +</p> +<p>“I will do it,” she said to herself. “Aunt Sophy shall +find out that I am the good one of the family.” +</p> +<p>Penelope ran wildly across the shrubbery, invaded the +kitchen-garden, invaded the yard, and presently invaded +the house. She found Miss Sophia sitting by her writing-table. +Miss Sophia had a headache; teaching was not her +vocation. She had worked harder that day than ever in her +life before, and she had a great many letters to write. +</p> +<p>It was therefore a very busy and a slightly cross person +who turned round and faced Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Don’t slam the door, Penelope,” she said; “and don’t +run into the room in that breathless sort of way.” +</p> +<p>“Well, I thought you ought for to know. I done it ’cos +of you.” +</p> +<p>“‘I did it because of you,’ you should say.” +</p> +<p>“I did it because of you. I am very fond of you, aunt.” +</p> +<p>“I hope so; and I trust you will prove your affection by +your deeds.” +</p> +<p>“Bovver deeds!” remarked Penelope. +</p> +<p>“What is that you said, my dear?” +</p> +<p>“I say, bovver deeds!” +</p> +<p>“I confess I do not understand. Run away, now, Penelope; +I am busy.” +</p> +<p>“But you ought for to know. Nancy King has come.” +</p> +<p>“Who is Nancy King?” +</p> +<p>“A girl. She’s squatting up close to Renny on the lawn, +and her arm is twisted round Pauline’s waist. She’s big, +and dressed awful grand. She has gold bangles on her arms, +and tinkling gold things round her neck, and she’s here, and +I thought course you ought for to know. I thought so ’cos +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +I love you. Aren’t you pleased? Aren’t I the sort of little +girl you could perhaps give a lollypop to?” +</p> +<p>“No, you are not, Penelope. I do not wish you to tell +tales of your sisters. Go away, my dear; go away.” +</p> +<p>Penelope, in some wonder, and with a sense of disgust, +not only with Nancy King and Miss Tredgold, but also with +herself, left the room. +</p> +<p>“I won’t tell her any more,” she thought. “She never +seems to like what I do for her. She’d be pretty lonesome +if it wasn’t for me; but she don’t seem to care for anybody. +I’ll just rush away to nursey this very minute and tell her +how I love being a schoolroom girl. I’ll tell her I dote on +my lessons, and that I never for the big, big, wide world +would be a nursery child again.” +</p> +<p>“Queer little child, Penelope,” thought Miss Tredgold +when her small niece had left her. +</p> +<p>She sat with her pen suspended, lost in thought. +</p> +<p>“Very queer child,” she soliloquized; “not the least like +the others. I can’t say that I specially care for her. At +present I am not in love with any of my nieces; but of all +of them, Penelope is the child I like the least. She tells +tales; she tries to curry favor with me. Is she truthful? Is +she sincere? I have a terrible fear within me that occasions +may arise when Penelope would prove deceitful. There! +what am I saying? A motherless child—my own niece—surely +I ought to love her. Yes, I do love her. I will try +to love them all. What did she say about a girl sitting on +the lawn with my girls? It is nice to talk of the Dales as +my girls; it gives me a sort of family feeling, just as though +I were not an old maid. I wonder what friends my girls +have made for themselves round here. Nancy King. I don’t +know any people of the name of King who live about here. +If Henry were any one else he would probably be able to +tell me. I will go and see the girl for myself.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold left the room. She had a very stately walk. +The girls always spoke of her movements as “sailing.” Miss +Tredgold now sailed across the lawn, and in the same dignified +fashion came up to the secluded nook where the girls, +with Nancy King in their midst, were enjoying themselves. +They were all talking eagerly. Nancy King was seated +almost in the center of the group; the other girls were bending +towards her. As Miss Tredgold appeared in view Josephine +was exclaiming in her high-pitched, girlish voice: +</p> +<p>“Oh, I say, Nancy! What screaming fun!” +</p> +<p>When Josephine spoke Lucy clapped her hands, Helen +laughed, Verena looked puzzled, and Pauline’s expression +seemed to say she longed for something very badly indeed. +</p> +<p>“My dears, what are you all doing?” suddenly cried Aunt +Sophia. +</p> +<p>She had come up quietly, and they had none of them heard +her. It was just as if a pistol had gone off in their ears. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +The whole nine jumped to their feet. Nancy’s red face became +redder. She pushed her gaily trimmed hat forward +over her heated brows. She had an instinctive feeling that +she had never before seen any one so dignified and magnificent +as Miss Sophia Tredgold. She knew that this was +the case, although Miss Sophia’s dress was almost dowdy, and +the little brown slipper which peeped out from under the +folds of her gray dress was decidedly the worse for wear. +Nancy felt at the same time the greatest admiration for +Miss Tredgold, the greatest dislike to her, and the greatest +terror of her. +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophia,” said Verena, who could be a lady if she +chose, “may I introduce our special friend——” +</p> +<p>“And crony,” interrupted Nancy. +</p> +<p>“Our special friend, Nancy King,” repeated Verena. “We +have known her all our lives, Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“How do you do, Miss King?” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>She favored “the young person,” as she termed Miss King, +with a very distant bow. +</p> +<p>“Girls,” she said, turning to the others, “are you aware +that preparation hour has arrived? Will you all go quietly +indoors?—Miss King, my nieces are beginning their studies +in earnest, and I do not allow the hour of preparation to be +interfered with by any one.” +</p> +<p>“I know all about that,” said Nancy in a glib voice. “I +was at a first-rate school myself for years. Weren’t we kept +strict, just! My word! we couldn’t call our noses our own. +The only language was <i>parlez-vous</i>. But it was a select +school—very; and now that I have left, I like to feel that I +am accomplished. None of you girls can beat me on the +piano. I know nearly all the girls’ songs in <i>San Toy</i> and the +<i>Belle of New York</i>. Father loves to hear me when I sing +‘Rhoda Pagoda.’ Perhaps, Miss Tredgold, you’d like to hear +me play on the pianoforte. I dote on dance music; don’t +you, Miss Tredgold? Dance music is so lively; it warms the +cockles of the heart—don’t it, Miss Tredgold?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t dance, so it is impossible for me to answer,” said +Miss Tredgold. “I am sorry, Miss King, to disturb a pleasant +meeting, but my girls are under discipline, and the hour +for preparation has arrived.” +</p> +<p>Nancy shrugged her capacious shoulders. +</p> +<p>“I suppose that means <i>congé</i> for poor Nancy King,” she +said. “Very sorry, I’m sure. Good-day, madam.—Good-bye, +Renny. I’ll look you up another day.—Good-bye to all. I’m +off to have a bit of fun with my boy cousins.” +</p> +<p>Nancy swung round and left the group. She walked +awkwardly, switching her shoulders and swaying from side +to side, a dirty train trailing after her. +</p> +<p>“May I ask who your friend really is?” said Miss Tredgold +when she had watched the departure of this most undesirable +acquaintance. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“She is Nancy King, Aunt Sophia. We have known her all +our lives,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“My dear Verena, I have heard that statement before. +Nevertheless, the fact that you have known that young +person since you were little children does not reply to my +question. Who is she? Where does she come from? Who +is her father? I don’t remember to have heard of any gentlefolks +of the name of King residing in this part of the New +Forest.” +</p> +<p>“She is not gentlefolk,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>Pauline came a step nearer as she spoke. Her eyes were +bright, and there was a red spot on each cheek. +</p> +<p>“But although she is not born a lady, she is our friend,” +she continued. “She is the daughter of Farmer King, who +keeps a very jolly house; and they have plenty of money. +We have often and often been at The Hollies.” +</p> +<p>“Oh! we get delicious apples there,” interposed Adelaide; +“the juiciest you ever tasted—the cherry-and-brandy sort.” +</p> +<p>“I have never heard of that special apple, and I dislike its +name,” said Miss Sophia.—“Now come into the house, all of +you.” +</p> +<p>She did not question them further. She walked on in +front. +</p> +<p>“I can’t stand too much of this,” whispered Briar to +Verena. +</p> +<p>But Verena said “Hush!” and clasped Briar’s little hand +as it lay on her arm. +</p> +<p>They entered the house and proceeded to the pleasant +schoolroom. +</p> +<p>“It is now four o’clock,” said Miss Tredgold. “At five tea +is served. As the evening is so fine, I have ordered it to be +laid under the cedar-tree on the lawn. For the next hour +I expect close attention to lessons. I shall not stay in the +room, but you, Verena, are monitress during my absence. +Please understand that I expect honor. Honor requires that +you should study, and that you should be silent. Here are +your books. Prepare the lessons I shall require you to know +to-morrow morning. Those girls who have not made due +preparation will enter into Punishment Land.” +</p> +<p>“What in the world is that?” burst from the lips of the +irrepressible Briar. +</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me,” answered Miss Tredgold. “I hope you +may never have a personal acquaintance with that gloomy +country. Now farewell. For an hour fix your attention on +your tasks; and adieu.” +</p> +<p>Never before had the Dale girls found themselves in such +a quandary. For a whole long hour they were prohibited +by a code of honor from speaking. They were all just +bursting with desire to launch forth in a fiery torrent, but +they must none of them utter a single word. Verena, as +monitress, could not encourage rebellion. There are some +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +things that even untrained girls, provided they are ladies, +understand by intuition. The Dales were ladies by birth. +Their home had belonged to their father’s family for generations. +There was a time in the past when to be a Dale +of The Dales meant to be rich, honored, and respected. +But, alas! the Dales, like many other old families, had gone +under. Money had failed; purses had become empty; lands +had been sold; the house had dwindled down to its present +shabby dimensions; and if Miss Tredgold had not appeared +on the scene, there would have been little chance of Mr. +Dale’s ten daughters ever taking the position to which their +birth entitled them. But there are some things which an +ancient race confers. <i>Noblesse oblige</i>, for one thing. These +girls were naughty, rebellious, and angry; their hearts were +very sore; their silken chains seemed at this moment to assume +the strength of iron fetters; but during the hour that +was before them they would not disobey Miss Tredgold. Accordingly +their dreary books were opened. Oh, how ugly +and dull they looked! +</p> +<p>“What does it matter whether a girl knows how to spell, +and what happened long, long ago in the history-books?” +thought Briar. +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophia was downright horrid about poor Nancy,” +was Pauline’s angry thought. “Oh! must I really work out +these odious sums, when I am thinking all the time of poor +Nancy?” +</p> +<p>“I shall never keep my head if this sort of thing goes on +for long,” thought Verena as she bent over her page of +English history. “Oh, dear! that midnight picnic, and +Nancy’s face, and the dancing in the glades of the Forest. +It would have been fun. If there is one thing more than +another that I love, it is dancing. I think I could dance +for ever.” +</p> +<p>Verena could not keep her pretty little feet still. They +moved restlessly under her chair. Pauline saw the movement, +and a wave of sympathy flashed between the sisters. +Pauline’s eyes spoke volumes as they encountered the soft +brown ones of pretty Verena. +</p> +<p>But an hour—even the longest—is quickly over. Five +o’clock struck, and quick to the minute each girl sprang to +her feet. Books were put away, and they all streamed out +into the open air. Now they could talk as much as they +liked. How their tongues wagged! They flew at each other +in their delight and embraced violently. Never before, too, +had they been so hungry for tea; and certainly never before +had they seen such a delightful and tempting meal as that +which was now laid for them on the lawn. The new parlor-maid +had brought it out and placed it on various little tables. +A silver teapot reposed on a silver tray; the cups and +saucers were of fine china; the teaspoons were old, thin, +and bright as a looking-glass. The table-linen was also +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +snowy white; but what the girls far more appreciated were +the piles of fruit, the quantities of cakes, the stacks of sandwiches, +and the great plates of bread-and-butter that waited +for them on the festive board. +</p> +<p>“Well!” said Briar. “Did you ever? It looks just like a +party, or a birthday treat, or something of that sort. I will +say there are some nice things about Aunt Sophia. This +is certainly better than squatting on the ground with a +basket of gooseberries and a hunch of bread.” +</p> +<p>“I liked the gooseberries,” said Pauline, “but, as you say, +Briar, this is nice. Ah! here comes the aunt.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold sailed into view. She took her seat opposite +the hissing urn and began to pour out cups of tea. +</p> +<p>“For a week,” she said, “I take this place. At the end +of that time Verena occupies my throne.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I couldn’t!” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Why in the world not, Renny? You aren’t quite a goose.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t use those expressions, Pauline; they are distinctly +vulgar,” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“Bother!” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>She frowned, and the thought of the gooseberries and the +hard crusts that used to constitute tea on many days when +there was no Aunt Sophia came back to her with a sense of +longing and appreciation of the golden past. +</p> +<p>Nevertheless the girls were hungry, and the tea was excellent; +and when Miss Tredgold had seen that each plate +was piled with good things, and that every girl had her +cup of tea made exactly as she liked it, she began to speak. +</p> +<p>“You know little or nothing of the world, my dear girls, +so during tea I intend to give you some pleasant information. +I attended a tea-party last year in a house not far +from London. You would like to hear all about it, would +you not?” +</p> +<p>“If you are sure it is not lessons,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“It is not lessons in the ordinary acception of the word. +Now listen. This garden to which I went led down to the +Thames. It was the property of a very great friend of mine, +and she had invited what I might call a select company. +Now will you all listen, and I will tell you how things were +done?” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold then proceeded to tell her story. No one +could tell a story better. She made her narrative quite +absorbing. For these girls, who had never known anything +of life, she drew so vivid and fascinating a picture that they +almost wished to be present at such a scene as she described. +She spoke of the girls of the London world in their pretty +dresses, and the matrons in their richer garments; of the +men who moved about with polite deference. She spoke of +the summer air, the beautiful appearance of the river, the +charming punts and boats which disported themselves on +the bosom of the waters. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></p> +<p>“It must have been pretty; but rather stiff, wasn’t it?” +said Verena. +</p> +<p>“To you, my dear, it would have been stiff, for you are +not yet accustomed to self-restraint, but to those who belong +to that world it was nothing short of enchantment.” +</p> +<p>“But you were in fetters,” said Pauline; “and I should +hate fetters however jolly they looked.” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that?” +</p> +<p>“Why, you know you are putting them on us.” +</p> +<p>“Hush, Paulie!” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“You are, Aunt Sophy; and you can’t be angry with me if +I speak. I can’t imagine any one getting accustomed to fetters; +it is quite beyond me.” +</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders, and looked with her downright +face full at Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“Never mind,” said that lady after a pause. “I can’t expect +you to understand everything all at once; but my description +of a real bit of the world can do you no harm. +The world has its good points; you will find that out presently. +Perhaps you may not like it, but some people do. In +your case there is no saying. To-morrow I will tell you +another story, but it shall be of the graver and sadder side +of life. That story will also introduce the nobler side of life. +But now the time has come for me to ask you a question, +and I expect an answer. The time has come for me to ask +a very straight question.—Verena, you are the eldest; I shall +speak to you.” +</p> +<p>“Yes?” said Verena. +</p> +<p>She felt herself coloring. She said afterwards she knew +exactly what was coming. Pauline must have known also, +for she pinched Verena’s arm. +</p> +<p>“Yes?” repeated the young girl. +</p> +<p>“You are surprised at the story I have just related to +you,” continued Miss Tredgold. “You think that the courtly +grace, the sweet refinement, the elegant manners, the words +that speak of due knowledge of life and men and women, +represent a state of fetterdom; but you must also have felt +their charm.” +</p> +<p>“To a certain extent,” said Verena slowly, “what you have +said excited me.” +</p> +<p>“You feel it possible that, under certain circumstances, +you, too, could belong to such a group?” +</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“There is not a doubt of it, my dear. A few years’ training, +a little of that discipline which you call fetters, pretty +manners, and suitable dress would make you quite the sort +of girl who would appear amongst my cultivated friends in +the garden by the River Thames. But now for my question: +Could your friend, Nancy King, ever figure in such an assembly?” +</p> +<p>“It would not perhaps be her world,” said Verena. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>“You have answered me. Now I am going to say something +that may annoy you; nevertheless I must say it. Your +acquaintanceship with that girl as a friend must cease, +and absolutely. She is not your equal. You are not to know +her as a friend. If you meet her, there is no reason why +you should not be civil, but civility and friendship are +different things. If the time comes when she is in need or +in trouble, I should be deeply sorry to think you would not +help her, but as a friend she is to cease to exist for you. +This is my firm command to all of you girls. There are to +be no two voices on the subject. You may not agree with +me now, and you may think me hard, but I insist on having +my own way. You cease to know Nancy King as a friend. +I shall myself write to that young person and forbid her to +visit here. I will try not to hurt her; but there are certain +distinctions of class which I for one must insist upon preserving. +She is not a lady, she was not born a lady, and she +never can be a lady; therefore, my dear nieces, you are not +to know her.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h3>MUSIC HATH CHARMS.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The girls were tired when they went to bed. The life of +routine had fatigued them; although, of course, it would +soon cease to do so. Notwithstanding, therefore, Miss Tredgold’s +startling announcement with regard to Nancy King, +they slept soundly; and the next morning when nine o’clock +struck they all appeared in the schoolroom, their persons +neat, their hair carefully brushed, and each pair of eyes +beaming with intelligence. Even Penelope looked her very +best in a clean brown holland frock, and she went quite +creditably through her alphabet, and did not squiggle her +pot-hooks quite as much as she had done on the previous +day. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold was in an excellent humor. She praised the +girls, told them she was much pleased with their performances, +and said further that, if only they would meet her +half-way by being attentive and intelligent and earnest in +their work, she on her part would do all in her power to +make lessons agreeable; she would teach them in a way +which would be sure to arouse their interest, and she would +vary the work with play, and give them as gay a time as the +bright weather and their own happy hearts would permit. +</p> +<p>The girls felt quite cheerful; they even began to whisper +one to another that Aunt Sophia was developing more and +more good points as days went on. +</p> +<p>On that afternoon a great excitement was in store, for a +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +beautiful new piano was to arrive from Broadwood’s, and +Aunt Sophia announced that she meant to play on it for the +benefit of the entire household that evening. +</p> +<p>“For, my dears,” said that good lady, “I have forgotten +neither my playing nor my singing. I will sing you old-fashioned +songs to-night, and I quite hope that I may lure +your father from his retirement. There was a time when +he was musical—very musical.” +</p> +<p>“The dad musical!” cried Briar. “Aunt Sophia, what do +you mean?” +</p> +<p>“It is true, Rose. In the days long ago, when your mother +and he and I spent happy times together, he played his +violin better than any other amateur that I happen to +know.” +</p> +<p>“There is an old violin in one of the attics,” said Verena. +“We have never touched it. It is in a case all covered +with dust.” +</p> +<p>“His Stradivarius,” murmured Miss Tredgold. “Oh dear! +How are the mighty fallen! My dears, you had better say +no more to me about that or I shall lose my temper.” +</p> +<p>The girls could not imagine why Miss Tredgold’s eyes +grew full of a certain mistiness and her cheeks were very +pink with color. The next moment she looked full at her +nieces. +</p> +<p>“When your mother died she took a great deal away +with her,” she said. “What would you have done, poor +children! if I had not been able to come to the rescue? It +does seem almost impossible that your father, my brother-in-law, +has forgotten to play on his Stradivarius.” +</p> +<p>“Well, aren’t you glad you comed?” said Penelope, +marching up and standing before the good lady. “Don’t you +like to feel you are so useful, the grand piano coming, and +all the rest? Then you has us under your thumb. Don’t you +like that?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t understand you, Penny. You are talking in a +very naughty way.” +</p> +<p>“I aren’t. I are only saying what nursey said. Nursey +said last night, ‘Well, well, drat it all! They are under her +thumb by this time.’ I asked nursey what it meant, and she +said, ‘Miss Penny, little girls should be seen, and not heard.’ +Nursey always says that when I ask her questions that I +want special to know. But when I comed down this morning +I asked Betty what being under your thumb meant, and +she said, ‘Oh, lor’, Miss Penny! You had better look out, +miss. It means what you don’t like, miss.’ Then she said, +Aunt Sophy, that old ladies like you was fond of having little +girls under their thumbs. So I ’spect you like it; and I +hope you won’t squeeze us flat afore you have done.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold had turned very red. +</p> +<p>“How old are you, Pen?” she said when the loquacious +child became silent. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>Penelope tossed her head. “You knows of my age quite +well.” +</p> +<p>“Then I will just repeat the remark made by your excellent +nurse—‘Little girls should be seen, and not heard.’ I +will add to that remark by saying that little girls are sometimes +impertinent. I shall not say anything more to-day; +but another time, if you address me as you have just done, +I shall be obliged to punish you.” +</p> +<p>“And if I don’t dress you,” said Penelope—“if I’m awful +good—will you give me sugar-plums?” +</p> +<p>“That is a treat in the very far distance,” said Miss Tredgold.—“But +now, girls, go out. The more you enjoy this +lovely air the better.” +</p> +<p>They did all enjoy it; after their hard work—for lessons +were hard to them—freedom was sweet. With each moment +of lesson-time fully occupied, leisure was delicious. They +wandered under the trees; they opened the wicket-gate +which led into the Forest, and went a short way into its +deep and lovely shade. When lunch-bell sounded they returned +with hungry appetites. +</p> +<p>The rest of the day passed pleasantly. Even preparation +hour was no longer regarded as a hardship. It brought renewed +appetites to enjoy tea. And in the midst of tea a wild +dissipation occurred, for a piano-van came slowly down the +rutty lane which led to the front avenue. It stopped at the +gates; the gates were opened, the piano-van came up the +avenue, and John and two other men carried the beautiful +Broadwood into the big drawing-room. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold unlocked it and touched the ivory keys with +loving fingers. +</p> +<p>“I will play to you to-night when it is dusk,” she said to +the girls. +</p> +<p>After this they were so eager to hear the music that they +could scarcely eat their dinner. Mr. Dale now always appeared +for the evening meal. He took the foot of the table, +and stared in an abstracted way at Aunt Sophia. So fond +was he of doing this that he often quite forgot to carve the +joint which was set before him. +</p> +<p>“Wake up, Henry,” said Miss Sophia in her sharp voice; +“the children are hungry, and so am I.” +</p> +<p>Then the student would shake himself, seize the knife and +fork, and make frantic dashes at whatever the joint might +happen to be. It must be owned that he carved very badly. +Miss Tredgold bore it for a day or two; then she desired +the parlor-maid to convey the joint to the head of the +table where she sat. After this was done the dinner-hour +was wont to progress very satisfactorily. To-day it went +quickly by. Then Verena went up to her aunt. +</p> +<p>“Now, Aunt Sophy,” she said, “the gloaming has come, +and music is waiting to make us all happy in the drawing-room.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></p> +<p>“I will play for you, my dears,” said Aunt Sophia. +</p> +<p>She was just leaving the room when she heard Verena +say: +</p> +<p>“You love music, father. Do come into the drawing-room. +Aunt Sophia has got her new piano. She means to +play on it. Do come; you know you love music.” +</p> +<p>“Indeed, I do nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>He pushed his gray hair back from his forehead and +looked abstractedly at Miss Sophia, who was standing in the +twilight just by the open door. +</p> +<p>“You remind me, Sophia——” said Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>He paused and covered his eyes with his hand. +</p> +<p>“I could have sworn that you were she. No music, +thanks; I have never listened to it since she died. Your +mother played beautifully, children; she played and she +sang. I liked her songs; I hate the twaddle of the present +day. Now I am returning to my Virgil. My renderings of +the original text become more and more full of light. I +shall secure a vast reputation. Music! I hate music. Don’t +disturb me, any of you.” +</p> +<p>When Mr. Dale reached his study he sank into his accustomed +chair. His lamp was already lit; it burned brightly, +for Miss Tredgold herself trimmed it each morning. His +piles of books of reference lay in confusion by his side. An +open manuscript was in front of him. He took up his pen. +Very soon he would be absorbed by the strong fascination of +his studies; the door into another world would open and +shut him in. He would be impervious then to this present +century, to his present life, to his children, to the home in +which he lived. +</p> +<p>“I could have sworn,” he muttered to himself, “that Alice +had come back. As Sophia stood in the twilight I should +scarcely have known them apart. She is not Alice. Alice +was the only woman I ever loved—the only woman I could +tolerate in my house. My children, my girls, are none of +them women yet, thank the Almighty. When they are they +will have to go. I could not stand any other woman but +Alice to live always in the house. But now to forget her. +This knotty point must be cleared up before I go to bed.” +</p> +<p>The doors of the ancient world were slowly opening. But +before they could shut Mr. Dale within their portals there +came a sound that caused the scholar to start. The soft +strains of music entered through the door which Verena +had on purpose left open. The music was sweet and yet +masterly. It came with a merry sound and a certain quick +rhythm that seemed to awaken the echoes of the house. Impossible +as it may appear, Mr. Dale forgot the ancient +classics and the dim world of the past. He lay back in his +chair; his lips moved; he beat time with his knuckles on +the arms of his chair; and with his feet on the floor. So +perfect was his ear that the faintest wrong note, or harmony +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +out of tune, would be detected by him. The least +jarring sound would cause him agony. But there was no +jarring note; the melody was correct; the time was perfect. +</p> +<p>“I might have known that Alice——” he began; but then +he remembered that Alice had never played exactly like +that, and he ceased to think of her, or of any woman, and +became absorbed in those ringing notes that stole along the +passage and entered by the open door and surrounded him +like lightsome fairies. Into his right ear they poured their +charm; in his left ear they completed their work. Virgil +was forgotten; old Homer might never have existed. +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale rose. He got up softly; he walked across the +room and opened the door wide. There was a very bright +light streaming down the passage. In the old days this +passage was always dark; no one ever thought of lighting +the lobbies and passages at The Dales. The master of the +house wondered dimly at the light; but at the same time +it gave him a sense of comfort. +</p> +<p>Suddenly a voice began to sing: +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“I know a bank whereon the wild thyme grows.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The voice was sweet, pure, and high. It floated towards +him. Suddenly he stretched out his arms. +</p> +<p>“I am coming, Alice,” he said aloud. “Yes, I am coming. +Don’t call me with such insistence. I come, I tell +you; I come.” +</p> +<p>He ran down the passage; he entered the central hall; +he burst into the drawing-room. His eyes were full of +excitement. He strode across the room and sank into a +chair close to the singer. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold just turned and glanced at him. +</p> +<p>“Ah, Henry!” she said; “so you are there. I hoped that +this would draw you. Now I am going to sing again.” +</p> +<p>“A song of the past,” he said in a husky voice. +</p> +<p>“Will this do?” she said, and began “Annie Laurie.” +</p> +<p>Once again Mr. Dale kept time with his hand and his feet. +“Annie Laurie” melted into “Home, Sweet Home”; “Home, +Sweet Home” into “Ye Banks and Braes o’ Bonny Doon”; +“Ye Banks and Braes” wandered into the delicious notes of +“Auld Lang Syne.” +</p> +<p>Suddenly Miss Tredgold rose, shut and locked the piano, +and then turned and faced her audience. +</p> +<p>“No more to-night,” she said. “By-and-by you girls shall +all play on this piano. You shall also sing, for I have not +the slightest doubt that most of you have got voices. You +ought to be musical, for music belongs to both sides of your +house. There was once a time when your father played +the violin as no one else, in my opinion, ever played it. By +the way, Henry, is that violin still in existence?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></p> +<p>“Excuse me,” said Mr. Dale; “I never touch it now. I +have not touched it for years. I would not touch it for the +world.” +</p> +<p>“You will touch it again when the time is ripe. Now, no +more music to-night. Those who are tired had better go to +bed.” +</p> +<p>The girls left the room without a word. Miss Tredgold +then went up to Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>“Go back to your study and your Virgil,” she said. “Don’t +waste your precious time.” +</p> +<p>He looked exactly as though some one had whipped him, +but he took her at her word and returned to his study. +</p> +<p>The music was henceforth a great feature in the establishment. +Miss Tredgold enhanced its value by being chary +in regard to it. She only played as a special treat. She +would by no means give them the great pleasure of her +singing and playing every night. +</p> +<p>“When you have all had a good day I will sing and play +to you,” she said to the girls; “but when you neglect your +work, or are idle and careless, or cross and sulky, I don’t intend +to amuse you in the evenings. I was brought up on a +stricter plan than the girls of the present day, and I mean +while I am with you to bring you up in the same way. I +prefer it to the lax way in which young people are now +reared.” +</p> +<p>For a time Miss Tredgold’s plans went well. Then there +came a day of rebellion. Pauline was the first to openly +rebel against Aunt Sophia. There came a morning when +Pauline absolutely refused to learn her lessons. She was a +stoutly built, determined-looking little girl, very dark in +complexion and in eyes and hair. She would probably be a +handsome woman by-and-by, but now she was plain, with a +somewhat sallow face, heavy black brows, and eyes that +could scowl when anything annoyed her. She was the next +eldest to Verena, and was thirteen years of age. Her birthday +would be due in a fortnight. Even at The Dales birthdays +were considered auspicious events. There was always +some sort of present, even though it was worth very little +in itself, given by each member of the family to the possessor +of the birthday. Mr. Dale generally gave this happy +person a whole shilling. He presented the shilling with +great pomp, and invariably made the same speech: +</p> +<p>“God bless you, my dear. May you have many happy returns +of the day. And now for goodness’ sake don’t detain +me any longer.” +</p> +<p>A shilling was considered by the Dale girls as valuable as +a sovereign would be to girls in happier circumstances. It +was eked out to its furthest dimensions, and was as a rule +spent on good things to eat. Now, under Miss Tredgold’s +reign, Pauline’s birthday would be a much more important +event. Miss Tredgold had long ago taken Verena, Briar, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +Patty, Josephine, and Adelaide into her confidence. Pauline +knew quite well that she was talked about. She knew when, +the girls retired into corners that she was the object of their +eager conversations. The whole thing was most agreeable +to her sense of vanity, and when she suddenly appeared +round a corner and perceived that work was put out of sight, +that the eager whisperers started apart, and that the girls +looked conscious and as if they wished her out of the way, +she quite congratulated herself on the fact that hers was the +first birthday in the immediate future, and that on that day +she would be a very great personage indeed. As these +thoughts came to her she walked with a more confident +stride, and thought a great deal of her own importance. At +night she lay awake thinking of the happy time, and wondering +what this coming birthday, when she would have +been fourteen whole years in the world, would bring +forth. +</p> +<p>There came a lovely morning about a week before the +birthday. Pauline had got up early, and was walking by +herself in the garden. She felt terribly excited, and almost +cross at having to wait so long for her pleasure. +</p> +<p>“After all,” thought Pauline, “Aunt Sophia has done +something for us. How horrid it would be to go back to the +old shilling birthdays now!” +</p> +<p>As she thought these thoughts, Patty and Josephine, +arm-in-arm and talking in low tones, crossed her path. +They did not see her at first, and their words reached +Pauline’s ears. +</p> +<p>“I know she’d rather have pink than blue,” said Patty’s +voice. +</p> +<p>“Well, mine will be trimmed with blue,” was Josephine’s +answer. +</p> +<p>Just then the girls caught sight of Pauline, uttered +shrieks, and disappeared down a shady walk. +</p> +<p>“Something with pink and something with blue,” thought +Pauline. “The excitement is almost past bearing. Of +course, they’re talking about my birthday presents. I do +wish my birthday was to-morrow. I don’t know how I shall +exist for a whole week.” +</p> +<p>At that moment Miss Tredgold’s sharp voice fell on her +ears: +</p> +<p>“You are late, Pauline. I must give you a bad mark for +want of punctuality, Go at once into the schoolroom.” +</p> +<p>To hear these incisive, sharp tones in the midst of her +own delightful reflections was anything but agreeable to +Pauline. She felt, as she expressed it, like a cat rubbed +the wrong way. She gave Miss Tredgold one of her most +ungracious scowls and went slowly into the house. There +she lingered purposely before she condescended to tidy her +hair and put on her house-shoes. In consequence she was +quite a quarter of an hour late when she appeared in the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +schoolroom. Miss Tredgold had just finished morning +prayers. +</p> +<p>“You have missed prayers this morning, Pauline,” she +said. “There was no reason for this inattention. I shall +be obliged to punish you. You cannot have your usual hour +of recreation before dinner. You will have to write out +the first page of Scott’s <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>; and you +must do it without making any mistake either in spelling +or punctuation. On this occasion you can copy from the +book. Now, no words, my dear—no words. Sit down immediately +to your work.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did sit down. She felt almost choking with anger. +Was she, an important person who was soon to be queen +of a birthday, one about whom her sisters talked and whispered +and made presents for, to be treated in this scant and +ungracious fashion? She would not put up with it. Accordingly +she was very inattentive at her lessons, failed to +listen when she should, played atrociously on the piano, +could not manage her sums, and, in short, got more and +more each moment into Miss Tredgold’s black books. +</p> +<p>When recreation hour arrived she felt tired and headachy. +The other girls now went out into the pleasant +sunshine. Pauline looked after them with longing. They +would sit under the overhanging trees; they would eat +fruit and talk nonsense and laugh. Doubtless they would +talk about her and the birthday so near at hand. At noon +the schoolroom was hot, too, for the sun beat hard upon the +windows, and Pauline felt more stifled and more headachy +and sulky than ever. +</p> +<p>“Oh! please,” she said, as Miss Tredgold was leaving the +room, “I can’t do this horrid writing to-day. Please forgive +me. Do let me go out.” +</p> +<p>“No, Pauline; you must take your punishment. You +were late this morning; you disobeyed my rules. Take +the punishment which I am obliged to give you as a lady +should, and make no more excuses.” +</p> +<p>The door was shut upon the angry girl. She sat for a +time absolutely still, pressing her hand to her aching +brow; then she strolled across the schoolroom, fetched +some paper, and sat down to her unwelcome task. She +wrote very badly, and when the hour was over she had +not half copied the task assigned to her. This bad beginning +went on to a worse end. Pauline declined to learn +any lessons in preparation hour, and accordingly next +morning she was absolutely unprepared for her tasks. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold was now thoroughly roused. +</p> +<p>“I must make an example,” she said to herself. “I +shall have no influence over these girls if I let them think +I am all softness and yielding. The fact is, I have shown +them the south side of my character too long; a little +touch of the northeast will do them no harm.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>Accordingly she called the obstinate and sulky Pauline +before her. +</p> +<p>“I am very much displeased with you. You have done +wrong, and you must be punished. I have told you and +your sisters that there is such a place as Punishment +Land. You enter it now, and live there until after breakfast +to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p>“But what do you mean?” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“I mean exactly what I say. You have been for the last +twenty-four hours extremely naughty. You will therefore +be punished for the next twenty-four hours. You are a +very naughty girl. Naughty girls must be punished, and +you, Pauline, are now under punishment. You enter Punishment +Land immediately.” +</p> +<p>“But where is it? What is it? I don’t understand.” +</p> +<p>“You will soon. Girls, I forbid you to speak to your +sister while she is under punishment. Pauline, your meals +will be sent to you in this room. You will be expected to +work up your neglected tasks and learn them thoroughly. +You must neither play with nor speak to your sisters. You +will have no indulgence of any sort. When you walk, I +wish you to keep in the north walk, just beyond the vegetable +garden. Finally, you will go to bed at seven o’clock. +Now leave the room. I am in earnest.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<h3>PUNISHMENT LAND.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Pauline did leave the room. She passed her sisters, who +stared at her in horrified amazement. She knew that their +eyes were fixed upon her, but she was doubtful if they +pitied her or not. Just at that moment, however, she +did not care what their feelings were. She had a momentary +sense of pleasure on getting into the soft air. A gentle +breeze fanned her hot cheeks. She took her old sailor hat +from a peg and ran fast into a distant shrubbery. Miss +Tredgold had said that she might take exercise in the north +walk. If there was a dreary, ugly part of the grounds, +it might be summed up in the north walk. The old garden +wall was on one side of it, and a tattered, ugly box-hedge +on the other. Nothing was to be seen as you walked between +the hedge and the wall but the ground beneath your +feet and the sky above your head. There was no distant +view of any sort. In addition to this disadvantage, it was +in winter an intensely cold place, and in summer, notwithstanding +its name, an intensely hot place. No, Pauline +would not go there. She would disobey. She would walk +where she liked; she would also talk to whom she liked. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>She stood for a time leaning against a tree, her face scarlet +with emotion, her sailor hat flung on the ground. Presently +she saw Penelope coming towards her. She felt quite +glad of this, for Penelope might always be bribed. Pauline +made up her mind to disobey thoroughly; she would walk +where she pleased; she would do what she liked; she +would talk to any one to whom she wished to talk. What +was Penelope doing? She was bending down and peering +on the ground. Beyond doubt she was looking for something. +</p> +<p>“What is it, Pen?” called out her sister. +</p> +<p>Penelope had not seen Pauline until now. She stood upright +with a start, gazed tranquilly at the girl in disgrace, +and then, without uttering a word, resumed her occupation +of searching diligently on the ground. Pauline’s face put on +its darkest scowl. Her heart gave a thump of wild indignation. +She went up to Penelope and shook her by the arm. +Penelope, still without speaking, managed to extricate herself. +She moved a few feet away. She then again looked +full at Pauline, and, to the amazement of the elder girl, +her bold black eyes filled with tears. She took one dirty, +chubby hand and blew a kiss to Pauline. +</p> +<p>Pauline felt suddenly deeply touched. She very nearly +wept herself. +</p> +<p>“Oh, dear Penny,” she said, “how good you are! I +didn’t know you’d feel for me. I can bear things better if +I know you feel for me. You needn’t obey her, need you? +See, I’ve got three-ha’pence in my pocket. I’ll give you the +money and you can buy lollypops. I will really if only you +will say a few words to me now.” +</p> +<p>“I daren’t,” burst from Penelope’s lips. “You have no +right to tempt me. I can’t; I daren’t. I am looking now +for Aunt Sophy’s thimble. She was working here yesterday +and she dropped it, she doesn’t know where. She’s awful +fond of it. She’ll give me a penny if I find it. Don’t ask me +any more. I’ve done very wrong to speak to you.” +</p> +<p>“So you have,” said Pauline, who felt as angry as ever. +“You have broken Aunt Sophia’s word—not your own, for +you never said you wouldn’t speak to me. But go, if you +are so honorable. Only please understand that I hate every +one of you, and I’m never going to obey Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>Penelope only shook her little person, and presently wandered +away into a more distant part of the shrubbery. She +went on searching and searching. Pauline could see her +bobbing her little fat person up and down. +</p> +<p>“Even Penny,” she thought, “is incorruptible. Well, I +don’t care. I won’t put up with this unjust punishment.” +</p> +<p>The dinner-gong sounded, and Pauline, notwithstanding +her state of disgrace, discovered that she was hungry. +</p> +<p>“Why should I eat?” she said to herself. “I won’t eat. +Then perhaps I’ll die, and she’ll be sorry. She’ll be had up +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +for manslaughter; she’ll have starved a girl to death. No, +I won’t eat a single thing. And even if I don’t die I shall +be awfully ill, and she’ll be in misery. Oh dear! why did +mother die and leave us? And why did dreadful Aunt +Sophy come? Mother was never cross; she was never hard. +Oh mother! Oh mother!” +</p> +<p>Pauline was now so miserable that she flung herself on +the ground and burst into passionate weeping. Her tears +relieved the tension of her heart, and she felt slightly better. +Presently she raised her head, and taking out her handkerchief, +prepared to mop her eyes. As she did so she was attracted +by something that glittered not far off. She stretched +out her hand and drew Miss Tredgold’s thimble from where +it had rolled under a tuft of dock-leaves. A sudden burst +of pleasure escaped her lips as she glanced at the thimble. +She had not seen it before. It certainly was the most +beautiful thimble she had ever looked at. She put it on the +tip of her second finger and turned it round and round. +The thimble itself was made of solid gold; its base was +formed of one beautifully cut sapphire, and round the margin +of the top of the thimble was a row of turquoises. The +gold was curiously and wonderfully chased, and the sapphire, +which formed the entire base of the thimble, shone +in a way that dazzled Pauline. She was much interested; +she forgot that she was hungry, and that she had entered +into Punishment Land. It seemed to her that in her possession +of the thimble she had found the means of punishing +Aunt Sophia. This knowledge soothed her inexpressibly. +She slipped the lovely thimble into her pocket, and again +a keen pang of downright healthy hunger seized her. She +knew that food would be awaiting her in the schoolroom. +Should she eat it, or should she go through the wicket-gate +and lose herself in the surrounding Forest? +</p> +<p>Just at this moment a girl, who whistled as she walked, +approached the wicket-gate, opened it, and came in. She +was dressed in smart summer clothes; her hat was of a +fashionable make, and a heavy fringe lay low on her forehead. +Pauline looked at her, and her heart gave a thump +of pleasure. Now, indeed, she could bear her punishment, +and her revenge on Miss Tredgold lay even at the door. +For Nancy King, the girl whom she was not allowed to +speak to, had entered the grounds. +</p> +<p>“Hullo, Paulie!” called out that young lady. “There +you are! Well, I must say you do look doleful. What’s +the matter now? Is the dear aristocrat more aristocratic +than ever?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t, Nancy! I ought not to speak to you at all.” +</p> +<p>“So I’ve been told by the sweet soul herself,” responded +Nancy. “She wrote me a letter which would have put another +girl in such a rage that she would never have touched +any one of you again with a pair of tongs. But that’s not +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +Nancy King. For when Nancy loves a person, she loves that +person through thick and thin, through weal and woe. I +came to-day to try to find one of you dear girls. I have +found you. What is the matter with you, Paulie? You +do look bad.” +</p> +<p>“I’m very unhappy,” said Pauline. “Oh Nancy! we sort +of promised that we wouldn’t have anything more to do +with you.” +</p> +<p>“But you can’t keep your promise, can you, darling? So +don’t say any more about it. Anyhow, promise or not, I’m +going to kiss you now.” +</p> +<p>Nancy flung her arms tightly round Pauline’s neck and +printed several loud, resounding kisses on each cheek; then +she seated herself under an oak tree, and motioned to Pauline +to do likewise. +</p> +<p>Pauline hesitated just for a moment; then scruples were +forgotten, and she sat on the ground close to Nancy’s side. +</p> +<p>“Tell me all about it,” said Nancy. “Wipe your eyes +and talk. Don’t be frightened; it’s only poor old Nancy, the +girl you have known since you were that high. And I’m +rich, Paulie pet, and although we’re only farmer-folk, we +live in a much finer house than The Dales. And I’m going +to have a pony soon—a pony of my very own—and my habit +is being made for me at Southampton. I intend to follow +the hounds next winter. Think of that, little Paulie. You’ll +see me as I ride past. I’m supposed to have a very good +figure, and I shall look ripping in my habit. Well, but +that’s not to the point, is it? You are in trouble, you poor +little dear, and your old Nancy must try and make matters +better for you. I love you, little Paulie. I’m fond of you +all, but you are my special favorite. You were always considered +something like me—dark and dour when you liked, +but sunshiny when you liked also. Now, what is it, Paulie? +Tell your own Nancy.” +</p> +<p>“I’m very fond of you, Nancy,” replied Pauline. “And +I think,” she continued, “that it is perfectly horrid of Aunt +Sophia to say that we are not to know you.” +</p> +<p>“It’s snobbish and mean and unlady-like,” retorted +Nancy; “but her saying it doesn’t make it a fact, for you +do know me, and you will always have to know me. And +if she thinks, old spiteful! that I’m going to put up with +her nasty, low, mean, proud ways, she’s fine and mistaken. +I’m not, and that’s flat. So there, old spitfire! I shouldn’t +mind telling her so to her face.” +</p> +<p>“But, on the whole, she has been kind to us,” said Pauline, +who had some sense of justice in her composition, +angry as she felt at the moment. +</p> +<p>“Has she?” said Nancy. “Then let me tell you she has +not a very nice way of showing it. Now, Paulie, no more +beating about the bush. What’s up? Your eyes are red; +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +you have a great smear of ink on your forehead; and your +hands—my word! for so grand a young lady your hands +aren’t up to much, my dear.” +</p> +<p>“I have got into trouble,” said Pauline. “I didn’t do my +lessons properly yesterday; I couldn’t—I had a headache, +and everything went wrong. So this morning I could not +say any of them when Aunt Sophia called me up, and she +put me into Punishment Land. You know, don’t you, that I +am soon to have a birthday?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t I?” interrupted Nancy. “Didn’t a little bird +whisper it to me, and didn’t that same little bird tell me +exactly what somebody would like somebody else to give +her? And didn’t that somebody else put her hand into her +pocket and send—— Oh, we won’t say any more, but she +did send for something for somebody’s birthday. Oh, yes, +I know. You needn’t tell me about that birthday, Pauline +Dale.” +</p> +<p>“You are good,” said Pauline, completely touched. She +wondered what possible thing Nancy could have purchased +for her. She had a wild desire to know what it was. She +determined then and there, in her foolish little heart, that +nothing would induce her to quarrel with Nancy. +</p> +<p>“It is something that you like, and something that will +spite her,” said the audacious Nancy. “I thought it all +out, and I made up my mind to kill two birds with one +stone. Now to go on with the pretty little story. We didn’t +please aunty, and we got into trouble. Proceed, Paulie pet.” +</p> +<p>“I didn’t learn my lessons. I was cross, as I said, and +headachy, and Aunt Sophia said I was to be made an example +of, and so she sent me to Punishment Land for twenty-four +hours.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear! It sounds awful. What is it?” +</p> +<p>“Why, none of my sisters are to speak to me, and I am +only to walk in the north walk.” +</p> +<p>“Is this the north walk?” asked Nancy, with a merry +twinkle in her black eyes. +</p> +<p>“Of course it isn’t. She may say what she likes, but I’m +not going to obey her. But the others won’t speak to me. +I can’t make them. And I am to take my meals by myself +in the schoolroom, and I am to go to bed at seven o’clock.” +</p> +<p>Pauline told her sad narrative in a most lugubrious manner, +and she felt almost offended at the conclusion when +Nancy burst into a roar of laughter. +</p> +<p>“It’s very unkind of you to laugh when I’m so unhappy,” +said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“My dear, how can I help it? It is so ridiculous to treat +a girl who is practically almost grown up in such a baby +fashion. Then I’d like to know what authority she has over +you.” +</p> +<p>“That’s the worst of it, Nancy. Father has given her +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +authority, and she has it in writing. She’s awfully clever, +and she came round poor father, and he had to do what +she wanted because he couldn’t help himself.” +</p> +<p>“Jolly mean, I call it,” said Nancy. “My dear, you are +pretty mad, I suppose.” +</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t you be if your father treated you like that?” +</p> +<p>“My old dad! He knows better. I’ve had my swing since +I was younger than you, Paulie. Of course, at school I had +to obey just a little. I wasn’t allowed to break all the rules, +but I did smuggle in a good many relaxations. The thing +is, you can do what you like at school if only you are not +found out. Well, I was too clever to be found out. And +now I am grown up, eighteen last birthday, and I have +taken a fancy to cling to my old friends, even if they have +a snobby, ridiculous old aunt to be rude to me. My dear, +what nonsense she did write!—all about your being of such +a good family, and that I wasn’t in your station. I shall +keep that letter. I wouldn’t lose it for twenty shillings. +What have you to boast of after all is said and done? A +tumble-down house; horrid, shabby, old-fashioned, old-maidy +clothes; and never a decent meal to be had.” +</p> +<p>“But it isn’t like that now,” said Pauline, finding herself +getting very red and angry. +</p> +<p>“Well, so much the better for you. And did I make the +little mousy-pousy angry? I won’t, then, any more, for +Nancy loves little mousy-pousy, and would like to do what +she could for her. You love me back, don’t you, mousy?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, Nancy, I do love you, and I think it’s a horrid +shame that we’re not allowed to be with you. But, all the +same, I’d rather you didn’t call me mousy.” +</p> +<p>“Oh dear, how dignified we are! I shall begin to believe +in the ancient family if this sort of thing continues. But +now, my dear, the moment has come to help you. The hour +has arrived when your own Nancy, vulgar as she is, can lend +you a helping hand. Listen.” +</p> +<p>“What?” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Jump up, Paulie; take my hand, and you and I together +will walk out through that wicket-gate, and go back +through the dear old Forest to The Hollies, and spend the +day at my home. There are my boy cousins from London, +and my two friends, Rebecca and Amelia Perkins—jolly +girls, I can tell you. We shall have larks. What do you +say, Paulie? A fine fright she’ll be in when she misses +you. Serve her right, though.” +</p> +<p>“But I daren’t come with you,” said Pauline. “I’d love it +more than anything in the world; but I daren’t. You +mustn’t ask me. You mustn’t try to tempt me, Nancy, for +I daren’t go.” +</p> +<p>“I didn’t know you were so nervous.” +</p> +<p>“I am nervous about a thing like that. Wild as I have +been, and untrained all my life, I do not think I am out-and-out +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +wicked. It would be wicked to go away without +leave. I’d be too wretched. Oh, I daren’t think of it!” +</p> +<p>Nancy pursed up her lips while Pauline was speaking; +then she gave vent to a low, almost incredulous whistle. +Finally she sprang to her feet. +</p> +<p>“I am not the one to try and make you forget your +scruples,” she said. “Suppose you do this. Suppose you +come at seven o’clock to-night. Then you will be safe. You +may be wicked, but at least you will be safe. She’ll never +look for you, nor think of you again, when once you have +gone up to bed. You have a room to yourself, have you +not?” +</p> +<p>Pauline nodded. +</p> +<p>“I thought so. You will go to your room, lock the door, +and she will think it is all right. The others won’t care to +disturb you. If they do they’ll find the door locked.” +</p> +<p>“But I am forbidden to lock my room door.” +</p> +<p>“They will call to you, but you will not answer. They +may be angry, but I don’t suppose your sisters will tell on +you, and they will only suppose you are sound asleep. +Meanwhile you will be having a jolly good time; for I can +tell you we are going to have sport to-night at The +Hollies—fireworks, games, plans for the future, etc., etc. +You can share my nice bed, and go back quite early in the +morning. I have a lot to talk over with you. I want to +arrange about our midnight picnic.” +</p> +<p>“But, Nancy, we can’t have a midnight picnic.” +</p> +<p>“Can’t we? I don’t see that at all. I tell you what—we +will have it; and we’ll have it on your birthday. Your +birthday is in a week. That will be just splendid. The +moon will be at the full, and you must all of you come. Do +you suppose I’m going to be balked of my fun by a stupid +old woman? Ah! you little know me. My boy cousins, +Jack and Tom, and my friends, Becky and Amy, have made +all arrangements. We are going to have a time! Of +course, if you are not there, you don’t suppose our fun +will be stopped! You’ll hear us laughing in the glades. +You won’t like that, will you? But we needn’t say any more +until seven o’clock to-night.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t think I’m coming.” +</p> +<p>“But you are, Paulie. No one will know, and you must +have a bit of fun. Perhaps I’ll show you the present I’m +going to give you on your birthday; there’s no saying what +I may do; only you must come.” +</p> +<p>Nancy had been standing all this time. Pauline had been +reclining on the ground. Now she also rose to her feet. +</p> +<p>“You excite me,” she said. “I long to go, and yet I am +afraid; it would be so awfully wicked.” +</p> +<p>“It would be wicked if she was your mother, but she’s +not. And she has no right to have any control over you. +She just got round your silly old father——” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>“I won’t have dad called silly!” +</p> +<p>“Well, your learned and abstracted father. It all comes +to much the same. Now think the matter over. You needn’t +decide just this minute. I shall come to the wicket-gate at +half-past seven, and if you like to meet me, why, you can; +but if you are still too good, and your conscience is too +troublesome, and your scruples too keen, you need not come. +I shall quite understand. In that case, perhaps, I’d best +not give you that lovely, lovely present that I saved up so +much money to buy.” +</p> +<p>Pauline clasped her hands and stepped away from Nancy. +As she did so the breeze caught her full gray skirt and +caused it to blow against Nancy. Nancy stretched out her +hand and caught hold of Pauline’s pocket. +</p> +<p>“What is this hard thing?” she cried. “Have you got +a nut in your pocket?” +</p> +<p>“No,” said Pauline, instantly smiling and dimpling. “Oh, +Nancy, such fun!” +</p> +<p>She dived into her pocket and produced Miss Tredgold’s +thimble. +</p> +<p>“Oh, I say!” cried Nancy. “What a beauty! Who in +the world gave you this treasure, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“It isn’t mine at all; it belongs to Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“You sly little thing! You took it from her?” +</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t. I’m not a thief. I saw it in the grass a +few minutes ago and picked it up. It had rolled just under +that dock-leaf. Isn’t it sweet? I shall give it back to her +after she has forgiven me to-morrow.” +</p> +<p>“What a charming, return-good-for-evil character you +have suddenly become, Pauline!” +</p> +<p>As Nancy spoke she poised the thimble on her second +finger. Her fingers were small, white, and tapering. The +thimble exactly fitted the narrow tip on which it rested. +</p> +<p>“I never saw anything so lovely,” she cried. “Never +mind, Paulie, about to-morrow. Lend it to me. I’d give +my eyes to show it to Becky.” +</p> +<p>“But why should I lend it to you? I must return it to +Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“You surely won’t give it back to her to-day.” +</p> +<p>“No, but to-morrow.” +</p> +<p>“Let to-morrow take care of itself. I want to show this +thimble to Becky and Amy. I have a reason. You won’t +refuse one who is so truly kind to you, will you, little +Paulie? And I tell you what: I know you are starving, and +you hate to go into the house for your food. I will bring +you a basketful of apples, chocolates, and a peach or two. +We have lovely peaches ripe in our garden now, although +we are such common folk.” +</p> +<p>Pauline felt thirsty. Her hunger, too, was getting worse. +She would have given a good deal to have been able to refuse +the horrid meals which would be served to her in the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +schoolroom. Perhaps she could manage without any other +food if she had enough fruit. +</p> +<p>“I should like some very much,” she said. “Aunt Sophia +has, as she calls it, preserved the orchard. We are not +allowed to go into it.” +</p> +<p>“Mean cat!” cried Nancy. +</p> +<p>“So will you really send me a basket of fruit?” +</p> +<p>“I will send Tom with it the instant I get home. He +runs like the wind. You may expect to find it waiting for +you in half-an-hour.” +</p> +<p>“Thank you. And you will take great care of the thimble, +won’t you?” +</p> +<p>“Of course I will, child. It is a beauty.” +</p> +<p>Without more ado Nancy slipped the thimble into her +pocket, and then nodding to Pauline, and telling her that +she would wait for her at the wicket-gate at half-past +seven, she left her. +</p> +<p>Nancy swung her body as she walked, and Pauline stood +and watched her. She thought that Nancy looked very +grown-up and very stylish. To look stylish seemed better +than to look pretty in the eyes of the inexperienced little +girl. She could not help having a great admiration for her +friend. +</p> +<p>“She is very brave, and so generous; and she knows +such a lot of the world!” thought poor Pauline. “It is a +shame not to be allowed to see her whenever one likes. +And it would be just heavenly to go to her to-night, instead +of spending hungry hours awake in my horrid bedroom.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<h3>DISCIPLINE.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The other girls were miserable; but Miss Tredgold had +already exercised such a very strong influence over them +that they did not dare to disobey her orders. Much as they +longed to do so, none of them ventured near poor Pauline. +In the course of the afternoon Miss Tredgold called Verena +aside. +</p> +<p>“I know well, my dear, what you are thinking,” she said. +“You believe that I am terribly hard on your sister.” +</p> +<p>Verena’s eyes sought the ground. +</p> +<p>“Yes, I quite know what you think,” repeated Miss Tredgold. +“But, Verena, you are wrong. At least, if I am hard, +it is for her good.” +</p> +<p>“But can it do any one good to be downright cruel to +her?” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“I am not cruel, but I have given her a more severe punishment +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +than she has ever received before in her life. We +all, the best of us, need discipline. The first time we experience +it when it comes from the hand of God we murmur +and struggle and rebel. But there comes a time when we +neither murmur nor struggle nor rebel. When that time +arrives the discipline has done its perfect work, and God +removes it. My dear Verena, I am a woman old enough to +be your mother. You must trust me, and believe that I am +treating Pauline in the manner I am to-day out of the experience +of life that God has given me. We are so made, +my dear, that we none of us are any good until our wills are +broken to the will of our Divine Master.” +</p> +<p>“But this is not God’s will, is it?” said Verena. “It is +your will.” +</p> +<p>“Consider for a moment, my child. It is, I believe, both +God’s will and mine. Don’t you want Pauline to be a cultivated +woman? Don’t you want her character to be balanced? +Don’t you want her to be educated? There is a +great deal that is good in her. She has plenty of natural +talent. Her character, too, is strong and sturdy. But at +present she is like a flower run to weed. In such a case +what would the gardener do?” +</p> +<p>“I suppose he would prune the flower.” +</p> +<p>“If it was a hopeless weed he would cast it out of his +garden; but if it really was a flower that had degenerated +into a weed, he would take it up and put it to some pain, +and plant it again in fresh soil. The poor little plant might +say it was badly treated when it was taken from its surroundings +and its old life. This is very much the case with +Pauline. Now, I do not wish her to associate with Nancy +King. I do not wish her to be idle or inattentive. I want +her to be energetic, full of purpose, resolved to do her best, +and to take advantage of those opportunities which have +come to you all, my dear, when I, your mother’s sister, +took up my abode at The Dales. Sometime, dear, it is quite +possible that, owing to what will be begun in Pauline’s +character to-day, people will stop and admire the lovely +flower. They will know that the gardener who put it to +some pain and trouble was wise and right. Now, my dear +girl, you will remember my little lecture. Pauline needs +discipline. For that matter, you all need discipline. At +first such treatment is hard, but in the end it is salutary.” +</p> +<p>“Thank you, Aunt Sophy,” said Verena. “But perhaps,” +she added, “you will try and remember, too, that kindness +goes a long way. Pauline is perhaps the most affectionate +of us all. In some ways she has the deepest feelings. But +she can be awfully sulky, and only kindness can move her.” +</p> +<p>“I quite understand, my dear; and when the time comes +kindness will not be wanting. Now go away and amuse +yourself with your sisters.” +</p> +<p>Verena went away. She wondered as she did so where +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +Pauline was hiding herself. The others had all settled down +to their various amusements and occupations. They were +sorry for Pauline, but the pleasant time they were enjoying +in the middle of this lovely summer’s day was not to be +despised, even if their sister was under punishment. But +Verena herself could not rest. She went into the schoolroom. +On a tray stood poor Pauline’s neglected dinner. +Verena lifted the cover from the plate, and felt as though +she must cry. +</p> +<p>“Pauline is taking it hardly,” thought the elder girl. +</p> +<p>Tea-time came, and Pauline’s tea was also sent to the +schoolroom. At preparation hour, when the rest of the +girls went into the room, Pauline’s tea remained just where +it had been placed an hour before. Verena could scarcely +bear herself. There must be something terribly wrong with +her sister. They had often been hungry in the old days, but +in the case of a hearty, healthy girl, to do without any food +from breakfast-time when there was plenty to eat was +something to regard with uneasiness. +</p> +<p>Presently, however, to her relief, Pauline came in. She +looked rough and untidy in appearance. She slipped into +the nearest chair in a sulky, ungainly fashion, and taking +up a battered spelling-book, she held it upside down. +</p> +<p>Verena gave her a quick glance and looked away. Pauline +would not meet Verena’s anxious gaze. She kept on +looking down. Occasionally her lips moved. There was a +red stain on her cheek. Penelope with one of her sharpest +glances perceived this. +</p> +<p>“It is caused by fruit,” thought the youngest of the +schoolroom children. “I wonder who has given Pauline +fruit. Did she climb the garden wall or get over the gate +into the orchard?” +</p> +<p>Nobody else noticed this stain. Miss Tredgold came in +presently, but she took no more notice of Pauline than if +that young lady did not exist. +</p> +<p>The hour of preparation was over. It was now six o’clock. +In an hour Pauline was expected to go to bed. Now, Pauline +and Verena had bedrooms to themselves. These were +attic rooms at the top of the house. They had sloping roofs, +and would have been much too hot in summer but for the +presence of a big beech tree, which grew to within a few +feet of the windows. More than once the girls in their +emancipated days, as they now considered them, used to +climb down the beech tree from their attic windows, and +on a few occasions had even managed to climb up the same +way. They loved their rooms, having slept in them during +the greater part of their lives. +</p> +<p>Pauline, as she now went in the direction of the north +walk, thought with a sense of satisfaction of the bedroom +she had to herself. +</p> +<p>“It will make things easier,” she thought. “They will all +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +be on the lawn doing their needlework, and Aunt Sophia +will be reading to them. I will go past them quite quietly +to my room, and then——” +</p> +<p>These thoughts made Pauline comparatively happy. Once +or twice she smiled, and a vindictive, ugly expression visited +her small face. +</p> +<p>“She little knows,” thought the girl. “Oh, she little +knows! She thinks that she is so clever—so terribly +clever; but, after all, she has not the least idea of the right +way to treat me. No, she has not the least idea. And perhaps +by-and-by she will be sorry for what she has done.” +</p> +<p>Seven o’clock was heard to strike in the house. Pauline, +retracing her steps, went slowly past her sisters and Miss +Tredgold. Miss Tredgold slightly raised her voice as the +culprit appeared. She read aloud with more determination +than ever. Penelope flung down the duster she was hemming +and watched Pauline. +</p> +<p>“I a’most wish I wor her,” thought the ex-nursery child. +“Anything is better than this horrid sewing. How it pricks +my fingers! That reminds me; I wonder where Aunt +Sophy’s thimble has got to. I did look hard for it. I wish +I could find it. I do want that penny so much! It was a +beauty thimble, too, and she loves it. I don’t want to give +it back to her ’cos she loves it, but I should like my penny.” +</p> +<p>Pauline had now nearly disappeared from view. +</p> +<p>“Paulie is up to a lark,” thought Penelope, who was +the sharpest of all the children, and read motives as +though she was reading an open book. “She doesn’t walk +as though she was tur’ble unhappy. I wonder what she’s +up to. And that red stain on her cheek was fruit; course +it was fruit. How did she get it? I wish I knew. I’ll try +and find out.” +</p> +<p>Pauline had now reached her bedroom. There she hastily +put on her best clothes. They were very simple, but, under +Miss Tredgold’s regime, fairly nice. She was soon attired +in a neat white frock; and an old yellow sash of doubtful +cleanliness and a bunch of frowsy red poppies were folded +in a piece of tissue paper. Pauline then slipped on her +sailor hat. She had a great love for the old sash; and as to +the poppies, she thought them far more beautiful than any +real flowers that ever grew. She meant to tie the yellow +sash round her waist when she reached the shrubbery, and +to pin the poppies into her hat. The fact that Miss Tredgold +had forbidden her to wear this sash, and had herself +removed the poppies from her Sunday hat, gave her now a +sense of satisfaction. +</p> +<p>“Young ladies don’t wear things of that sort,” Miss Tredgold +had said. +</p> +<p>“A young lady shall wear things of this sort to-night,” +thought Pauline. +</p> +<p>Having finished her toilet, she locked her door from the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +outside and put the key into her pocket; but before she +left the room she drew down the dark-green blind. She +then slipped downstairs and went out through the back way. +She had to go through the yard, but no one saw her except +Betty, who, as she afterwards remarked, did observe the +flutter of a white dress with the tail of her eye. But Betty +at that moment was immersed in a fresh installment of the +wonderful adventures of the Duke of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton +and his bride, and what did it matter to her if the +young ladies chose to run out in their best frocks? +</p> +<p>Pauline reached the shrubbery without further adventure. +There she put on her extra finery. Her yellow sash +was tied in a large bow, and her poppies nodded over her +forehead. +</p> +<p>It was a very excited dark-eyed girl who presently met +Nancy King on the other side of the wicket-gate. +</p> +<p>“Here I am,” said Pauline. “I expect I shall never have +any luck again all my life; but I want to spite her at any +cost, so here I am.” +</p> +<p>“Delicious!” said Nancy. “Isn’t it good to spite the old +cat? Now then, let’s be off, or we may be caught. But I +say, how fine we are!” +</p> +<p>“You always admired this bunch of poppies, didn’t you, +Nancy? Do you remember? Before you went to that grand +school at Brighton you used to envy me my poppies. I +found them among mother’s old things, and Verena gave +them to me. I love them like anything. Don’t you like +them very much, placed so in front of my hat?” +</p> +<p>“Didn’t I say, ‘How fine we are’?” +</p> +<p>“Yes; but somehow your tone——” +</p> +<p>“My dear Paulie, you are getting much too learned for +my taste. Now come along. Take my hand. Let us run. +Let me tell you, you look charming. The girls will admire +you wonderfully. Amy and Becky are keen to make your +acquaintance. You can call them by their Christian names; +they’re not at all stiff. Surname, Perkins. Nice girls—brought +up at my school—father in the pork line; jolly +girls—very. And, of course, you met Jack and Tom last +year. They’re out fishing at present. They’ll bring in +beautiful trout for supper. Why, you poor little thing, you +must be starved.” +</p> +<p>“Ravenous. You know I had only your fruit to-day.” +</p> +<p>“You shall have a downright jolly meal, and afterwards +we’ll have fireworks; and then by-and-by you will share +my bed. Amy and Becky will be in the same room. They +think there’s a ghost at the other side of the passage, so +they came along to my chamber. But you won’t mind.” +</p> +<p>“I won’t mind anything after my lonely day. You are +quite sure that I’ll get back in time in the morning, Nancy?” +</p> +<p>“Trust me for that. Haven’t you got the key of your +room?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></p> +<p>“Yes; it’s in my pocket. I left the window on the latch, +and I can climb up the beech tree quite well. Oh! that reminds +me, Nancy; you must let me have that thimble before +I return to The Dales.” +</p> +<p>“To be sure I will, dear. But you needn’t think of returning +yet, for you have not even arrived. Your fun is +only beginning. Oh! you have done a splendid, spirited +thing running off in this fashion. I only hope she’ll go to +your room and tap and tap, and knock and knock, and shout +and shout, and get, oh, so frightened! and have the door +burst open; and then she’ll see for herself that the bird has +flown. Won’t she be in a tantrum and a fright! Horrid old +thing! She’ll think that you have run off forever. Serve +her right. Oh! I almost wish she would do it—that I do.” +</p> +<p>“But I don’t,” said Pauline. “If she did such a thing it +would almost kill me. It’s all very well for you to talk in +that fashion; you haven’t got to live with her; but I have, +and I couldn’t stand her anger and her contempt. I’d be put +into Punishment Land for a year. And as one day has very +nearly killed me, what would a year of it do? If there +is any fear of what you wish for, I’d best go back at once.” +</p> +<p>“What! and lose the trout, and the game pie, and the +steak and onions, and the fried potatoes, and the apple +turnovers, and the plum puffs, to say nothing of the most +delicious lollypops you have ever tasted in your life? And +afterwards fireworks; for Jack and Tom have bought a lot +of Catherine-wheels and rockets to let off in your honor. +And then a cosy, warm hug in my bed, with Amy and +Becky telling ghost stories in the bed opposite. You don’t +mean to tell me you’d rather have your lonely room and +starvation than a program of that sort?” +</p> +<p>“No, no. Of course I’ll go on with you. I’ve done it +now, so I’ll stick to it. Oh, I’m madly hungry! I hope +you’ll have supper the moment we get in.” +</p> +<p>“Supper will be delayed as short a time as possible. It +rather depends upon the boys and when they bring the trout +home. But here is a queen cake. I stuffed it into my +pocket for you. Eat it as we go along.” +</p> +<p>So Pauline ate it and felt better. Her courage returned. +She no longer thought of going back. Had she done so, she +knew well that she would not sleep. People never slept well +if they were hungry. +</p> +<p>“No,” she said to herself; “I will go on with it now. +I’ll just trust to my good luck, and I’ll enjoy the time with +Nancy. For, after all, she’s twice as kind as Aunt Sophia. +Why should I make myself miserable on account of a woman +who is not my mother?” +</p> +<p>The Hollies was a very snug, old-fashioned sort of farm. +It had been in the King family for generations, and Mr. +Josiah King was a very fine specimen of the British farmer. +He was a big man with a red face, bushy whiskers, grizzled +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +hair, and a loud laugh. The expression of his broad, square +face was somewhat fierce, and the servants at the farm +were afraid to anger him. He was a just enough master, +however, and was always served well by his people. To +only one person was he completely mild and gentle, and +that person, it is needless to say, was his daughter Nancy. +Nancy was his only child. Her mother was dead, and from +her earliest days she had been able to twist her father +round her little finger. He sent her to a smart boarding +school, and no money was spared in order to give her pleasure. +It was the dream of Farmer King, and Nancy’s dearest +ambition also, that she should be turned into a lady. But, +alas and alack! Miss Nancy could not overcome the stout +yeoman blood in her veins. She was no aristocrat, and +nothing could make her one. She was just a hearty, healthy +happy-minded English girl; vulgar in voice and loud in +speech, but fairly well-intentioned at heart. She was the +sort of farmer’s daughter who would marry a farmer, and +look after the dairy, and rear stalwart sons and hearty +girls in her turn. Nature never intended her for a fine lady; +but silly Nancy had learnt a great deal more at school than +how to talk a little French very badly and how to recite +a poem with false action and sentiment. She had learnt to +esteem the world for the world’s own sake, and had become +a little ashamed of the farmer and the farmer’s ways; +and, finally, when she returned from school she insisted on +the best parlor being turned into a sort of drawing-room, +on her friends being regaled with late dinners, and on herself +being provided with servants, so that she need not touch +household work. She was playing, therefore, the game +of being a lady, and was failing as she played it. She knew +that she was failing, and this knowledge made her feel very +cross. She tried hard to stifle it, and clung more than ever +to her acquaintanceship with the Dale girls. +</p> +<p>In her heart of hearts Nancy knew that she would very +much like to milk the cows, and superintend the dairy, and +churn the butter. In her heart of hearts she would have +adored getting up early in the morning and searching for +the warm, pink eggs, and riding barebacked over the farm +with her father, consulting him on the tilling of the land +and the best way to make the old place profitable; for one +day it would be her own, and she would be, for her class in +life, a rich girl. Just at present, however, she was passing +through a phase, and not a very pleasant one. She thought +herself quite good enough to go into any society; and fine +dress, loud-voiced friends, and the hollow, empty nothings +which she and her acquaintances called conversation seemed +the best things possible that could come into life. She was, +therefore, not at all in the mood to give up her friendship +with the Dale girls. +</p> +<p>Now, there never was a girl less likely to please Miss +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +Tredgold than this vulgarly dressed, loud-voiced, and unlady-like +girl. Nancy was desired to abstain from visiting +at The Dales, and the Dale girls were told that they were +not to talk to Nancy. Nancy’s rapture, therefore, when she +was able to bring Pauline to The Hollies could scarcely be +suppressed. +</p> +<p>Amy and Becky Perkins were standing in the old porch +when the two girls appeared. Nancy called out to her +friends, and they ran to meet her. +</p> +<p>“This is Paulie,” said Nancy; “in other words, Pauline +Dale—Pauline Dale, the aristocrat. We ought to be proud +to know her, girls. Pauline, let me introduce my special +friend, Becky Perkins. She’s in pork, but that don’t matter. +And my other special friend, Amy Perkins; also in +pork, but at your service. Girls, you didn’t happen to notice +if supper was being put on the table, did you?” +</p> +<p>“I should think we did,” said Becky. “I smelt fish. The +boys brought in a lot of trout. I’m as hungry as hungry can +be.” +</p> +<p>“Let’s run upstairs first,” said Nancy, turning to Pauline. +“You’d like to take off your hat and wash your hands, +wouldn’t you, my fine friend of aristocratic circles?” +</p> +<p>“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Nancy,” said Pauline, +flushing angrily, while the two Perkins girls looked at her +with admiration. +</p> +<p>“Well, then, I won’t,” said Nancy; “but I’m always one +for my joke. I meant no harm. And you know you are +aristocratic, Paulie, and nothing will ever take it out of you. +And I’m terribly afraid that nothing will take the other +thing out of me. I only talk to you like this because I’m so +jealous. So now come along and let’s be friends.” +</p> +<p>The two girls scampered up the old oak stairs. They ran +down an uneven passage, and reached a door of black oak, +which was opened with an old-fashioned latch. At the +other side of the door they found themselves in a long +and very low room, with a black oak floor and black oak +walls. The floor of the room was extremely uneven, being +up in one part and down in another, and the whole appearance +of the room, although fascinating, was decidedly +patchy. In an alcove at one end stood a four-post bedstead, +with a gaudily colored quilt flung over it; and in the alcove +at the other end was another four-post bedstead, also +boasting of a colored quilt. There were two washstands in +the room, and one dressing-table. The whole place was +scrupulously neat and exquisitely clean, for the white dimity +curtains rivalled the snow in winter, and the deal washstands +and the deal dressing-table were as white as the +scrubbing of honest hands could make them. The whole +room smelt of a curious mixture of turpentine, soap, and +fresh flowers. +</p> +<p>“I had the lavender sheets put on the bed for you and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +me,” said Nancy. “They are of the finest linen. My mother +spun them herself, and she put them in lavender years and +years ago. I am heartily glad to welcome you, little Paulie. +This is the very first time you have ever slept under our +humble roof. So kiss me, dear.” +</p> +<p>“How snug and sweet it all is!” said Pauline. “I am +glad that I came.” +</p> +<p>“This is better than lying down hungry in your own little +room,” said Nancy. +</p> +<p>“Oh, much better!” +</p> +<p>Pauline skipped about. Her high spirits had returned; +she was charmed with the room in which she was to repose. +Through the lattice window the sweetest summer air was +entering, and roses peeped all round the frame, and their +sweet scent added to the charm of the old-fashioned +chamber. +</p> +<p>“I hope you won’t mind having supper in the kitchen,” +said Nancy. “I know it’s what a Dale is not expected to +submit to; but, nevertheless, in Rome we do as the Romans +do—don’t we?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes; but I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Nancy. +As if I cared. Whether I am a lady or not, I am never too +fine for my company; and it was when Aunt Sophia wanted +us to give you up that I really got mad with her.” +</p> +<p>“You are a darling and a duck, and I love you like anything,” +said Nancy. “Now come downstairs. We are all +hungry, and the boys are mad to be at the fireworks.” +</p> +<p>“I have never seen fireworks in my life,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“You poor little innocent! What a lot the world has to +show you! Now then, come along.” +</p> +<p>Pauline, deprived of her hideous hat, looked pretty and +refined in her white dress. She made a contrast to the +showy Nancy and the Perkins girls. The boys, Jack and +Tom Watson, looked at her with admiration, and Jack put +a seat for Pauline between himself and his brother. +</p> +<p>The farmer nodded to her, and said in his bluff voice: +</p> +<p>“Glad to welcome you under my humble roof, Miss Pauline +Dale. ’Eartily welcome you be. Now then, young folks, +fall to.” +</p> +<p>The meal proceeded to the accompaniment of loud jokes, +gay laughter, and hearty talking. The farmer’s voice topped +the others. Each remark called forth fresh shouts of +laughter; and when a number of dogs rushed in in the middle +of supper, the din almost rose to an uproar. +</p> +<p>Pauline enjoyed it all very much. She laughed with the +others; her cheeks grew rosy. Nancy piled her plate with +every available dainty. Soon her hunger left her, and she +believed that she was intensely happy. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<h3>THE BURNT ARM.</h3> +</div> + +<p>After supper the excitement waxed fast and furious. +The boys, aided by the farmer and one of his men, proceeded +to send off the fireworks. This was done on a little +plateau of smoothly cut lawn just in front of the best sitting-room +windows. The girls pressed their faces against +the glass, and for a time were satisfied with this way of +looking at the fun. But soon Nancy could bear it no +longer. +</p> +<p>“It is stupid to be mewed up in the close air,” she said. +“Let’s go out.” +</p> +<p>No sooner had she given utterance to the words than all +four girls were helping the boys to let off the squibs, Catherine-wheels, +rockets, and other fireworks. Pauline now +became nearly mad with delight. Her shouts were the loudest +of any. When the rockets went high into the air and +burst into a thousand stars, she did not believe that the +world itself could contain a more lovely sight. But presently +her happiness came to a rude conclusion, for a bit +of burning squib struck her arm, causing her fine muslin +dress to catch fire, and the little girl’s arm was somewhat +severely hurt. She put out the fire at once, and determined +to hide the fact that she was rather badly burnt. +</p> +<p>By-and-by they all returned to the house. Nancy sat +down to the piano and began to sing some of her most rollicking +songs. Then she played dance music, and the boys +and girls danced with all their might. Pauline, however, +had never learned to dance. She stood silent, watching the +others. Her high spirits had gone down to zero. She now +began to wish that she had never come. She wondered if +she could possibly get home again without being discovered. +At last Nancy noticed her grave looks. +</p> +<p>“You are tired, Paulie,” she said; “and for that matter, +so are we. I say, it’s full time for bed. Good-night, boys. +Put out the lamps when you are tired of amusing yourselves. +Dad has shut up the house already. Come, Paulie; +come, Amy; come, Becky.” +</p> +<p>The four girls ran upstairs, but as they were going down +the passage which led to their pretty bedroom, Pauline’s +pain was so great that she stumbled against Becky and +nearly fell. +</p> +<p>“What is it?” said Becky. “Are you faint?” +</p> +<p>She put her arm around the little girl and helped her into +the bedroom. +</p> +<p>“Whatever can be wrong?” she said. “You seemed so +lively out in the open air.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></p> +<p>“Oh, you do look bad, Paulie!” said Nancy. “It is that +terrible fasting you went through to-day. My dear girls, +what do you think? This poor little aristocrat, far and +away too good to talk to the likes of us”—here Nancy put +her arms akimbo and looked down with a mocking laugh +at the prostrate Pauline—“far too grand, girls—fact, I assure +you—was kept without her food until I gave her a +bit of bread and a sup of water at supper. All these things +are owing to an aunt—one of the tip-top of the nobility. +This aunt, though grand externally, has a mighty poor internal +arrangement, to my way of thinking. She put the +poor child into a place she calls Punishment Land, and kept +her without food.” +</p> +<p>“That isn’t true,” said Pauline. “I could have had +plenty to eat if I had liked.” +</p> +<p>“That means that if you were destitute of one little +spark of spirit you’d have crawled back to the house to take +your broken food on a cold plate like a dog. But what is +the matter now? Hungry again?” +</p> +<p>“No; it is my arm. Please don’t touch it.” +</p> +<p>“Do look!” cried Amy Perkins. “Oh, Nancy, she has got +an awful burn! There’s quite a hole through the sleeve of +her dress. Oh, do see this great blister!” +</p> +<p>“It was a bit of one of the squibs,” said Pauline. “It lit +right on my arm and burned my muslin sleeve; but I don’t +suppose it’s much hurt, only I feel a little faint.” +</p> +<p>“Dear, dear!” said Nancy. “What is to be done now? I +don’t know a thing about burns, or about any sort of illness. +Shall we wake cook up? Perhaps she can tell us +something.” +</p> +<p>“Let’s put on a bandage,” said one of the other girls. +“Then when you lie down in bed, Pauline, you will drop +asleep and be all right in the morning.” +</p> +<p>Pauline was so utterly weary that she was glad to creep +into bed. Her arm was bandaged very unskilfully; nevertheless +it felt slightly more comfortable. Presently she +dropped into an uneasy doze; but from that doze she awoke +soon after midnight, to hear Nancy snoring loudly by her +side, to hear corresponding snores in a sort of chorus coming +from the other end of the long room, and to observe +also that there was not a chink of light anywhere; and, +finally, to be all too terribly conscious of a great burning pain +in her arm. That pain seemed to awaken poor Pauline’s +slumbering conscience. +</p> +<p>“Why did I come?” she said to herself. “I am a +wretched, most miserable girl. And how am I ever to get +back? I cannot climb into the beech-tree with this bad +arm. Oh, how it does hurt me! I feel so sick and faint I +scarcely care what happens.” +</p> +<p>Pauline stretched out her uninjured arm and touched +Nancy. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></p> +<p>“What is it?” said Nancy. “Oh, dear! I’d forgotten. +It’s you, Paulie. How is your arm, my little dear? Any +better?” +</p> +<p>“It hurts me very badly indeed; but never mind about +that now. How am I to get home?” +</p> +<p>“I’ll manage that. Betty, our dairymaid, is to throw +gravel up at the window at four o’clock. You shall have a +cup of tea before you start, and I will walk with you as far +as the wicket-gate.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you! But how am I to get into my room +when I do arrive at The Dales? I don’t believe I shall be +able to use this arm at all.” +</p> +<p>“Of course you will,” said Nancy. “You will be miles +better when cook has looked to it. I know she’s grand about +burns, and has a famous ointment she uses for the purpose. +Only, for goodness’ sake, Paulie, don’t let that burn in the +sleeve of your dress be seen; that would lead to consequences, +and I don’t want my midnight picnic to be spoilt.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t seem to care about that or anything else any +more.” +</p> +<p>“What nonsense! You don’t suppose I should like this +little escapade of yours and mine to be known. You must +take care. Why, you know, there’s father. He’s very crotchety +over some things. He likes all of you, but over and +over again he has said: +</p> +<p>“‘I’m as proud of being an honest farmer as I should be +to be a lord. My grandfather paid his way, and my father +paid his way, and I am paying my way. There’s no nonsense +about me, and I shall leave you, Nancy, a tidy fortune. +You like those young ladies at The Dales, and you shall +have them come here if they wish to come, but not otherwise. +I won’t have them here thinking themselves too +grand to talk to us. Let them keep to their own station, say +I. I don’t want them.’ +</p> +<p>“Now you see, Paulie, what that means. If father found +out that your aunt had written to me and desired me to +have nothing further to do with you, I believe he’d pack me +out of the country to-morrow. I don’t want to leave my +home; why should I? So, you see, for my sake you must +keep it the closest of close secrets.” +</p> +<p>“You should have thought of that before you tempted me +to come,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“That is just like you. You come here and enjoy yourself, +and have a great hearty meal, and when you are likely +to get into a scrape you throw the blame on me.” +</p> +<p>“You can understand that I am very miserable, Nancy.” +</p> +<p>“Yes; and I’m as sorry as I can be about that burn; but +if you’ll be brave and plucky now, I’ll help you all I can. +We’ll get up as soon as ever the day dawns, and cook shall +put your arm straight.” +</p> +<p>As Nancy uttered the last words her voice dwindled to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +a whisper, and a minute later she was again sound asleep. +But Pauline could not sleep. Her pain was too great. The +summer light stole in by degrees, and by-and-by the sharp +noise made by a shower of gravel was heard on the window. +</p> +<p>Pauline sprang into a sitting posture, and Nancy rubbed +her eyes. +</p> +<p>“I’m dead with sleep,” she said. “I could almost wish I +hadn’t brought you. Not but that I’m fond of you, as I +think I’ve proved. We haven’t yet made all our arrangements +about the midnight picnic, but I have the most daring +scheme in my head. You are every single one of you—bar +Penelope, whom I can’t bear—to come to that picnic. I’ll +make my final plans to-day, and I’ll walk in the Forest to-morrow +at six o’clock, just outside your wicket-gate. You +will meet me, won’t you?” +</p> +<p>“But—— Oh! by the way, Nancy, please give me back +that beautiful thimble. I’m so glad I remembered it! It +belongs to Aunt Sophia.” +</p> +<p>“I can’t,” said Nancy, coloring, “I lent it to Becky, and I +don’t know where she has put it. I’ll bring it with me to-morrow, +so don’t fuss. Now jump up, Paulie; we have no +time to lose.” +</p> +<p>Accordingly Pauline got up, dressed herself—very awkwardly, +it is true—and went downstairs, leaning on Nancy’s +sympathetic arm. Nancy consulted the cook, who was good-natured +and red-faced. +</p> +<p>“You have got a bad burn, miss,” she said when she had +examined Pauline’s arm; “but I have got a famous plaster +that heals up burns like anything. I’ll make your arm quite +comfortable in a twinkling, miss.” +</p> +<p>This she proceeded to do, and before the treatment had +been applied for half an hour a good deal of Pauline’s acute +pain had vanished. +</p> +<p>“I feel better,” she said, turning to Nancy. “I feel +stronger and braver.” +</p> +<p>“You will feel still braver when you have had your cup +of tea. And here’s a nice hunch of cake. Put it into your +pocket if you can’t eat it now. We had best be going; the +farm people may be about, and there’s no saying—it’s wonderful +how secrets get into the air.” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked startled. She again took Nancy’s hand, +and they left the house together. +</p> +<p>Now, it so happened that the the morning was by no +means as fine as those lovely mornings that had preceded it. +There was quite a cold wind blowing, and the sky was laden +with clouds. +</p> +<p>“We’ll have rain to-day,” said Nancy; “rain, and perhaps +thunder. I feel thunder in the air, and I never was +mistaken yet. We must be quick, or we’ll both be drenched +to the skin.” +</p> +<p>Accordingly the two walked quickly through the Forest +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +path. But before they reached the wicket-gate the first +mutterings of thunder were audible, and heavy drops of +rain were falling. +</p> +<p>“I must leave you now, Paulie,” said Nancy, “for if I go +any farther I’ll be drenched to the skin. Climb up your +tree, get into your bedroom, and go to bed. If you can +manage to send that white dress over to me, I will put on a +patch that even your aunt will not see. Put on another +dress, of course, this morning, and say nothing about the +burn. Good-bye, and good luck! I’ll be over about six +o’clock to-morrow evening to talk over our midnight picnic.” +</p> +<p>“And the thimble,” said Pauline. “You won’t forget the +thimble.” +</p> +<p>“Not I. Good gracious, what a flash! You had best get +home at once; and I must run for my life or I may be struck +down under all these trees.” +</p> +<p>Pauline stood still for a minute, watching Nancy as she +disappeared from view; then slowly and sadly she went up +to the house. +</p> +<p>She was too tired and depressed to mind very much that +the rain was falling in showers, soaking her thin white +muslin dress, and chilling her already tired and exhausted +little frame. The rattle of the thunder, the bright flash of +the lightning, and the heavy fall of the tempest could not +reach the graver trouble which filled her heart. The way +of transgressors had proved itself very hard for poor Pauline. +She disliked the discomfort and misery she was enduring; +but even now she was scarcely sorry that she had +defied and disobeyed Aunt Sophia. +</p> +<p>After a great deal of difficulty, and with some injury to +her already injured arm, she managed to climb the beech-tree +and so reach the gabled roof just under her attic window. +She pushed the window wide open and got inside. +How dear and sweet and fresh the little chamber appeared! +How innocent and good was that little white bed, with its +sheets still smoothly folded down! It took Pauline scarcely +a minute to get into her night-dress, sweep her offending +white dress into a neighboring cupboard, unlock the door, +and put her head on her pillow. Oh, there was no place +like home! It was better to be hungry at home, it was +better to be in punishment at home, than to go away to +however grand a place and however luxuriant a feast. +</p> +<p>“And Nancy’s home isn’t grand,” thought Pauline. “And +the food was rough. Aunt Sophia would even call it coarse. +But, oh, I was hungry! And if I hadn’t been so naughty I’d +have been very happy. All the same,” she continued, thinking +aloud, as was her fashion. “I won’t go to that midnight +picnic; and Renny must not go either. Of course, I can’t +tell Aunt Sophia what I did last night. I promised Nancy +I wouldn’t tell, and it wouldn’t be fair; but see if I do anything +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +wrong again! I’ll work like a Briton at my lessons +to-day. Oh, how badly my arm hurts! And what an awful +noise the storm is making! The thunder rattles as though +it would come through the roof. My arm does ache! Oh, +what lightning! I think I’ll put my head under the sheet.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did so, and notwithstanding the tempest, she had +scarcely got down into the real warmth of her bed before +sleep visited her. +</p> +<p>When she awoke the storm was over, the sun was shining, +and Verena was standing at the foot of her bed. +</p> +<p>“Do get up, Paulie,” she said. “How soundly you have +slept! And your face is so flushed! And, oh, aren’t you +just starving? We only discovered last night that you +hadn’t touched any of your food.” +</p> +<p>“I’m all right,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“You will try to be good to-day, won’t you, Paulie? You +don’t know how miserable I was without you, for you are +my own special most darling chum. You will try, won’t +you?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, I will try, of course,” said Pauline. “Truly—truly, +I will try.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<h3>CHANGED LIVES.</h3> +</div> + +<p>After the mental storm of the day before, Pauline would +never forget the peace of the day that followed. For Miss +Tredgold, having punished, and the hours of punishment +being over, said nothing further to signify her displeasure. +She received Pauline kindly when she appeared in the +schoolroom. She took her hand and drew the little girl +toward her. It was with a great effort that the poor girl +could suppress the shriek that nearly rose to her lips as the +unconscious Miss Tredgold touched her burnt arm. +</p> +<p>“We will forget about yesterday, Pauline,” said her aunt. +“We will go back to work this morning just as though there +never had been any yesterday. Do you understand?” +</p> +<p>“I think so,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Do you happen to know your lessons?” +</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t.” +</p> +<p>“Well, my dear, as this is practically your first transgression, +I am the last person to be over-hard. You can +listen to your sisters this morning. At preparation to-day +you will doubtless do your best. Now go to your seat.” +</p> +<p>Pauline sat between Briar and Adelaide. Adelaide nestled +up close to her, and Briar took the first opportunity to +whisper: +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>“I am so glad you are back again, dear old Pauline! We +had a horrid time without you yesterday.” +</p> +<p>“They none of them know what I did,” thought Pauline; +“and, of course, I meant to tell them. Not Aunt Sophia, but +the girls. Yes, I meant to confide in the girls; but the atmosphere +of peace is so nice that I do not care to disturb +it. I will put off saying anything for the present. It certainly +is delightful to feel good again.” +</p> +<p>Lessons went on tranquilly. The girls had a time of delightful +rest afterwards in the garden, and immediately +after early dinner there came a surprise. Miss Tredgold said: +</p> +<p>“My dear girls, there are several things you ought to +learn besides mere book knowledge. I propose that you +should be young country ladies whom no one will be +ashamed to know. You must learn to dance properly, and +to skate properly if there ever is any skating here. If not, +we will go abroad for the purpose. But while you are in +the Forest I intend you to have riding lessons and also driving +lessons. A wagonette will be here at two o’clock, and +we will all go for a long and delightful drive through the +Forest. I am going to some stables about six or seven miles +away, where I hear I can purchase some good horses and +also some Forest ponies. Don’t look so excited, dears. I +should be ashamed of any nieces of mine brought up in the +New Forest of England who did not know how to manage +horses.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, she really is a darling!” said Verena. “I never did +for a single moment suppose that we should have had the +chance of learning to drive.” +</p> +<p>“And to ride,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>She began to skip about the lawn. Her spirits, naturally +very high, returned. +</p> +<p>“I feel quite happy again,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Why, of course you are happy,” said Verena; “but you +must never get into Punishment Land again as long as you +live, Paulie, for I wouldn’t go through another day like yesterday +for anything.” +</p> +<p>The wagonette arrived all in good time. It drew up at +the front door, and Mr. Dale, attracted by the sound of +wheels, rose from his accustomed seat in his musty, fusty +study, and looked out of the window. The window was so +dusty and dirty that he could not see anything plainly; but, +true to his determination, he would not open it. A breeze +might come in and disturb some of his papers. He was +busy with an enthralling portion of his work just then; +nevertheless, the smart wagonette and nicely harnessed +horses, and the gay sound of young voices, attracted him. +</p> +<p>“I could almost believe myself back in the days when I +courted my dearly beloved Alice,” he whispered to himself. +“I do sincerely trust that visitors are not beginning to arrive +at The Dales; that would be the final straw.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></p> +<p>The carriage, however, did not stop long at the front door. +It was presently seen bowling away down the avenue. Mr. +Dale, who still stood and watched it, observed that it was +quite packed with bright-looking young girls. Blue ribbons +streamed on the breeze, and the girls laughed gaily. +</p> +<p>“I am glad those visitors are going,” thought the good +man, who did not in the least recognize his own family. “A +noisy, vulgar crowd they seemed. I hope my own girls will +never become like that. Thank goodness they did not stay +long! Sophia is a person of discernment; she knows that I +can’t possibly receive incidental visitors at The Dales.” +</p> +<p>He returned to his work and soon was lost to all external +things. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the girls had a lovely and exciting drive. +Aunt Sophia was in her most agreeable mood. The children +themselves were quite unaccustomed to carriage exercise. +It was a wonderful luxury to lean back on the softly cushioned +seats and dash swiftly under the noble beech-trees +and the giant oaks of the primeval forest. By-and-by they +drove up to some white gates. Verena was desired to get +out and open them. The carriage passed through. She remounted +into her seat, and a few minutes later they all +found themselves in a great cobble-stoned yard surrounded +by stables and coach-houses. The melodious cry of a pack +of fox-hounds filled the air. The girls were almost beside +themselves with excitement. Presently a red-faced man +appeared, and he and Miss Tredgold had a long and mysterious +talk together. She got out of the wagonette and +went with the man into the stables. Soon out of the stables +there issued, led by two grooms, as perfect a pair of Forest +ponies as were ever seen. They were well groomed and in +excellent order, and when they arched their necks and pawed +the ground with their feet, Pauline uttered an irrepressible +shout. +</p> +<p>“Those ponies are coming to The Dale in a fortnight,” +said Miss Tredgold. “Their names are Peas-blossom and +Lavender.” +</p> +<p>“I believe I’ll die if much more of this goes on,” gasped +Briar. “I’m too happy. I can’t stand anything further.” +</p> +<p>“Hush, Briar!” said Verena, almost giving her sister a +shake in her excitement, and yet at the same time trying to +appear calm. +</p> +<p>“Now, my dear children, we will go home,” said their +aunt. “The wagonette will come any day that I send for it, +and Mr. Judson informs me he hopes by-and-by to have a +pair of carriage horses that I may think it worth while to +purchase.” +</p> +<p>“Aren’t these good enough?” asked Verena, as they drove +back to The Dales. +</p> +<p>“They are very fair horses, but I don’t care to buy them. +Judson knows just the sort I want. I am pleased with the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +ponies, however. They will give you all a great deal of +amusement. To-morrow we must go to Southampton and +order your habits.” +</p> +<p>“I wonder I <i>ever</i> thought her cross and nasty and disagreeable,” +thought Pauline. “I wonder I ever could hate +her. I hope she’ll let me ride Peas-blossom. I liked his +bright eyes so much. I never rode anything in my life, but +I feel I could ride barebacked on Peas-blossom. I love him +already. Oh, dear! I don’t hate Aunt Sophia now. On the +contrary, I feel rather bad when I look at her. If she ever +knows what I did yesterday, will she forgive me? I suppose +I ought to tell her; but I can’t. It would get poor Nancy +into trouble. Besides—I may as well be frank with myself—I +should not have the courage.” +</p> +<p>As soon as the girls got home Penelope ran up to Pauline. +</p> +<p>“You stayed for a long time in the shrubbery yesterday, +didn’t you, Pauline?” she asked. +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“You didn’t by any chance find Aunt Sophy’s thimble?” +</p> +<p>“I! Why should I?” +</p> +<p>Pauline felt herself turning red. Penelope fixed her exceedingly +sharp eyes on her sister’s face. +</p> +<p>“You did find it; you know you did. Where is it? Give +it to me. I want my penny. Think of all the fun you are +going to have. She doesn’t mean me to ride, ’cos I asked +her. I must have my penny. Give me the thimble at +once, Paulie.” +</p> +<p>“I haven’t got it. Don’t talk nonsense, child. Let me go. +Oh! you have hurt me.” +</p> +<p>Pauline could not suppress a short scream, and the next +minute she felt herself turning very faint and sick, for +Penelope had laid her exceedingly hard little hand on Pauline’s +burnt arm. +</p> +<p>“What is it, Paulie? I know you are not well,” said +Verena, running up. +</p> +<p>“It is ’cos of her bad conscience,” said Penelope, turning +away with a snort of indignation. +</p> +<p>“Really,” said Verena, as Pauline leaned against her and +tried hard to repress the shivers of pain that ran through +her frame, “Penelope gets worse and worse. Only that I +hate telling tales out of school, I should ask Aunt Sophia to +send her back to the nursery for at least another year. But +what is it, Paulie dear? You look quite ill.” +</p> +<p>“I feel rather bad. I have hurt my arm. You must not +ask me how, Renny. You must trust me. Oh dear! I must +tell you what has happened, for you will have to help me. +Oh, Renny, I am in such pain!” +</p> +<p>Poor Pauline burst into a torrent of tears. Where was +her happiness of an hour ago? Where were her rapturous +thoughts of riding Peas-blossom through the Forest? Her +arm hurt her terribly; she knew that Penelope was quite +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +capable of making mischief, she was terrified about the +thimble. Altogether her brief interval of sunshine was +completely blotted out. +</p> +<p>Verena, for her years, was a wonderfully wise girl. She +had since her mother’s death been more or less a little +mother to the younger children. It is true, she had looked +after them in a somewhat rough-and-ready style; but nevertheless +she was a sympathetic and affectionate girl, and +they all clung to her. Now it seemed only natural that +Pauline should lean on her and confide her troubles to her. +Accordingly Verena led her sister to a rustic seat and said: +</p> +<p>“Sit down near me and tell me everything.” +</p> +<p>“It is this,” said Pauline. “I have burned my arm badly, +and Aunt Sophia must not know.” +</p> +<p>“You have burnt your arm? How?” +</p> +<p>“I would rather not tell.” +</p> +<p>“But why should you conceal it, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“I’d rather conceal it; please don’t ask me. All I want +you to do is to ask me no questions, but to help me to get +my arm well; the pain is almost past bearing. But, Renny, +whatever happens, Aunt Sophia must not know.” +</p> +<p>“You are fearfully mysterious,” said Verena, who looked +much alarmed. “You used not to be like this, Paulie. You +were always very open, and you and I shared every thought +Well, come into the house. Of course, whatever happens, +I will help you; but I think you ought to tell me the whole +truth.” +</p> +<p>“I can’t, so there! If you are to be a real, real sister to +me, you will help me without asking questions.” +</p> +<p>The girls entered the house and ran up to Pauline’s bedroom. +There the injured arm was exposed to view, and Verena +was shocked to see the extent of the burn. +</p> +<p>“You ought to see a doctor. This is very wrong,” she +said. +</p> +<p>She made Pauline lie down, and dressed her arm as well +as she could. Verena was quite a skilful little nurse in her +own way, and as Pauline had some of the wonderful ointment +which the Kings’ cook had given her, and as Verena +knew very nicely how to spread it on a piece of rag, the arm +soon became more comfortable. +</p> +<p>Just before dinner Miss Tredgold called all the girls round +her. +</p> +<p>“I have something to say,” she remarked. “I want you +all to go upstairs now; don’t wait until five minutes before +dinner. You will each find lying on your bed, ready for +wearing, a suitable dinner-blouse. Put it on and come downstairs. +You will wear dinner-dress every night in future, +in order to accustom you to the manners of good society. +Now go upstairs, tidy yourselves, and come down looking +as nice as you can.” +</p> +<p>The girls were all very much excited at the thought of +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +the dinner-blouses. They found them, as Aunt Sophia had +said, each ready to put on, on their little beds. Verena’s +was palest blue, trimmed daintily with a lot of fluffy lace. +The sleeves were elbow-sleeves, and had ruffles round them. +The blouse in itself was quite a girlish one, and suited its +fair wearer to perfection. Pauline’s blouse was cream-color; +it also had elbow-sleeves, and was very slightly open +at the neck. +</p> +<p>“Do be quick, Paulie,” called out Briar. “I have got a +sweet, darling, angel of a pink blouse. Get into yours, and +I’ll get into mine. Oh, what tremendous fun this is!” +</p> +<p>Briar ran whooping and singing down the corridor. She +was met by nurse with baby in her arms. +</p> +<p>“Now, Miss Rose, what’s up?” said the good woman. +“You do look happy, to be sure. You don’t seem to miss +the old days much.” +</p> +<p>“Of course I don’t, nursey. I’m twice as happy as I used +to be.” +</p> +<p>“Twice as happy with all them lessons to learn?” +</p> +<p>“Yes; twice as happy, and twice as good. She doesn’t +scold us when we’re good. In fact, she’s just uncommonly +nice. And to-night she says she’ll play and sing to us; and +it’s so delicious to listen to her! Dad comes out of his +study just as if she drew him by magic. And I like to learn +things. I won’t be a horrid pig of an ignorant girl any more. +You will have to respect me in the future, nursey. And +there’s a darling little blouse lying on my bed—pink, like +the leaf of a rose. I am to wear it to-night. I expect Aunt +Sophia chose it because I’m like a rose myself. I shall look +nice, shan’t I, nursey?” +</p> +<p>“That’s all very well,” said nurse. “And for my part I +don’t object to civilized ways, and bringing you up like +young ladies; but as to Miss Pen, she’s just past bearing. +New ways don’t suit her—no, that they don’t. She ain’t +come in yet—not a bit of her. Oh! there she is, marching +down the corridor as if all the world belonged to her. +What have you done to yourself, Miss Pen? A nice mess +you are in!” +</p> +<p>“I thought I’d collect some fresh eggs for your tea, nursey,” +said the incorrigible child; “and I had three or four +in my pinafore when I dropped them. I am a bit messy, +I know; but you don’t mind, do you, nursey?” +</p> +<p>“Indeed, then, I do. Just go straight to the nursery and +get washed.” +</p> +<p>Penelope glanced at Briar with a wry face, and ran +away singing out in a shrill voice: +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“Cross patch, draw the latch,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sit by the fire and spin.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>She disappeared like a flash, and nurse followed her, +murmuring angrily. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></p> +<p>Briar ran into her bedroom. This room she shared with +Patty and Adelaide. They also were wildly delighted with +their beautiful blouses, and had not begun to dress when +Briar appeared. +</p> +<p>“I say, isn’t it all jolly?” said Briar. “Oh, Patty, what +a duck yours is!—white. And Adelaide’s is white, too. But +don’t you love mine? I must be a very pretty girl to cause +Aunt Sophia to choose such a lovely shade of rose. I wonder +if I am really a pretty girl. Do stand out of the way; +I want to stare at myself in the glass.” +</p> +<p>Briar ran to the dressing-table. There she pushed the +glass into such an angle that she could gaze contentedly at +her features. She saw a small, rather round face, cheeks +a little flushed, eyes very dark and bright, quantities of +bright brown curling hair, dark pencilled eyebrows, a little +nose, and a small pink mouth. +</p> +<p>“You are a charming girl, Briar Dale,” she said, “worthy +of a rose-pink blouse. Patty, don’t you just love yourself +awfully?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Patty. “I suppose every one does.” +</p> +<p>“The Bible says it is very wrong to love yourself,” said +Adelaide. “You ought to love other people and hate yourself.” +</p> +<p>“Well, I am made the contrary,” said Briar. “I hate +other people and love myself. Who wouldn’t love a darling +little face like mine? Oh, I am just a duck! Help me into +my new blouse, Patty.” +</p> +<p>The three girls, each with the help of the other, managed +to array themselves even to Briar’s satisfaction. She +was the neatest and also the vainest of the Dales. When +she reached the outside corridor she met Verena, looking +sweet, gentle, and charming in her pale-blue blouse. They +all ran down to the drawing-room, where Miss Tredgold +was waiting to receive them. She wore the old black lace +dress, which suited her faded charms to perfection. She +was standing by the open French window, and turned as +her nieces came in. The girls expected her to make some +remark with regard to their appearance, but the only thing +she said was to ask them to observe the exquisite sunset. +</p> +<p>Presently Pauline appeared. She looked pale. There +were black shadows under her eyes, and she was wearing +a dirty white shirt decidedly the worse for wear. The other +girls looked at her in astonishment. Verena gave her a +quick glance of pain. Verena understood; the others were +simply amazed. Miss Tredgold flashed one glance at her, +and did not look again in her direction. +</p> +<p>Dinner was announced in quite the orthodox fashion, and +the young people went into the dining-room. Mr. Dale was +present. He was wearing quite a decent evening suit. +He had not the faintest idea that he was not still in the old +suit that had lain by unused and neglected for so many long +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +years. He had not the most remote conception that Miss +Tredgold had taken that suit and sent it to a tailor in London +and desired him to make by its measurements a new +suit according to the existing vogue. Mr. Dale put on the +new suit when it came, and imagined that it was the old +one. But, scholar as he was, he was learning to appreciate +the excellent meals Miss Tredgold provided for him. On +this occasion he was so human as to find fault with a certain +entrée. +</p> +<p>“This curry is not hot enough,” he said. “I like spicy +things; don’t you, Sophia?” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold thought this an enormous sign of mental +improvement. She had already spoken to cook on the subject +of Mr. Dale’s tastes. +</p> +<p>“Why, drat him!” was Betty’s somewhat indignant answer. +“In the old days he didn’t know sprats from salmon, +nor butter from lard. Whatever have you done to him, +ma’am?” +</p> +<p>“I am bringing him back to humanity,” was Miss Tredgold’s +quiet answer. +</p> +<p>Betty raised her eyebrows. She looked at Miss Tredgold +and said to herself: +</p> +<p>“So quiet in her ways, so gentle, and for all so determined! +Looks as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth; +yet you daren’t so much as neglect the smallest little sauce +for the poorest little <i>entrée</i> or you’d catch it hot. She’s a +real haristocrat. It’s a pleasure to have dealings with her. +Yes, it’s a downright pleasure. When I’m not thinking of +my favorite ’ero of fiction, the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, +I feel that I’m doing the next best thing when I’m +receiving the orders of her ladyship.” +</p> +<p>Another of cook’s ideas was that Miss Tredgold was a +person of title, who chose for the present to disguise the +fact. She certainly had a marvellous power over the erratic +Betty, and was turning her into a first-rate cook. +</p> +<p>“Are you going to give us some of that exquisite music +to-night, Sophia?” asked Mr. Dale when he had finished +his dinner. He looked languidly at his sister-in-law. +</p> +<p>“On one condition I will,” she said. “The condition is +this: you are to accompany my piano on the violin.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale’s face became pale. He did not speak for a minute; +then he rose and went nimbly on tiptoe out of the +room. +</p> +<p>There was silence for a short time. The girls and their +aunt had migrated into the drawing-room. The drawing-room +looked sweetly pretty with its open windows, its softly +shaded lamps, its piano wide open, and the graceful figures +of the girls flitting about. Even Pauline’s ugly blouse was +forgotten. There was a sense of mystery in the air. Presently +in the distance came the sound of a fiddle. It was +the sound of a fiddle being tuned. The notes were discordant; +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +but soon rich, sweeping melodies were heard. They +came nearer and nearer, and Mr. Dale, still playing his fiddle, +entered the room. He entered with a sort of dancing +measure, playing an old minuet as he did so. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold stepped straight to the piano and without +any music, played an accompaniment. +</p> +<p>“I have won,” she thought. “I shall send him away for +change of air; then the study must be cleaned. I shall be +able to breathe then.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<h3>NANCY SHOWS HER HAND.</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was not until after breakfast on the following morning +that Miss Tredgold said anything to Pauline about the ugly +shirt she had chosen to wear on the previous evening. +</p> +<p>“My dear,” she said then, very gently, “I did not remark +on your dress last night; but for the future remember that +when I say a thing is to be done, it is to be done. I had a +pretty, suitable blouse put into your room for you to appear +in last night. Why did you wear that ugly torn shirt?” +</p> +<p>“I couldn’t help myself,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“That is no reason.” +</p> +<p>Pauline was silent. She looked on the ground. Miss +Tredgold also was silent for a minute; then she said decisively: +</p> +<p>“You will wear the new blouse to-night. Remember, I +expect to be obeyed. I will say nothing more now about +your forgetting my orders last evening. Do better in the +future and all will be well.” +</p> +<p>It was with great difficulty that Pauline could keep the +tears from her eyes. What was to become of her. She +did not dare expose her burnt arm; she could not possibly +wear a blouse with sleeves that reached only to the elbow +without showing the great burn she had received. If Miss +Tredgold found out, might she not also find out more? What +was she to do? +</p> +<p>“What am I to do, Verena?” she said on the afternoon +of that same day. +</p> +<p>“What do you mean, Paulie? Your arm is better, is it +not?” +</p> +<p>“Yes; it doesn’t hurt quite so much. But how can I wear +the new blouse to-night?” +</p> +<p>“Would it not be wiser,” said Verena, “if you were to +tell Aunt Sophy that you have burnt your arm? It is silly +to make a mystery of it.” +</p> +<p>“But she will make me tell her how I did it.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p> +<p>“Well?” +</p> +<p>“I daren’t tell her that. I daren’t even tell you.” +</p> +<p>“What am I to think, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“Anything you like. You are my own sister, and you +must not betray me. But she must never know. Can’t you +think of something to get me out of this? Oh, dear! what +is to be done?” +</p> +<p>Verena shook her head. +</p> +<p>“I don’t know what is to be done,” she said, “if you +haven’t the courage to speak the truth. You have probably +got into some scrape.” +</p> +<p>“Oh! I——” +</p> +<p>“I am sure you have, Paulie; and the sooner you tell the +better. The longer you conceal whatever it is, the worse +matters will grow.” +</p> +<p>Pauline’s face grew crimson. +</p> +<p>“I am exceedingly sorry I told you,” she said. “You are +not half, nor quarter, as nice a sister as you used to be. +Don’t keep me. I am going into the shrubbery to help +Penelope to look for Aunt Sophy’s thimble.” +</p> +<p>Verena said nothing further, and Pauline went into the +shrubbery. +</p> +<p>“I seem to be getting worse,” she said to herself. “Of +course, I don’t really want to help Penelope. How should +I, when I know where the thimble is? There she is, hunting, +hunting, as usual. What a queer, unpleasant child she +is growing!” +</p> +<p>Penelope saw Pauline, and ran up to her. +</p> +<p>“You might tell me everything to-day,” said the child. +“Where did you put it?” +</p> +<p>“I have come to help you to look for it, Pen.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t be silly,” was Penelope’s answer. +</p> +<p>She instantly stood bolt upright. +</p> +<p>“There’s no use in my fussing any longer,” she said. +“I’ve gone round and round here, and picked up leaves, +and looked under all the weeds. There isn’t a corner I’ve +left unpoked into. Where’s the good of troubling when you +have it? You know you have it.” +</p> +<p>“I know nothing of the kind. There! I will tell you the +simple truth. I have not got the thimble. You may believe +me as much as you like.” +</p> +<p>“Then I’ll believe just as much as nothing at all. If +you haven’t got the thimble, you know where it is. I’ll give +you until this time to-morrow to let me have it, and if you +don’t I’ll go straight to Aunt Sophy.” +</p> +<p>“Now, Pen, you are talking nonsense. You have no proof +whatever that I have touched the thimble; and what will +Aunt Sophia say to a little child who trumps up stories +about her elder sister?” +</p> +<p>“Perhaps she’ll be very glad,” said Penelope. “I have +often thought that with such a lot of you grown-up girls, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +and all of you so very rampagious and not a bit inclined to +obey or do your lessons nicely, poor Aunt Sophy, what is +really a dear old duck of a thing, wants some one like me +to spy round corners and find out what goes on ahind her +back. Don’t you think so? Don’t you think her’ll love me +if I tell her always what goes on ahind of her back?” +</p> +<p>“If she’s a bit decent she’ll hate you,” said Pauline. “Oh, +Pen, how were you made? What a queer, queer sort of +child you are! You haven’t ideas like the rest of us.” +</p> +<p>“Maybe ’cos I’m nicer,” said Penelope, not at all impressed +by Pauline’s contempt. “Maybe I shouldn’t like to +be made same as all you others are. There is something +wrong about Aunt Sophy’s thimble, and if I don’t get it soon +I’ll be ’bliged to tell her.” +</p> +<p>Penelope’s eyes looked like needles. She walked away. +Pauline gazed after her; then she went into the house. +</p> +<p>“That thimble is really a very trifling matter,” she said +to herself, “but even that at the present moment annoys +me. Nancy has promised to bring it back to me this evening, +and I will just put it somewhere where Pen is sure to +find it. Then she’ll be in raptures; she’ll have her penny, +and that matter will be set at rest. Oh, dear! it is almost +time to go and meet Nancy. She must not keep me long, +for now that that horrid dressing for dinner has begun, it +takes quite half an hour to get properly tidy. But what +am I to do? How can I wear that blouse?” +</p> +<p>Pauline waited her chance, and slipped out at the wicket-gate +without even Penelope’s sharp eyes watching her. She +found Nancy pacing up and down at the other side. Nancy +was decidedly cross. +</p> +<p>“Why did you keep me waiting?” she said. “It is five +minutes past six, and I have barely another five minutes +to stay with you, and there’s a lot to talk over.” +</p> +<p>“I’m in great luck to be able to come at all, Nancy. I +didn’t think I could ever slip away from the others. As to +the midnight picnic, we must give it up. It is quite impossible +for me to come. And I know the others won’t; they’re +all getting so fond of Aunt Sophy. What do you think? +She has given us ponies, and we’re to have carriage-horses +presently; and we are obliged to dress for dinner every +evening.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, you are turning aristocratic, and I hate you,” said +Nancy, with a toss of the head. +</p> +<p>She looked intensely jealous and annoyed. She herself +was to ride soon, and her habit was already being made. +She had hoped against hope that Miss Tredgold would be +impressed by seeing her gallop past in an elegant habit on +a smart horse. +</p> +<p>“Oh, Nancy!” said Pauline, “don’t let us talk about ponies +and things of that sort now; I am in great, great trouble.” +</p> +<p>“I must say I’m rather glad,” said Nancy. “You know, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +Paulie, you are in some ways perfectly horrid. I did a +great deal for you the other night, and this is all the thanks +I get. You won’t come to the midnight picnic, forsooth! +And you won’t have anything more to do with me, forsooth! +You’ll ride past me, I suppose, and cut me dead.” +</p> +<p>“I shall never do anything unkind, for I really do love +you, Nancy. I have always loved you, but I can’t get into +fresh scrapes. They’re not worth while.” +</p> +<p>“You didn’t talk like that when you were mad and starving +the other day.” +</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t; but I do now. I have been miserable ever +since I came back; and, oh, my arm has pained me so badly! +You can imagine what I felt last evening when we were desired +to wear pretty new blouses with elbow-sleeves; such +sweet little dears as they all were. Mine was cream-color—just +what suits me best—but of course I couldn’t appear +in it.” +</p> +<p>“Why not?” +</p> +<p>“With my burnt arm! How could I, Nancy?” +</p> +<p>Nancy burst out into a roar of laughter. +</p> +<p>“What a lark!” she cried. “Well, and what did the poor +little Miss Misery do?” +</p> +<p>“I had to put on an old dirty shirt, the only one I could +find. Aunt Sophia gave me no end of a lecture this morning. +She says I am to wear my new blouse to-night or she’ll +know the reason why. Of course, I can’t wear it.” +</p> +<p>“Then you can’t have any dinner?” +</p> +<p>“I am absolutely beside myself to know what to do,” said +Pauline. “Sometimes I think I’ll go to bed and pretend I +have got a headache. Oh, dear, what a bad girl I am turning +into!” +</p> +<p>Nancy laughed again. +</p> +<p>“It is sometimes very tiresome to develop a conscience,” +she said. “You were a much nicer girl before that grand +aunt of yours arrived to turn things topsy-turvy. As to the +midnight picnic, you must come. I have made a bet on +the subject. Jack and Tom say you won’t come—that you +will be afraid. ‘Pauline Dale afraid! That’s all you know +about her,’ says I. I have assured them that you will come +whatever happens, and they have said you won’t. So the +end of it is that Tom, Jack, and I have made a bet about it. +It is ten shillings’ worth either way. If you come, I get +three beautiful pairs of gloves. If you don’t come, I give +the boys ten shillings. Now you see how important it is. +Why, Paulie, of course you will come! We are going to +have a right-down jolly time, for father is so tickled with +the notion that he is coming, too; and he says he will give +us a real good lark. And we are going to Friar’s Oak, eight +miles away; and we are to take hampers full of dainties. +And Fiddler Joe will come with us to play for us; and +there’s a beautiful green-sward just under the beech-trees +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +by Friar’s Oak, and there we’ll dance by the full light of +the moon. Oh, you must come! I told father you were +coming, and he was awfully pleased—as pleased as Punch—and +he said: +</p> +<p>“‘That’s right, my girl; that’s right, Nancy. If the Dales +stick to me through thick and thin, I’ll stick to them.’ +</p> +<p>“You know, Pauline, you have always been at our fun +before; so, aunt or no aunt, you can’t fail us now.” +</p> +<p>“I’d like to go beyond anything,” said Pauline, who felt +intensely tempted by this description. “It is so horrible +to be pulled up short. But I know I can’t, so there’s no +use thinking about it.” +</p> +<p>“You needn’t answer me now. I’ll come back again. This +is Friday night. I’ll come back on Monday night. The +picnic is arranged for Wednesday night. Listen, Paulie; +you will have to change your mind, for if you don’t—well!” +</p> +<p>“If I don’t?” +</p> +<p>“I can make it very hot for you.” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>“I’ll come and have a talk with your aunt. There!” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Nancy. What about?” +</p> +<p>“Such an interesting story, darling! All about our fun +that night when you burnt your arm—all about our gaiety, +and the fireworks, and your stealing away as you did, and +your stealing back as you did. Oh! I shall have a jolly +story to tell; and I will tell it, too. She’ll turn me away, +and tell me she’ll never see me any more; but what of that? +She’s done that already. I will have my fun; you will have +your punishment. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? You don’t +desert Nancy King for nothing, remember that, Pauline, so +you had better say at once that you will come. Now, my +love, I think that is about all.” +</p> +<p>Nancy’s face was very red. She was feeling thoroughly +angry. Pauline’s manner annoyed her past description. +She really imagined herself to be extremely kind and good-natured +to Pauline, and could not endure the little girl +taking her present high stand. +</p> +<p>“I must be going now,” she said. +</p> +<p>She gave Pauline a nod which was scarcely friendly, +but was, at the same time, very determined, and was about +to run home, when Pauline called her. +</p> +<p>“Don’t go for a minute, Nancy. There’s something else. +Have you brought me back Aunt Sophia’s thimble?” +</p> +<p>“No, I have not. I have a story to tell you about that, +and I was just forgetting it. I do hope and trust you won’t +really mind.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, what is it? You know I am quite likely to get +into a scrape about that horrid thimble as well as everything +else. What is the story? The thimble isn’t yours. +You surely haven’t lost it!” +</p> +<p>“Nothing of the kind. You look as though you thought I +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +had stolen it. Mean as I am, I am not quite so bad as +that. Now let me tell you. Becky, poor old girl! saw it. +She’s always mad about finery of any sort, and her people +are rich as rich. I had the thimble in my pocket, and she +was snuggling up close to me in her nice, engaging little +fashion, and she felt the thimble hard against my side, +much as I felt it when it was in your pocket. In she slipped +her little bit of a white hand and drew it out. I never saw +any one so delighted over a toy of the sort in all my life. +It fitted her little finger just to a nicety. +</p> +<p>“‘Why,’ she exclaimed, ‘I never, never saw a thimble +like this before; did you, Nancy?’ +</p> +<p>“‘Guess not,’ I answered. ‘It’s a cunning one, isn’t it?’ +</p> +<p>“She kept turning it round and round, and looking at +it, and pressing it up to her cheek, and trying to see her +own reflection in that wonderful sapphire at the bottom of +the thimble. Then what do you think happened? I own it +was a little sharp of her, but of course you can’t be so +unfriendly as to mind. She took the precious little toy and +put it into a dear, most precious little box, and covered it +over with soft, soft cotton-wool, and placed a sweet little +lid on the top. Dear me, Pauline! you needn’t open your +eyes any wider. And when she had secured the little box, +she wrapped it in brown paper, and twined it, and sealed +it, and addressed it to her sister Josephine in London.” +</p> +<p>“Then she stole it,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it. What a narrow-minded girl you +are! Just hear my story out. Becky sent the thimble to +Josephine to their house in Bayswater, with directions that +Josephine was to take it to their jeweller, Paxton, and ask +him to make another in all particulars precise ditto the +same. You understand? Precise ditto the same—sapphire, +gold, turquoise, and all. And this beautiful thimble is to be +worn on the dear little middle finger of Becky’s dear little +white hand. When it is faithfully copied you will have +the original thimble back, my love, but not before. Now, +then, ta-ta for the present.” +</p> +<p>Nancy ran off before Pauline had time to reply. She +felt stunned. What did everything mean? How queer of +Nancy to have suddenly turned into a perfectly awful girl—a +sort of fiend—a girl who had another girl completely in +her power; who could, and would if she liked, make that +other girl wretched; who could and would ruin that other girl’s +life. There was a time when the midnight picnic seemed +the most delightful thing on earth; but it scarcely appeared +delightful now to poor Pauline, whose head ached, whose +arm ached, and whose whole body ached. What was she +to do? +</p> +<p>When she re-entered the shrubbery, her unhappy feelings +were by no means lightened to see that Penelope was waiting +for her. Penelope stood a little way off, her feet firmly +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +planted a little apart, her straw hat pushed back from +her sunburned face, her hands dropped straight to her +sides. +</p> +<p>“I didn’t eavesdrop,” she said. “I could have easy. There +was a blackberry briar, and I could have stole under it and +not minded the scratches, and I could have heard every +single word; but I didn’t, ’cos I’m not mean. But I saw +you talking to Nancy, what kind Aunt Sophy says you’re +not to talk to. Perhaps, seeing you has done what is +awful wrong, you’ll give me a penny instead of Aunt Sophy; +then I needn’t tell her that you were talking to Nancy when +you oughtn’t, and that I think you have got the thimble. +Will you give me a penny or will you not?” +</p> +<p>Pauline put her hand into her pocket. +</p> +<p>“You are a most detestable child,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Think so if you like,” said Penelope. “Oh, here’s my +penny!” +</p> +<p>She snatched at the penny which was reposing on Pauline’s +palm. +</p> +<p>“Now I’ll go straight off and get John to bring me in +some cookies,” she exclaimed. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<h3>PAULINE CONFESSES.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Pauline was in such a strait that she made up her mind +to tell a lie. She had never, so far as she could remember, +told an actual and premeditated lie before. Now matters +were so difficult, and there seemed such a certainty of +there being no other way out, that she resolved to brave the +consequences and add to her former sin by a desperate, +downright black lie. Accordingly, just before dinner she +ran into Verena’s room. +</p> +<p>“Renny,” she said, “I have made up my mind.” +</p> +<p>“What about?” asked Verena. “Why, Pauline, you do +look bad. Your face is as white as a sheet.” +</p> +<p>“I shall have to explain,” continued Pauline. “I am going +to tell how I got the burn on my arm.” +</p> +<p>Verena gave a great sigh of relief. +</p> +<p>“I am glad,” she cried. “It is far better to tell.” +</p> +<p>“So I think,” said Pauline in an airy fashion. “Give +me a kiss, Verena; I must dress for dinner, and I haven’t +a moment to lose.” +</p> +<p>“You will wear your pretty blouse?” +</p> +<p>“Certainly.” +</p> +<p>Pauline dashed out of the room, banging the door noisily +after her. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p> +<p>“I wonder what she means,” thought Verena. “She is +certainly getting rather queer. I am afraid she has a +terrible secret on her mind. I am glad she means to confess, +poor darling! I seem to have less influence over her +than I used to have, and yet I love no one like Paulie. +She is all the world to me. I love her far better than +the others.” +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Pauline, with great difficulty, put on her +pretty evening-blouse. How she hated those elbow-sleeves! +How she wished the little soft chiffon frills were longer! +At another time she would have been delighted with her +own reflection in the glass, for a cream-colored silk blouse +suited her. She would have liked to see how well she +looked in this new and fashionable little garment. She +would have been pleased, too, with the size and brilliancy +of her black eyes. She would have admired that flush +which so seldom visited her sallow cheeks; she would even +have gazed with approbation at her pearly-white teeth. +Oh, yes, she would have liked herself. Now she felt that +she hated herself. She turned from the glass with a +heavy sigh. +</p> +<p>Having finished her toilet, she wrapped a soft muslin +handkerchief round her wounded arm and ran downstairs. +Her aunt was already in the drawing-room, but to Pauline’s +relief no one else was present. The little girl ran up to +her aunt, dropped a curtsy, and looked somewhat impertinently +into her face. +</p> +<p>“Here I am,” she said; “and how do I look?” +</p> +<p>“You have put on your blouse, Pauline. It suits you. +Turn round and let me see how it fits at the back. Oh! +quite nicely. I told Miss Judson to make the blouses in a +simple fashion, so that they could be washed again and +again. But what is the matter, my dear? Your face is +very white. And—why, my dear Pauline, what is wrong +with your arm?” +</p> +<p>“I have something to confess, Aunt Sophy. I hope you +won’t be terribly angry.” +</p> +<p>“Something to confess, my dear child? Well, I am glad +you have the courage to confess when you do wrong. There +is nothing like owning up one’s faults, Pauline. There is +nothing else that really strengthens the soul. Well, I am +listening, dear. Now, what is it?” +</p> +<p>Pauline slowly unfastened the handkerchief which she +had bound round her arm, and showed the great burn to +Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold started, uttered an exclamation, took the +little arm in her hand, and looked tenderly at the ugly +place. +</p> +<p>“My poor little girl,” she said. “Do you mean that you +have been suffering from this all this time? But how in +the world did it happen?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></p> +<p>“That is what I want to confess. I did something extremely +naughty the day you kept me in Punishment +Land.” +</p> +<p>“What was it?” +</p> +<p>“You sent me to bed at seven o’clock.” +</p> +<p>“Yes; that was part of the punishment.” +</p> +<p>“Well, I didn’t like it. Oh! here comes Verena. Renny, +I am confessing my sins.” +</p> +<p>Verena ran up, her face full of anxiety. She put her arm +round Pauline’s waist. +</p> +<p>“See how bad her poor arm is,” she said, glancing at +Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Miss Tredgold, “it is badly hurt; but don’t +interrupt, Verena. I am listening to the story of how +Pauline burnt her arm.” +</p> +<p>“You sent me to bed at seven o’clock,” said Pauline, who, +now that she had embarked on her narrative, felt emboldened +and, strange to say, almost enjoyed herself. “I +could not possibly sleep at seven o’clock, you know; so, to +amuse myself, I tried on my new white dress; and then I +lit a candle, drew down the blinds, and looked at myself +in the glass. I was so pleased! I did look nice; I felt +quite conceited.” +</p> +<p>“You needn’t tell me how you felt, Pauline. I want to +hear facts, not accounts of your feelings. You did wrong +to put on your white dress, for it had already been fitted +on by the dressmaker, and it was being carefully kept for +Sunday wear. But proceed. After you lit the candle and +drew down the blinds what happened?” +</p> +<p>“A great puff of wind came in through the window, and +it blew the blind against the candle, and the flame of the +candle came towards me, and I had my hand up to arrange +my hair. I was fastening it up with hairpins to make myself +look quite grown-up.” +</p> +<p>“Well?” +</p> +<p>“And the candle caught my sleeve and set it on fire.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold now began to look so pale that Verena +vaguely wondered if she were going to faint. The little +culprit, however, stood bolt upright and gazed with defiant +black eyes at her aunt. +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Pauline, “I suffered awful pain, and the +sleeve blazed up like anything; but I ran to the basin of +water and put it out. I was afraid to tell you. I had to +tell Renny that I had burnt my arm, but I didn’t tell her +how it happened, and I wouldn’t allow her to breathe to +you that I was in pain. That was the reason I could not +wear my pretty blouse last night, and you were angry with +me. I hope you won’t be angry any more; but the sleeve +of the dress is burnt badly. Perhaps you won’t give me +any birthday present because the sleeve of my new dress +is so much injured.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>“I will see about that. The thing is to cure your arm. +The doctor must come immediately.” +</p> +<p>“But it is getting better.” +</p> +<p>“You must see the doctor,” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>She went out of the room as she spoke. Pauline sank +into a chair; Verena looked down at her. +</p> +<p>“Have you told the truth?” asked Verena suddenly. +</p> +<p>Pauline nodded with such a savage quickness that it +made her sister positively certain that she had not heard +the right story. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold came back in a minute. +</p> +<p>“I have sent for Dr. Moffat,” she said. “I hope he will +be here after dinner. My dear child, why didn’t you tell +me before?” +</p> +<p>“Are you going to forgive me?” faltered Pauline. “I—I +almost think I’d rather you didn’t.” +</p> +<p>“You are a very queer child, and I may as well tell you +frankly you are talking nonsense. You did wrong, of course, +to put on the white dress; but I think, my dear, your sufferings +have been your punishment. We will say no more +now about the burnt sleeve. Fortunately I have plenty of +the same muslin in the house, and the mischief can be +quickly repaired. Now, dear, lie back in that chair. No; +you are not to come in to dinner. It shall be sent to you +here on a tray.” +</p> +<p>For the rest of the evening Pauline was so pitied and +fussed over, and made so thoroughly comfortable, that she +began to think the black, black lie she had uttered quite +a good thing. +</p> +<p>“Here am I half out of my scrape,” she thought. “Now, +if I can only persuade Nancy not to force us to go to that +midnight picnic, and not to tell if we don’t go, and if I can +get the thimble back, I shall be once more as happy as the +day is long. This wicked black lie shall not frighten me. +There is no other way out. I cannot possibly tell the truth. +What would Nancy think if I did?” +</p> +<p>The doctor came. He ordered a healing lotion for the +arm; he also felt the pulse of the little patient. He declared +her to be slightly feverish, and ordered her to bed. +</p> +<p>Half the next day Pauline stayed in her comfortable bed. +She was fed with dainties by Aunt Sophia, was not expected +to learn any lessons, and was given a fascinating story-book +to wile away the time. During the morning, when she +was not engaged in the schoolroom, Miss Tredgold stayed +by the little girl’s side, and mended the burnt dress, +cutting out a new sleeve and putting it in with deft, clever +fingers. +</p> +<p>Pauline watched her as one fascinated. As she looked +and observed the graceful figure, the kindly expression of +the eyes, and the noble pose of the head, there stole over +her desolate little heart a warm glow. She began to love +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +Aunt Sophia. When she began to love her she began also +to hate herself. +</p> +<p>“I don’t want to love her a bit,” thought the child. “I +want quite to detest her. If I love her badly—and perhaps +I may—it will make things that must happen much more +difficult.” +</p> +<p>Aunt Sophia left the room. She came back presently +with a dainty jelly and some home-made biscuits. She put +an extra pillow at Pauline’s back, and placed the little tray +containing the tempting food in front of her. +</p> +<p>“What are you thinking about, Paulie?” she asked suddenly. +</p> +<p>“About how nice you are,” answered the child; and then +she added, “I don’t want you to be nice.” +</p> +<p>“Why so?” +</p> +<p>“Because I don’t. I can’t tell you more than just I +don’t.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold said nothing more. She resumed her +work, and Pauline ate her jelly. +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophy,” she said presently, “I want to be awfully +good at my lessons next week. I want to learn real desperate +hard. I want to turn into a very clever girl. You’d +like me to be clever, wouldn’t you?” +</p> +<p>“Provided you are not conceited with it,” said Aunt +Sophia in her abrupt way. +</p> +<p>“Perhaps I should be,” said Pauline. “I was always +thought rather smart. I like people to call me smart. You +don’t want me to turn stupid because I may get conceited.” +</p> +<p>“No, dear; I want you to be natural. I want you to try +very hard to be learned, to be good, to be a lady. I want +you to be the sort of woman your mother would have +wished you to be had she lived. I want you to grow up +strong in mind and strong in body. I want you to be unselfish. +I want you to look upon life as a great gift which +you must not abuse, which you must make use of. I want +you, Paulie, and your sisters to be the best in every sense +of that great word. You will fail. We all fail at times; but +there is forgiveness for each failure if you go to the right +and only source. Have I said enough?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Pauline in a low voice. +</p> +<p>Her conscience was pricking her. She lowered her eyes; +the long black lashes trembled with tears. Miss Tredgold +stooped and kissed her. +</p> +<p>“I hear Briar in the garden,” she said. “I will send her +up to you. Be as merry as you please with her, and forget +my words for the present.” +</p> +<p>Pauline got up in time for late dinner. She was, of +course, excused wearing her dinner-blouse, and was still +treated somewhat as an invalid. But on Sunday morning +she was so much better that she was able to wear her white +dress, and able also to join her sisters in the garden. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span></p> +<p>They all went to the pretty little church in the next +village, and Miss Tredgold accompanied them. +</p> +<p>Looking back on it afterwards, that Sunday always seemed +to Pauline like an exquisite dream of peace. Her lie did +not press at all against her heart. The discomfort of it +was for the time in abeyance. She tried to forget Miss +Tredgold’s ideal girl; she was happy without knowing why. +She was happy, but at the same time she was quite well +aware of the fact that her happiness would come to an end +on Sunday night. She was quite certain that on Monday +morning her grave and terrible troubles would begin. She +would have to see Nancy. She would have to decide with +regard to the midnight picnic. There was no joy for +Pauline in the thought of that picnic now, but she dared +not stay away from it, for if she did Nancy would have her +way. Nancy’s temper, quick and hot as a temper could be, +would blaze up. She would come to Miss Tredgold and +tell her everything. If it had been awful to Pauline’s imagination +to think of Miss Tredgold knowing the truth before, +what would it be to her now after the lie she had +told? +</p> +<p>“I must coax Nancy,” thought the little girl to herself. +“I must tell her that I can’t go to the picnic, and I must +implore her not to tell. Oh, what shall I do? How shall I +persuade her?” +</p> +<p>On Sunday morning, therefore, notwithstanding her +promises, Pauline was inattentive at lessons. But Miss +Tredgold was not inclined to be over-severe. The doctor +had said that the child had not only been badly burnt, but +had also received a nervous shock. He had further added +that the more liberty she was given, and the more fresh air +just at present, the better. +</p> +<p>Accordingly Pauline was sent into the garden long before +the others had finished their lessons. She presently +sat down under the shade of a tree. She was not to meet +Nancy till six o’clock. +</p> +<p>By-and-by Penelope came out, saw her sister, and ran +towards her. +</p> +<p>“Have you got the thimble?” she asked. +</p> +<p>“Of course I haven’t. I don’t know anything about the +thimble. What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>Alas for Pauline! Her first lie had made her second +easy. +</p> +<p>Penelope looked at her in puzzled wonder. +</p> +<p>“I thought you did know about it,” she said, disappointment +stealing over her shrewd little face. +</p> +<p>“I don’t know anything about it. Don’t worry me.” +</p> +<p>“You are so cross that I’m sure you have done something +desperate naughty,” said Penelope. “I want to find out +what it is, and I don’t want to stay with you. I think you +are horrid.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>She marched away defiantly, her squat little figure and +bare legs looking so comical that Pauline burst out laughing. +</p> +<p>“What am I coming to?” she said to herself. “This is +lie number two. Oh, dear! I feel just as if a net were +surrounding me, and the net was being drawn tighter each +moment, and I was being dragged into a pit out of which +there is no escape. What shall I do?” +</p> +<p>Just then Mr. Dale, who seldom left the house, appeared +in view. He was walking slowly, his hands thrust into his +pockets, his head bent forward; he was murmuring some +sentences of his beloved Virgil to himself. He took no +notice of Pauline. He did not even see her. Neither did +he notice the chair in which she was sitting. He came +bang up against her before he knew that she was there. +</p> +<p>“What have I done?” he exclaimed. “Oh, it is you, +Pauline! How inconsiderate of you to sit like this on the +lawn!” +</p> +<p>“But we always sit on the chairs, dad,” said Pauline, +springing to her feet. +</p> +<p>He forgot that he had made the remark. He laid his +hand on her shoulder. +</p> +<p>“I have been having a delightful time,” he said—“truly +a delightful time. All this morning I have been in contact +with noble thoughts. My child, can you realize, even dimly, +what it is to dip into those mines of wealth—those mines +of illimitable wisdom and greatness and strength and power? +Oh, the massiveness of the intellects of the old classic +writers! Their lofty ideas with regard to time and eternity—where +can their like be found?” +</p> +<p>Pauline yawned. +</p> +<p>“Are you tired?” asked her father. +</p> +<p>“No—only worried,” she answered. +</p> +<p>She did not know why she made the latter remark; but +at the same time she was perfectly well aware that anything +she said to her father was safe, as he would absolutely +forget it in the course of the next minute. He was +roused now from his visions of the past by a certain pathos +in the little face. He put his arm round the child and +drew her to him. +</p> +<p>“My dear, pretty little girl,” he said. +</p> +<p>“Am I pretty?” asked Pauline. +</p> +<p>He gazed at her out of his short-sighted eyes. +</p> +<p>“I think not,” he said slowly. “I was imagining you +were Verena, or perhaps Briar. Briar is certainly very +pretty. No, Pauline, you are not pretty; you are plain. +But never mind; you have perhaps got”—he put a finger on +each temple—“you have perhaps got something greater.” +</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter if you are plain or not,” said Pauline +almost crossly, “when you are awfully worried.” +</p> +<p>“But what worries you, my child? I would not have +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +one so young subjected to worries. My dear, is it possible +that you already are perplexed with the ways of this present +life? Truly, I am scarcely surprised. The life we lead in +these degenerate days is so poor; the giants have left the +earth, and only the pigmies are left. Don’t worry about life, +child; it isn’t worth while.” +</p> +<p>“I am not,” said Pauline bluntly. “I am worrying because——” +</p> +<p>“Because of what, dear?” +</p> +<p>“Because I am going to be desperately naughty.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale shook his head slowly. +</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t,” he said. “It is very uncomfortable and +wrong, and it sullies the conscience. When the conscience +gets sullied the nature goes down—imperceptibly, perhaps, +but still it goes down. If your worry is an affair +of the conscience, take it to Him who alone can understand +you.” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked at her father with awed astonishment. +</p> +<p>“You mean God?” she said. “Will He help me?” +</p> +<p>“Certainly He will. He is the Great Deliverer, and His +strength is as immeasurable as it ever was. He gave power +to the martyrs to go through the flames. He will help a +little, weak girl if she asks Him. Oh, my dear, it has struck +twelve! I have lost a quarter of an hour. Don’t keep me +another moment.” +</p> +<p>The scholar and dreamer hurried to the house. Long +before he got there he had forgotten Pauline and her childish +worries. She was going to be desperately naughty. +He certainly no longer remembered those words. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile the child stayed behind with her hands +clasped. +</p> +<p>“I wish he had told me more,” she said to herself. “I +don’t believe God could put this straight.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<h3>THE NET.</h3> +</div> + +<p>On Monday Pauline’s troubles began over again. She +ought to have been very happy on this special day, for the +birthday—the great, important birthday, her very own, +when she would reach the completion of her fourteenth +year—was near at hand. But although Pauline was perplexed +and unhappy, there was nevertheless a birthday +feeling in the air. In the first place, there was a great and +exciting sense of mystery. The girls were seen darting +quickly here and there; in every imaginable corner there +were whispered consultations. Aunt Sophia, in particular, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +never looked at Pauline without smiling. She was kindness +itself. It seemed to the poor little girl that her aunt had +taken a great fancy to her. This was the case. Miss Tredgold +was interested in all her nieces, but even Verena with +her daintiness and pretty face, and Briar with her most +charming personality, did not attract Miss Tredgold as did +the blunt-looking, almost plain child who called herself +Pauline. +</p> +<p>“She has got character and independence,” thought the +good lady. “She will be something by-and-by. She will +always be able to hold her own in the world. She is the +kind of girl who could do much good. It hurt me very +much to send her into Punishment Land, but she is all the +better for it. Oh, yes, she must taste the rough as well +as the smooth if she is to be worth anything. She will +be worth a good deal; of that I am convinced.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold, therefore, had compassion on Pauline’s +late indisposition, and made lessons as easy as possible +for her. Thus Pauline had very little to do, except to +think of that mystery which was growing thicker and +thicker. In one way it helped her own dilemma. With her +sisters walking in twos and threes all over the place, it +would not be at all remarkable for her to slip down at +the appointed hour to the wicket-gate. Even Penelope +would not notice her, so absorbed was she in assisting Adelaide +to make a special present for Pauline. +</p> +<p>As the day advanced the little girl became terribly nervous. +She felt a sense of irritation when one of her sisters +looked at her, whispered to her companion, and then turned +away. She would almost have preferred Miss Tredgold to +be as stern as she was before. Her whole mind was in a +state of tumult. She felt the net closing tighter and tighter +around her. Even the birthday was scarcely interesting +while such a weight rested on her heart. Miss Tredgold +had said during the afternoon as they were all sitting +together on the lawn: +</p> +<p>“This is to be a great birthday. This is the very first +birthday I have spent under your roof. You must all remember +it as long as you live.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, can I ever forget it?” thought poor Pauline. “But +Aunt Sophy little knows that I shall not remember it for +its kindness and its sunshine and its presents; I shall remember +it always because I am such a wicked girl.” +</p> +<p>Now as evening approached she could not help whispering +to herself: +</p> +<p>“The net is closing—closing round me. It is gathering +me up into a heap. My legs and arms are tied. Soon the +wicked, dreadful thing will press my head down, and I +shall be powerless and lost.” +</p> +<p>She thought out this metaphor, and it seemed to haunt +her footsteps. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></p> +<p>“It is right that a girl who told a black lie should be +cramped up in it,” thought Pauline. “Oh, why hadn’t I +courage to tell Aunt Sophy the truth? She might have been +angry, but in the end she would have forgiven me. I would +far rather have no notice whatever taken of my birthday +than be as miserable as I am now.” +</p> +<p>“That child isn’t well,” said Miss Tredgold to Verena, +as Pauline was seen slowly creeping in a subdued sort of +way in the direction of the lower shrubbery. “Why is she +always stealing off by herself? I have a good mind to call +her back and take her for a drive. It is a lovely evening, +and a drive would do her good.” +</p> +<p>“So it would, Aunt Sophy. You know how busy all the +rest of us are finishing her presents. I am sure she would +love to drive with you, for I think she is getting very fond +of you.” +</p> +<p>“Perhaps, my dear; but I have made up my mind not to +have favorites. As long as you are all good I shall love +you all.—Pauline—yes, Verena, I shall offer her a drive—Pauline, +come here.” +</p> +<p>Pauline hated to be called back, but she could not do +otherwise than obey. She approached lingeringly. +</p> +<p>“Yes, Aunt Sophy,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Would you like to take a drive with me? We might +go and find out how soon Peas-blossom and Lavender will +be ready to come to their new home.” +</p> +<p>At another time such a request on the part of Miss +Tredgold would have enraptured Pauline; but she knew that +it only wanted five minutes to six, and she doubted if +Nancy would consent to be kept waiting long. +</p> +<p>“No,” she answered slowly; “my head aches. Please, I +would rather not take a drive.” +</p> +<p>She did not wait for Miss Tredgold’s response, but continued +her slow walk. +</p> +<p>“The poor child is certainly ill,” said the good lady. “If +she continues to look as poorly and as sadly out of sorts +next week I shall take her to the seaside.” +</p> +<p>“Will you, Aunt Sophy? How lovely! Do you know that +Paulie and I have never been to the sea? We do so long +to see it!” +</p> +<p>“Well, my dear, I shall take you all presently, but I +can’t say when. Now, as Pauline does not want to drive +with me, I shall go into the house and finish some of my +arrangements.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold went indoors, and Verena joined Briar and +Patty, who were in a great state of excitement. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Pauline had reached the wicket-gate. She +opened it and went out. Nancy was waiting for her. +Nancy’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. She +looked as if she had been quarreling with somebody. Pauline +knew that look well. Nancy’s two friends Becky and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +Amy were standing at a little distance. There was a small +governess-cart drawn up not far away, and Becky was +stroking the nose of a rough little Forest pony. +</p> +<p>“Father gave me the cart and pony this morning,” said +Nancy. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. The +pony and cart aren’t much, perhaps, but still it is fun to +have them to fly over the place. Well, and how goes her +little high-and-mightiness? Frumpy, I can see. Grumpy, I +can guess. Now, is Pauline glad to see poor old Nance—eh?” +</p> +<p>“Of course, Nancy; but I have come to say——” +</p> +<p>“We’ll have no ‘buts,’ darling, if you please.” +</p> +<p>“I can’t come to the picnic, Nancy; I really cannot.” +</p> +<p>“How white poor little Dumpy looks! Wants some one +to cheer her up, or she’ll be dumped and frumped and +grumped all in one. Now, darling, I’m going to put my arm +round your waist. I am going to feel your little heart go +pit-a-pat. You shall lean against me. Isn’t that snug? +Doesn’t dear old Nancy count for something in your life?” +</p> +<p>“Of course you do, Nancy. I am fond of you. I have +always said so,” replied Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Then you will yield, darling, to the inevitable.” +</p> +<p>“I am yielding to it now,” replied Pauline. “I am not +going with you because I can’t.” +</p> +<p>“And you are going with me because you must,” Nancy +responded. “For listen, Pauline. Although I am affectionate, +I can be—oh, yes—dangerous. And if you don’t +come, why, I can keep my word. Wednesday is your birthday. +I wonder when the crown of the day will come?” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>“Why, there always is a crown to a birthday. There is a +time, either in the evening or in the morning, when the +queen receives the homage of her subjects. She gets her +presents, and there are pretty speeches made to her, and +she has her dainty feast and her crown of flowers. Yes, +that time is the crown of the day, and that is just the moment +when the poor little queen shall topple down. The +throne shall be knocked from under her; the presents will +vanish; the sovereignty will cease to exist. Poor, poor little +queen without a kingdom! How will you like it, Paulie? +Do you think you could bear it? To have no kingdom and +no crown and no presents and no love, and to be bitterly +disgraced as well! How will you like it, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“I know that you can do all that you say,” answered +Pauline. “I know you can be dreadful, and everything is +against me. You can ruin me if you like, but I want you +not to do it, Nancy.” +</p> +<p>“And if you don’t come with us I want to do it, dear; +and I rather think that my will is stronger than yours.” +</p> +<p>“But if it kills me?” +</p> +<p>“It won’t do that, Paulie. You will feel bad, and, oh! as +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +though somebody had crushed you; but you won’t die. +There’s only one way out.” +</p> +<p>Pauline was silent. +</p> +<p>“It is quite an easy way,” continued Nancy. “It is easy +and safe, and there’s a deal of fun to be got out of it. You +have got to come to the picnic. Once you are there you +will enjoy yourself tremendously. I promise to get you +home in the morning. You will come, and you will bring +two of your sisters with you. Two will be enough. I +have yielded that point. You will meet us here, at +this very spot, at eleven o’clock on Wednesday night. We +are going some distance away, so that no one in the neighborhood +of The Dales need hear our singing and our fun +and our jollity. We will come back before daybreak and +deposit you just outside the wicket-gate. You may think it +very unpleasant just now, and very mean and all the rest, +but it is the only possible way to save yourself. You must +come to the picnic, and bring two of your sisters.” +</p> +<p>“But suppose they won’t come?” +</p> +<p>“They will if you manage things properly. It needn’t +be Verena. I expect Verena, for all she is so soft and fair, +is a tough nut to crack; but you can bring Briar and Patty. +My father will be quite satisfied if three of you are present. +The fact is, he is awfully hurt at the thought of your all +thinking yourselves too good for us. He says that the Dales +and the Kings were always friends. My father is a dear old +man, but he has his cranks, and he has made up his mind +that come you must, or he’ll make mischief. It won’t be +only me; it will be my father as well. He will appear at +The Dales, and if I go straight to Miss Tredgold, he will go +straight to Mr. Dale. Now, what do you think of that? I +am determined to have you for reasons of my own, and I +shall poke up my father to do no end of mischief if you +don’t appear. Now don’t be a goose. Get up a little dash +of courage and a little dash of your old spirit and everything +will be as straight as possible.” +</p> +<p>Pauline stood quite still. Nancy danced in front of her. +Nancy’s face was almost malicious in its glee. Pauline +looked at it as a child will look when despair clutches at +her heart. +</p> +<p>“I didn’t know—I couldn’t guess—that you were like +that,” she said in a sort of whisper. +</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you, dear little duckledoms? Well, you do +know it now; and you know also how to act. Don’t you see +by the lines round my mouth and the expression in my +eyes that I can be hard as hard when I please? I am going +to be very hard now. My honor is involved in this. I +promised that you would be there. There are presents +being bought for you. Come you must; come you shall.” +</p> +<p>Pauline stood quite silent; then she flung her arms to +her sides and faced her tormentor. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></p> +<p>“There was a time,” she said slowly, “when I loved you, +Nancy. But I don’t love you now. By-and-by, perhaps, you +will be sorry that you have lost my love, for I think—yes, I +think it is the sort that doesn’t come back. I don’t love +you to-night because you are cruel, because you have already +got me into a scrape, and you want to push me into +a yet deeper one. I am not the sort of girl you think me. +However grand and stately and like a lady Aunt Sophia is—and +compared to you and me, Nancy, she is very stately +and very grand and very noble—I would not give you up. +Aunt Sophy is a lady with a great brave heart, and her +ideas are up-in-the-air ideas, and she doesn’t know anything +about mean and low and vulgar things. I’d have clung +to you, Nancy, and always owned you as my friend, even if +Aunt Sophy had taken me into good society. Yes, I’d have +stuck to you whatever happened; but now”—Pauline +pressed her hand to her heart—“everything is altered. You +are cruel, and I don’t love you any more. But I am in such +trouble, and so completely in despair, that I will come to +the picnic; and if I can bring two of the girls, I will. There +is nothing more to say. You may expect us at eleven o’clock +on Wednesday night.” +</p> +<p>“But there is more to say,” cried Nancy. +</p> +<p>She flew at Pauline, and before she could stop her Nancy +had lifted the younger girl into her strong arms. She had +not only lifted her into her arms, but she was running with +her in the direction where Becky and Amy were minding +the pony. +</p> +<p>“Hurrah! I have won!” she cried. “She yields. Come +and kiss her, the little duck.—Pauline, you silly, if you don’t +love me, I love you; and you will soon find out for yourself +what a good time you are going to have, and what a goose +you have made of yourself with all this ridiculous fuss. +What a grand birthday you are going to have, Paulie! A +birthday for a whole twenty-four hours—a whole day and +a whole night! Remember, there will be presents, there will +be surprises, there will be love, there will be sweetness. +Trust us, you will never get into a scrape for this. Now run +along home as fast as you can.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did not run. She closed the wicket-gate and +walked soberly to the house. Strange as it may seem, once +she had made her decision, the fact that she was to deceive +her aunt, and do the thing that of all others would fill Aunt +Sophia with horror, did not pain her. The conflict was +over; she must rest now until the time came to go. She +was a clever child, and she thought out the situation with +wonderful clearness. She must go. There was no help +for it. The sin must be sinned. After all, perhaps, it was +not such a very great sin. Aunt Sophia would be happier +if she never knew anything at all about it. +</p> +<p>“If I go she will never know,” thought the child. “Nancy +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +is clever, and now that I have yielded to her she will not +fail me. If I go it will never be discovered, and what has +happened before will never be discovered; and Aunt Sophy +will never have reason to distrust me, for she will never +know. Yes,” thought Pauline, “it is the only possible way.” +</p> +<p>She saw Penelope coming to meet her. The other girls +were still busy with their birthday surprises, but Penelope +had just deposited her own small and somewhat shabby +present in Verena’s keeping, and was now, as she expressed +it, taking the air. When she saw Pauline she ran to meet +her. +</p> +<p>“I suppose you are feeling yourself monstrous ’portant, +and all that sort of thing,” she said. +</p> +<p>“No, I am not,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>Penelope gave her a quick glance out of her sharp eyes. +</p> +<p>“Does you like me to be nursery or schoolroom child?” +she asked. +</p> +<p>“Oh, I like you to be just what you are, Pen; and I do beg +of you not to worry me just now.” +</p> +<p>“You is most ungrateful. I has been spending my teeny +bit of money on you. You will know what I has done on +your birthday. You are going to get a most ’licious present, +and it will be I who has gived it to you. Sometimes I does +wish I was two years older; but Aunt Sophy has got monstrous +fond of me, Paulie, and of you, too. I know it. +Shall I tell you how I know it?” +</p> +<p>“How?” asked Pauline. +</p> +<p>“I was standing near her when you said you wouldn’t +go for a drive, and she gave a big sigh, just as though she +was hurted. I was hurted, too, for I thought I might perhaps +sit on the little back-seat and hear more’n is good +for me. People always say that little girls like me hear +more’n is good for them. I love—I love hearing things of +that wicked sort. Well, you didn’t go, and I couldn’t have +my nice drive on the little back-seat. But Aunt Sophy did +give a pained sigh. She loves you, does Aunt Sophy. She +loves me, too.” +</p> +<p>“Do you love me, Pen?” said Pauline suddenly, for it +occurred to her that perhaps Penelope was the child who +would have to accompany her to the midnight picnic. She +knew enough of Penelope to be sure that she could be +bribed. She was not so certain about the others. +</p> +<p>“Do you love me, Pen?” she repeated. +</p> +<p>“When you speak in that softy, sympathisy voice, I feel +that I could just hug you,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Then would you really help me?” +</p> +<p>“Really and really. What am I to do? If you will whisper +secrets to me, I will even forget that I am certain you +know something most ’portant about that thimble, and I +will cling to you like anything. You will be the oak, and +I will be the ivy. It will be most lovely to be the close +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +friend of the birthday queen. I do—oh, I do hope you are +going to tell me a great secret!” +</p> +<p>“Perhaps I am, but I can’t tell you now.” +</p> +<p>“When will you tell me?” +</p> +<p>“If I ever tell you, it will be before midday on my birthday. +Now run away. Don’t whisper a word of this.” +</p> +<p>“Not me,” said Penelope. “I was borned to keep secrets.” +</p> +<p>She marched away in her usual stalwart fashion. +</p> +<p>“I may have to take her with me,” thought Pauline +again. “If the others won’t be bribed, I must fall back +on her.” +</p> +<p>She felt a curious sense of relief, for of course Penelope +could be bribed. A shilling would do it. Penelope would +go to the end of the earth for a shilling, particularly if it +was given to her all in pence. Twelve separate pence would +send Penelope off her head. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<h3>THE CONFERENCE.</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was late on the following evening when Pauline found +herself alone with Briar and Patty. Both these little girls +had plenty of character; but perhaps Patty had more of +that estimable quality than her sister. They were both +straightforward by nature, upright and noble, and were already +benefiting by the discipline which had at last come +into their lives. The glories of the birthday which was so +near were already beginning to shed some of their rays +over Pauline, and her sisters felt themselves quite honored +by her company. +</p> +<p>“To think,” said Briar, “that you are really only Paulie! +I can scarcely bring myself to believe it.” +</p> +<p>“Why so?” asked Pauline. +</p> +<p>“In twelve hours’ time—in less—you will be a queen.” +</p> +<p>“It is rather like the Lord Mayor,” said Patty. “It’s all +very grand, but it lasts for a very short time. Aunt Sophy +was telling us to-day about the Lord Mayor and the great, +tremendous Show, and I began to think of Pauline and her +birthday. I could not help myself. It is a pity that a birthday +should only last such a very short time!” +</p> +<p>“Yes, that is the worst of it,” said Pauline. “But then +it comes every year. Perhaps it is all for the best that it +should have a quick come and a quick go. Of course, I +shall be very happy to-morrow, but I dare say I shall be +glad when the next day arrives.” +</p> +<p>“Not you,” said Briar. “I have known what the next day +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +meant, even when we had only shilling birthdays. The +others used to cry out, ‘Your birthday is the farthest off +now.’ I used to keep my head covered under the bedclothes +rather than hear them say it. Adelaide and Josephine always +said it. But don’t let’s get melancholy over it now,” +continued Briar in a sympathetic tone. “When you lie +down to-night you won’t be able to sleep much; but you will +sleep like a top to-morrow night. I expect you will +wake about every two minutes to-night. Oh, it is exciting +the night before a birthday! Even when we had shilling +birthdays I used to wake the night before every few minutes. +Once I got up at four o’clock in the morning. I went +out. I had a cold afterwards, and a bad sore throat, but I +never told anybody how I got it. If I was excited about my +poor little birthday, what will you be to-morrow?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Pauline. “Listen, girls. I am so +excited in one sense that I couldn’t be any more so. I am +so excited that I’m not excited. Can you understand what +I mean?” +</p> +<p>“No, I’m sure I can’t a bit,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“And it’s quite likely,” continued Pauline, “that I shall +have no sleep at all the night after my birthday.” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean now?” asked Briar. +</p> +<p>Pauline looked mysterious. The two girls glanced at her. +Suddenly Pauline put one arm around Briar’s neck and the +other arm round Patty’s neck. +</p> +<p>“You are the nicest of us all—that is, of course, except +Verena,” she said. “I have always been fonder of you two +than of Adelaide or Josephine or Helen or Lucy. As to Pen, +well, I don’t suppose any of us feel to Pen as we do to +the rest. She is so different. Yes, I love you two. I love +you just awfully.” +</p> +<p>“It is sweet of you to say that; and, seeing that you are +to have a birthday so soon, it makes us feel sort of distinguished,” +said Briar. +</p> +<p>“How old are you, Briar?” +</p> +<p>“I’ll be thirteen next May. That’s a long time off. I do +wish my birthday had waited until Aunt Sophy came on +the scene.” +</p> +<p>“And my birthday comes in the winter,” said Patty—“near +Christmas; but I dare say Aunt Sophy will give us a +good time then, too.” +</p> +<p>“I do like her awfully,” said Pauline. “Now, girls, I +want to ask you a question. I know you won’t tell, for +you are not the sort to tell.” +</p> +<p>“Of course we won’t tell, Paulie.” +</p> +<p>“And you love me, don’t you?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” echoed both little girls. +</p> +<p>“This is my question. If I do something that is not +just exactly absolutely right, will you still love me?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></p> +<p>“Why, of course. We’re not so wonderfully good ourselves,” +said Briar. +</p> +<p>“I know what you are thinking of,” said Patty. “You +are thinking of Punishment Day. But we have forgotten all +about that.” +</p> +<p>“I was thinking of Punishment Day. And now I want +to say something. I want to make the most tremendous +confidence. I want to tell you the most tremendous secret.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” echoed both. +</p> +<p>“Light that candle, Briar,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>Briar crossed the room, struck a match, lit the candle, +and then turned to see what her darling Paulie wished +further. +</p> +<p>“Bring it right over here,” said Pauline. “Put it on this +table.” +</p> +<p>Briar did so. +</p> +<p>“Kneel down, Briar, so that the light from the candle +falls full on your face.” +</p> +<p>Briar knelt. Her eyes were beaming with happiness. +</p> +<p>“Look at me,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>Briar raised two honest and pretty brown eyes to her +sister’s face. +</p> +<p>“I think,” said Pauline slowly, “that you are the sort of +girl to make a promise—a solemn, awfully solemn promise—and +stick to it.” +</p> +<p>“Yes; you are right. I am made that way,” said Briar +proudly. +</p> +<p>“I see you are. Patty, will you kneel so that the candle +may shine on your face?” +</p> +<p>Patty hurried to obey. +</p> +<p>“I am made like that, too,” she said. “I always was +like that. When I said I wouldn’t tell, you might pinch me +black and blue, but it didn’t change me. Pen has tried to +run pins into me sometimes to make me tell. Pen is the +only one who would tell when she promised not.” +</p> +<p>“I think so,” said Pauline decidedly. “Pen would not +do at all. Girls, I shall come to you to-morrow evening. +To-morrow evening, very late, I will come to you here. +Perhaps you will have gone to bed, but that won’t matter. +I will come to you whether you are in bed or whether you +are up; and I will claim your promise. You will do what +I ask, and you will never, never, never tell. You must help +me. You will—oh, you will!” +</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Briar. “Darling Paulie, don’t cry. Oh, +how the pet is trembling! Patty, she’s trembling like anything. +Do kiss her and hug her, and tell her there’s nothing +we wouldn’t do for her.” +</p> +<p>“There’s nothing in all the world we wouldn’t do for +you,” said Patty. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></p> +<p>They both kissed her so often and with such deep affection +that she found herself leaning on their innocent +strength. She would not tell them yet; she would tell them +just before the time to-morrow evening. Of course they +would go with her. Pen would never do. It would be madness +to confide in Pen. +</p> +<p>Notwithstanding her excitement Pauline did sleep soundly +that night before her birthday. No sooner had her head +touched the pillow than sweet unconsciousness visited her. +She slept without dreaming, and was at last awakened by +the shouts of her sisters. +</p> +<p>“Paulie, get up. It’s your birthday. Oh, do dress yourself +fast! There’s such a lot of fun going on! We are to +have a whole holiday, and Aunt Sophy is so delightful. +And what do you think? She has dragged father out of his +study, and he is standing in the very middle of the lawn. +He has a huge, untidy-looking parcel in his hands, and he +looks as if he didn’t in the least know what to do with it. +He is trying each moment to escape back into the house, but +Aunt Sophy won’t let him. She says he must not stir +until you come down. Poor father does look in misery. +Be quick and dress and come downstairs.” +</p> +<p>At this moment there was a shout from below, and the +three girls who had summoned Pauline from the land of +dreams rushed off, dashing through the house with whoops +of triumph. +</p> +<p>Pauline rose and dressed quickly. She put on the pretty +pale lavender print frock that Aunt Sophia had decided she +was to wear, and went downstairs. When she joined the +others Mr. Dale greeted her with one of his slow, sweet +smiles. +</p> +<p>“How are you, darling?” he said. “I have a sort of +idea that I am kept standing here on this lawn, exposed to +the heat of a very powerful sun, on your account.” +</p> +<p>“Of course it is on Pauline’s account, Henry,” said Miss +Sophia. “It is her birthday. Kiss me, Pauline, dear. Many +happy returns of the day. Henry, give your daughter her +present. She is fourteen to-day.” +</p> +<p>“Fourteen! Ah!” said Mr. Dale, “a charming age. The +ancients considered a woman grown-up at fourteen.” +</p> +<p>“But no one is so silly in these days,” said Miss Tredgold. +“We know that a girl is never more childish than +at fourteen. Henry, open that parcel and give Pauline +what it contains.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale dropped the brown-paper parcel at his feet. He +looked at it in bewilderment. +</p> +<p>“It is heavy,” he said. “I haven’t the least idea what +is in it.” +</p> +<p>“It is your present to your daughter.” +</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Dale, “I forgot; and I packed it myself +last night. My child, I wonder if you are worthy of it.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>“I don’t suppose I am, father,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake open it, Henry, and don’t torture +the child’s feelings.” +</p> +<p>“I put it in an old bandbox,” said Mr. Dale. “I couldn’t +find anything else. Pauline, in giving you what I am about +to give you, I show a high appreciation of your character. I +remember now what my present is. I had an awful night in +consequence of it. I felt as though one of my limbs was +being severed from my body. Nevertheless, my dear, I don’t +retract nor go back, for that is not my way. I give you this +most noble gift with a distinct object. I have lately been +examining all your foreheads. Although I have appeared +to take little notice of you, I have watched you as day by +day I have enjoyed the excellent food provided by your most +worthy aunt. While my body was feeding, my mind was +occupying itself, and I have at last come to the decision +that you, my child, are the only one of my young people who +has been blessed with a classical brow. As yet you have not +even begun to learn the language of the ancients; but now +that you have reached the mature age of fourteen, I shall +be pleased to instruct you myself for one hour daily, in +both that Latin and Greek which delighted our forefathers.” +</p> +<p>“But the Romans and Greeks were not our forefathers,” +said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>She snapped out the words quite angrily, and the look on +her aunt’s face caused Pauline to go closer to her father +and take one of his long white hands and hold it close to +her heart. +</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter whether we are descended from them +or not, does it, Padre?” she said. +</p> +<p>“All that is noble in thought, all that is original, all that +partakes of inspiration, has come down to us from the +classics,” said Mr. Dale. “But take your gift, Pauline. +Now, my dear children, I beseech of you, don’t keep me any +longer from my important work.” +</p> +<p>He was striding towards the house, when Verena got in +front of him, Briar stood at his left hand, Patty at his right, +and Adelaide, Josephine, Lucy, Helen, and Penelope came +up in the rear. +</p> +<p>“You don’t stir,” they cried, “until Paulie opens her +parcel.” +</p> +<p>So Pauline knelt down on the grass, untied the clumsy +cord, and removed the brown paper. She then lifted the +lid from a broken-down bandbox and revealed a musty, +fusty tome bound in old calf. +</p> +<p>“It is my precious annotated edition of Cicero,” said Mr. +Dale. “I have written your name in it—‘Pauline Dale, +from her affectionate father.’ It is yours now, and it will +be yours in the future. If you like to leave it on the shelf +in my study, I shall not object, but it is yours to do what +you like with.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p> +<p>He sighed profoundly, and turned away with his lip +trembling. +</p> +<p>“Good gracious!” Miss Tredgold was heard to exclaim. +Then she spoke to Adelaide. +</p> +<p>“Run into the house and bring out a cup of coffee. The +precious man gets queerer each moment. What a present +to give the child!” +</p> +<p>Pauline raised the big book and clasped it against her +neat lilac frock. +</p> +<p>“Thank you, father,” she said. “I will learn to read it. +Thank you very much.” +</p> +<p>“And you don’t object to its occupying its old place on +my shelf?” +</p> +<p>“No. Shall I run and put it there now?” +</p> +<p>“Do. You are really a wise child. Sophia, as I have +given Pauline her present, I presume I need not stay out +any longer wasting my precious time and running the risk +of sunstroke.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold nodded and laughed. Adelaide appeared +with the coffee. Mr. Dale drank it off at a single draught. +Pauline ran into the house with the treasure which was +hers and yet not hers. For surely never during his lifetime +would Mr. Dale allow that special edition of Cicero +out of his study. She put it gravely and quietly into its +accustomed place, kissed her father, told him she appreciated +his present beyond words, and then went back to her +sisters and aunt, who were waiting for her. +</p> +<p>What a day it was! What a wonderful, magnificent day! +The weather was perfect; the air was sweet; the garden +was full of perfume. And then the presents. Every imaginable +thing that a little girl could want was poured at +the feet of the birthday queen. The story-books she had +longed for; the little writing-desk she had always coveted +but never possessed; the workbox with its reels of colored +silks, its matchless pair of scissors, its silver thimble, its +odds and ends of every sort and description; the tennis-bat; +the hockey-club; the new saddle that would exactly fit +Peas-blossom: all these things and many more were given +to Pauline. But besides the richer and more handsome presents, +there were the sort of pretty things that only love could +devise—that charming little pin-cushion for her dressing-table; +that pen-wiper; that bag for her brush and comb; +that case for her night-dress. Some of the gifts were +clumsy, but all were prompted by love. Love had begun +them, and gone on with them, and finished them, and Pauline +laughed and had brighter eyes and more flushed cheeks +each moment as the day progressed. +</p> +<p>After breakfast Miss Tredgold took her nieces for a drive. +The little party were all packed into the wagonette, and +then they went off. They drove for miles and miles under +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +the trees of the Forest. Miss Tredgold told more interesting +and fascinating stories of her own life than she had +ever told before. The girls listened to her with the most +absorbed attention. As a rule Miss Tredgold’s stories carried +a moral with them; but the birthday stories had no +moral. Pauline waited for one. She waited with a sort of +trembling dread. She expected it to intrude its sober face +at each moment, but it did not put in an appearance anywhere. +It stayed out of sight in the most delightful and +graceful manner. Soon the girls, Pauline amongst them, +forgot to look out for the moral. Then Verena began telling +anecdotes of the past, and Pauline joined her; and the children +laughed, and nearly cried with delight. That drive +was the happiest they had ever enjoyed. +</p> +<p>But it was somewhat late in the afternoon when the birthday +treat came to its culmination. They were having tea +on the lawn, a most fascinating tea, with a frosted cake in +the middle of the table, on which Pauline’s name was inscribed +in golden letters, and round which were lighted +fourteen little wax candles, denoting that she had now come +to that mature age. The candles were protected by tiny +glass shades, so that the soft summer air could not blow +them about, and all the girls thought they had never seen +such a wonderful sight. Mr. Dale was abducted from his +study—there was really no other word to describe the way +in which he was carried off bodily—and requested to light +the candles. He did so looking very confused, and as though +he did not in the least comprehend what he was doing. +Nevertheless he was there, and he was obliged to seat himself +in the centre of the group; and then garlands and +garlands of flowers suddenly made their appearance, and +Pauline was conducted to her throne, and a crown of tiny +roses was placed on her dark head, and wreaths of flowers +were laid at her feet. +</p> +<p>“Now you are queen, Pauline,” said Miss Tredgold. “Your +father and I and your sisters are bound to obey you from +now until ten o’clock to-night. This is your reign. It is +short, but full of possibilities. What are we to do for you, +fair queen? In what way do you wish to employ us?” +</p> +<p>“May I wish for anything?” asked Pauline eagerly. +</p> +<p>She had a flashing thought as she uttered the words—a +quick, terrible, agonized thought. Oh, if only she might +claim her birthright! If only she might put into use her +grand privilege and ask for the one thing she really wanted—a +free, absolute pardon! If she might confess her sin +without confessing it, and get her aunt and father to say +that, whatever she had done in the past, she was forgiven +now! Just for an instant her black eyes looked almost +wild; then they fixed themselves on Miss Tredgold, who +was looking at her attentively. She glanced beyond her, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +and met the great black eyes of Penelope. Penelope seemed +to be reading Pauline. Pauline felt a sudden revulsion of +feeling. +</p> +<p>“That would never do,” she said to herself. +</p> +<p>“Why don’t you speak?” said Verena in her gentle voice. +</p> +<p>“I was considering what to ask,” replied Pauline. +</p> +<p>“It isn’t to ask, it is to command,” said Miss Tredgold. +“What sort of a queen would you make, Pauline, if you +really had a kingdom? This is your kingdom. It lasts for +a few hours; still, for the present it is your own. Your +sway is absolute.” +</p> +<p>“Then let us have hide-and-seek in the garden,” she said. +</p> +<p>She laughed. The spell was broken. Penelope’s eyes +lost their watchful glance. The girls were all agreeable. +Mr. Dale rose to his feet. +</p> +<p>“I have had my tea,” he said, “and the queen has received +her crown. I am truly thankful that birthdays don’t +last longer than a day. I presume there is no reason why +I may not return to my study.” +</p> +<p>“No, father, you mustn’t stir,” said Pauline. “You are +my subject, and I command you to play hide-and-seek. You +and Aunt Sophy must hide together. Now let us begin.” +</p> +<p>The games that followed were provocative of mirth. Even +Mr. Dale was heard to chuckle feebly. This was when +Josephine put her hand into his pocket and withdrew his +handkerchief. He made a scholarly remark the next moment +to Miss Tredgold, who replied: +</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake, Henry, come down from the clouds. +This is your child’s birthday. It is all very well to know +all that musty stuff, but there are times when it is fifty +times better to be full of nonsense.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale groaned, and then Lucy seemed to spring out of +the ground. She laughed in his face, and cried out that +she had found him. +</p> +<p>So the merry game proceeded. It had nearly come to an +end when Pauline and Penelope found themselves alone. +</p> +<p>“I waited for you at twelve o’clock,” said Penelope, “but +you never comed. Why didn’t you?” +</p> +<p>“I didn’t want to, Pen. I have changed my mind. Think +no more about what I said.” +</p> +<p>“I can’t never forget it,” replied Pen. +</p> +<p>But then she heard a whoop from a distant enemy, and +darted to another part of the garden. +</p> +<p>The game of hide-and-seek was followed by another, and +then another and yet another, and the cries of mirth and +laughter sounded all over the place. Even Betty forgot +the tragic end of the Duke of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, +who was killed by a brigand in Italy while defending his +fair duchess. Betty had been weeping scalding tears over +the tragedy when the sound of mirth called her forth. John +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +accompanied her, and the other servants looked on in the +distance. +</p> +<p>“There never was such a rowdy family,” said Betty. +</p> +<p>“Rowdy do you call it?” cried John. +</p> +<p>“Yes; and the very rowdiest is Miss Tredgold. For +mercy’s sake look at the way she runs! She’s as fleet as a +hare.” +</p> +<p>“She have very neat ankles,” said John. “I call her a +neat figure of a woman.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t tell me,” said Betty. “Much you know what a +neat figure of a woman means. Miss Tredgold’s a haristocrat. +Now, if you’ll believe me, she’s the moral image of +the duchess.” +</p> +<p>“What duchess?” cried John. +</p> +<p>“The Duchess of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton—her that’s +just made a widow, and is crying her eyes out over the +murdered remains of the poor dook.” +</p> +<p>“Sometimes,” said John, “I think that you have gone off +your head, Betty. But I can’t stay to listen to any more of +these nonsenses. I have my garden to look after.” +</p> +<p>The final delight before the curtain of that birthday was +dropped down for ever found its vent in music—music in +which Mr. Dale took a part, and in which Miss Tredgold +excelled herself. It was the music that awoke Pauline’s +slumbering conscience. It was during that music that her +heart truly began to understand itself. +</p> +<p>“I am wicked—a coward and a liar,” she thought. “But, +all the same, I am going on, for I must. Aunt Sophy loves +me, and I love her, and I wouldn’t have her love turned to +hate for all the world. She must never find out what I did +in the past, and the only way to keep it from her is to go on +as I am going on.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<h3>A WILD FROLIC.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The first part of the birthday was absolutely over, but the +second part—the terrifying, awful part—was at hand. Aunt +Sophy had kissed Pauline and had blessed her by a look. +Her father had also put his trembling hand on her shoulder. +</p> +<p>“When you want to read that lovely volume of Cicero,” +he said, “come to me and I will teach you. I will spare a +few minutes of my valuable time to give you instruction.” +</p> +<p>Verena had also kissed her heartily, and she and the rest +of her sisters had gone to bed. They were all tired. Verena +came for a minute into Pauline’s little room. +</p> +<p>“I am too sleepy even to brush my hair in your room +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +to-night, Paulie,” she said. “I am too sleepy to talk about +our long happy day. What a pile of presents you have got! +Don’t you think you have had a perfect birthday? I only +wish mine was near at hand.” +</p> +<p>“It will come in good time,” said Pauline; “and even +birthdays——” +</p> +<p>She broke off abruptly. +</p> +<p>“What do you mean by ‘even birthdays’?” asked Verena. +“What were you going to say?” +</p> +<p>“I was going to say that even birthdays had drawbacks. +I know that I am dead-tired.” +</p> +<p>“You look it, darling. Do turn into bed and go to sleep.” +</p> +<p>Verena kissed her sister and left the room. +</p> +<p>Pauline stood by the attic window. The window was a +French one, and was wide open. The night was warm; +the sky was without a cloud; stars like diamonds dotted +the firmament; the sky itself looked darkly blue. Pauline +felt a sudden thrill going through her. It was a thrill from +the nobler part of her being. The whole day, and all that +happened in the day, had wrought her up to her present +state of feeling. A touch now and she would have confessed +all. A touch, a look, would have done it—for the +child, with her many faults, was capable of noble deeds; +but the touch was not there, nor the word of gentle advice +given. Had her mother been alive, Pauline would have +certainly gone to her and confessed what she had done. As +it was, she only felt that, in order to save herself from +the past, she must do something much more wicked in the +future. +</p> +<p>She waited until she was quite certain that Verena was +in bed; then she gently unfastened the door of her room +and stole out on to the landing. There was not a light in +the house. All the tired people had gone to bed. She +reached the room, at the farther end of the same wing, +where Briar and Patty slept. The sleeping attics occupied +two wings of the old house, the centre part of the house +being without rooms in the roof. Pauline, Verena, Briar, +and Patty slept in one of the wings, the rest of the girls +and the nursery children in the other. Mr. Dale had the +room exactly under the large attic occupied by Briar and +Patty. Miss Tredgold’s room was under the nursery wing. +</p> +<p>Pauline now very gently opened the door of the room +where her two little sisters slept. They were not asleep; +they were sitting up in their beds waiting for her. +</p> +<p>“We thought you would come, Paulie,” said Briar. “We +are so excited! What is it you want us to do for you, +darling Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“To save me! To save me!” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>Her tone was dramatic; her action was more so. She +fell on her knees by Briar’s bed; she clasped her arms +round the little girl’s neck; she laid her head on her shoulder +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +and burst into tears. The birthday queen was weeping. +Could emotion go beyond that fact? Patty bounded out of +her bed and knelt by Pauline’s other side. The two little +girls clasped their arms round her. She had exercised +a glamour over them all day, which now became greater +than ever. Was she not their queen? Oh, yes, until midnight +she was their own dear and absolutely beautiful queen. +An hour was still left of her sovereignty. She had quite +stolen their hearts; they loved her like anything. +</p> +<p>“What is it, Paulie?” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“I must tell you,” said Pauline. “I know you won’t betray +me.” +</p> +<p>“Indeed we won’t,” they both answered. +</p> +<p>“Well, then, this is what has happened.” +</p> +<p>She began to tell her story. She told it quickly, for the +time was short. If they were to meet Nancy they must +steal away almost at once. Pauline told her tale with +scarcely any comment. When it was finished she looked +at her sisters. The moonlight was in the room, and Pauline’s +face looked ghastly, but it looked beautiful also. Her +eyes were very big and dark and solemn and beseeching. +Briar and Patty glanced at each other. +</p> +<p>“Shall we?” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“It seems the only thing to do,” said Patty. +</p> +<p>“All the same, it is awfully wrong,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“Think of poor Paulie,” said Patty. +</p> +<p>“If we are discovered——” cried Briar. +</p> +<p>“Oh, bother!” interrupted Patty. “She’s our queen. We +must obey her. We are bound to help her. Let us go. She +mustn’t run into danger. You know what Nancy has said: +two of us must go with her. She mustn’t go alone.” +</p> +<p>Briar leant towards Patty, and Patty whispered in her +ear; and then the two little girls began to dress. +</p> +<p>“You are darlings,” said Pauline. “I shall never forget +this to you—never. I have everything else managed. +I am going back to my room. When you are dressed you +must shut the door of your room very quietly behind you, +and then you must steal along the corridor and you will +find my door just ajar. We will get out of my window by +the beech-tree, and we’ll be back and safe in our beds before +any one is up in the morning.” +</p> +<p>“It certainly is thrilling,” said Briar, raising her voice +in her excitement. +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t speak so loud!” said Pauline. “Dress very +fast. I will wait for you in my room. I shall be quite +ready.” +</p> +<p>Pauline rushed back to her own room. She then put on +a warm golf-cape and an old hat; and her arrangements +having been completed, she bent out of the French window. +In an incredibly short time Briar and Patty appeared. All +three girls were now in the wildest state of excitement. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +Scruples were silenced for the time being. Pauline’s conscience +no longer spoke. She felt that a midnight picnic, +stolen, partaken of under difficulties, sinned mightily to +obtain, had its own inexplicable charm. It was certainly +sweet to be naughty; there was a thrill about it, and a +sense of adventure, which goodness never brought. Oh, +yes, it was well worth the risk and danger. Her two little +sisters partook of Pauline’s feelings. They all easily reached +the ground, and when they found themselves outside in the +middle of the night, it was with difficulty that Briar could +keep from giving a shriek of ecstasy. +</p> +<p>“I suppose it’s because I’m so awfully naughty that I +enjoy it so,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Come along; don’t speak,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>She took a hand of each sister. They ran quickly over +the dew-laden grass. Their feet soon got wet, for they had +forgotten to put on strong shoes. But what mattered that? +What did small discomforts signify when the grand total +of pleasure was so enormous? +</p> +<p>They opened the wicket-gate, and Pauline found herself +immediately in the strong embrace of Nancy King. +</p> +<p>“There you are, darling!” she cried, bestowing a resounding +kiss on her cheek. “I feared that the she-dragon +would waken and call you back; but you are here, and you +have brought—let me see. Oh, you are Patty, are you not? +And Briar? You are my friends for ever now. Oh, we +shall have fun! The wagonette is here, and the dogcart; +there are a party of us, and a lot more coming to meet us +at the rendezvous. We shall have the most glorious time +you ever imagined.” +</p> +<p>As Nancy spoke she called out to two girls who were +standing in the shadow. +</p> +<p>“Becky, this is Briar Dale—in other words, Rose Dale. +You are to see after her. Amy, Patty Dale is your charge. +Now let us get into the wagonette, for it is the snuggest of +all the carriages, and the horses are so fleet. Listen how +they are pawing the ground; they’re mad to be off. Oh, +here’s father! Father, three of the young Dales have +come.” +</p> +<p>“Pleased to see you, I’m sure,” said the farmer. “It’s a +warm night for the time of year.” +</p> +<p>The little girls did not answer. Even Pauline, now that +she had met the rest of the party, felt curiously silent. A +weight seemed to rest on her. Her wild and riotous spirits +had died down. Her conscience was not troubling her, but +she felt depressed, she scarcely knew why. +</p> +<p>“I want something to poke me up,” she said to herself. +“I thought I’d be quite riotous with bliss when I met +Nancy. I don’t feel riotous; and, oh, how white the moonlight +is making Briar look! Briar,” whispered Pauline suddenly, +“are your feet very wet?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p> +<p>“Very: and they’re getting so cold,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“What are you talking about?” said Nancy. +</p> +<p>“The fact is,” said Pauline, “we forgot to put on our +outdoor shoes, and the dew is very heavy.” +</p> +<p>“Dear, dear! That will never do. Father, what do you +think these silly little misses have done? They’ve come out +in their house slippers.” +</p> +<p>“I never!” cried the farmer. “You are silly little ladies; +that I will say. I tell you what it is, Nance; we don’t want +these children to catch cold. Shall we drive back to The +Hollies and get them some of your shoes? You have enough, +I take it, to shoe a regiment.” +</p> +<p>Nancy laughed. +</p> +<p>“They wouldn’t fit,” she said. “They’d be too big for +any of them.” +</p> +<p>“Well, then,” said the farmer, “they shall all three take +their shoes off and wrap their feet in these warm rugs. +They can put them on again, and when the dancing begins +they will soon dry.” +</p> +<p>“Are we to dance?” said Pauline, her eyes sparkling. +</p> +<p>“You wait and see,” said Nancy. +</p> +<p>“Yes, you wait and see,” cried the farmer. “There are +all sorts of surprises. And there’s a birthday queen of +this here party, ain’t there, Nancy?” +</p> +<p>“I have heard tell that there was,” said Nancy. As she +spoke she took Pauline’s hand and dragged the little girl +forward to sit by her. +</p> +<p>The drive took some time, and the farmer and his party +were extremely loud and riotous and merry. As they passed +under the huge oak-trees some one in a dogcart went by, +and the light from a lantern fell on his face. Pauline recognized +Dr. Moffat. The moment she saw him he looked +round, and she fancied that he must have seen her, and +that his eyebrows went up with an expression of astonishment. +But he did not look again; he only continued on his +way. +</p> +<p>“I do hope he didn’t see me,” said Pauline to Nancy. +</p> +<p>“What matter if he did? He’s thinking of his profession, +and not of a little girl like you. I wonder where he is +going to.” +</p> +<p>“To Farmer Jackson,” said Farmer King. “He broke his +leg a fortnight ago, and they say mortification is setting in +and he can’t live. Poor Farmer Jackson! Here are we all +on a rollick, so to speak, a midnight picnic in summer, and +all our hearts as light as froth, and the farmer lying on +the flat of his back and like to pass away before morning.” +</p> +<p>Pauline felt uncomfortable. She turned her head away. +She did not wish to think of the sober events of life at +that moment. +</p> +<p>By-and-by the long drive came to an end. The girls +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +again put on their wet slippers, and the next moment they +found themselves inside a large marquee, with a boarded +floor, where a magnificent feast was prepared at the farther +end. The whole centre of the marquee was got ready for +dancing, and a number of young people whom Pauline had +never seen before were standing about in little knots, evidently +waiting for the arrival of the farmer and his +family. +</p> +<p>“There!” said Nancy. “Now, Paulie, what do you think? +Here’s feasting for you at this end, and there’s dancing +at the other, and if the Kings don’t do things in style I +don’t know who do.” +</p> +<p>“Ah, Miss King, and how are you?” +</p> +<p>“Pleased to see you, I’m sure,” was Nancy’s response. +</p> +<p>A bashful-looking young man with sandy hair and light-blue +eyes now came forward. He was followed by a girl +of similar type, and the two were introduced to Pauline +as Mr. and Miss Minchin. The Minchins were accompanied +by other neighbors, and the Dale girls found themselves +in the midst of a party numbering at least fifty people. +</p> +<p>Pauline felt suddenly shy. As a rule she was not remarkable +for this quality. She had a certain pretty assurance, +and never, as her sisters expressed it, lost her +head; but now her principal desire was to creep into her +shell, not to answer the inane remarks made by the young +men of the party, and on no account to allow them to put +their arms round her waist and carry her round in the +dance. Her face grew first red, then pale. She realized that +she was very tired, and more than ever did she wish that +she had never yielded to Nancy’s enticements. +</p> +<p>Patty and Briar, on the other hand, were enjoying themselves +very much. They had done this very naughty thing +on account of Pauline; they were glad they were helping +her—their consciences did not trouble them in the least. +They leant upon Pauline more than they were themselves +aware of. If trouble came, she would of course shield them. +At present there was no trouble. A picnic in the middle +of the night, miles away from home, was the most exciting +thing they had ever imagined. It beat the joys of the +birthday hollow. They were quite aware that by-and-by +there would perhaps be repentance, but who could think of +repentance now, with the feast—and such a feast!—on the +board, and Fiddler Joe making such exquisite, mad, intoxicating +music (it caused your feet to twitch so that they +could scarcely keep still), and that floor as smooth as glass, +and the summer moon entering through a chink in the big +tent, and the gayly dressed people, and all the merry voices? +Oh, it was an intoxicating time! +</p> +<p>So Briar danced with the first man who asked her, and +Patty did likewise. They danced with the ease and lightness +and grace of children in whom the accomplishment is +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +born. Nancy’s clumsy efforts, and the clumsy efforts of her +friends, were nowhere beside them. +</p> +<p>“That little girl,” said a rough-headed farmer, pointing +to Patty as he spoke, “dances like the foam of the sea. I +never saw anything like it in all my life.” +</p> +<p>“But why doesn’t the elder Miss Dale dance?” asked +Farmer King. +</p> +<p>He had noticed that she was declining one partner after +another. +</p> +<p>“Come, Miss Paulie,” he said, going to her side: “this +won’t do. May I have the pleasure of a barn-dance with +you, miss? You can’t refuse me.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did find it impossible to refuse the good man. He +took her hand and led her out, and presently she, too, was +being whirled round and round. But her sense of weariness +increased, and the heavy pain and bewilderment at her +heart grew worse. Oh, why had she come? Once the farmer, +looking at her, saw tears in her eyes. In a moment he +stopped dancing. He took her hand and led her to the other +side of the tent. +</p> +<p>“You dance beautifully, miss,” he said; “not quite so +light as your little sister, but I am proud to be seen with +you, miss, all the same. And now, if I may make so bold, +what is the matter with you, Miss Pauline Dale?” +</p> +<p>“Nothing,” answered Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Don’t tell me,” replied the farmer. “Is it in reason that +a little lady like yourself would have tears in her eyes at +a moment like the present if there was nothing the matter? +Is it in reason, miss?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I ought not to have come!” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>The farmer’s face grew rather red. He looked full at +Pauline for a moment; then he said: +</p> +<p>“I can’t speak out now, for it’s only the beginning of the +fun. There’s a great deal planned, and you are in the thick +of it, but before you go back home I’ll have a word with +you; so cheer up, my pretty little miss, for things that +aren’t right can be put right. You trust Farmer King for +that.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did cheer up. She felt that the farmer was her +friend, and she also knew that he was a friend worth having. +The other girls met her once or twice, and Patty whispered: +</p> +<p>“Oh, there never was anything like this before! I could +be naughty every single night of my life to have such +fun!” +</p> +<p>The dance was followed by the feast, and the feast was +A1. When it was over there was a moment of silence. +Then Nancy, accompanied by Briar and Patty, Becky and +Amy, and the two boys, Jack and Tom, assembled round +the seat where Pauline had placed herself. +</p> +<p>“It is your turn, Paulie,” said Nancy. “You are queen +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +of to-night, for it is the night following your birthday. +Come, queen, take your throne.” +</p> +<p>“I am sick of thrones,” answered Pauline. +</p> +<p>But Nancy took her hand. +</p> +<p>“Whatever you feel, you must not show it,” she said, +“for that will spoil everything. Here is your throne; step +up.” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked round her. Up to the present moment a +curtain had been drawn across one end of the tent. It was +now removed, and the little girl saw a deep chair covered +completely with flowers and moss and ferns. A bright light +was hanging just at the back of this throne. Now Pauline, +as queen of the day, was led up to it, and requested to take +her seat thereon. She did so, feeling queer and giddy. +When she was seated the young people stood in groups at +her right hand and at her left. +</p> +<p>The farmer now appeared, carrying a table. All the +guests stood in the background and looked on. The table +was placed in front of Pauline. At the same instant Nancy +bent forward and laid her hand across the little girl’s +eyes. +</p> +<p>“Don’t look just for a minute,” she said. +</p> +<p>Pauline heard the ecstatic whispers of her own little sisters, +and for the first time a feeling of wonder and pleasure +stole over her. She forgot all that had gone before, and +for the time was both happy and excited. +</p> +<p>“Now you may look,” said Nancy. +</p> +<p>As Pauline opened her eyes she felt something cool and +soft descending on her head. +</p> +<p>“Don’t touch it,” whispered Nancy; “it’s your crown. +But come, girls and boys, we must do more than this to +make our queen beautiful.” +</p> +<p>As she spoke all the young people divided into two groups, +crossed the floor, and came past Pauline as she sat on her +throne; and each one, as she or he passed, threw a wreath of +flowers either over the head of the little girl, or round her +neck, or into her lap, until finally she found herself absolutely +embedded in flowers. +</p> +<p>“Look at yourself,” said Nancy, suddenly slipping a looking-glass +in front of the birthday queen. “Tell us what +you see.” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked. The lights were so managed that she +could see everything distinctly. The lights fell full upon +her. She saw a pair of dark eyes, sweet, anxious, and beautiful; +she saw a radiant and rosy face. Lilies of the valley, +sweet-peas, and summer roses fell about her soft dark +hair. Similar flowers fell about her neck. Her dress was +hidden beneath its wealth of flowers; her charming face rose +out of a perfect foam of flowers. +</p> +<p>“Oh, I do look beautiful!” she said aloud, and at the naive +remark the whole party shouted with merriment. Nancy +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +cried, “Long life to the queen!” and Joe the Fiddler burst +into his merriest strains; it was with the greatest difficulty +that the desire for dancing could be suppressed, for the little +ceremony was not yet quite over. It was Nancy’s turn to +come forward. +</p> +<p>“Queen of the night,” she said, “we hope that you will +like what we, your subjects, have done for you, and we +hope that you will never forget your happy birthday. There +is just one thing I have to say. When the flowers fade—and +they are fading already—you, dear queen, will have no +longer a kingdom, so we have brought you something; we +have subscribed among us for something that will not fade—something +that you can always wear in memory of us. +Look! isn’t it beautiful?” +</p> +<p>As Nancy spoke, she took a morocco case from the table, +touched a spring, and revealed to Pauline’s dazzled eyes, a +necklace of thin pure gold, to which a little locket, with a +diamond in the centre, was attached. +</p> +<p>“This won’t fade,” said Nancy. “You can keep it all your +life long. You can also remember that there are people in +the world, perhaps born a little lower than yourself, who +love you and care for you.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, you are good!” cried Pauline. “I will never forsake +you, Nancy, or think myself better than you are.” +</p> +<p>“Didn’t I say she was a brick?” said Nancy. “Stoop your +head, queen; I will clasp the necklace around your neck.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did stoop her head, and the necklace was put in +its place. The little diamond in the centre glittered as +though it had a heart of fire. The flowers smelled sweet, +but also heavy. Pauline was tired once again; but the music +was resumed. Fiddler Joe played more enchanting music +than before, and Pauline, suddenly rising from her throne, +determined to dance during the remaining hours of that +exciting night. +</p> +<p>But all happy things, and all naughty things come to an +end, for such is the fashion of earth; and by-and-by the +farmer said that if they wished to be home before morning +they must get into the wagonette and the dogcart, and +their guests must take themselves away. Now it was the +farmer’s turn to come up to Pauline. +</p> +<p>“You have given us all pleasure to-night, Miss Pauline,” +he said; “and it warms our hearts to feel that, whatever +the circumstances, you will always be true to us, who have +been true to you and yours for generations. For, miss, the +history of the Dales is almost bound up with the history of +the Kings. And if the Dales were gentlefolks and lords +of the manor, the Kings were their humble retainers. So, +miss, the Dales and Kings were always good to each other; +the Kings over and over again laying down their lives for +the Dales in the Civil Wars, and the Dales on their part protecting +the Kings. So, after all, miss, there’s no earthly +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +reason, because a grand aunt of yours has come to live at +The Dales, why the traditions of your house should be neglected +and forgotten. I am proud to feel that this will never +happen, and that your family and mine will be one. We +do not consider ourselves your equals, but we do consider +ourselves your friends. And if I can ever help you, Miss +Pauline, you have only to come to me and I will do it. +That’s all I’ve got to say. I don’t want thanks. I’m proud +that you and your little sisters have trusted yourselves to +us to-night, and I leave the matter of whether it was right +or wrong to your own consciences. But whatever happens, +what you did to-night is the sort of thing that Farmer King +will never forget.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<h3>VINEGAR.</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was certainly not at all remarkable that the entire +party should be drowsy and languid on the following day. +Pauline had dark shadows under her eyes, and there was a +fretful note in her voice. Nurse declared that Briar and +Patty had caught cold, and could not imagine how they had +managed to do so; but Miss Tredgold said that colds were +common in hot weather, and that the children had played +too long in the open air on the previous night. In short, +those who were out of the mischief suspected nothing, and +Pauline began to hope that her wild escapade would never +be known. Certainly Briar and Patty would not betray her. +</p> +<p>They had all managed to climb up the tree and get in at +her window without a soul knowing. Pauline therefore +hoped that she was quite safe; and the hope that this was +the case revived her spirits, so that in the afternoon she +was looking and feeling much as usual. As she was dressing +that morning she had made a sort of vow. It was not +a bit the right thing to do, but then poor little Pauline was +not doing anything very right just then. This was her vow. +She had said in her prayer to God: +</p> +<p>“If You will keep Aunt Sophy from finding out how +naughty I have been, I will, on my part, be extra good. I +will do my lessons most perfectly, and never, never, never +deceive Aunt Sophy again.” +</p> +<p>Now, Pauline, unaware that such a prayer could not possibly +be answered, felt a certain sense of security after +she had made it. +</p> +<p>In addition to the beautiful chain with its locket and its +diamond star in the middle, she had received several other +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +presents of the gay and loud and somewhat useless sort. +Nancy’s friends, Becky and Amy, had both given her presents, +and several young people of the party had brought +little trifles to present to the queen of the occasion. There +was a time when Pauline would have been highly delighted +with these gifts, but that time was not now. She felt the +impossible tidies, the ugly pin-cushions, the hideous toilet-covers, +the grotesque night-dress bags to be more burdens +than treasures. What could she possibly do with them? +The gold chain and locket were another matter. She felt +very proud of her chain and her little heart-shaped locket. +She was even mad enough to fasten the chain round her +neck that morning and hide it beneath her frock, and so go +downstairs with the diamond resting on her heart. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold had wisely resolved that there were to be +very few lessons that day. The girls were to read history +and a portion of one of Shakespeare’s plays, and afterwards +they were to sit in the garden and do their fancy-work. +They were all glad of the quiet day and of the absence of +excitement, and as evening progressed they recovered from +their fatigue, and Pauline was as merry as the rest. +</p> +<p>It was not until preparation hour that Pauline felt a +hand laid on her arm; two keen black eyes looked into her +face, and a small girl clung to her side. +</p> +<p>“Oh, what is it, Pen?” said Pauline, almost crossly. +“What do you want now?” +</p> +<p>“I thought perhaps you’d like to know,” replied Penelope. +</p> +<p>“To know what, you tiresome child? Don’t press up +against me; I hate being pawed.” +</p> +<p>“Does you? Perhaps you’d rather things was knowed.” +</p> +<p>“What is it, Pen? You are always so mysterious and +tiresome.” +</p> +<p>“Only that I think you ought to tell me,” said Penelope, +lowering her voice and speaking with great gentleness. “I +think you ought to tell me all about the things that are hidden +away in that bandbox under your bed.” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” said Pauline, turning pale. +</p> +<p>“Why, I thought I’d like to go into your room and have +a good look round.” +</p> +<p>“But you have no right to do that sort of thing. It is intolerably +mean of you. You had no right to go into my bedroom.” +</p> +<p>“I often does what I has no right to do,” said Penelope, +by no means abashed. “I went in a-purpose ’cos you didn’t +tell me what you wished to tell me once, and I was burning +to know. Do you understand what it is to be all curiosity +so that your heart beats too quick and you gets fidgety? +Well, I was in that sort of state, and I said to myself, ‘I +will know.’ So I went into your room and poked about. +I looked under the bed, and there was an old bandbox where +you kept your summer hat afore Aunt Sophy came; and I +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +pulled it out and opened it, and, oh! I see’d—— Paulie, +I’d like to have ’em. You doesn’t want ’em, ’cos you have +hidden ’em, and I should like to have ’em.” +</p> +<p>“What?” +</p> +<p>“Why, that pin-cushion for one thing—oh! it’s a beauty—and +that tidy. May I have the pin-cushion and the tidy, +Paulie—the purple pin-cushion and the red tidy? May I?” +</p> +<p>“No.” +</p> +<p>“May Aunt Sophy have them?” +</p> +<p>“Don’t be silly.” +</p> +<p>“May anybody have them?” +</p> +<p>“They’re mine.” +</p> +<p>“How did you get them?” +</p> +<p>“That’s my affair.” +</p> +<p>“You didn’t get them from me, nor from any of the other +girls—I can go round and ask them if you like, but I know +you didn’t—nor from father, nor from Aunt Sophy, nor +from Betty, nor from John, nor from any of the new servants. +Who gave them to you?” +</p> +<p>“That’s my affair.” +</p> +<p>“You won’t tell?” +</p> +<p>“No.” +</p> +<p>“May I tell Aunt Sophy about the bandbox chock-full of +funny things pushed under the bed?” +</p> +<p>“If you do——” +</p> +<p>Penelope danced a few feet away. She then stood in +front of her sister and began to sway her body backwards +and forwards. +</p> +<p>“I see’d,” she began, “such a funny thing!” +</p> +<p>“Penelope, you are too tormenting!” +</p> +<p>“I see’d such a very funny thing!” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold was seen approaching. Penelope looked +round at her and then deliberately raised her voice. +</p> +<p>“I see’d such a very, very funny thing!” +</p> +<p>“What is it, Pen? Why are you teasing your sister?” +said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“I aren’t!” cried Penelope. “I are telling her something +what she ought to know. It is about something I—— Shall +I go on, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“No; you make my head ache. Aunt Sophy, may I go in +and lie down?” +</p> +<p>“Certainly, my dear. You look very pale. My poor +child, you were over-excited yesterday. This won’t do. +Penelope, stop teasing your sister, and come for a walk +with me. Pauline, go and lie down until dinner-time.” +</p> +<p>Pauline went slowly in the direction of the house, but +fear dogged her footsteps. What did Penelope know, and +what did she not know? +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Miss Tredgold took the little girl’s hand and +began to pace up and down. +</p> +<p>“I have a great deal to correct in you, Pen,” she said. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +“You are always spying and prying. That is not a nice +character for a child.” +</p> +<p>“I can be useful if I spy and pry,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“My dear, unless you wish to become a female detective, +you will be a much greater nuisance than anything else if +you go on making mysteries about nothing. I saw that you +were tormenting dear little Pauline just now. The child is +very nervous. If she is not stronger soon I shall take her +to the seaside. She certainly needs a change.” +</p> +<p>“And me, too?” said Penelope. “I want change awful +bad.” +</p> +<p>“Not a bit of you. I never saw a more ruddy, healthy-looking +little girl in the whole course of my life.” +</p> +<p>“I wonder what I could do to be paled down,” thought +Penelope to herself; but she did not speak her thought +aloud. “I mustn’t tell Aunt Sophy, that is plain. I must +keep all I know about Paulie dark for the present. There’s +an awful lot. There’s about the thimble, and—yes, I did see +them all three. I’m glad I saw them. I won’t tell now, for +I’d only be punished; but if I don’t tell, and pretend I’m going +to, Paulie will have to pay me to keep silent. That will +be fun.” +</p> +<p>The days passed, and Pauline continued to look pale, and +Miss Tredgold became almost unreasonably anxious about +her. Notwithstanding Verena’s assurance that Pauline had +the sort of complexion that often looked white in summer, +the good lady was not reassured. There was something more +than ordinary weakness and pallor about the child. There +was an expression in her eyes which kept her kind aunt +awake at night. +</p> +<p>Now this most excellent woman had never yet allowed +the grass to grow under her feet. She was quick and decisive +in all her movements. She was the sort of person +who on the field of battle would have gone straight to the +front. In the hour of danger she had never been known to lose +her head. She therefore lost no time in making arrangements +to take Verena and Pauline to the seaside. Accordingly +she wrote to a landlady she happened to know, and +engaged some remarkably nice rooms at Easterhaze on the +south coast. Verena and Pauline were told of her plans +exactly a week after the birthday. Pauline had been having +bad dreams; she had been haunted by many things. The +look of relief on her face, therefore, when Miss Tredgold +told her that they were to pack their things that day, and +that she, Verena, and herself would start for Easterhaze at +an early hour on the following morning, was almost beyond +words. +</p> +<p>“Why is you giving Pauline this great big treat?” asked +Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Little girls should be seen and not heard,” was Miss +Tredgold’s remark. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></p> +<p>“But this little girl wants to be heard,” replied the incorrigible +child. “’Cos she isn’t very strong, and ’cos her +face is palefied.” +</p> +<p>“There is no such word as palefied, Penelope.” +</p> +<p>“I made it. It suits me,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Pauline’s cheeks are rather too pale,” answered Miss +Tredgold. +</p> +<p>She did not reprove Penelope, for in spite of herself she +sometimes found a smile coming to her face at the child’s +extraordinary remarks. +</p> +<p>Presently Penelope slipped away. She went thoughtfully +across the lawn. Her head was hanging, and her whole +stout little figure testified to the fact that she was meditating. +</p> +<p>“Off to the sea!” she muttered softly to herself. “Off to +the big briny waves, to the wadings, to the sand castles, to +the shrimps, to the hurdy-gurdies, and all ’cos she’s palefied. +I wish I could be paled.” +</p> +<p>She ran into the house, rushed through the almost deserted +nursery, and startled nurse out of her seven senses +with a wild whoop. +</p> +<p>“Nursey, how can I be paled down?” +</p> +<p>“Nonsense, child! Don’t talk rubbish.” +</p> +<p>“Am I pale, nursey, or am I a rosy sort of little girl?” +</p> +<p>“You are a sunburnt, healthy-looking little child, with +no beauty to fash about,” was nurse’s blunt response. +</p> +<p>“Am I healthy-looking?” +</p> +<p>“Of course you are, Miss Pen. Be thankful to the Almighty +for it, and don’t worry me.” +</p> +<p>Pen stuck out her tongue, made a hideous face at nurse, +and darted from the room. She stood in the passage for a +minute or two reflecting, then she slipped round and went +in the direction of Pauline’s bedroom. +</p> +<p>The bandbox chock-full of those vulgar presents had been +pushed into the back part of a dark cupboard which stood +in the little girl’s room. Penelope knew all about that. She +opened the cupboard, disappeared into its shadows, and then +returned with an orange-colored tidy and a chocolate-red +pin-cushion. Having made a bag of the front of her frock, +she slipped the pin-cushion and tidy into it, and ran off +to the kitchen. Aunt Sophia visited the kitchen each morning, +but Pen knew that the hour of her daily visit had not +yet arrived. Betty was there, surreptitiously reading a +copy of the <i>Faithful Friend</i>. She started when Pen darted +into her domain. +</p> +<p>“Now what is it, Miss Penelope? For goodness’ sake, +miss, get out of this. Your aunt would be flabbergasted to +see you here.” +</p> +<p>For response Pen planted down in front of Betty the +orange-colored tidy and the chocolate-red pin-cushion. +</p> +<p>“Here’s some things,” she said. “Here’s two nice things +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +for a nice body. What will that nice body give for these +nice things?” +</p> +<p>“My word!” said Betty, “they’re natty.” +</p> +<p>She took up the pin-cushion and examined it all over. +She then laid it down again. She next took up the tidy, +turned it from side to side, and placed it, with a sigh of +distinct desire, beside the pin-cushion. +</p> +<p>“Them’s my taste,” she said. “I like those sort of fixed +colors. I can’t abide the wishy-washy tastes of the present +day.” +</p> +<p>“They’s quite beautiful, ain’t they?” said Pen. “I’ll give +them to you if you will——” +</p> +<p>“You will give them to me?” said Betty. “But where +did you get them from?” +</p> +<p>“That don’t matter a bit. Don’t you ask any questions and +you will hear no lies. I will give them to you, and nobody +and nothing shall ever take them from you again, if you do +something for me.” +</p> +<p>“What’s that, Miss Pen?” +</p> +<p>“Will you, Betty—will you? And will you be awful quick +about it.” +</p> +<p>“I should like to have them,” said Betty. “There’s a +friend of mine going to commit marriage, and that tidy +would suit her down to the ground. She’d like it beyond +anything. But, all the same, I don’t hold with young ladies +forcing their way into my kitchen; it’s not haristocratic.” +</p> +<p>“Never mind that ugly word. Will you do what I want?” +</p> +<p>“What is it, Miss Pen?” +</p> +<p>“Palefy me. Make me sort of refined. Take the color +out of me. Bleach me—that’s it. I want to go to the seaside. +Pale people go; rosy people don’t. I want to be awful +pale by to-night. How can it be done? It’s more genteel +to be pale.” +</p> +<p>“It is that,” said Betty, looking at the rosy Penelope with +critical eyes. “I have often fretted over my own color; it’s +mostly fixed in the nose, too. But I don’t know any way +to get rid of it.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t you?” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>Quick as thought she snatched up the pin-cushion and +tidy. +</p> +<p>“You don’t have these,” she said. “Your friend what’s +going to be married won’t have this tidy. If you can’t take +fixed colors out of me, you don’t have fixed colors for your +bedroom, so there!” +</p> +<p>“You are awful quick and smart, miss, and I have heard +tell that vinegar does it.” +</p> +<p>“Vinegar?” +</p> +<p>“I have heard tell, but I have never tried it. You drink +it three times a day, a wine-glass at a time. It’s horrid +nasty stuff, but if you want to change your complexion you +must put up with some sort of inconvenience.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></p> +<p>“Suppose, Betty, you and me both drink it. Your nose +might get white, and I might go to the seaside.” +</p> +<p>“No, miss, I’m not tempted to interfere with nature. I’ve +got good ’ealth, and I’ll keep it without no vinegar.” +</p> +<p>“But will you give me some? You shall have the pin-cushion +and the tidy if you do.” +</p> +<p>“’Arriet would like that tidy,” contemplated Betty, looking +with round eyes at the hideous ornament. +</p> +<p>“You sneak round to the boot-house, and I’ll have it +ready for you,” she said. “Come at eleven, come again at +half-past three, and come at seven in the evening.” +</p> +<p>This was arranged, and Pen, faithfully to the minute, did +make her appearance in the boot-house. She drank off her +first glass of vinegar with a wry face; but after it was swallowed +she began to feel intensely good and pleased with +herself. +</p> +<p>“Will it pale me in an hour?” was her thought. +</p> +<p>She ran upstairs, found a tiny square of looking-glass, +concealed it in her pocket, and came down again. During +the remainder of the day she might have been observed at +intervals sneaking away by herself, and had any one followed +her, that person would have seen her taking the looking-glass +from her pocket and carefully examining her +cheeks. +</p> +<p>Alas! the vinegar had only produced a slight feeling of +discomfort; it had not taken any of the bloom out of the +firm, fat cheeks. +</p> +<p>“It’s horrid, and it’s not doing it,” thought the child. “I +wish I hadn’t gived her that tidy and that pin-cushion. But +I will go on somehow till the color is out. They will send +for me when they hear that I’m bad. Perhaps I’ll look bad +to-night.” +</p> +<p>But Pen’s “perhapses” were knocked on the head, for +Miss Tredgold made a sudden and most startling announcement. +</p> +<p>“Why wait for the morning?” she exclaimed. “We are +all packed and ready. We can easily get to Easterhaze by +a late train to-night.” +</p> +<p>Accordingly, by a late train that evening Miss Tredgold, +Verena, and Pauline departed. They drove to Lyndhurst +Road, and presently found themselves in a first-class carriage +being carried rapidly away. +</p> +<p>“I am glad I thought of it,” said Miss Tredgold, turning +to the two girls. “It is true we shall arrive late, but Miss +Pinchin will have things ready, as she will have received my +telegram. We shall sleep at our new quarters in peace and +comfort, and be ready to enjoy ourselves in the morning.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +<h3>GLENGARRY CAPS.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Penelope drank her vinegar three times a day. She applied +herself to this supposed remedy with a perseverance +and good faith worthy of a better cause. This state of things +continued until on a certain night she was seized with acute +pain, and awoke shrieking out the startling words, “Vinegar! +vinegar!” Nurse, who was not in the plot, thought +the child was raving. She scolded Penelope more than pitied +her, administered a strong dose, and, in short, treated +her as rather a naughty invalid. +</p> +<p>“It’s green apples that has done it,” said nurse, shaking +her head solemnly, and looking as if she thought Penelope +ought certainly to return to her nursery thraldom. +</p> +<p>“I mustn’t take so much vinegar,” thought the little girl; +“but I do hope that being so ill, and taking the horrid medicine, +and being scolded by the nurse will have made me a +bit pale.” +</p> +<p>She doubtless hoped also that her illness would be reported +to Miss Tredgold, who would send for her in double-quick +time; but as Miss Tredgold was not told, and no one +took any notice of Pen’s fit of indigestion, she was forced to +try other means to accomplish her darling desire—for go +to the seaside she was determined she would. Of late she +had been reading all the books she could find relating to +the sea. She devoted herself to the subject of shells and +seaweeds, and always talked with admiration of those +naughty children who got into mischief on the sands. +</p> +<p>“Lots of them get drownded,” she was heard to say to +Adelaide. “It is quite, quite common to be washed up a +drownded person by the big waves.” +</p> +<p>Adelaide did not believe it, but Penelope stuck to her own +opinion, and whenever she found one of her sisters alone +and ready to listen to her, her one invariable remark was: +</p> +<p>“Tell me about the sea.” +</p> +<p>Once it darted into her erratic little head that she would +run away, walk miles and miles, sleep close to the hedges +at night, receive drinks of milk from good-natured cottagers, +and finally appear a dusty, travel-stained, very sick +little girl at Aunt Sophia’s lodgings at Easterhaze. But the +difficulties in the way of such an undertaking were beyond +even Pen’s heroic spirit. Notwithstanding her vinegar and +her suffering, she was still rosy—indeed, her cheeks seemed +to get plumper and rounder than ever. She hated to think +of the vinegar she had taken in vain; she hated to remember +Betty and the tidy and pin-cushion she had given her. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></p> +<p>Meanwhile the days passed quickly and the invitation she +pined for did not come. What was to be done? Suddenly +it occurred to her that, if she could only become possessed +of certain facts which she now suspected, she might be able +to fulfil her own darling desire. For Pen knew more than +the other girls supposed. She was very angry with Pauline +for not confiding in her on Pauline’s birthday, and at night +she had managed to keep awake, and had risen softly from +her cot and stood in her white night-dress by the window; +and from there she had seen three little figures creeping +side by side across the lawn—three well-known little figures. +She had very nearly shouted after them; she had very nearly +pursued them. But all she really did was to creep back +into bed and say to herself in a tone of satisfaction: +</p> +<p>“Now I knows. Now I will get lots of pennies out of +Paulie.” +</p> +<p>She dropped into the sleep of a happy child almost as +she muttered the last words, but in the morning she had +not forgotten what she had seen. +</p> +<p>On a certain day shortly after Penelope had recovered +from her very severe fit of indigestion, she was playing on +the lawn, making herself, as was her wont, very troublesome, +when Briar, looking up from her new story-book, said +in a discontented voice: +</p> +<p>“I do wish you would go away, Penelope. You worry me +awfully.” +</p> +<p>Penelope, instead of going away, went and stood in front +of her sister. +</p> +<p>“Does I?” she said. “Then I am glad.” +</p> +<p>“You really are a horrid child, Pen. Patty and Adelaide, +can you understand why Pen is such a disagreeable child?” +</p> +<p>“She is quite the most extraordinary child I ever heard of +in the whole course of my life,” said Adelaide. “The other +night, when she woke up with a pain in her little tum-tum, +she shouted, ‘Vinegar! vinegar!’ She must really have +been going off her poor little head.” +</p> +<p>“No, I wasn’t,” said Penelope, who turned scarlet and then +white. “It was vinegar—real vinegar. It was to pale me.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t talk to her!” said Patty. “She is too silly +for anything. Go away, baby, and play with sister Marjorie, +and don’t talk any more rubbish.” +</p> +<p>“You call me baby?” said Penelope, coming close to the +last speaker, and standing with her arms akimbo. “You +call me baby? Then I will ask you a question. Who were +the people that walked across the lawn on the night of +Paulie’s birthday? Who was the three peoples who walked +holding each other’s hands?—little peoples with short skirts—little +peoples about the size of you, maybe; and about +the size of Briar, maybe; and about the size of Paulie, maybe. +Who was they? You answer me that. They wasn’t +ghostses, was they?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></p> +<p>Briar turned pale; Patty glanced at her. Adelaide, who +had watchful blue eyes, turned and looked from one sister +to the other. +</p> +<p>“You are talking rubbish,” said Briar. “Go and play.” +</p> +<p>“Who was they?” repeated Pen. +</p> +<p>“I don’t know.” +</p> +<p>“Am I baby or big wise girl?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, you are an infant Solomon! I don’t know who the +people were.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t you?” +</p> +<p>Penelope looked at Briar with a sigh of disappointment. +Then she whispered to herself: +</p> +<p>“It’s ’cos of Adelaide. Course they don’t want to say anything +when Addy’s there.” +</p> +<p>She strolled away. +</p> +<p>“What was the child talking about?” asked Adelaide. +</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Briar. “She’s the rummiest +little thing that ever walked. But there’s no good in +taking any notice of what she says.” +</p> +<p>“Of course no one does,” answered Adelaide. “But I do +wonder if ghosts ever walk across the lawn. Do you believe +in ghosts, Briar?” +</p> +<p>“Certainly not,” said Briar. “No girl in her senses +does.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know at all as to that,” replied Adelaide. “There +was a girl that came to stay with Nancy King last year; her +name was Freda Noell. She believed in ghosts. She said +she had once been in a haunted house. What is it, Briar? +Why do you shrug your shoulders?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Briar. “I don’t want to talk about +ghosts. I don’t believe in them.” +</p> +<p>She got up and crossed the lawn. The next moment Pen +had tucked her hand inside her arm. +</p> +<p>“You needn’t keep it from me,” she said in a whisper. +“It was you and Patty and Paulie. I knew who you were, +’cos the moon shone on Patty’s Glengarry cap. You needn’t +deny it.” +</p> +<p>“I do deny it. I didn’t go,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>She felt her heart smite her as she told this lie. She +walked quickly. +</p> +<p>“Do leave me,” she said. “You are a little girl that +doesn’t at all know her own place.” +</p> +<p>“But I do know it,” said Penelope. “My place is at the +seaside. I want to go there. I’m ’termined to go there. If +I don’t go one way I’ll go another. Why should Paulie, +what is the naughtiest of girls, have all the fun? I don’t +mind Renny being there so much. And why should I, what +is the very best of girls, be kept stuck here with only +nursey and you childrens to bother me? I am going. I’m +’termined.” +</p> +<p>She marched away. Patty came up. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>“Patty,” said Briar, “I’ve done it.” +</p> +<p>“What?” asked Patty. +</p> +<p>“I’ve told a lie about it. I said we weren’t on the lawn +at all. I told her she was talking nonsense.” +</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you have got out of it by any other way?” +asked Patty. “It doesn’t seem right to tell lies.” +</p> +<p>“I could with any one but Pen; but Pen can see through +a brick wall. I had to tell it, and very plump, too, where +Pen was in the question.” +</p> +<p>“Well, it makes me feel horrid,” said Patty. “I am sorry +we went. I think we did awfully wrong.” +</p> +<p>“We did it for Paulie. We’d do more than that for her,” +replied Briar. +</p> +<p>“I suppose so. I certainly love Paulie very much,” answered +Patty. +</p> +<p>“And, Patty,” continued Briar, “having told such a great +black lie to help her, we must go through with it. Pen +means mischief. She’s the sort of child who would do anything +to gain anything. She wants to go to the seaside, and +she wouldn’t mind whom she got into trouble if it suited her +own ends. We must remember she means mischief, and if +she talks again about three figures on the lawn, you and I +have got to stick to it that we didn’t go. Do you understand?” +</p> +<p>“I do, and I consider it awful,” said Patty. +</p> +<p>She did not add any more, but went slowly into the house. +Presently, feeling much depressed, she sought nurse’s society. +Nurse was turning some of the girls’ skirts. She was +a good needlewoman, and had clung to the house of Dale +through many adverse circumstances. She was enjoying +herself at present, and used often to say that it resembled +the time of the fat kine in Egypt. +</p> +<p>“Ah, Miss Patty!” she cried. “It’s glad I am to see you, +darling.” +</p> +<p>“Can I do anything for you, nursey?” asked Patty. +</p> +<p>“Of course you can, dear. You can help me to unpick this +frock. I am cutting it down to fit Miss Pen. It will make +a very neat frock for her, and it seems unfair that dear Miss +Tredgold should be at more expense than is necessary.” +</p> +<p>“Why,” asked Patty, with a surprised look, “doesn’t father +pay for the things?” +</p> +<p>“Mr. Dale!” cried nurse in a tone of wrath, “I’d like to +see him. It’s not that he wouldn’t, and for all I can tell he +may have the money; but, bless you, darling! he’d forget it. +He’d forget that there was such a thing as dress wanted in +all the world; and servants and food, and the different things +that all well-managed houses must have, couldn’t lie on his +memory while you were counting twenty. Do you suppose +if that dear, blessed lady didn’t put her hand into her pocket +in the way she does that you’d be having the right good +time you are now having, and the nice clothes, and the good +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +education, and the pretty ponies coming next week? And +Miss Pauline, just because she’s a bit pale, taken to the seaside? +Not a bit of it, my dear Miss Patty. It’s thankful +you ought to be to the Providence that put it into your +aunt’s head to act as she has done. Ah! if my dear mistress +was living she would bless her dear sister.” +</p> +<p>“Did you know mother before she was married?” asked +Patty, taking up a skirt and the pair of sharp scissors which +nurse provided her with, and sitting down happily to her +task. +</p> +<p>“Didn’t I live with her when she was Miss Tredgold?” +asked nurse. “And didn’t I over and over again help +Miss Sophia out of scrapes? Oh, she was a wild young +lady!” +</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to tell me that Aunt Sophy ever did anything +wrong?” +</p> +<p>“Nothing mean or shameful; but for temper and for spirit +and for dash and for go there wasn’t her like. Not a horse +in the land was wild enough to please her. She’d ride bareback +on any creature you gave her to mount, and never come +to grief, neither. She broke horses that trainers couldn’t +touch. She had a way with her that they couldn’t resist. +Just a pat of her hand on their necks and they’d be quiet +and shiver all over as though they were too delighted for +anything. Oh, she did follow the hounds! My word! and +she was admired, too. She was a young lady in a thousand. +And as for wanting to have her own way, she was for all +the world like our Miss Pauline. It strikes me those two +have very much in common, and that is why Miss Tredgold +has taken such a fancy to your sister.” +</p> +<p>“Do you think she has?” asked Patty. +</p> +<p>“Do I think it?” cried nurse. “For goodness’ sake, +Miss Patty, don’t cut the material. Do look where you +are putting the scissors. Do I think it, miss? I +know it. Miss Marjorie, sweet pet, you shall thread these +daisies. You shall make a pretty chain of them to put +around your neck. There’s my little precious.” +</p> +<p>Fat, lovely, little Marjorie shrieked with delight when +nurse put a coarse needle, to which was attached an equally +coarse piece of cotton, and a basket of daisies before her. +Marjorie tried to thread daisies, and uttered little cries of +happiness, while Patty and nurse talked together. +</p> +<p>“Miss Tredgold was a wonderful young lady, so handsome +and high-spirited. But if she didn’t always obey, she +never did anything mean or underhand. Everybody loved +her; and your poor mother was that took up with her that +when my master proposed that they should marry, it was +a good while before she’d consent—and all because she didn’t +want to part with Miss Sophy. She said that if Miss Sophy +would consent to live with them she’d marry Mr. Dale at +once, for she was very much attached to him. But Miss +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +Sophy put down her foot. ‘Live with a married couple!’ +she cried. ‘Why, I’d rather die.’ Well, my dear, there were +words and tears and groans; but at last Miss Sophy took +the bit between her teeth, and went off to an old relative, a +certain Miss Barberry, in Scotland, and arranged to live +with her and look after her. And your mother married; +and when Miss Barberry died she left Miss Sophy every +penny she possessed, and Miss Sophy is very rich now; and +well she deserves it. Dear, dear! I seem to see Miss Sophia +over again in our Miss Pauline. She was very comical, and +so high-spirited and wild, although she’d never do an underhand +thing.” +</p> +<p>“Never?” asked Patty, with a sigh. +</p> +<p>“Of course not. What do you take her for? Noble ladies +what is ladies don’t do mean sort of things.” +</p> +<p>Patty sighed again. +</p> +<p>“What are you sighing for, Miss Patty? I hate to hear +young ladies giving way to their feelings in that sort of +fashion.” +</p> +<p>“I was only thinking that you compared Aunt Sophy to +Pauline.” +</p> +<p>“And why shouldn’t I? Is it you who want to belittle +your sister? Miss Pauline is as high-spirited as ever young +lady was, but neither would she do a mean or underhand +thing.” +</p> +<p>Patty suppressed her next sigh. For a long time she +did not speak. +</p> +<p>“Nurse,” she said when she next broke silence, “did you +in the whole course of your life ever tell a lie?” +</p> +<p>“My word!” cried nurse—“Miss Marjorie, you’ll prick +your little fingers if you hold the needle like that. This +way, lovey. Did I ever tell a lie, Miss Patty? Goodness +gracious me! Well, to be sure, perhaps I told a bit of a +tarradiddle when I was a small child; but an out-and-out +lie—never, thank the Almighty!” +</p> +<p>“But what is the difference between a lie and a tarradiddle?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Miss Patty, there’s a deal of difference. A tarradiddle +is what you say when you are, so to speak, took +by surprise. It isn’t a lie out and out; it’s the truth concealed, +I call it. Sometimes it is a mere exaggeration. You +say a person is very, very cross when maybe that person +is hardly cross at all. I can’t quite explain, miss; I suppose +there’s scarcely any one who hasn’t been guilty of a +tarradiddle; but a lie—a thought-out lie—never.” +</p> +<p>“Is a lie so very awful?” asked Patty. +</p> +<p>“Awful!” repeated nurse. +</p> +<p>She rose solemnly from her seat, went up to Patty, and +put her hand under her chin. +</p> +<p>“Don’t you ever catch me a-seeing you a-doing of it,” +she said. “I wouldn’t own one of you Dales if you told +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +falsehoods. A black lie the Bible speaks of as a thing +that ain’t lightly forgiven. But, of course, you have never +told a lie. Oh, my dear, sweet young lady, you quite +frightened me! To think that one of my children could be +guilty of a sin like that!” +</p> +<p>Patty made no answer. +</p> +<p>“I am tired of work,” she said; “I am going out.” +</p> +<p>She flung down the skirt that she was helping to unpick +and let the scissors fall to the ground. +</p> +<p>“You might put your work tidily away, Miss Patty. +You aren’t half as useful and helpful as you ought to +be.” +</p> +<p>Patty laid the skirt on a chair and slipped away. Nurse +continued her occupation. +</p> +<p>“I wonder what the child meant,” she thought. “She +looked queer when she spoke. But there! with all their +faults—and goodness knows they’ve plenty—they’re straight, +every one of them. A crooked-minded Dale or a crooked-minded +Tredgold would be a person unheard of. Oh, yes, +they’re straight enough, that’s a blessing.” +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Patty sought her sister. +</p> +<p>“It’s worse than I thought,” she remarked. “It’s not +even a tarradiddle.” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Briar. +</p> +<p>“The lie you told—the lie I am to help you to hide. +It’s black as ink, and God is very angry with little girls +who tell lies. He scarcely can forgive lies. I was talking +to nurse, and she explained.” +</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say that you told her about Pauline?” +</p> +<p>“No,” answered Patty in a voice of scorn. “I am not +quite as bad as that. But she was speaking about Aunt +Sophy and how wild she used to be, and she compared her +to Paulie, and said that Aunt Sophy never did anything +mean or underhand, and that Paulie never did either. I +felt as if I could jump, for we know, Briar, what Paulie +has done.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, we know,” answered Briar. “And you and I have +done very wrong, too. But there is no help for it now, +Patty. We can’t go back.” +</p> +<p>“It certainly does seem awful to think of growing up +wicked,” said Patty. “I don’t like it.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t let’s talk about it,” said Briar. “We’ll have to +suffer some time, but perhaps not yet. Do you know that +the apples are getting ripe, and John wants us to help +him to pick them? Oh! and the mulberry-tree, too, is a +mass of fruit. What do you say to climbing the apple-trees +and shaking down the apples?” +</p> +<p>“Say!” cried Patty. “Delicious!” +</p> +<p>Without more words the little girls ran off to the orchard, +and nurse’s remarks with regard to the difference +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +between lies and tarradiddles were forgotten for the time +being. +</p> +<p>The days went on, but Pen did not forget. There came +a morning when, a letter having arrived from Aunt Sophy +saying that Pauline was much better—in fact, quite herself +again—and that she and both the girls would be home in +about a week, the little girl was rendered desperate. +</p> +<p>“I has no time to lose,” she said to herself. “I am ’termined +to go; I am going some fashion or t’other.” +</p> +<p>On this occasion she took a bolder step than she had +yet attempted. She resolved to walk alone the entire distance +between The Dales and The Hollies, which was about +three miles. Pen was the sort of child who was never +troubled by physical fear. She also knew the Forest very +well. She had but to slip away; none of her sisters would +miss her. Or if nurse wondered where she was, she would +conclude that Pen was keeping her elder sisters company. +If the girls wondered, they would think she was with nurse. +Altogether the feat was easy of accomplishment, and the +naughty child determined to go. She started off an hour +after breakfast, opened the wicket-gate, let herself out, +and began to walk quickly. These were the days of early +autumn, when the Forest was looking its best; the trees +were beginning to put on their regal dresses of crimson +and brown and gold. Already the rich red leaves were +dropping to the ground. The bracken was withering to a +golden brown, and the heather was a deep purple. Everywhere, +too, little bluebells sprang up, looking as if they +were making fairy music. There were squirrels, too, +darting from bough to bough of the beech-trees; and rabbits +innumerable, with white-tipped tails, disappearing +into their various holes. A walk in the Forest on this +special day was the sort to fascinate some children, but +Pen cared for none of these things. Her way lay straight +before her; her object was never for a moment forgotten. +She meant to reach the sea by some means or other. +</p> +<p>She was a somewhat tired and hot little person when at +last she appeared outside the broad gravel walk that led +to The Hollies; and it so happened that when she entered +this walk her courage was put to a severe test, for Lurcher, +the farmer’s bulldog, happened to be loose. As a rule he +was kept tied up. Now, Lurcher was a very discerning +person. He attacked beggars in a most ferocious manner, +but as to ladies and gentlemen a fierce bout of barking +was sufficient. Pen, however, looked like neither a beggar +nor a lady or gentleman. Lurcher did not know what to +make of Pen. Some one so small and so untidy could +scarcely be a visitor. She was much too short and much +too stout, and her little legs were bleeding from the thorny +brambles that she had come through during her journey. +Accordingly Lurcher, with a low growl and a swift bound, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +pinned poor little Pen by the skirt of her short frock. +He was sufficiently a gentleman not to hurt her, but he +had not the least idea of letting her go. He pinned her +even more firmly when she moved an inch away from him, +and when she raised her voice he growled. He not only +growled, but he shook her dress fiercely. Already she felt +it snap from its waistband under Lurcher’s terrible teeth. +She was a very brave child, but her present predicament +was almost more than she could bear. How long it lasted +no one quite knew. Then there came a stride across the +gravel, a shout from Farmer King, and Pen was transferred +from the ground into his sheltering arms. +</p> +<p>“You poor little thing!” he said. “You poor little bit +of a lass! Now, you don’t tell me you are one of the Dales? +You have their eyes—black as black most of them are. Are +you a Dale?” +</p> +<p>“Course I am,” answered Penelope. “I’m Penelope Dale. +He’s a shocking bad dog. I never thought I could be +frightened. I was ’termined to come, but I never thought +you kept such a shocking, awful dog as that.” +</p> +<p>“I am more sorry than I can say, my little dear. I +wonder now who let the brute out. He’ll catch it from +me, whoever he is. Here, Nancy! Hullo, Nancy! Come +along here, quick!” +</p> +<p>Nancy, looking fresh and smiling, stepped out of the open +French window. +</p> +<p>“Why,” she said when she saw Pen, “wherever did you +drop from?” +</p> +<p>Pen began to cry. +</p> +<p>“I wor ’termined to come,” she said. “I wanted to see +you most tur’ble bad.” +</p> +<p>“Poor little thing!” said the farmer. “She’s got a bit +of a fright. What do you think, Nancy? Lurcher had +little miss by her skirt. He’d pinned her, so to speak, and +he wouldn’t let go, not if she fainted; and she was that +brave, little dear, that she didn’t do anything but just stood +still, with her face as white as death.” +</p> +<p>“Wor I paled down?” said Pen. “Do tell me if I wor +paled down a bit.” +</p> +<p>“You were as white as death, you poor little pretty,” +said the farmer; and then he kissed the little girl on her +broad forehead, and hurried off to expostulate with regard +to Lurcher. +</p> +<p>Nancy took Pen into the house, and sat down in a cosy +American rocking-chair with the little girl in her lap. She +proceeded to gorge her with caramels and chocolates. Pen +had never been so much fussed over before; and, truth, +to tell, she had seldom enjoyed herself better. +</p> +<p>“I wor ‘termined—’termined to come,” she repeated several +times. At last her sobs ceased altogether, and she +cuddled up against Nancy and went to sleep in her arms. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></p> +<p>Nancy lifted her up and put her on the horse-hair sofa; +she laid a rug over her, and then stooped and kissed her. +Afterwards she went out and joined her father. +</p> +<p>“Whatever brought little miss here?” asked the farmer. +</p> +<p>“That’s more than I can tell you, father.” +</p> +<p>“And why don’t the others come sometimes?” snapped +Farmer King. “They none of ’em come, not even that +pretty girl we made so much fuss over, giving her a gold +locket and chain. Now, I’d like to find out, Nancy, my girl, +if she has ever shown that locket and chain to her haristocratic +aunt. Do you suppose the haristocratic lady has +set eyes on it?” +</p> +<p>Nancy laughed. +</p> +<p>“I guess not,” she said. “Paulie’s a bit of a coward. +She wants to know us and yet she don’t. She wants to +know us behind the aunt’s back.” +</p> +<p>“Left hand, not right hand,” said the farmer. “I don’t +like that sort.” +</p> +<p>“At any rate she can’t come to us at present, father, +for Miss Tredgold has taken her to the seaside.” +</p> +<p>“That’s it, is it?” said the farmer, his face clearing. +“Then I suppose little miss has come with a message. +What did missie say about your friend, Nancy?” +</p> +<p>“Nothing. She’s asleep at present. I mean to let her +have her sleep out, then give her some dinner, and drive +her home in the dogcart.” +</p> +<p>“Do as you like, Nance; only for mercy’s sake don’t make +a fool of yourself over that family, for it strikes me forcibly +they’re becoming too grand for us.” +</p> +<p>Nancy said nothing further. She returned to the house +and sat down in the room where Penelope slept. Her +work-basket was open. She was making a pretty new +necktie for herself. Nancy was a very clever workwoman, +and the necktie grew under her nimble fingers. Presently +she dived into the bottom of the basket and took out a +gold thimble with a sapphire top and turquoises round +the rim. She slipped it on to the tip of her slender first +finger. +</p> +<p>“I must send it back again,” she said to herself. “I’d +have done it before, but Pauline is away.” +</p> +<p>Just then she was attracted by a sound on the sofa. +She turned. Pen’s big black eyes were wide open; she +was bending forward and gazing at the thimble. +</p> +<p>“So you got it after all!” she said. +</p> +<p>“Oh, child, how you startled me! What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>“Why, that’s Aunty Sophy’s thimble. I was to get a +penny if I found it.” +</p> +<p>Nancy was silent. +</p> +<p>“How did it get into your work-basket?” asked Pen. +</p> +<p>“I borrowed it from Paulie, and I’d have given it to +her long ere this, but I heard she was away.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>“Give it to me,” cried Penelope. Her voice quite shook +in her eagerness. “Give it to me at once, and I will take +it back to her.” +</p> +<p>“I wish you would, Pen, I am sure; but you must be +very careful not to lose it, for it is a real beauty. See, I +will put it into this little box, and cover the box up.” +</p> +<p>Penelope pressed close to Nancy. Nancy placed the +thimble in the midst of some pink cotton-wool and looked +at it affectionately; then she tied up the little box, put +brown paper round it, tied string round that again, and then +she held it out to Pen. +</p> +<p>“You are quite positive you won’t lose it?” she said. +</p> +<p>“Positive. I has a big pocket, and no hole in it. See +for yourself, there’s no hole. Turn it out, will you?” +</p> +<p>Penelope’s pocket proved to be quite safe, and Nancy, +with a qualm at her heart which she could not account for, +allowed the little girl to put the thimble therein. +</p> +<p>“Well, that is settled,” she cried. “And now I want +to know what you came for. You are going to have dinner +with father and me after a bit.” +</p> +<p>“No, I’m not,” answered Pen. “I’m going home at +once.” +</p> +<p>“But why did you come? Did Pauline send me a message?” +</p> +<p>“No, she wouldn’t.” +</p> +<p>“Why not? I’ve done a great deal for her.” +</p> +<p>“She’s ongrateful,” said Pen. “She didn’t send no message. +I ’spect she’ll have forgot you when she comes +back.” +</p> +<p>Nancy’s face flamed. +</p> +<p>“I can make it a little too hot for her if she does.” +</p> +<p>“What’s making a thing too hot?” asked Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Oh, making it so that you squirm and tingle and your +heart goes pit-a-pat,” replied Nancy. “There! I’m not +going to talk any more. If you won’t tell me why you came, +I suppose you will come into the other room and have some +dinner?” +</p> +<p>“I won’t. I’m going home. As Paulie didn’t send you a +message, are you going to make it hot for her?” +</p> +<p>“That I am. Somebody will come here—somebody I +know—to see somebody she knows; and there will be a +begging and imploring, and somebody she knows will do +nothing for somebody I know. Now, can you take that in?” +</p> +<p>“You are very funny,” answered Penelope, “but I think +I can. I’m glad, and I’m not glad, that I comed. I won’t +stay to dinner; I’m going straight away home this blessed +minute.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> +<h3>PEN VICTORIOUS.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Penelope managed to reach home unattended. She was +tired and draggled and dusty, and also very much scratched. +Her sisters received her with whoops of astonishment and +welcome. They had not missed her, it is true, but when +they saw her coming sadly and sheepishly in at the wicket-gate +they concluded that they had. Adelaide was the first +to reach her. +</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me any questions and you’ll hear no lies,” +was Pen’s remark. She waved her fat hand as she spoke. +“I am going to nursey straight away. I has something I +wants to say to nursey. Has the post gone? I want to +catch the post immediate.” +</p> +<p>“You are too queer for anything,” said Adelaide; “but +go your own way. You’ll catch it for being out all by +yourself in the woods.” +</p> +<p>“I won’t catch it, but there are others who will,” replied +Penelope. “And now keep out of my way. I want to find +nursey.” +</p> +<p>She marched in a most defiant and even queenly style +towards the house; and the others, after laughing for a +moment, returned to their various pursuits and forgot all +about her. +</p> +<p>When nurse saw Penelope she uttered a groan. +</p> +<p>“There you come,” she said. “You are a handful! You +never turned up at dinner-time, although we looked for +you everywhere. Now, where were you hiding?” +</p> +<p>“Never mind that, nursey. Get out your writing ’terials.” +</p> +<p>“Now, whatever does the child mean? Sakes! you are +scratched, and your nice new holland frock is all torn, +and you are dusty and pale and trembling—as pale and +trembling as can be.” +</p> +<p>“Is it pale I am?” cried Penelope. “Is it? Is it? Nursey, +I love you, love you, love you!” +</p> +<p>With a flop Penelope’s fat arms were flung round nurse’s +neck; her hot little lips caressed nurse’s cheeks. +</p> +<p>“Oh,” she cried, “how much I love you! Get writing +’terials quick. Get pen and ink and paper, and sit down +and write. I will tell you what to say. You must write +this instant minute. It is the most ’portant thing in all the +world. Write, and be quick. If you don’t I’ll go to Betty, +and she’ll do what I want her to do.” +</p> +<p>“You needn’t do that,” cried nurse. “You are a queer +child, and more trouble than you’re worth, but when you +are in a bit of a mess I’m not the one to refuse my aid. +Who have I to write to?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></p> +<p>“To my darlingest Aunt Sophy.” +</p> +<p>“My word! What on earth have you got to say to her?” +</p> +<p>“Get ’terials and you’ll know.” +</p> +<p>Nurse complied somewhat unwillingly. She produced a +portfolio, got out her ink-bottle and pen, dipped the pen +in ink, and looked up at Penelope. +</p> +<p>“Go on, and be quick,” she said. “I can’t be fashed with +the whims of children. What is it that you want to say?” +</p> +<p>“Write, ‘Dear, darling Aunt Sophia.’” +</p> +<p>“You are too queer!” +</p> +<p>Nevertheless nurse put the words on the sheet of paper, +and Pen proceeded to deliver herself quickly. +</p> +<p>“‘I am paled down, and want change of air. My breaf is +too quick. My legs is all tored with briers and things. I +has got a prickly feeling in my froat, and I gets wet as +water all over my hands and round my neck and my forehead. +It’s ’cos I’m weak, I ‘spect.’” +</p> +<p>“Miss Penelope,” said the nurse, “if those symptoms are +correct, it is the doctor you want.” +</p> +<p>“‘I has a doubly-up pain in my tum-tum,’” proceeded +Penelope, taking no notice of nurse’s interruption. “‘I +shrieks in my sleep. I wants change of air. I am very +poorly. Nursey is writing this, and she knows I am very +poorly. I feel sort of as though I could cry. It’s not only +my body, it’s my mind. I has got a weight on my mind. +It’s a secret, and you ought to know. Send for me quick, +’cos I want change of air. +</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p style='text-align: right; '><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Pen</span>.’”</p> +</div> + +<p>“I never wrote a queerer letter,” said nurse; “and from +the looks of you there seems to be truth in it. You certainly +don’t look well.” +</p> +<p>“You will send it, nursey?” asked Pen, trembling with +excitement. +</p> +<p>“Yes, child; you have dictated it to me, and it shall go by +the post. Whether Miss Tredgold will mind a word you +say or not remains to be proved. Now leave me, and do +for goodness’ sake try not to run about wildly any more for +to-day at least.” +</p> +<p>Penelope left the room. She stooped slightly as she +walked, and she staggered a little. When she got near the +door she coughed. As she reached the passage she coughed +more loudly. +</p> +<p>“It’s my froat,” she said in a very sad tone, and she crept +down the passage, nurse watching her from the open door +of the nursery. +</p> +<p>She did not guess that when Penelope turned the last +corner she gave a sudden whoop, leapt nearly a foot into +the air, and then darted out of the house as fast as she +could. +</p> +<p>“I ’spect I’s done it this time,” thought Pen. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile in the nursery, after a moment’s reflection, +nurse added a postscript of her own to Pen’s letter. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></p> +<p>“Miss Penelope is very queer, and don’t look well at all.” +</p> +<p>That letter was put in the post, and in due time received +by Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>Penelope began to count the hours. She knew that no +answer could come for some time after the letter was written. +During the next day she went at intervals to visit +Betty, and begged her for drinks of vinegar; and as she +paid Betty by more and more presents out of Pauline’s old +bandbox, she found that individual quite amenable. After +drinking the vinegar Penelope once again suffered from +the “doubly-up pain in her tum-tum.” She spoke of her +agonies to the others, who pitied her a good deal, and +Josephine even presented her with some very precious +peppermints for the purpose of removing it. Towards +evening she seemed better, and talked continually of the +seaside and how she intended to enjoy herself there. And +then she suggested that her sisters should come and help +her to pack her things. The girls naturally asked why they +were to do it, and she replied: +</p> +<p>“’Cos I’m going on a journey, and it’s most ’portant. +None of you are going, but I am.” +</p> +<p>“You’re not going on any journey,” said Lucy. “You +do talk rubbish.” +</p> +<p>“What you bet?” asked Penelope, who saw an instant +opportunity of making a little money. +</p> +<p>“Nothing,” replied Lucy. “You are talking rubbish. Get +out of my way. I’m very busy.” +</p> +<p>Pen looked wildly around her. She was in such a state +of suppressed excitement that she could stop at nothing. +Her sisters were all close at hand. Patty and Briar were +sitting as usual almost in each other’s pockets. Adelaide, +Josephine, Lucy, and Helen made a group apart. Pen +thought carefully. +</p> +<p>“There’s six of ’em,” she said to herself. “I ought to +make a little money by six of ’em. Look here!” she called +out. “You all say I’m not going on a journey to-morrow; I +say I am. Will you give me a penny each if I go? Is it +done? Is it truly done? If I don’t go I’ll give you a penny +each.” +</p> +<p>“But you haven’t got any pence to give us.” +</p> +<p>“I will borrow from nursey. I know she’ll lend me the +money. But I shan’t need it, for I am going. Will you +give me a penny each if I go?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, if you want it,” said Adelaide. +</p> +<p>“But remember,” continued Lucy, “we shall keep you +to your part of the bargain if you don’t go.” +</p> +<p>“All right,” cried Pen; and, having received the promise, +she walked sedately across the grass. +</p> +<p>“Six pennies! I’ll find them useful at the seaside,” she +thought. “There’s nothing like having a little money of +your own. It buys sweetmeats and cakes. I’ll tell Aunt +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +Sophy that my froat is so sore, and that I must have constant +sweetmeats. Six pennies will get a lot.” +</p> +<p>She walked more slowly. She was in reality in excellent +health; even the vinegar was not doing her much harm. +</p> +<p>“How hungry I’ll be when I get to the seaside!” she +said to herself. “I’ll swell out and get very red and very +fat. My body will be ’normous. Oh, there’s father!” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale was seated near his window. His head was bent +as usual over his work. +</p> +<p>“Father could give me something,” thought Pen. “He +could and he ought. I’ll ask him. Dad!” she called. +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale did not answer. +</p> +<p>“Dad!” called Pen again. +</p> +<p>He looked up with a fretful expression. +</p> +<p>“Go away, my dear,” he said. “I am particularly busy.” +</p> +<p>“I will if you’ll give me sixpence.” +</p> +<p>“Go away.” +</p> +<p>Pen’s father bent again over his book. He forgot Penelope. +</p> +<p>“He’s sure to give me sixpence if I worrit him long +enough,” thought the naughty little girl. +</p> +<p>She stood close to the window. Suddenly it occurred to +her that if she drew down the blind, which she could +easily do by pushing her hand inside the window and then +planting her fat little person on the window-sill, she would +cause a shadow to come before the light on her father’s +page. +</p> +<p>“That will make him look up,” she thought. “When +he does I’ll ask him again for sixpence. I’ll tell him I +won’t go away till I get it.” +</p> +<p>She sat down on the window-sill, cleverly manipulating +the blind, and Mr. Dale found an unpleasant darkness steal +over his page. +</p> +<p>“Draw up that blind and go away, Penelope,” he said. +“Do you hear? Go away.” +</p> +<p>“I will ’mediately you give me sixpence. I will draw +up the blind and I’ll go away,” said Pen. +</p> +<p>“I will give you nothing. You are an extremely naughty +little girl.” +</p> +<p>Penelope sat on. Mr. Dale tried to read in the darkening +light. Presently he heard a sniff. The sniff grew +louder. +</p> +<p>“My froat,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>He glanced towards her. She was sitting huddled up; her +back looked very round. +</p> +<p>“Do go away, child. What is wrong?” +</p> +<p>“My froat. I want something to moisten it. It is so +dry, it hurts me.” +</p> +<p>“Go and get a drink of water.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, my froat! Oh, my tum-tum! Oh, my froat!” said +Penelope again. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></p> +<p>Mr. Dale rose from his seat at last. +</p> +<p>“I never was so worried in my life,” he said. “What +is it, child? Out with it. What is wrong?” +</p> +<p>Penelope managed to raise eyes brimful of tears to his +face. +</p> +<p>“If you knowed that your own little girl was suffering +from bad froat and doubly-up tum-tum, and that sixpence +would make her well—quite, really, truly well—wouldn’t +you give it to her?” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>“How can sixpence make you well? If you really +have a sore throat and a pain we ought to send for the +doctor.” +</p> +<p>“Sixpence is much cheaper than the doctor,” said Penelope. +“Sixpence will do it.” +</p> +<p>“How?” +</p> +<p>“It will buy peppermints.” +</p> +<p>“Well, then, here it is, child. Take it and be off.” +</p> +<p>Penelope snatched it. Her face grew cheerful. She shot +up the blind with a deft movement. She jumped from her +seat on the window-ledge. She was no longer doubled up. +</p> +<p>“Thank you, dad,” she said. “Thank you—thank you.” +</p> +<p>She rushed away. +</p> +<p>“I’ll have another sixpence to-morrow,” she thought. +“That’s a whole beautiful shilling. I will do fine when I +am at the seaside.” +</p> +<p>Penelope could scarcely sleep that night. She got up +early the next morning. She was determined to stand at +the gate and watch for the postman. The letters usually +arrived about eight o’clock. The postman hove in sight, +and Pen rushed to meet him. +</p> +<p>“Have you letters—a letter for me?” she asked. +</p> +<p>“No, Miss Penelope, but there is one for your nurse.” +</p> +<p>“It is from Easterhaze,” said the child. “Thank you—thank +you, posty.” +</p> +<p>She snatched the first letter away from the old man and +darted away with it. Into the nursery she rushed. +</p> +<p>“Here it is, nursey. Open it, quick! I am to go; I know +I am.” +</p> +<p>Nurse did open the letter. It was from Miss Tredgold, +and it ran as follows: +</p> +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Nurse</span>: Penelope is evidently too much for you. +I intend to remain two or three days longer in this pleasant +place, so do not expect me home next week. I shall +have Penelope here, so send her to me by the first train +that leaves Lyndhurst Road to-morrow. Take her to the +station and put her into the charge of the guard. She had +better travel first-class. If you see any nice, quiet-looking +lady in the carriage, put Penelope into her charge. I +enclose a postal order for expenses. Wire to me by what +train to expect the child.” +</p> +<p>The letter ended with one or two more directions, but +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +to these Pen scarcely listened. Her face was pale with +joy. She had worked hard; she had plotted much; she had +succeeded. +</p> +<p>“I feel as though I’d like to be really quite good,” was her +first thought. +</p> +<p>Nurse expected that she would be nearly mad with glee; +but she left the nursery quietly. She went downstairs +quietly. Her sisters were at breakfast. She entered the +room and stood before them. +</p> +<p>“Pennies, please,” she said. +</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Briar, who was pouring +out coffee. +</p> +<p>“Pennies from all of you, quick.” +</p> +<p>Josephine put on a supercilious face; Lucy sniffed; Helen +and Adelaide went on with their breakfast as though nothing +had happened. +</p> +<p>Penelope came a little nearer. +</p> +<p>“Must I speak up?” she said. “Must I ask again? Is +you all deaf? I am going to Easterhaze to Aunt Sophy. +Darling aunty can’t do without me. She has sent for me +as she wants me so badly. I’m going by the first train. I +am much the most ’portant person in the house, and I’s +won my bet. I like betting. A penny from you all if you +please.” +</p> +<p>The girls were excited and amazed at Pen’s news. +</p> +<p>“You are clever,” said Briar. “How in the world did +you get her to do it?” +</p> +<p>“Tum-tum and sore froat,” said Penelope bluntly. “Oh! +and vinegar and paling down.” +</p> +<p>“You are really such an incomprehensible child that I +am glad Aunt Sophy is going to manage you,” was Patty’s +remark. “Here are your pence. Shall we help you to +pack your things?” +</p> +<p>“They are a’most packed. I did some myself last night. +I took your new little trunk, Briar. I don’t ’uppose you’ll +mind.” +</p> +<p>Briar did mind, but she knew it was useless to expostulate. +</p> +<p>By eleven o’clock Penelope was off to Lyndhurst Road +station. By twelve o’clock she was in charge of a red-faced +old lady. In five minutes’ time she was <i>en route</i> for +Easterhaze. The old lady, whose name was Mrs. Hungerford, +began by considering Pen a plain and ordinary child; +but she soon had reason to change her views, for Pen +was not exactly plain, and was certainly by no means ordinary. +She stared fixedly at the old lady, having deliberately +left her own seat and planted herself on the one opposite. +</p> +<p>“Vinegar will do it,” she said. +</p> +<p>“What are you talking about, child?” asked Mrs. Hungerford. +</p> +<p>“You are so red—such a deep red, I mean—much the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +same as chocolate. Vinegar will do it. Take three small +glasses a day, and pay your Betty with vulgar sort of +things out of an old bandbox.” +</p> +<p>“The unfortunate child is evidently insane,” was Mrs. +Hungerford’s thought. She spoke, therefore, in a reassuring +way, and tried to look as though she thought Pen’s +remarks the most natural in the world. +</p> +<p>Pen, however, read through her. +</p> +<p>“You don’t believe me,” she said. “Now you listen. I +look a pale little girl, don’t I? I am nearly eight years old. +I don’t see why a girl of eight is to be trampled on; does +you? I wanted to go, and I am going. It’s tum-tum-ache +and sore froat and paling cheeks that has done it. If you +want to get what you don’t think you will get, remember +my words. It’s vinegar does it, but it gives you tum-ache +awful.” +</p> +<p>The old lady could not help laughing. +</p> +<p>“Now, I wonder,” she said, opening a basket of peaches, +“whether these will give tum-ache.” +</p> +<p>Penelope grinned; she showed a row of pearly teeth. +</p> +<p>“Guess not,” she said. +</p> +<p>The old lady put the basket between Penelope and herself. +</p> +<p>“I have also got sandwiches—very nice ones—and little +cakes,” she said. “Shall we two have lunch together, even +if my face is like chocolate?” +</p> +<p>“It’s a beauty face, even if it is, and I love you,” said +Penelope. “I think you are quite ’licious. Don’t you +like to look like chocolate?” +</p> +<p>The old lady made no answer. Penelope dived her fat +hand into the basket of peaches and secured the largest +and ripest. +</p> +<p>“It is the best,” she said. “Perhaps you ought to eat it.” +</p> +<p>“I think I ought, but if you don’t agree with me you +shall have it.” +</p> +<p>Penelope hesitated a moment. +</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t say that if you didn’t mean me to eat it,” +she said. “Thank you.” +</p> +<p>She closed her teeth in the delicious fruit and enjoyed +herself vastly. In short, by the time Mrs. Hungerford +and her curious charge reached Easterhaze it seemed to +them both that they had known each other all their days. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold, Verena, and Pauline met the train. The +girls looked rosy and sunburnt. This was an ideal moment +for Penelope. She almost forgot Mrs. Hungerford in +her delight at this meeting with her relatives. But suddenly +at the last moment she remembered. +</p> +<p>“How are you, Aunt Sophy? I am scrumptiously glad +to see you. How are you, Verena? How are you, Paulie? +Oh! please forgive me; I must say good-bye to the chocolate +old lady.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>And the chocolate old lady was hugged and kissed several +times, and then Pen was at liberty to enjoy the delights +of the seaside. +</p> +<p>The lodgings where Miss Tredgold was staying were +quite a mile from the station. Pen enjoyed her drive +immensely. The look of the broad sea rolling on to the +shore had a curious effect upon her strange nature. It +touched her indescribably. It filled that scarcely awakened +little soul of hers with longings. After all, it might be +worth while to be good. She did not know why the sea +made her long to be good; nevertheless it did. Her face +became really pale. +</p> +<p>“Are you tired, dear?” asked Miss Tredgold, noticing the +curious look on the expressive little face. +</p> +<p>“Oh, no, not that,” replied Pen; “but I have never seen +the sea before.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold felt that she understood. Pauline also +understood. Verena did not think about the matter. It +was Verena’s habit to take the sweets of life as they came, +to be contented with her lot, to love beauty for its own +sake, to keep a calm mind and a calm body through all +circumstances. She had accepted the sea as a broad, beautiful +fact in her life some weeks ago. She was not prepared +for Pen’s emotion, nor did she understand it. She +kept saying to herself: +</p> +<p>“Nurse is right after all; it was not mere fancy. Little +Penelope is not well. A day or two on the sands in this +glorious air will soon put her straight.” +</p> +<p>Pauline, however, thought that she did understand her +little sister. For to Pauline, from the first day she had +arrived at Easterhaze, the sea had seemed to cry to her +in one incessant, reiterating voice: +</p> +<p>“Come, wash and be clean. Come, lave yourself in me, +and leave your naughtiness and your deceits and your +black, black lies behind.” +</p> +<p>And Pauline felt, notwithstanding her present happiness +and her long days of health and vigor and glee, that she +was disobeying the sea, for she was not washing therein, +nor getting herself clean in all that waste of water. The +old cry awoke again in her heart with an almost cruel +insistence. +</p> +<p>“Come, wash and be clean,” cried the sea. +</p> +<p>“I declare, Pauline, you are looking almost as pale as +your sister,” said Miss Tredgold. “Well, here we are. +Now, Pen,” she added, turning to Penelope, “I hope you +will enjoy yourself. I certainly did not intend to ask you +to join us, but as nurse said you were not well, and as +your own extremely funny letter seemed to express the +same thing, I thought it best to ask you here.” +</p> +<p>“And you did quite right, Aunty Sophy,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>Then the look of the sea faded from her eyes, and she +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +became once again a suspicious, eager, somewhat deceitful +little girl. Once again the subtle and naughty +things of life took possession of her. At any cost she +must keep herself to the front. At any cost she must assume +the power which she longed for. She was no longer +a nursery child. She had won her way about coming to +the seaside; now she must go still further. She must +become a person of the greatest moment to Aunt Sophia. +Aunt Sophia held the keys of power; therefore Penelope +determined to devote herself to her. +</p> +<p>The lodgings were extremely cheerful. They were in a +terrace overhanging the sea. From the big bay-windows of +the drawing-room you could see the sunsets. There was a +glorious sunset just beginning when Penelope walked to +the window and looked out. Miss Tredgold had secured +the best rooms in this very handsome house, and the best +rooms consisted of a double drawing-room, the inner one +of which was utilized as a dining-room; a large bedroom +overhead in which Verena and Pauline slept; and a little +room at the back which she used for herself, and in which +now she had ordered a cot to be placed for Penelope. +</p> +<p>Penelope was taken upstairs and shown the arrangements +that had been made for her comfort. Her eyes +sparkled with delight when she saw the little cot. +</p> +<p>“There’s no time like the night for telling things,” she +thought to herself. “Aunt Sophy can’t get away from me +at night. It’s only to stay awake, perhaps to pertend to +have a nightmare. Anyhow, night is the time to do what +I have to do.” +</p> +<p>Being quite sure, therefore, that she would get her opportunity +of talking to Aunt Sophia, she revived for the +time being to enjoy herself. Her volatile spirits rose. She +laughed and talked, and ate an enormous meal. After the +sort of tea-dinner was over the three girls went out by +themselves on the sands. +</p> +<p>“You may stay out half-an-hour,” said Miss Tredgold: +“no longer, for Penelope has to go to bed. Afterwards I +will take a walk with you two elder ones if you care to +have me.” +</p> +<p>“Of course we care to have you, dear Aunt Sophy,” +said Verena in her gentlest tone; and then the three started +off. Penelope, in honor of her recent arrival, was promoted +to the place in the middle. She laid a hand on each +sister’s arm and swung herself along. People remarked +the trio, and said to themselves what a remarkably fat, +healthy-looking little girl the one in the middle was. +</p> +<p>“Well, Pen,” said Pauline as they approached the house, +having discussed all sorts of subjects, “I can’t see where +the tum-ache and the sore throat and the pale cheeks +come in.” +</p> +<p>“They’re gone,” said Penelope. “I knew the sea would +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +cure ’em. I am quite perfect well. I am going to be quite +perfect well while I am here. I love the sea; don’t you?” +</p> +<p>“Come, wash and be clean,” whispered the sea to Pauline. +</p> +<p>She was silent. Verena said, however, that she greatly +liked the sea. They went back to the house. Penelope was +escorted upstairs. Pauline helped her to undress, and +presently she was tucked into her little bed. +</p> +<p>“It seems a’most as if I wor still a nursery child,” she +said to her elder sister. +</p> +<p>“Why so?” asked Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Being sent to bed afore you and Renny. I am quite as +old as you and Renny—in my mind, I mean.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Pauline almost crossly. +</p> +<p>“Paulie,” said Penelope, taking hold of her hand and +pulling her towards her, “I went to see Nancy King t’other +day.” +</p> +<p>“Why did you do that?” asked Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Because I wanted to come to the sea, and there was no +other way. Vinegar wouldn’t do it, nor tum-aches, but I +thought Nancy might.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” said Pauline. “In what +possible way could Nancy King have brought you here?” +</p> +<p>“Only that I got so desperate after seeing her that I +wrote that funny, funny letter, and nursey helped me; and +now I’m here, and I think I can do what I like. You had +best be friends with me now, for I can do just what I +like.” +</p> +<p>Pauline felt just a little afraid. She knelt down by Pen. +</p> +<p>“Tell me why you went,” she said. “You know you disobeyed +Aunt Sophy when you went.” +</p> +<p>“Yes; but what’s one more in a family doing disobeying +things?” answered Pen in her glib fashion. “But now +listen. I will tell you.” +</p> +<p>She related her adventures with much glee—her walk +through the woods, her arrival, the terrible way in which +Lurcher had treated her, the kindness of the farmer, the +proposed dinner, Nancy’s manners. She was working up +to the grand climax, to the moment when she should speak +about the thimble. +</p> +<p>“What do you think?” she said suddenly. “Nancy put +me on a sofa, and I slept. I slept sound, and when I woke +up I saw Nancy sitting by the window sewing. She wor +making a blue scarf, and her thimble went flashing in and +out; and what do you think, Paulie? What <i>do</i> you think?” +</p> +<p>“Well?” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Pauline, dear, are you ready?” called a voice from below. +</p> +<p>“I must go,” said Pauline; “but tell me at once, Pen, +what you mean.” +</p> +<p>“It was the thimble—the lost one,” said Penelope—“the +one with the dark-blue top and the light-blue stones round +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +the rim, the goldy thimble which was Aunt Sophy’s.” +</p> +<p>In spite of her efforts Pauline did find herself turning +white. +</p> +<p>“Pauline, dear, we can’t wait any longer,” said Miss Tredgold’s +voice. +</p> +<p>“I must go,” said Pauline. “Tell me afterwards.” +</p> +<p>“Whisper,” said Penelope, pulling her hand. “I have got +it. The deep-blue top and the light-blue stones and the +goldy middle—I have it all. And I can tell Aunt Sophy, +and show it, and I will if—if you don’t tell me about——” +</p> +<p>“About what?” +</p> +<p>“About that time when three peoples walked across the +lawn—the night after your birthday, I mean. Will you +tell? I asked Briar, and she said she didn’t know. She +told a lie. Are you going to tell a lie, too? If you do I +will—— Well, I won’t say any more; only I have put it in +the safest of places, and you will never find it. Now you +can go down and go out with Aunt Sophy. Now you know, +’cos I’ve told you.” +</p> +<p>Pauline slowly left the room. She felt dazed. Once +again Miss Tredgold called her. She ran to her washstand, +filled her basin with cold water, and dipped her face into +it. Then she ran downstairs. She found it difficult to +analyze her own sensations, but it seemed to her that +through her little sister’s eyes she saw for the first time +her own wickedness. +</p> +<p>“To think that Pen could do it, and to think that I +could be afraid of her!” she thought. +</p> +<p>She went out and walked with her aunt and Verena, +but the insistent voice of the sea, as with each swish of +the waves it cried, “Come, wash and be clean,” hit like a +hammer on her brain. +</p> +<p>“What is the matter with Pauline?” thought Verena. +</p> +<p>“The child is tired; she is not quite well yet,” was Miss +Tredgold’s mental reflection. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +<h3>THE WHITE BAY.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Penelope did not repeat her threat, but she watched +Pauline. Miss Tredgold also watched Pauline. Verena felt +uncomfortable, without quite knowing why. The keen +vigor and joy of the first days at the seaside had departed. +Pauline became pale once more, and Miss Tredgold’s anxieties +about her were revived. The Dales were a healthy +race, but one or two of the Tredgolds had died of consumption. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +Miss Tredgold remembered a young—very young—sister +of her own who had reached Pauline’s age, and then +quite suddenly had become melancholy, and then slightly +unwell, and then more unwell, until the fell scourge had +seized her as its prey. She had died when between sixteen +and seventeen. Miss Tredgold seemed to see her sister’s +face in Pauline’s. She did not for a single moment accuse +the child of any wrong-doing. She did not imagine that +what ailed her could have to do with the mind. Nevertheless +she was anxious about her. Miss Tredgold had a +good deal of penetration, but she was not accustomed to +children. She thought that children of Pen’s age were +more little animals than anything else. It did not occur to +her that a small child like Pen could have a mind of a +very extraordinary order, and that the mind of this child +could work in a direction which might hurt others. She +did not suppose such a terrible child could exist. +</p> +<p>Pauline was therefore more or less a prey to the naughtiness +of Pen, who used her as a weapon for her own enjoyment. +Pen was quite determined to enjoy herself at +the seaside. She would have her bucket and spade and +make castles in the sand as long as ever she liked, and +she would play with other children, and would make acquaintance +with them. She insisted also on going very +often to the shops to buy caramels or chocolates. In +short, she was determined that during her brief stay at +Easterhaze she would have as good a time as possible. It +is quite on the cards that she would not have had so +good a time as she did but for the agency of Pauline. +Pauline, however, in spite of herself, sided with Pen. She +almost hated Pen, but she sided with her. She used to +throw her voice into the scale of Pen’s desires, and Pen in +consequence got pretty much what she wanted. +</p> +<p>There came a day when two children, a boy and a girl +of the name of Carver, ran up to Pen and asked her if +she would join them in going round the next promontory +and gathering shells in a wide bay on the other side, +which was known as the White Bay. The way to this bay, +except at low-water, was not very safe, as during high-tide +the sea was apt to come up and cut off retreat. Pen, however, +knew nothing about this. The moment she was asked +to go it occurred to her that there could be no such delightful +place as the White Bay anywhere else in the +world. She knew well, however, that Miss Tredgold never +allowed her to go fifty yards from the house on either side. +She looked up. Pauline was walking along the upper +walk. She had a story-book in her hand. She meant to +reach one of the shelters and sit down there to read. Pen +turned to the two Carvers and said that she must ask permission, +but she would be with them in a minute. She +then scrambled up the path and ran to Pauline’s side. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p> +<p>“Pauline,” she said, “I am going to the White Bay with +the Carvers—those two children there—that boy and girl; +you see ’em. We are going at once. They have got a basket +of cakes, and we are going to gather shells and have a jolly +time. We won’t be back till one o’clock.” +</p> +<p>“But you can’t go,” said Pauline. She did not know of +any danger in going; she only thought that Penelope meant +to disobey Miss Tredgold. “Aunt Sophy is out, and she +has not given you leave,” she said. “You must stay where +you are, Pen.” +</p> +<p>“But you can give me leave, Paulie, darling, can you +not?” +</p> +<p>“I can’t do anything of the sort; you mustn’t ask me.” +</p> +<p>Pen’s eyes danced. The children on the sands called out +to her. +</p> +<p>“Be quick, little girl, or we’ll be cotched. If nurse comes +out she won’t let us go. We can go if we start at once.” +</p> +<p>“Well, I’m off. You must give me leave, Paulie. If you +don’t I will——” +</p> +<p>“Don’t!” said Pauline, backing away from her sister. +She felt a sort of terror when Penelope taunted her with +her superior knowledge and the cruel use she meant to +put it to. +</p> +<p>“Go if you like,” she said, in a white heat of passion. +“You are the worry of my life.” +</p> +<p>Pen gave her a flashing, by no means good sort of glance, +and then tore down the winding path which led to the +sands. Pauline got up; she left her seat by the shore and +went inland. +</p> +<p>“I don’t know how I am to bear it,” she said to herself. +“Pen has made me so wretched. I was hoping that nothing +would be known. I was trying to forget, and I was +making a lot of good resolves, and I am loving Aunt Sophy +more and more each day. Why have I got such a dreadful +little sister as Pen? She is like none of the rest. It seems +almost incredible that I should be in the power of such a +small child. Nevertheless I am in her power. I had no +right to let her go to the White Bay; still, I told her to go, +for I couldn’t bear the agonies I should have to go through +if I refused. Oh, I am wretched! Pen practically knows +everything; so does Patty, and so does Briar. But they’re +safe enough; they won’t betray me—they wouldn’t for all +the world. As to Pen, I don’t know what she is made of. +She will be a terrible woman by-and-by.” +</p> +<p>Pauline walked on until she heard Verena’s voice. She +then turned back. +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophy said we were to go up to the town to +meet her,” said Verena. “She’s doing some shopping. She +wants to get a new autumn hat for you, and another for me. +Come along, Paulie. We are to be at Murray’s in the High +Street at eleven o’clock.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>Pauline turned and walked soberly by her sister’s side. +</p> +<p>“Are you as tired as ever this morning, Paulie?” asked +Verena. +</p> +<p>“I am not tired at all,” replied Pauline. +</p> +<p>Verena considered for a minute. +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophy is often anxious about you,” she said. “I +can’t imagine why, but she is. She says that she doesn’t +think you are at all strong.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I am!” interrupted Pauline. “I wish she wouldn’t +worry about me. I wish you’d tell her not to worry. I am +really as strong as any girl could be. Do tell her not to +fret about me any more.” +</p> +<p>“Where is Pen?” said Verena suddenly. +</p> +<p>Pauline did not speak. +</p> +<p>“I suppose she is down on the beach as usual,” said +Verena again in a careless tone. “She’s always down +there. She is such a queer little mite!” +</p> +<p>“Don’t let’s talk about her,” said Pauline almost crossly. +</p> +<p>The girls turned their conversation to other matters, and +when they joined Miss Tredgold at Murray’s shop they had +both forgotten the existence of their little sister Penelope. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile that young person was having a good time. +Having gained her wish, she was in excellent spirits, and +was determined to make herself extremely agreeable to +the Carvers. She thought them quite nice children. They +were different from the children at home. They had lived +almost all their lives in London. They told Pen a good +many stories about London. It was the only place worth +living in, Harry Carver said. When you went out there +you always turned your steps in the direction of the Zoo. +Pen asked what the Zoo was. Harry Carver gave her a +glance of amazement. +</p> +<p>“Why, it’s chock-full of wild beasts,” he said. +</p> +<p>Pen thought this a most exciting description. Her cheeks +paled; her eyes grew big. She clasped hold of Harry’s arm +and said in a trembling voice: +</p> +<p>“Are you joking, or do you mean real lions and bears +and tigers?” +</p> +<p>“I mean real lions and bears and tigers,” said Harry. +“Oh, if you only heard the lions roar! We see them fed, +too. It is fun to hear them growling when they get their +meat; and the way they lick it—oh, it’s most exciting!” +</p> +<p>“So it is,” said Nellie Carver. “It’s awful fun to go to +the Zoo.” +</p> +<p>“You must be very courageous,” said Pen, who did not +know that the wild beasts were confined in cages. +</p> +<p>Neither Eleanor nor Harry Carver thought it worth while +to enlighten Pen with regard to this particular; on the contrary, +they determined to keep it to themselves. It was +nice to have a little girl like Pen looking at them with +awe. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p> +<p>“It isn’t everybody who can go to the Zoo,” proceeded +Harry. “There are people that the wild beasts don’t ever +care to touch. Nellie and I are that sort; we’re made that +way. We walk about amongst them; we stroke them and +pet them. I often sit on the neck of a lion, and quite +enjoy myself.” +</p> +<p>“My pet beast for a ride is a panther,” said Nellie, her +eyes sparkling with fun at her own delicious ideas; “but +most children can never ride on lions and panthers.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you ride on them,” said Pen. “You +don’t look half brave enough for that.” +</p> +<p>“Why don’t you think us brave?” asked Harry. “You +are not a nice girl when you talk in that way. You wouldn’t +even be brave enough to ride on the elephants. Oh, it’s +very jolly for the real brave people when they go to the +Zoo.” +</p> +<p>“And is that the only place to go to in London?” asked +Pen. +</p> +<p>As she spoke she quickened her steps, for the children +were now crossing the extreme end of the promontory +round which was the celebrated White Bay. +</p> +<p>“There are other places. There’s the British Museum, +full of books. There are miles and miles of books in London, +and miles and miles of pictures.” +</p> +<p>“What an awful place!” said Pen, who had no love for +either books or pictures. “Don’t tell me any more about it. +Go on ascribing the wild animals. Is there serpents at +the Zoo?” +</p> +<p>“Tons of ’em. When they have gorged a rabbit or a +lamb or a girl whole, they lie down and sleep for about a +week.” +</p> +<p>“They don’t gorge girls!” +</p> +<p>“They think nothing of it; that is, if the girl is the sort +of child they don’t like.” +</p> +<p>“I won’t go,” said Pen. “I am not the sort of child the +wild beasts would love. I think maybe I might be crunched +up by the lions. I shan’t go.” +</p> +<p>“Well, no one asked you,” said Harry. “You are quite +certain to be eaten, so you had best stay away.” +</p> +<p>“Why do you say that?” +</p> +<p>Harry glanced at his sister. Nellie laughed. Harry +laughed also. +</p> +<p>“Why do you talk in that way, you horrid boy?” said +Pen, stamping her foot. “What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you, only you need not try to kill me with your +eyes. The wild beasts only like good uns. You ain’t good. +The wild beasts would soon find that out.” +</p> +<p>For some extraordinary reason Pen found herself turning +pale. She had a moment of actual fear. At this instant +she would have resigned the thimble—the golden +thimble, with its sapphire top and turquoise rim—to the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +safe keeping of Pauline. For if Pauline had the thimble +Pen would have very little to say against her. As long as +she possessed the thimble she felt that Pauline was in +her power. She liked the sensation, and she was honest +enough to own as much. +</p> +<p>The conversation was now quickly turned. The children +found plenty of shells in the White Bay. Soon they were +sitting on the sands picking them up and enjoying themselves +as only children can. +</p> +<p>“So,” said Pen, pushing back her hat and fixing her eyes +on Harry’s face, “you comed here without leave?” +</p> +<p>“Of course we did,” said Harry. “Won’t nurse be in a +state when she finds we’ve gone! She will rush up and +down in front of the house and cry, for father and mother +have gone away for the whole day, and nurse is in sole +charge. Oh, won’t she be in a state! She went off to walk +with her young man, and we thought we’d play a joke on +her, for she’s often told us not to come here. ‘If you go +near that White Bay,’ she said, ‘you will be drowned as +sure as sure.’ She daren’t tell father and mother because +of her young man. Isn’t it fun?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Penelope, “it’s prime fun; but isn’t this fun, +too? You won’t be able to go to that Zoo place any more.” +</p> +<p>“Now what do you mean?” +</p> +<p>“Why, this: the animals will eat you up. You are bad, +same as me. You two won’t be able to go to any more +Zoos;” and Pen rolled round and round in fiendish delight. +</p> +<p>The other children looked at her with anything but approval. +</p> +<p>“I don’t like her,” whispered Nellie to her brother. +</p> +<p>“Of course you don’t like bad little girls,” replied Harry. +“Let’s run away at once and leave her. Let’s.” +</p> +<p>They scrambled to their feet. To love a new playmate +and yet without an instant’s warning to desert her was +quite in accordance with their childish ideas. In a moment +they were running as fast as their legs would permit across +the sands. The tide had been coming in fast for some +time. +</p> +<p>For a moment Pen sat almost petrified; then she rushed +after them. She was wild with passion; she had never +been so angry in all her life. There were many times when +the other children at The Dales treated her with scant +courtesy, but to be suddenly deserted in this fashion by +strange children was more than she could endure. +</p> +<p>“Oh, how bad you have got! You are so bad—so dreadfully, +horribly bad—that the tide is certain to come in and +drown you up,” she cried. “You can’t go away from me; +you can’t. Oh, see! it has comed;” and Pen danced up +and down and clapped her hands in triumph. +</p> +<p>She was right. She had gained a complete victory. Just +at the extreme end of the promontory a gentle wave, peaceful, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +pretty, and graceful, curled up against the solid rock. +It had scarcely retired in bashful innocence when another +wave tumbled after it. They looked like charming playfellows. +Then came a third, then a fourth and a fifth. +Faster and faster they rolled in, flowing up the white +sands and making a white foam round the rock. +</p> +<p>The little Carvers stood still, transfixed with a curious +mingling of delight, excitement, and horror. Pen ceased to +jump up and down. Presently she ceased to laugh. She +was only a very small girl, and did not in the least realize +her danger; nevertheless, as she used her eyes to good +purpose, and as she quickly perceived that the opposite +side of the bay was now shut away by a great body of +water, it did occur to her that they would have to stay in +their present shelter for some time. Harry turned round +slowly. Harry was ten years old, and he understood. He +had heard his father talk of the dangerous White Bay. He +went straight up to Pen, and, taking her hand, burst out +crying. +</p> +<p>“It don’t matter,” he said—“it don’t matter whether we +are good or whether we are bad. We can none of us ever +go to the Zoo again. Nellie and I won’t ever go any more, +and you can never go at all.” +</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” asked Pen. +</p> +<p>Her heart began to beat fast and loud. +</p> +<p>“What do you mean? Oh, you dreadful bad——” +</p> +<p>“Don’t call names,” said Harry. “You will be sorry by-and-by; +and by-and-by comes soon. We have got to be +drowned, all three of us.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +<h3>“OUR FATHER” IS BEST.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Pauline and Verena found Miss Tredgold waiting for +them. They went into the shop, which was quite one of +the best shops in the High Street. There Miss Tredgold +asked to see hats, and presently the two girls and their aunt +were absorbed in the fascinating occupation of trying on +new headgear. Miss Tredgold was buying a very pretty hat +for herself also. It was to be trimmed with lace and feathers, +and Verena had a momentary sense of disappointment +that she was to have nothing so gay to wear on her own +head. The attendant who was serving them made a sudden +remark. +</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “this little brown hat trimmed +with velvet will exactly suit the dark young lady.” Here +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +she looked at Pauline. “And I should venture to suggest +a very little cream-colored lace introduced in front. The +autumn is coming on, and the young lady will find this hat +very suitable when the weather changes.” +</p> +<p>“Well, the weather seems inclined to remain fine,” said +Miss Tredgold, glancing out of the window, where a very +blue sky met her gaze. There were heavy white clouds, +however, drifting quickly across the sky, and the young +shop attendant said: +</p> +<p>“I hear that there’s a storm expected. And anyhow it +is high-tide to-night. The tide will come up and quite +cover the White Bay this evening. It is always more or +less dangerous there, but it is specially dangerous to-day. +I never like these high-tides; children and nursemaids are +so apt to forget all about them.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold muttered something conventional. Pauline +suddenly sat down on a chair. +</p> +<p>“How white you are, dear!” said Miss Tredgold. “Would +you oblige me,” she added, turning to the attendant, “by +bringing this young lady a glass of water?” +</p> +<p>But Pauline had already recovered herself. +</p> +<p>“Please don’t,” she said. “I want to go out. I want to +get the air. Don’t—don’t keep me.” +</p> +<p>Her movement was so sudden and so unexpected that +neither Miss Tredgold nor Verena had time to say a word. +The people in the shop saw a somewhat untidy-looking +little girl rush wildly down the stairs and out of doors, +and long before Miss Tredgold had time to recover her +scattered senses that same little girl was tearing as though +on the wings of the wind up the High Street. Panting, +breathless, overpowered with emotion, she presently reached +the long flat stretch of beach at the farther end of which +was the dangerous White Bay. Never in all her life had +Pauline run as she did now. Faster and faster flew her +feet. There was a noise in her ears as though something +was hammering on her brain. She was almost faint with +terror. Should she be in time? Should she be too late? +Oh! she must be in time. +</p> +<p>Presently she saw the far end of the promontory. Her +heart gave a bound and almost stood still. What was that +white thing curling round it? Water? Oh, yes; but she +did not mind. She had waded before now. This was a case +of wading again. She reached the spot, and a moment later +she had torn off her shoes and stockings, had gathered her +skirts round her waist, and was walking through the waves. +The water was already over a foot deep. There was also +a strong tide, and she had some difficulty in keeping her +feet. She managed to hold her own, however, and found +herself a minute or two later, drenched all over, panting +and trembling, but still safe in the White Bay. To her +relief, she saw three terrified children crouching up as +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +near as they dared to the water. Even now a great wave, +deeper and stronger than its predecessors, rolled in. It +took Pauline off her feet just as she was clambering to dry +ground. She recovered herself, ran up to Pen, took her +hand, and said: +</p> +<p>“We have played pickaback before now. Get on my +back this moment; don’t stop to think.” +</p> +<p>“I daren’t,” said Pen. +</p> +<p>“Little boy—I don’t know your name,” said Pauline—“put +Pen onto my back whatever happens.” +</p> +<p>Harry Carver sprang towards Pen. +</p> +<p>“You must,” he said. “She is brave; she is a true heroine. +The lions and tigers would love her. Get on her +back and she will return for us. Oh! be quick—do be +quick—for we don’t any of us want to be drowned.” +</p> +<p>“Can you swim?” asked Pauline. “No; I know you can’t. +I haven’t a moment to stay; I’ll come back somehow.” +</p> +<p>She struggled towards the water, but Pen scrambled off +her back and stood firm on the ground. +</p> +<p>“I am bad,” she said—“there never was anybody much +badder—but I’m not going first. Take that little girl; I +will go afterwards.” +</p> +<p>“Come, little girl,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>Harry rushed towards his sister. +</p> +<p>“Do go, Nellie. Let mother keep one of us. I don’t +mind being drowned—not a bit. You tell mother I don’t +mind. Go, Nellie; do go with the big brave girl.” +</p> +<p>So Pauline carried Nellie through the rising tide, and, +marvellous to relate, did land her safely on the other side. +</p> +<p>“Now look here,” she said, “you must rush home as +fast as you can, and when you get there you are to say +that there are two girls and a boy in the White Bay, and +that your people are to bring a boat immediately. Don’t +waste a second. Find somebody. If all your people are out, +go to ours. Our house is No. 11. You understand? There +isn’t a minute to lose.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, see you go,” shouted Harry Carver. “And if you +are too late, be sure you tell mother that I wasn’t afraid to +drown.” +</p> +<p>Nellie Carver began to run as fast as she could across +the sands. Pauline hesitated for a moment; then she deliberately +waded back to the other two. The water was +up to her waist now, and she had the greatest difficulty in +keeping her feet. +</p> +<p>“I couldn’t face anybody again if Pen were drowned,” +she said to herself. “If she drowns, so will I. It is the +only thing fit for me. Perhaps when God sees that I am +sorry, and that I did try to save Pen, He will forgive me; +but I am not sure. Anyhow, I deserve to be drowned. I +could never, never face the others if Pen were to die because +of me.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p> +<p>She was just able to scramble again out of the water on +the White Bay side. The tide was coming in with great +rapidity. It was hopeless to think of carrying Pen across. +</p> +<p>“Let us go to the top part of the bay, as close to the +rocks as possible,” said Pauline; “and don’t let’s be really +frightened, for I am sure the boat will be in time.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I am certain of it!” said Harry. “Nellie never +does lose her head. She won’t want us to drown, so she’ll +hurry up.” +</p> +<p>“Give me your hand, Pen,” said Pauline. “You are a +very brave little girl to let the other little girl go first. I +am glad you did it.” +</p> +<p>“Will God remember that about me by-and-by?” asked +Pen. +</p> +<p>“I hope so,” replied Pauline, with a shiver. +</p> +<p>She took Pen’s icy hand and began to rub it. +</p> +<p>“It isn’t at all good for you to shiver like this,” she said. +“Here is a bright piece of sunshine. Let us run up and +down in the sunshine. It doesn’t seem, somehow, as though +anybody could drown when the sun shines.” +</p> +<p>“Maybe the boat will be in time,” said Harry. +</p> +<p>They ran up and down for some time, and then stood +quiet. Pauline was very silent. Beside the other two +children she felt quite old and grown-up. She had got +Pen into this terrible scrape; it was her mission to help +them both. If they must all die, she at least would have +to show courage. She was not ready to die. She knew +that fact quite well. But she had naturally plenty of pluck, +and fearful as her present surroundings were, she would +not have been afraid but for that ugly black thing which +rested on her conscience. Penelope looked full into her +face. There was something also pricking Penelope’s conscience. +The three children stood close together on the +little white patch of sand which had not yet been covered +by the waves. The wind was getting up, and the waves +were mounting higher; they rushed farther and farther +up the bay, and curled and swept and enjoyed themselves, +and looked as though they were having a race up the white +sands. Pauline made a rapid calculation, and came to the +conclusion that they had about half-an-hour to live; for +the bay was a very shallow one, and when the wind was +in its present quarter the tide rose rapidly. She looked +back at the rocks behind her, and saw that high-water +mark, even on ordinary occasions, was just above their +heads. This was what is called a spring-tide. There was +not the least hope. +</p> +<p>“If only we could climb up,” she thought. +</p> +<p>Then Penelope gave her hand a great tug. She looked +down. Pen went on tugging and tugging. +</p> +<p>“Look,” she said; “stoop and look.” +</p> +<p>In the palm of Pen’s hand lay the thimble. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></p> +<p>“Take it,” said Pen. “I comed with it to make mischief, +but I won’t never tell now—never. Take it. Put it in your +pocket. I am sorry I was so bad. Take it.” +</p> +<p>Pauline did take the little gold thimble. She slipped +it into her pocket; then she stooped and kissed Pen. +</p> +<p>“What are you two doing?” said Harry. “Why don’t +you talk to me? Can’t I do something to help? I’m ten. +How old are you?” +</p> +<p>“I was fourteen a few weeks ago,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Granny!” said the boy. “Why, you are quite old; you +are withering up. I wouldn’t like to be fourteen. You must +know a monstrous lot. You are a very plucky one to come +through the water as you did. I wish I could swim, and I +wouldn’t let the waves get the better of me; but I’m glad +I let Nellie see that I wasn’t afraid of drowning. Do you +mind drowning, big, big, old girl?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“You have a queer sort of look in your eyes, like the +little one has in hers. Are you wicked, too?” +</p> +<p>“You have guessed it,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“I expect we’re all wicked for that matter; but we can +say our prayers, can’t we?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Pauline, and now her lips trembled and the +color faded from her cheeks. “Let us say them together.” +</p> +<p>“By-and-by,” said Pen. “We needn’t say our prayers +yet. It will be some time afore the water will touch us; +won’t it, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>Pauline knew that the water would come in very quickly. +Harry looked full at Pen, and then he nodded his head. +He came to Pauline and whispered something in her ear. +</p> +<p>“What is it?” she said. +</p> +<p>“She’s little,” he said. “She’s quite a baby—not eight +yet. I am ten. When the water begins to come in we’ll +lift her in our arms and raise her above it; shan’t we?” +</p> +<p>“Yes; that is a very good thought,” said Pauline. She +looked back again at the rocks. They were smooth as +marble; there did not seem to be a possible foothold. She +felt a sense of regret that they had not gone to the farther +end of the bay, where the rocks were lower and more +indented, and where it might be possible for a brave boy +and girl to get temporary foothold; but the sea had already +reached those rocks and was dashing round them. +</p> +<p>“I wish I had thought of it,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“What about?” +</p> +<p>“The rocks—those rocks out there.” +</p> +<p>The words had scarcely passed her lips before Harry +darted back. A wave from the incoming tide had rolled +over his feet. +</p> +<p>Pen uttered a sudden cry: +</p> +<p>“I am frightened. I won’t drown. I am awful frightened.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></p> +<p>She began to shriek. +</p> +<p>“Try and keep up your courage, darling,” said Pauline. +“It won’t be long. It will be quickly over, and I will +stay close to you. Paulie will be close to you.” +</p> +<p>“Let us get her to stand on our two shoulders, and we’ll +lean up against the rocks,” said Harry. “She can steady +herself against the rock, and I will support you both. Here, +I will hoist her up. Now, missy, you look slippy. That’s +it.” +</p> +<p>Harry was a very active boy, and he did manage to lift +Pen, who was stiff with cold and fright, and miserable with +a sense of her own naughtiness, on to Pauline’s and his +shoulders. When she was established in that position she +was propped up against the rocks. +</p> +<p>“Now you are safe,” said Harry, looking back at her +and trying to laugh. “We’ll both drown before you. See +how safe you are.” +</p> +<p>Just for a moment Pen was somewhat consoled by this +reflection. But presently a fresh terror seized her. It +would be so awful when she was left alone and there was +only a dead Pauline and a dead Harry to keep her company. +She had never seen anybody die, and had not the +least idea what death meant. Her terrors grew worse each +moment. She began to cry and whimper miserably, “I wish +that boat would come.” +</p> +<p>Another wave came in and washed right over both Pauline’s +and Harry’s ankles. They were jammed up against +the rocks now. This big wave was followed by a second +and a third, and soon the children were standing in water +very nearly up to their knees. +</p> +<p>“Seems to me,” said Harry in a choky voice, “that it is +about time we began our prayers. It is like going to sleep +at night. Just when you are preparing to sleep you say +your prayers, and then you dump your head down on your +pillow and off you go to by-bye land. Then mother comes +and kisses you, and she says—— Oh, bother! I don’t want +to think of that. Let’s try and fancy that it is night. Let’s +begin our prayers. Oh, what a wave that is! Why, it has +dashed right into my eyes.” +</p> +<p>“How far up is the water now, Pauline?” asked Penelope +from her position. +</p> +<p>“It is not very far up yet,” replied Pauline in as cheerful +a tone as she could. “We had better do what Harry says, +and say our prayers.” +</p> +<p>“Shall us?” said Pen. +</p> +<p>“I think so,” replied Pauline. +</p> +<p>There was a strange sensation in her throat, and a mist +before her eyes. Her feet were so icy cold that it was +with difficulty she could keep herself from slipping. +</p> +<p>“Which prayer shall we say?” asked Harry. “There’s +a lot of them. There’s our special private prayers in which +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +we say, ‘God bless father and mother;’ and then there’s +‘Our Father.’” +</p> +<p>“‘Our Father’ is best,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>The children began repeating it in a sing-song fashion. +Suddenly Pen violently clutched hold of Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Will God forgive our badnesses?” she asked. +</p> +<p>“He will—I know He will,” answered Pauline; and just +at that instant there came a cry from Harry. +</p> +<p>“A boat! a boat!” he shrieked. “And it’s coming our +way. I knew Nellie was a brick. I knew she’d do it.” +</p> +<p>A boat rowed by four men came faster and faster over +the waves. By-and-by it was within a stone’s-throw of +the children. A big man sat in the stern. Harry glanced +at him. +</p> +<p>“Why, it’s father!” he cried. “Oh, father, why did you +come home? I thought you had gone away for the day. +Father, I wasn’t a bit afraid to drown—not really, I mean. +I hope Nellie told you.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, my brave boy. Now, see, when I hold out my +hand, spring up carefully or the boat will capsize.” +</p> +<p>The next instant a stalwart hand and arm were stretched +across the rapidly rising waves, and Harry, with a bound, +was in the boat. +</p> +<p>“Lie down in the boat, and stay as quiet as a mouse,” +said his father. +</p> +<p>Pauline, already up to her waist in water, struggled a +step or two and was dragged into the boat; while two of +the men bent over, and, catching Penelope round the waist, +lifted her into their ark of shelter. +</p> +<p>“It was touch-and-go, sir,” said one of the sailors who +had accompanied Harry’s father. “Five minutes later and +we could have done no good.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +<h3>THE DULL WEIGHT.</h3> +</div> + +<p>The rest of that day passed for Pauline in a sort of dream. +She felt no fear nor pain nor remorse. She lay in bed +with a languid and sleepy sensation. Aunt Sophia went in +and out of the room; she was all kindness and sympathy. +Several times she bent down and kissed the child’s hot +forehead. It gave Pauline neither pain nor pleasure when +her aunt did that; she was, in short, incapable of any emotion. +When the doctor came at night his face looked +grave. +</p> +<p>“The little girl is all right,” he said. “She has had a +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +terrible fright, but a good night’s rest will quite restore +her to her usual health; but I don’t quite like the look of +the elder girl.” +</p> +<p>Verena, who was in the room, now came forward. +</p> +<p>“Pauline is always pale,” she said. “If it is only that +she looks a little more pale than usual——” +</p> +<p>“It isn’t that,” interrupted the doctor. “Her nervous +system has got a most severe shock.” +</p> +<p>“The fact is this,” said Miss Tredgold. “The child has +not been herself for some time. It was on that account +that I brought her to the seaside. She was getting very +much better. This accident is most unfortunate, and I +cannot understand how she knew about Penelope.” +</p> +<p>“It was a precious good thing she did find it out,” said +the doctor, “or Mr. Carver’s two little children and your +young niece would all have been drowned. Miss Pauline +did a remarkably plucky thing. Well, I will send round +a quieting draught. Some one had better sleep in the child’s +room to-night; she may possibly get restless and excited.” +</p> +<p>When Miss Tredgold and Verena found themselves alone, +Miss Tredgold looked at her niece. +</p> +<p>“Can you understand it?” she asked. +</p> +<p>“No, Aunt Sophy.” +</p> +<p>“Has Pen told you anything?” +</p> +<p>“No.” +</p> +<p>“We must not question her further just now,” said Miss +Tredgold. “She will explain things in the morning, perhaps. +Why did the children go to the White Bay—a forbidden +place to every child in the neighborhood? And how +did Pauline know that they were there? The mystery +thickens. It annoys me very much.” +</p> +<p>Verena said nothing, but her eyes slowly filled with +tears. +</p> +<p>“My dear,” said Miss Tredgold suddenly, “I thought it +right this afternoon to send your father a telegram. He +may arrive in the morning, or some time to-morrow; there +is no saying.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m sure he will come if he remembers,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“That’s just it, Renny. How long will he remember? +Sometimes I think he has a fossil inside of him instead of +a heart. But there! I must not abuse him to you, my +dear.” +</p> +<p>“He is really a most loving father,” said Verena; “that +is, when he remembers. Why he should forget everything +puzzles me a good deal; still, I cannot forget that he is my +father.” +</p> +<p>“And you are right to remember it, dear child. Now go +and sleep in the same room with Pen, and watch her. I +will take care of Pauline.” +</p> +<p>Pauline was given her sleeping draught, and Miss Tredgold, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +placing herself in an easy-chair, tried to think over +the events of the day. Soon her thoughts wandered from +the day itself to the days that had gone before, and she +puzzled much over Pauline’s character and her curious, +half-repellent, half-affectionate attitude towards herself. +</p> +<p>“What can be the matter with the child?” she thought. +“She doesn’t really care for me as the others do, and yet +sometimes she gives me a look that none of the others have +ever yet given me, just as if she loved me with such a passionate +love that it would make up for everything I have +ever missed in my life. Now, Verena is affectionate and +sweet, and open as the day. As to Pen, she is an oddity—no +more and no less. I wish I could think her quite +straightforward and honorable; but it must be my mission +to train her in those important attributes. Pauline is the +one who really puzzles me.” +</p> +<p>By-and-by Pauline opened her eyes. She thought herself +alone. She stretched out her arms and said in a voice of +excitement: +</p> +<p>“Nancy, you had no right to do it. You had no right +to send it away to London. It was like stealing it. I want it +back. Nancy, I must have it back.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold went and bent over her. Pauline was +evidently speaking in her sleep. Miss Tredgold returned +again to her place by the window. The dawn was breaking. +There was a streak of light across the distant horizon. The +tide was coming in fast. Miss Tredgold, as she watched +the waves, found herself shuddering. But for the merest +chance Pauline and Pen might have been now lying within +their cold embrace. Miss Tredgold shuddered again. She +stood up, and was just about to draw the curtain to prevent +the little sleeper from being disturbed by the light, +when Pauline opened her eyes wide, looked gravely at her +aunt, and said: +</p> +<p>“Is that you, Nancy? How strange and thin and old you +have got! And have you brought it back at last? She +wants it; she misses it, and Pen keeps on looking and +looking for it. It is so lovely and uncommon, you see. It +is gold and dark-blue and light-blue. It is most beautiful. +Have you got it for me, Nancy?” +</p> +<p>“It is I, dear, not Nancy,” said Miss Tredgold, coming forward. +“You have had a very good night. I hope you are +better.” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked up at her. +</p> +<p>“How funny!” she said. “I really thought you were +Nancy—Nancy King, my old friend. I suppose I was dreaming.” +</p> +<p>“You were talking about something that was dark-blue +and light-blue and gold,” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>Pauline gave a weak smile. +</p> +<p>“Was I?” she answered. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p> +<p>Miss Tredgold took the little girl’s hands and put them +inside the bedclothes. +</p> +<p>“I am going to get you a cup of tea,” she said. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold made the tea herself; and when she brought +it, and pushed back Pauline’s tangled hair, she observed a +narrow gold chain round her neck. +</p> +<p>“Where did she get it?” thought the good lady. “Mysteries +get worse. I know all about her little ornaments. +She has been talking in a most unintelligible way. And +where did she get that chain?” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold’s discoveries of that morning were not yet +at an end; for by-and-by, when the servant brought in +Pauline’s dress which she had been drying by the kitchen +fire, she held something in her hand. +</p> +<p>“I found this in the young lady’s pocket,” she said. “I +am afraid it is injured a good bit, but if you have it well +rubbed up it may get all right again.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold saw in the palm of the girl’s hand her own +much-valued and long-lost thimble. She gave a quick +start, then controlled herself. +</p> +<p>“You can put it down,” she said. “I am glad it was not +lost.” +</p> +<p>“It is a beautiful thimble,” said the girl. “I am sure +Johnson, the jeweller in the High Street, could put it right +for you, miss.” +</p> +<p>“You had better leave the room now,” replied Miss Tredgold. +“The young lady will hear you if you talk in a whisper.” +</p> +<p>When the maid had gone Miss Tredgold remained for a +minute or two holding the thimble in the palm of her hand; +then she crossed the room on tiptoe, and replaced it in the +pocket of Pauline’s serge skirt. +</p> +<p>For the whole of that day Pauline lay in a languid and +dangerous condition. The doctor feared mischief to the +brain. Miss Tredgold waited on her day and night. At the +end of the third day there was a change for the better, and +then convalescence quickly followed. +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale made his appearance on the scene early on the +morning after the accident. He was very much perturbed, +and very nearly shed tears when he clasped Penelope in his +arms. But in an hour’s time he got restless, and asked Verena +in a fretful tone what he had left his employment for. +She gave him a fresh account of the whole story as far as +she knew it, and he once more remembered and asked to see +Pauline, and actually dropped a tear on her forehead. But +by the midday train he returned to The Dales, and long +before he got there the whole affair in the White Bay was +forgotten by him. +</p> +<p>In a week’s time Pauline was pronounced convalescent; +but although she had recovered her appetite, and to a certain +extent her spirits, there was a considerable change +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +over her. This the doctor did not at first remark; but Miss +Tredgold and Verena could not help noticing it. For one +thing, Pauline hated looking at the sea. She liked to sit +with her back to it. When the subject was mentioned she +turned fidgety, and sometimes even left the room. Now and +then, too, she complained of a weight pressing on her head. +In short, she was herself and yet not herself; the old bright, +daring, impulsive, altogether fascinating Pauline seemed to +be dead and gone. +</p> +<p>On the day when she was considered well enough to go +into the drawing-room, there was a festival made in her +honor. The place looked bright and pretty. Verena had +got a large supply of flowers, which she placed in glasses +on the supper-table and also on a little table close to Pauline’s +side. Pauline did not remark on the flowers, however. +She did not remark on anything. She was gentle and sweet, +and at the same time indifferent to her surroundings. +</p> +<p>When supper was over she found herself alone with Penelope. +Then a wave of color rushed into her face, and she +looked full at her little sister. +</p> +<p>“Have I done it or have I not, Pen?” she said. “Have I +been awfully wicked—the wickedest girl on earth—or is it a +dream? Tell me—tell me, Pen. Tell me the truth.” +</p> +<p>“It is as true as anything in the wide world,” said Pen, +speaking with intense emphasis and coming close to her +sister. “There never was anybody more wicked than you—<i>’cept</i> +me. We are both as bad as bad can be. But I tell you +what, Paulie, though I meant to tell, I am not going to tell +now; for but for you I’d have been drownded, and I am +never, never, never going to tell.” +</p> +<p>“But for me!” said Pauline, and the expression on her +face was somewhat vague. +</p> +<p>“Oh, Paulie, how white you look! No, I will never tell. +I love you now, and it is your secret and mine for ever and +ever.” +</p> +<p>Pauline said nothing. She put her hand to her forehead; +the dull weight on her head was very manifest. +</p> +<p>“We are going home next week,” continued Pen in her +brightest manner. “You will be glad of that. You will +see Briar and Patty and all the rest, and perhaps you will +get to look as you used to. You are not much to be proud of +now. You are seedy-looking, and rather dull, and not a bit +amusing. But I loves you, and I’ll never, never tell.” +</p> +<p>“Run away, Pen,” said Miss Tredgold, coming into the +room at that moment. “You are tiring Pauline. You should +not have talked so loud; your sister is not very strong yet.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +<h3>PLATO AND VIRGIL.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Dale returned home to find metamorphosis; for Betty +and John, egged on by nurse, had taken advantage of his +day from home to turn out the study. This study had not +been properly cleaned for years. It had never had what +servants are fond of calling a spring cleaning. Neither +spring nor autumn found any change for the better in that +tattered, dusty, and worn-out carpet; in those old moreen +curtains which hung in heavy, dull folds round the bay-window; +in the leathern arm-chair, with very little leather +left about it; in the desk, which was so piled with books +and papers that it was difficult even to discover a clear +space on which to write. The books on the shelves, too, +were dusty as dusty could be. Many of them were precious +folios—folios bound in calf which book-lovers would have +given a great deal for—but the dust lay thick on them, and +Betty said, with a look of disgust, that they soiled her fingers. +</p> +<p>“Oh, drat you and your fingers!” said nurse. “You +think of nothing but those blessed trashy novels you are +always reading. You must turn to now. The master is certain +to be back by the late afternoon train, and this room +has got to be put into apple-pie order before he returns.” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said John; “we won’t lose the chance. We’ll +take each book from its place on the shelf, dust it, and put +it back again. We have a long job before us, so don’t you +think any more of your novels and your grand ladies and +gentlemen, Betty, my woman.” +</p> +<p>“I have ceased to think of them,” said Betty. +</p> +<p>She stood with her hands hanging straight to her sides; +her face was quite pale. +</p> +<p>“I trusted, and my trust failed me,” she continued. “I +was at a wedding lately, John—you remember, don’t you?—Dick +Jones’s wedding, at the other side of the Forest. +There was a beautiful wedding cake, frosted over and almond-iced +underneath, and ornaments on it, too—cupids +and doves and such-like. A pair of little doves sat as perky +as you please on the top of the cake, billing and cooing like +anything. It made my eyes water even to look at ’em. +You may be sure I didn’t think of Mary Dugdale, the bride +that was, nor of poor Jones, neither; although he is a good +looking man enough—I never said he wasn’t. But my heart +was in my mouth thinking of that dear Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p> +<p>“Who in the name of fortune is he?” asked nurse. +</p> +<p>“A hero of mine,” said Betty. +</p> +<p>Her face looked a little paler and more mournful even +than when she had begun to speak. +</p> +<p>“He’s dead,” she said, and she whisked a handkerchief +out of her pocket and applied it to her eyes. “It was bandits +as carried him off. He loved that innocent virgin he +took for his wife like anything. Over and over have I +thought of them, and privately made up my mind that if +I came across his second I’d give him my heart.” +</p> +<p>“Betty, you must be mad,” said nurse. +</p> +<p>“Maybe you are mad,” retorted Betty, her face flaming, +“but I am not. It was a girl quite as poor as me that he +took for his spouse; and why shouldn’t there be another +like him? That’s what I thought, and when the wedding +came to an end I asked Mary Dugdale to give me a bit of the +cake all private for myself. She’s a good-natured sort is +Mary, though not equal to Jones—not by no means. She +cut a nice square of the cake, a beautiful chunk, black with +richness as to the fruit part, yellow as to the almond, and +white as the driven snow as to the icing. And, if you’ll +believe it, there was just the tip of a wing of one of those +angelic little doves cut off with the icing. Well, I brought +it home with me, and I slept on it just according to the old +saw which my mother taught me. Mother used to say, +‘Betty, if you want to dream of your true love, you will +take a piece of wedding-cake that belongs to a fresh-made +bride, and you will put it into your right-foot stocking, and +tie it with your left-foot garter, and put it under your +pillow. And when you get into bed, not a mortal word will +you utter, or the spell is broke. And that you will do, +Betty,’ said my mother, ‘for three nights running. And +then you will put the stocking and the garter and the cake +away for three nights, and at the end of those nights you +will sleep again on it for three nights; and then you will +put it away once more for three nights, and you will sleep +on it again for three nights. And at the end of the last +night, why, the man you dream of is he.’” +</p> +<p>“Well, and did you go in for all that gibberish?” asked +nurse, with scorn. +</p> +<p>She had a duster in her hand, and she vigorously flicked +Mr. Dale’s desk as she spoke. +</p> +<p>“To be sure I did; and I thought as much over the matter +as ought to have got me a decent husband. Well, when +the last night come I lay me down to sleep as peaceful +as an angel, and I folded my hands and shut my eyes, and +wondered what his beautiful name would be, and if he’d +be a dook or a marquis. I incline to a dook myself, having, +so to speak, fallen in love with the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton +of blessed memory. But what do you think +happened? It’s enough to cure a body, that it is.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></p> +<p>“Well, what?” asked nurse. +</p> +<p>“I dreamt of no man in the creation except John there. +If that isn’t enough to make a body sick, and to cure all +their romance once and for ever, my name ain’t Betty +Snowden.” +</p> +<p>John laughed and turned a dull red at this unexpected +ending to Betty’s story. +</p> +<p>“Now let’s clean up,” she said; “and don’t twit me any +more about my dreams. They were shattered, so to speak, +in the moment of victory.” +</p> +<p>The children were called in, particularly Briar and Patty, +and the room was made quite fresh and sweet, the carpet +taken up, the floor scrubbed, a new rug (bought long ago +for the auspicious moment) put down, white curtains hung +at the windows in place of the dreadful old moreen, every +book dusted and put in its place, and the papers piled up +in orderly fashion on a wagonette which was moved into +the room for the purpose. Finally the children and servants +gazed around them with an air of appreciation. +</p> +<p>“He can’t help liking it,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“I wonder if he will,” said Patty. +</p> +<p>“What nonsense, Patty! Father is human, after all, and +we have not disturbed one single blessed thing.” +</p> +<p>Soon wheels were heard, and the children rushed out to +greet their returning parent. +</p> +<p>“How is Pauline, father?” asked Briar in an anxious +voice. +</p> +<p>“Pauline?” replied Mr. Dale, pushing his thin hand abstractedly +through his thin locks. “What of her? Isn’t +she here?” +</p> +<p>“Nonsense, father!” said Patty. “You went to see her. +She was very ill; she was nearly drowned. You know all +about it. Wake up, dad, and tell us how she is.” +</p> +<p>“To be sure,” said Mr. Dale. “I quite recall the circumstance +now. Your sister is much better. I left her +in bed, a little flushed, but looking very well and pretty. +Pauline promises to be quite a pretty girl. She has +improved wonderfully of late. Verena was there, too, +and Pen, and your good aunt. Yes, I saw them all. +Comfortable lodgings enough for those who don’t care +for books. From what I saw of your sister she did not +seem to be at all seriously ill, and I cannot imagine why +I was summoned. Don’t keep me now, my dears; I must +get back to my work. The formation of that last sentence +from Plato’s celebrated treatise doesn’t please me. It lacks +the extreme polish of the original. My dear Briar, how +you stare! There is no possible reason, Briar and Patty, +why the English translation should not be every bit as pure +as the Greek. Our language has extended itself considerably +of late, and close application and study may recall +to my mind the most fitting words. But there is one thing +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +certain, my dear girls—— Ah! is that you, nurse? Miss +Pauline is better. I was talking about Plato, nurse. The +last translation I have been making from his immortal +work does not please me; but toil—ceaseless toil—the midnight +oil, <i>et cetera</i>, may evoke the spirit of the true Muse, +and I may be able to put the matter before the great English +thinking public in a way worthy of the immortal +master.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale had now pushed his hat very far back from his +forehead. He removed it, still quite abstractedly, and retired +with long, shuffling strides to his beloved study. +</p> +<p>“No food until I ring for it,” he said when he reached +the door, and then he vanished. +</p> +<p>“Blessed man!” said Betty, who was standing in the far +distance. “He might be a dook himself for all his airs. +It was lovely the way he clothed his thoughts that time. +What they be themselves I don’t know, but his language +was most enthralling. John, get out of my way. What are +you standing behind me like that for? Get along and weed +the garden—do.” +</p> +<p>“You’ll give me a cup of tea, and tell me more about that +dream of yours,” was John’s answer. +</p> +<p>Whereupon Betty took John by the hand, whisked into +her kitchen, slammed the door after her, and planted him +down on a wooden seat, and then proceeded to make tea. +</p> +<p>But while John and Betty were happily engaged in pleasant +converse with each other, Mr. Dale’s condition was by +no means so favorable. At first when he entered his study +he saw nothing unusual. His mind was far too loftily +poised to notice such sublunary matters as white curtains +and druggets not in tatters; but when he seated himself +at his desk, and stretched out his hand mechanically to find +his battered old edition of Plato, it was not in its accustomed +place. He looked around him, raised his eyes, put +his hand to his forehead, and, still mechanically, but with +a dawning of fright on his face, glanced round the room. +What did he see? He started, stumbled to his feet, turned +deathly white, and rushed to the opposite bookcase. There +was his Plato—his idol—actually placed in the bookshelf +upside-down. It was a monstrous crime—a crime that he +felt he could never forgive—that no one could expect him +to forgive. He walked across to the fireplace and rang +the bell. +</p> +<p>“You must go, Miss Patty,” said nurse. “I was willing +to do it, but I can’t face him. You must go; you really +must.” +</p> +<p>“Well, I’m not frightened,” said Patty. “Come on, +Briar.” +</p> +<p>The two little girls walked down the passage. Mr. Dale’s +bell was heard to ring again. +</p> +<p>“Aren’t you the least bit frightened, Patty?” asked Briar. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>“No,” answered Patty, with a sigh. “If only I could get +the real heaviness off my mind, nothing else would matter. +Oh, Briar, Briar!” +</p> +<p>“Don’t talk of it now,” said Briar. “To-night when we +are alone, when we are by ourselves in our own room, but +not now. Come, let us answer father’s bell.” +</p> +<p>They opened the door and presented themselves—two +pretty little figures with rosy faces and bright eyes—two +neatly dressed, lady-like little girls. +</p> +<p>“Do you want anything, father?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Dale. “Come in and shut the door.” +</p> +<p>The girls did what he told them. +</p> +<p>“Who did this?” asked the master of The Dales. He +swept his hand with a certain majesty of gesture round +the restored room. “Who brushed the walls? Who put +those flimsies to the windows? Who touched my beloved +books? Who was the person? Name the culprit.” +</p> +<p>“There were quite a lot of us, father. We all did it,” +said Briar. +</p> +<p>“You all did it? You mean to tell me, little girl, that +you did it?” +</p> +<p>“I dusted a lot of the books, father. I didn’t injure one +of them, and I put them back again just in the same place. +My arms ached because the books were so heavy.” +</p> +<p>“Quite right that they should ache. Do you know what +injury you have done me?” +</p> +<p>“No,” said Patty suddenly. “We made the room clean, +father. It isn’t right to live in such a dirty room. Plato +wouldn’t have liked it.” +</p> +<p>“Now what do you mean?” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale’s white face quieted down suddenly; for his +daughter—his small, young, ignorant daughter—to dare to +mention the greatest name, in his opinion, of all the ages, +was too much for him. +</p> +<p>“You are always talking to us about Plato,” said Patty, +who grew braver and braver as she proceeded. “You talk +of Plato one day, and Virgil another day, and you always +tell us how great they were; but if they were really great +they would not be dirty, and this room was horrid and +dirty, father. It really was. Nice, great, good, noble people +are clean. Aunt Sophy says so, and she knows. Since Aunt +Sophy came we have been very happy, and the house has +been clean and nice. And I love Aunt Sophy, and so does +Briar. I am very sorry, father, but I think when we made +your room sweet and pretty as it is now we pleased Plato +and Virgil—that is, if they can see us.” +</p> +<p>“If Plato and Virgil can see mites like you?” said Mr. +Dale. +</p> +<p>He took up his spectacles, poised them on his forehead, +and gazed at the children. +</p> +<p>“There is the door,” he said. “Go.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></p> +<p>They vanished. Mr. Dale sank into a chair. +</p> +<p>“Upon my word!” he said several times. “Upon—my—word! +So Plato liked things clean, and Virgil liked things +orderly. Upon—my—word!” +</p> +<p>He sat perfectly motionless for a time. His brain was +working, for his glasses were sometimes removed and then +put on again, and several times he brushed his hand through +his hair. Finally he took up his hat, and, gazing at the frills +of the white window-curtains, he opened the French windows, +and, with an agile leap, found himself in the open +air. He went for a walk—a long one. When he came back +he entered his clean study, to find the lamp burning brightly, +his Plato restored to its place by his left-hand side, and +a fresh pad of blotting-paper on the table. His own old +pen was not removed, but the inkpot was clean and filled +with fresh ink. He took his pen, dipped it into the ink, +and wrote on a sheet of paper, “Plato likes things clean, +and Virgil likes things orderly,” and then pinned the paper +on the opposite wall. +</p> +<p>For the rest of the evening the astonished household +were much beguiled and overcome by the most heavenly +strains from Mr. Dale’s violin. He played it in the study +until quite late at night; but none of the household went to +bed, so divine, so restoring, so comforting was that music. +</p> +<p>About eleven o’clock Patty and Briar found themselves +alone. +</p> +<p>“Well,” said Patty suddenly, “I have made up my mind.” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Briar, “I thought you had.” +</p> +<p>“When Aunt Sophy comes back I am going to tell her +everything.” +</p> +<p>Briar went up to her sister, put her arms round her neck, +and kissed her. +</p> +<p>“I wonder what she will say,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“Say!” echoed Patty. “She will be hurt. Perhaps she’ll +punish us; but that doesn’t matter, for in the end she is +quite, quite certain to forgive us. I am going to tell her. +I couldn’t go through another night like last night again.” +</p> +<p>“Nor could I,” said Briar. “I stayed awake and thought +of Paulie, and I seemed to see her face as it might look if +she were really dead. I wish they’d all come back, for +Paulie is better. And then we’d have just a dreadful ten +minutes, and everything would be all right.” +</p> +<p>“That’s it,” said Patty. “Everything would be all right.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +<h3>“YOU ARE NOT TO TELL.”</h3> +</div> + +<p>Pauline was certainly better, although she was not what +she was before. In body she was to all appearance quite +well. She ate heartily, took long walks, and slept soundly +at night; but she was dull. She seldom laughed; she took +little interest in anything. As to the sea, she had a positive +horror of it. When she went out for walks she invariably +chose inland directions. She liked to walk briskly over +the great moors which surround Easterhaze, and to sit +there and think, though nobody knew what she was thinking +about. Her face now and then looked pathetic, but on +the whole it was indifferent. Miss Tredgold was much +concerned. She made up her mind. +</p> +<p>“The seaside is doing the child no good,” she thought. “I +will take her straight back home. She is certainly not herself; +she got a much greater shock than we knew of or +had any idea of. When she gets home the sight of the +other children and the old place will rouse her. She is not +consumptive at the present moment. That is one thing to +be thankful for. I shall take her to London for the winter. +If going back to The Dales does not arouse her, she must +go somewhere else, for roused she certainly must be.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold, having made up her mind, spoke to Verena. +</p> +<p>“We are going home to-morrow, Verena,” she said. +</p> +<p>“And a very good thing,” answered the young girl. +</p> +<p>“Do you really think so?” +</p> +<p>“I do, Aunt Sophy. Pauline has got all she can get +out of the sea at present. She does not love the sea; she is +afraid of it. She may be better when she is home.” +</p> +<p>“And yet she is well,” said Miss Tredgold. “The doctor +pronounces her in perfect health.” +</p> +<p>“In body she is certainly well,” said Verena. +</p> +<p>“Oh, then, you have observed it?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, I have,” replied Verena slowly. “There is some +part of her stunned. I can’t make out myself what ails her, +but there is undoubtedly one part of her stunned.” +</p> +<p>“We will take her home,” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>The good lady was a person of very direct action and +keen resource. She had whisked Pauline and Verena off +to the sea almost at a moment’s notice, and quite as quickly +she brought them back. They were all glad to go. Even +Pen was pleased. Pen looked very still and solemn and +contented during these days. She sat close to Pauline and +looked into her eyes over and over again; and Pauline never +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +resented her glance, and seemed to be more pleased to be +with Penelope than with anybody else. +</p> +<p>The nice landau which Miss Tredgold had purchased met +the travellers at Lyndhurst Road, and the first piece of +news which Briar, who had come to meet them, announced +was that the ponies had arrived. +</p> +<p>“Peas-blossom and Lavender are so sweet!” she said. +“They came yesterday. We are quite longing to ride them. +As to Peas-blossom, he is quite the dearest pony I ever +looked at in my life.” +</p> +<p>“Peas-blossom will be Pauline’s special pony,” said Miss +Tredgold suddenly. “Do you happen to know if the sidesaddles +have arrived?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, they have; and the habits, too,” said Briar. +“It is delicious—delicious!” +</p> +<p>“Then, Pauline, my dear, you shall have a ride to-morrow +morning.” +</p> +<p>Pauline scarcely replied. She did not negative the idea +of the ride, but neither did she accept it with any enthusiasm. +</p> +<p>There was a wild moment when the entire family were +reassembled. All the girls surrounded Pauline, and kissed +her and hugged her as though she had come back from the +dead. +</p> +<p>“You quite forget,” said Penelope, “that I was nearly +drownded, too. I was very nearly shutting up of my eyes, +and closing of my lips, and stretching myself out and lying +drownded and still on the top of the waves. I was in as +big a danger as Pauline, every bit.” +</p> +<p>“But you didn’t get ill afterwards, as Paulie did,” said +the other girls. +</p> +<p>They kissed Pen, for, being their sister, they had to love +her after a fashion; but their real adoration and deepest +sympathy were centred round Pauline. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Pen, who never cared to find herself neglected, +ran off to discover nurse. +</p> +<p>“Well,” she said when she saw that worthy, “here I am. +I’m not pale now. I am rosy. The seaside suits me. The +salty waves and the sands, they all agrees with me. How +are you, nursey?” +</p> +<p>“Very well,” replied nurse, “and glad to see you again.” +</p> +<p>“And how is Marjorie? Kiss me, Marjorie.” +</p> +<p>She snatched up her little sister somewhat roughly. +</p> +<p>“Don’t make the darling cry,” said nurse. +</p> +<p>“All right,” replied Pen. “Sit down, baby; I have no time +to ’tend you. Nursey, when I was at the sea I was a very +’portant person.” +</p> +<p>“Were you indeed. Miss Pen? But you always think +yourself that. And how is Miss Pauline?” +</p> +<p>“Paulie?” said Penelope. “She’s bad.” +</p> +<p>“Bad!” echoed nurse. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>“Yes, all-round bad,” said Penelope. +</p> +<p>As she spoke she formed her mouth into a round O, and +looked with big eyes at nurse. +</p> +<p>“The seaside didn’t agree with her,” said Pen. “Nor +does the fuss, nor the petting, nor the nice food, nor anything +else of that sort. The only thing that agrees with +Paulie is me. She likes to have me with her, and I understand +her. But never mind about Paulie now. I want +to ask you a question. Am I the sort of little girl that lions +would crunch up?” +</p> +<p>“I never!” cried nurse. “You are the queerest child!” +</p> +<p>“But am I, nursey? Speak.” +</p> +<p>“I suppose so, Miss Pen.” +</p> +<p>“I thought so,” answered Pen, with a sigh. “I thought +as much. I am bad through and through, then. They +never eat good uns. You know that, don’t you, nursey? +They wouldn’t touch Marjorie, though she is so round and +so white and so fat; and they wouldn’t look at Adelaide +or Josephine, or any of those dull ones of the family; but +they’d eat me up, and poor Paulie. Oh! they’d have a +nice meal on Paulie. Thank you, nursey. I am glad I +know.” +</p> +<p>“What is the child driving at?” thought nurse as Penelope +marched away. “Would lions crunch her up, and +would they crunch up Miss Paulie? Mercy me! I wouldn’t +like any of us to be put in their way. I do hope Miss Pen +won’t go off her head after a time; she is too queer for +anything. But what is wrong with Miss Pauline? I don’t +like what she said about Miss Pauline.” +</p> +<p>When nurse saw Pauline she liked matters even less. +For though her dearly beloved young lady looked quite +well in health, her eyes were no longer bright, and she +did not take the slightest interest in the different things +which the children had to show her. When asked if she +would not like to visit the stables, now in perfect restoration, +and see for herself those darling, most angelic creatures +that went by the names of Peas-blossom and Lavender, +she said she was tired and would rather sit in the rocking-chair +on the lawn. +</p> +<p>The others, accompanied by Aunt Sophia, went off to view +the ponies; and then at the last moment Pen came back. +She flung herself on the ground at Pauline’s feet. +</p> +<p>“I has quite made up my mind for ever and ever,” she +said. “Not even lions will drag it from me.” +</p> +<p>“What?” asked Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Why, all that I know: about who stole the thimble, +and about the picnic on the birthday, and about what Briar +and Patty did, and about you, Paulie, and all your wicked, +wicked ways. I meant to tell once, but I will never tell +now. So cheer up; even lions won’t drag it from me.” +</p> +<p>Pauline put her hand to her forehead. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p> +<p>“I keep having these stupid headaches,” she said. “They +come and go, and whenever I want to think they get worse. +I suppose I have been very bad, and that all you say is +right, but somehow I can’t think it out. Only there is one +thing, Pen—if I were you I wouldn’t do wrong any more. +It isn’t worth while.” +</p> +<p>“It is quite worth while getting you cheered up,” said +Pen, “so I thought I’d let you know.” +</p> +<p>That same evening Briar and Patty held a consultation +in their own room. +</p> +<p>“We must do it after breakfast to-morrow,” said Patty. +</p> +<p>Just then there was a slight rustle. Briar paused to +listen. +</p> +<p>“Those horrid mice have come back again,” she said. +“We must get Tiddledywinks to spend a night or two in +this room.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, bother the mice!” was Patty’s response. “Let us +arrange when we must see her.” +</p> +<p>“I have planned it all out,” said Briar. “We must tell +her just everything we know. She won’t be so terribly +angry with Paulie, because poor Paulie is not well. But I +suppose she will punish us terribly. I have been thinking +what our punishment ought to be.” +</p> +<p>“What?” asked Patty. +</p> +<p>“Why, not to ride either of the ponies until after Christmas.” +</p> +<p>“Oh! don’t tell her to do that,” said Patty, in some alarm. +“I have been so pining for my rides.” +</p> +<p>“There’s that mouse again,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>The children now looked under the little beds, and under +the farther one there was something which would certainly +have preferred to be thought an enormous mouse. +On being dragged to the front, the stout, dishevelled figure +of Penelope Dale was discovered. +</p> +<p>“I comed a-purpose,” said Pen, who did not look the +least taken aback. “I saw by your faces that you were +up to fun, and I thought I’d like to be in it. It is well I +comed. I am willing to talk to you about everything. Call +me a mouse if you like. I don’t care. I meant to listen. I +am glad I comed.” +</p> +<p>“You are too mean for anything,” said Briar. “You are +the horridest girl I ever came across. Why did you dare +to hide under my bed in order to listen to what I had to +say to Patty?” +</p> +<p>“I knew it all afore,” said Penelope, “so that wasn’t +why I comed. I comed to keep you from doing mischief. +What are you going to tell to-morrow?” +</p> +<p>“That isn’t your business,” said Briar. +</p> +<p>“But I am going to make it my business. What you +have to tell isn’t news to me. You are going to ’fess ’cos +of the pain in your little hearts. You must keep your pain, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +and you must not ’fess. You are going to tell Aunt Sophy +about that wicked, wicked birthday night—how you stole +away in the dark across the lawn, and wore your Glengarry +caps, and how you didn’t come back until the morning. +But you mustn’t tell. Do you hear me, Briar and Patty?” +</p> +<p>“But why not? Why should you talk to us like that?” +asked Patty. “Why shouldn’t we say exactly what we +like?” +</p> +<p>“You mustn’t tell ’cos of Paulie. She is ill—more ill +than you think. She mustn’t be punished, nor fretted, nor +teased, nor worrited. If you tell it will worrit her, so you +mustn’t tell. Why do you want to tell? You have kept it +dark a long time now.” +</p> +<p>“Because we are unhappy,” said Patty then. “We haven’t +got hard hearts like yours. My heart aches so badly that I +can’t sleep at nights for thinking of the lies I’ve told and +how wicked I am.” +</p> +<p>“Pooh!” said Penelope. “Keep your achy hearts; don’t +worrit.” +</p> +<p>“But it’s past bearing,” said Briar. “What we feel is +remorse. We must tell. The Bible is full of the wickedness +of people not confessing their sins. We can’t help ourselves. +We are obliged to tell.” +</p> +<p>“Just because you have a bit of pain,” said Pen in a +tone of deepest contempt. “I suppose you think I never +have any pain. Little you know. I have done a lot of +wicked things. I consider myself much the most desperate +wicked of the family. Your little pains is only pin-pricks +compared to mine. It would relieve me to tell, but I love +Paulie too much, so I won’t. We have all got to hold our +tongues for the present. Now good-night. I am not a +mouse, nor a rat, nor a ferret. But I mean what I say. +You are not to tell.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +<h3>DECEITFUL GIRLS.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Miss Tredgold was dreadfully puzzled to know what to +make of the girls. The time was autumn now; all pretense +of summer had disappeared. Autumn had arrived +and was very windy and wet, and the girls could no longer +walk in twos and twos on the pretty lawn. They had to +keep to the walks, and even these walks were drenched, as +day after day deluges of rain fell from the heavens. The +Forest, too, was sodden with the fallen leaves, and even +the ponies slipped as they cantered down the glades. Altogether +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +it was a most chilling, disappointing autumn, winter +setting in, so to speak, all at once. Verena said she +never remembered such an early season of wintry winds +and sobbing skies. The flowers disappeared, several of +the Forest trees were rooted up in consequence of the +terrible gales, and Miss Tredgold said it was scarcely safe +for the children to walk there. +</p> +<p>“The best cure for weather of this sort,” she said to +herself, “is to give the young people plenty to do indoors.” +</p> +<p>Accordingly she reorganized lessons in a very brisk and +up-to-date fashion. She arranged that a good music-master +was to come twice a week from Southampton. Mistresses +for languages were also to arrive from the same place. A +pretty little pony-cart which she bought for the purpose +conveyed these good people to and from Lyndhurst Road +station. Besides this, she asked one or two visitors to +come and stay in the house, and tried to plan as comfortable +and nice a winter as she could. Verena helped her, +and the younger girls were pleased and interested; and +Pen did what she was told, dashing about here and there, +and making suggestions, and trying to make herself as +useful as she could. +</p> +<p>“The child is improved,” said Miss Tredgold to Verena. +“She is quite obliging and unselfish.” +</p> +<p>Verena said nothing. +</p> +<p>“What do you think of my new plans, Verena?” said +her aunt. “Out-of-door life until the frost comes is more +or less at a standstill. Beyond the mere walking for +health, we do not care to go out of doors in this wet and +sloppy weather. But the house is large. I mean always +to have one or two friends here, sometimes girls to please +you other girls, sometimes older people to interest me. I +should much like to have one or two <i>savants</i> down to talk +over their special studies with your father; but that can +doubtless be arranged by-and-by. I want us to have cheerful +winter evenings—evenings for reading, evenings for +music. I want you children to learn at least the rudiments +of good acting, and I mean to have two or three +plays enacted here during the winter. In short, if you will +all help me, we can have a splendid time.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I will help you,” said Verena. “But,” she added, +“I have no talent for acting; it is Paulie who can act so +well.” +</p> +<p>“I wish your sister would take an interest in things, +Verena. She is quite well in body, but she is certainly not +what she was before her accident.” +</p> +<p>“I don’t understand Pauline,” said Verena, shaking her +head. +</p> +<p>“Nor do I understand her. Once or twice I thought I +would get a good doctor to see her, but I have now nearly +resolved to leave it to time to restore her.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p> +<p>“But the other girls—can you understand the other girls, +Aunt Sophy?” asked Verena. +</p> +<p>“Understand them, my dear? What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t mean the younger ones—Adelaide and Lucy +and the others. I mean Briar and Patty. They are not a +bit what they were.” +</p> +<p>“Now that you remark it, I have noticed that they are +very grave; but they always do their lessons well, and I +have nothing to complain of with regard to their conduct.” +</p> +<p>“Nor have you anything to complain of with regard to +Paulie’s conduct,” said Verena. “It isn’t that.” +</p> +<p>“Then what is it, my dear?” +</p> +<p>“It is that they are not natural. There is something on +their minds. I am certain of it.” +</p> +<p>“Verena,” said her aunt gently, “I wonder if I might confide +in you.” +</p> +<p>Verena started back; a distressed look came over her +face. +</p> +<p>“If it happens to be anything against Paulie, perhaps I +had better not hear,” she said. +</p> +<p>“I do not know if it is for her or against her. I am as +much in the dark as you. I have not spoken of it yet to +any one else, but I should like to mention it to you. It +seems to me that light ought to be thrown on some rather +peculiar circumstances or your sister will never get back +her old brightness and gaiety of heart.” +</p> +<p>“Then if you think so, please tell me, Aunt Sophy,” said +Verena. +</p> +<p>She got up as she spoke and shut the door. She was a +very bright and pretty-looking girl, but her face sometimes +wore too old a look for her age. Her aunt looked at her +now with a mingling of affection and compassion. +</p> +<p>“Come,” she said, “sit on this sofa, darling. We can +understand each other better when we are close together. +You know how much I love you, Renny.” +</p> +<p>“There never, never was a better aunt,” said the girl. +</p> +<p>“I am not that. But I do love you. Now, dear, I will +tell you. You remember when first I came?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t I? And how angry we were!” +</p> +<p>“Poor children! I don’t wonder. But don’t you think, +Verena, I was a very brave woman to put myself into such +a hornet’s nest?” +</p> +<p>“Indeed you were wonderful. It was your bravery that +first attracted me. Then I saw how good you were, and +how kindly you meant, and everything else became easy.” +</p> +<p>“But was it equally easy for Pauline?” +</p> +<p>“I—I don’t know. I am sure I do know, however, that +now she loves you very much.” +</p> +<p>“Ah! now,” said Miss Tredgold. “But what about the +early time?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t quite know.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></p> +<p>“Verena, if I am to be frank with you, you must be +frank with me.” +</p> +<p>“I think perhaps she was not won round to you quite as +easily as I was.” +</p> +<p>“You are right, my dear. It was harder to win her; but +she is worth winning. I shall not rest until I bring her +round altogether to my side. Now, little girl, listen. You +know what a very odd child we are all forced to consider +your sister Pen?” +</p> +<p>“I should think so, indeed.” Verena laughed. +</p> +<p>“Well, your sister found out one day, not very long after +I came, that I had lost a thimble.” +</p> +<p>“Your beautiful gold thimble? Of course we all knew +about that,” said Verena. “We were all interested, and we +all tried to find it.” +</p> +<p>“I thought so. I knew that Pen in particular searched +for it with considerable pains, and I offered her a small +prize if she found it.” +</p> +<p>Verena laughed. +</p> +<p>“Poor Pen!” she said. “She nearly broke her back one +day searching for it. Oh, Aunt Sophy! I hope you will +learn to do without it, for I am greatly afraid that it will +not be found now.” +</p> +<p>“And yet, Verena,” said Miss Tredgold—and she laid +her hand, which slightly shook, on the girl’s arm—“I could +tell you of a certain person in this house to whom a certain +dress belongs, and unless I am much mistaken, in the +pocket of that dress reposes the thimble with its sapphire +base, its golden body, and its rim of pale-blue turquoise.” +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophy! What do you mean?” +</p> +<p>Verena’s eyes were wide open, and a sort of terror filled +them. +</p> +<p>“Don’t start, dear. That person is your sister Pauline.” +</p> +<p>“Oh! Pauline! Impossible! Impossible!” cried Verena. +</p> +<p>“It is true, nevertheless. Do you remember that day +when she was nearly drowned?” +</p> +<p>“Can I forget it?” +</p> +<p>“The next morning I was in her room, and the servant +brought in the dark-blue serge dress she wore, which had +been submerged so long in the salt water. It had been +dried, and she was bringing it back. The girl held in her +hand the thimble—the thimble of gold and sapphire and +turquoise. She held the thimble in the palm of her hand, +and said, ‘I found it in the pocket of the young lady’s +dress. It is injured, but the jeweller can put it right +again.’ You can imagine my feelings. For a time I was +motionless, holding the thimble in my hand. Then I resolved +to put it back where it had been found. I have +heard nothing of it since from any one. I don’t suppose +Pauline has worn that skirt again; the thimble is doubtless +there.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p> +<p>“Oh, may I run and look? May I?” +</p> +<p>“No, no; leave it in its hiding-place. Do you think the +thimble matters to me? What does matter is this—that +Pauline should come and tell me, simply and quietly, the +truth.” +</p> +<p>“She will. She must. I feel as if I were in a dream. I +can scarcely believe this can be true.” +</p> +<p>“Alas! my dear, it is. And there is another thing. I +know what little trinkets you each possess, for you showed +them to me when first I came. Have you any reason to +believe, Verena, that Pauline kept one trinket back from +my knowledge?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Aunt Sophy; of course she did not. Pauline has +fewer trinkets than any of us, and she is fond of them. +She is not particularly fond of gay clothes, but she always +did like shiny, ornamenty things.” +</p> +<p>“When she was ill I saw round her neck a narrow gold +chain, to which a little heart-shaped locket was attached. +Do you know of such a locket, of such a chain?” +</p> +<p>“No.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold rose to her feet. +</p> +<p>“Verena,” she said, “things must come to a climax. Pauline +must be forced to tell. For her own sake, and for the +sake of others, we must find out what is at the back of +things. Until we do the air will not be cleared. I had an +idea of taking you to London for this winter, but I shall +not do so this side of Christmas at any rate. I want us all +to have a good time, a bright time, a happy time. We cannot +until this mystery is explained. I am certain, too, that +Pen knows more than she will say. She always was a +curious, inquisitive child. Now, until the time of the +accident Pen was always pursuing me and giving me hints +that she had something to confide. I could not, of course, +allow the little girl to tell tales, and I always shut her up. +But from the time of the accident she has altered. She is +now a child on the defensive. She watches Pauline as if +she were guarding her against something. I am not unobservant, +and I cannot help seeing. From what you tell me, +your sisters Briar and Patty are also implicated. My dear +Verena, we must take steps.” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Verena. “But what steps?” +</p> +<p>“Let me think. It has relieved my mind to tell you +even this much. You will keep your own counsel. I will +talk to you again to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p>Verena felt very uncomfortable. Of all the Dales she was +the most open, in some ways the most innocent. She +thought well of all the world. She adored her sisters and +her father, and now also her aunt, Miss Tredgold. She +was the sort of girl who would walk through life without +a great deal of sorrow or a great deal of perplexity. The +right path would attract her; the wrong would always be +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +repellent to her. Temptation, therefore, would not come +in a severe guise to Verena Dale. She was guarded against +it by the sweetness and purity and innocence of her nature. +But now for the first time it seemed to the young +girl that the outlook was dark. Her aunt’s words absolutely +bewildered her. Her aunt suspected Pauline, Pen, +Briar, and Patty of concealing something. But what had +they to conceal? It is true that when Aunt Sophia first +arrived they had felt a certain repugnance to her society, +a desire to keep out of her way, and a longing for the old +wild, careless, slovenly days. But surely long ere this +such foolish ideas had died a natural death. They all loved +Aunt Sophia now; what could they have to conceal? +</p> +<p>“I dare not talk about it to the younger girls. I don’t +want to get into Pen’s confidence. Pen, of all the children, +suits me least. The people to whom I must appeal are +therefore Briar or Patty, or Pauline herself. Patty and +Briar are devoted to each other. The thought in one heart +seems to have its counterpart in that of the other. They +might even be twins, so deeply are they attached. No; the +only one for me to talk to is Pauline. But what can I say +to her? And Pauline is not well. At least, she is well and +she is not well. Nevertheless I will go and see her. I will +find her now.” +</p> +<p>Verena went into the nursery. Pauline was sometimes +there. She was fond of sitting by the cosy nursery fire +with a book in her hand, which of late she only pretended +to read. Verena opened the nursery door and poked in +her bright head and face. +</p> +<p>“Come in, Miss Renny, come in,” said nurse. +</p> +<p>“I am not going to stay, nurse. Ah, Marjorie, my pet! +Come and give me a sweet kiss.” +</p> +<p>The little baby sister toddled across the floor. Verena +lifted her in her arms and kissed her affectionately. +</p> +<p>“I thought perhaps Miss Pauline was here, nurse. Do +you happen to know where she is?” +</p> +<p>“Miss Pauline has a very bad headache,” said nurse—“so +bad that I made her go and lie down; and I have just +lit a bit of fire in her bedroom, for she is chilly, too, poor +pet! Miss Pauline hasn’t been a bit herself since that +nasty accident.” +</p> +<p>“I am sure she hasn’t; but I did not know she was +suffering from headache. I will go to her.” +</p> +<p>Verena ran along the passage. Her own room faced +south; Pauline’s, alongside of it, had a window which +looked due east. Verena softly opened the door. The +chamber was tiny, but it was wonderfully neat and cheerful. +A bright fire burned in the small grate. Pauline +was lying partly over on her side; her face was hidden. +Her dark hair was tumbled about the pillow. +</p> +<p>“Paulie, it is I,” said Verena. “Are you awake?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>She turned round almost cheerfully. A cloud seemed to +vanish from her face. +</p> +<p>“I am so glad you have come, Renny,” she said. “I see +so little of you lately. Get up on the bed, won’t you, and +lie near me?” +</p> +<p>“Of course I love to be with you, but I thought——” +</p> +<p>“Oh! don’t think anything,” said Pauline. “Just get on +the bed and cuddle up close, close to me. And let us imagine +that we are back in the old happy days before Aunt +Sophy came.” +</p> +<p>Verena did not say anything. She got on the bed, flung +her arms round Pauline’s neck, and strained her sister to +her heart. +</p> +<p>“I love you so much!” she said. +</p> +<p>“Do you, Renny? That is very, very sweet of you.” +</p> +<p>“And you love me, don’t you, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“I—I don’t know.” +</p> +<p>“Pauline! You don’t know? You don’t know if you +love me or not?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t think that I love anybody, Renny.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Paulie! then there must be something dreadfully +bad the matter with you.” +</p> +<p>Pauline buried her face in Verena’s soft white neck and +lay quiet. +</p> +<p>“Does your head ache very badly, Paulie?” +</p> +<p>“Pretty badly; but it is not too bad for us to talk—that +is, if you will keep off the unpleasant subjects.” +</p> +<p>“But what unpleasant subjects can there be? I don’t +understand you, Paulie. I cannot think of anything specially +unpleasant to talk of now.” +</p> +<p>“You are a bit of a goose, you know,” replied Pauline with +a smile. +</p> +<p>“Am I? I didn’t know it. But what are the subjects +we are not to talk about?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, you must know! Aunt Sophia, for instance, and +that awful time at Easterhaze, and the most terrible of +all terrible days when I went to the White Bay, and Nancy +King, and—and my birthday. I can’t talk of these subjects. +I will talk of anything else—of baby Marjorie, and +how pretty she grows; how fond we are of nurse, and of +father, and—oh!” +</p> +<p>Pauline burst into a little laugh. +</p> +<p>“Do you know that John is courting Betty? I know he +is. He went up to her the other day in the garden and +put his hand on her shoulder, and when he thought no one +was by he kissed her. I hid behind the hedge, and I had +the greatest difficulty to keep back a shout of merriment. +Isn’t it fun?” +</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” said Verena. “But, Pauline, what you +say makes me unhappy. I wish I might talk out to you.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></p> +<p>Pauline raised herself on her elbow and looked full into +Verena’s face. +</p> +<p>“What about?” she asked. +</p> +<p>Verena did not speak for a minute. +</p> +<p>“Where are your dresses?” she asked suddenly. +</p> +<p>“My dresses! You silly girl! In that cupboard, of +course. I am getting tidy. You know I would do anything +I possibly could to please Aunt Sophy. I can’t do big things +to please her—I never shall be able to—so I do little things. +I am so tidy that I am spick-and-span. I hate and loathe +it; but I wouldn’t leave a pin about for anything. You +open that door and look for yourself. Do you see my +skirts?” +</p> +<p>Verena got off the bed and opened the cupboard door. +Pauline had about half-a-dozen skirts, and they all hung +neatly on their respective hooks. Amongst them was the +thick blue serge which she had worn on the day when she +had gone to the White Bay. Verena felt her heart beating +fast. She felt the color rush into her cheeks. She paused +for a moment as if to commune with her own heart. Then +her mind was made up. +</p> +<p>“What are you doing, Renny?” said her sister. “How +funny of you to have gone into the cupboard!” +</p> +<p>For Verena had absolutely vanished. She stood in the +cupboard, and Pauline from the bed heard a rustle. The +rustling grew louder, and Pauline wondered what it meant. +A moment later Verena, her face as red as a turkey-cock, +came out. +</p> +<p>“Paulie,” she said—“Paulie, there is no good going on +like this. You have got to explain. You have got to get +a load off your mind. You have got to do it whether you +like it or not. How did you come by this? How—did—you—come—by—this?” +</p> +<p>As Verena spoke she held in her open palm the long-lost +thimble. Poor Pauline had not the most remote idea that +the thimble was still in the pocket of the blue serge dress. +She had, indeed, since the day of her accident, forgotten its +existence. +</p> +<p>“Where did you get it?” she asked, her face very white, +her eyes very startled. +</p> +<p>“In the pocket of the dress you wore on the day you +were nearly drowned in the White Bay.” +</p> +<p>“I told you not to mention that day,” said Pauline. Her +whole face changed. “I remember,” she said slowly, but +she checked herself. The words reached her lips, but did +not go beyond them. “Put it down, Verena,” she said. “Put +it there on the mantelpiece.” +</p> +<p>“Then you won’t tell me how you got it? It is not yours. +You know it belongs to Aunt Sophy.” +</p> +<p>“And it is not yours, Renny, and you have no right to +interfere. And what is more, I desire you not to interfere. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +I don’t love anybody very much now, but I shall hate you if +you interfere in this matter.” +</p> +<p>Verena laid the thimble on the mantelpiece. +</p> +<p>“You can leave me, Renny. I am a very bad girl; I +don’t pretend I am anything else, but I won’t talk to you +now.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” said poor Verena. “Oh!” +</p> +<p>Before she reached the door of the room she had burst +into tears. Her agony was so great at Pauline’s behavior +to her that her tears became sobs, and her sobs almost +cries of pain. Pauline, lying on the bed, did not take the +least notice of Verena. She turned her head away, and +when her sister had left the room and shut the door Pauline +sprang from the bed and turned the key in the lock. +</p> +<p>“Now, I am safe,” she thought. “What is the matter +with me? There never was anything so hard as the heart +that is inside me. I don’t care a bit whether Renny cries +or whether she doesn’t cry. I don’t care a bit what happens +to any one. I only want to be let alone.” +</p> +<p>At dinner-time Pauline appeared, and tried to look as +though nothing had happened. The other girls looked +neat and pretty. They had not the least idea through what +a tragedy Verena and Pauline were now living. Verena +showed marks of her storm of weeping, and her face was +terribly woebegone. Miss Tredgold guessed that things +were coming to a crisis, and she was prepared to wait. +</p> +<p>Now, Miss Tredgold was a very good woman; she was +also a very wise and a very temperate one. She was filled +with a spirit of forbearance, and with the beautiful grace +of charity. She was all round as good a woman as ever +lived; but she was not a mother. Had she been a mother +she would have gone straight to Pauline and put her arms +round her, and so acted that the hard little heart would +have melted, and the words that could not pass her lips +would have found themselves able to do so, and the misery +and the further sin would have been averted. But instead +of doing anything of this sort, Miss Tredgold resolved to +assemble the children after breakfast the next day, and +to talk to them in a very plain way indeed; to assemble all +before her, and to entreat the guilty ones to confess, promising +them absolute forgiveness in advance. Having made +up her mind, she felt quite peaceful and happy, and went +down to interview her brother-in-law. +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale still continued to like his study. He made no +further objection to the clean and carefully dusted room. +If any one had asked him what was passing in his mind, he +might have said that the spirits of Homer and Virgil approached +the sacred precincts where he wrote about them +and lived for them night after night, and that they put +the place in order. He kept the rough words which he had +printed in large capitals on the night when he had returned +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +to his study still in their place of honor on the +wall, and he worked himself with a new sense of zest and +freedom. +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold entered the room without knocking. +</p> +<p>“Well, Henry,” she said, “and how goes the world?” +</p> +<p>“The world of the past comes nearer and nearer,” was +his reply. “I often feel that I scarcely touch the earth of +the nineteenth century. The world of the past is a very +lovely world.” +</p> +<p>“Not a bit better than the world of the present,” said +Miss Sophia. “Now, Henry, if you can come from the +clouds for a minute or two——” +</p> +<p>“Eh? Ah! What are you saying?” +</p> +<p>“From the clouds, my dear brother, right down to this +present prosaic and workaday world. Can you, and will +you give me five minutes of your attention?” +</p> +<p>“Eh? Yes, of course, Sophia.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale sat very still, drumming with his right hand on +his pad of blotting-paper. Miss Tredgold looked at him; +then she crossed the room, took away the pad, his pen and +ink, the open volume of Homer, and removed them to another +table. +</p> +<p>“Sit with your back to them; keep your mind clear and +listen to me, Henry.” +</p> +<p>“To be sure.” +</p> +<p>“I want you to come into the schoolroom after breakfast +to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p>“To the schoolroom?” +</p> +<p>“I have a reason. I should like you to be present.” +</p> +<p>“But it is just my most important hour. You commence +lessons with the girls—when, Sophia?” +</p> +<p>“We sit down to our work at nine o’clock. Prayers take +ten minutes. I should like you to be present at prayers—to +conduct Divine worship in your own house on that occasion.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear Sophia! Not that I have any objection—of +course.” +</p> +<p>“I should hope you have no objection. You will take +prayers, and afterwards you will assist me in a most painful +task which lies before me.” +</p> +<p>“Painful, Sophia? Oh, anything I can do to help you, +my dear sister, I shall be delighted to undertake. What is +it? I beg of you to be brief, for time does fly. It was only +a quarter of an hour ago that I found Homer——” +</p> +<p>“I could say a very ugly word about Homer,” said Miss +Tredgold. “Sometimes I wish that I were a man in order +that I might swear hard at you, Henry Dale. As I am a +woman I must refrain. Do you know that your daughter +Pauline, your daughter Briar, your daughter Patty, and +your extraordinary daughter Penelope are all of them about +as naughty children as they can be. Indeed, in the case +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +of Pauline I consider her worse than naughty. What she +has done I don’t know, and I don’t know what the others +have done; but there is a weight on their minds, and those +four girls must be got to confess. And you must be present, +and you must speak as a father to them. Now do you understand?” +</p> +<p>“I am to be in the schoolroom to-morrow,” said Mr. Dale, +“and four of my girls are turning wicked, and I am not to +know what they have done. I will be in the schoolroom +at nine o’clock to-morrow, Sophia. May I thank you to +hand me back my blotting-pad, my pen and bottle of ink, +and my beloved Homer? Take care of the volume. Take it +tenderly. Put both hands under the binding. Ah! that is +so. You will have the goodness to leave me now, Sophia. +To-morrow morning at nine o’clock precisely.” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold went out of the room. +</p> +<p>“How my poor dear sister ever brought herself to marry +that man,” she whispered under her breath, “I know not. +But he is capable of being roused, and I rather fancy I +shall manage to rouse him to-morrow.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +<h3>PAULINE IN DISTRESS.</h3> +</div> + +<p>When Pauline went up to her room late that evening she +gave Verena a very cold good-night. Her little fire was +still burning, for nurse had taken care of it. Verena heard +her lock the door. Had she not done so her sister would +have gone to her, and begged and prayed, as such a sweet +girl might, for the confidence of Pauline. Verena had to get +into bed feeling lonely and unhappy. Just as she was doing +so she heard a firm step walking down the corridor. A +hand turned the handle of Pauline’s door, and Verena heard +Pen’s voice say: +</p> +<p>“It’s me, Paulie. It’s me. Let me in, Paulie.” +</p> +<p>Verena instantly opened her own door. +</p> +<p>“Go away, Pen,” she said. “Go straight back to your +bed. You are not to go near Pauline to-night.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, but I want her,” said Pauline, opening the door +and putting out her head. +</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Verena. “You shall see her with me. +I will ring the bell and ask nurse to fetch Aunt Sophy.” +</p> +<p>Pauline gave a shrill laugh. +</p> +<p>“It isn’t worth all that fuss. Go to bed, Pen. We shall +have plenty of time for our chat to-morrow morning.” +</p> +<p>Penelope looked disgusted. Verena stood in the passage +until her stout little figure had disappeared. She then +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +turned, hoping that Pauline would speak to her; but Pauline +had gone into her room and locked the door. +</p> +<p>Now, Pauline Dale was at this time going through a +curious phase. She was scarcely to be blamed for her +conduct, for what she had lately lived through had produced +a sort of numbness of her faculties, which time +seemed to have no intention of restoring to her. To look +at her face now no one would suppose her to be in the ordinary +sense of the word an invalid; for she was rosy, her +eyes were bright, her appetite was good, and she had +plenty of strength. Nevertheless there was a certain part +of her being which was numb and cold and half-dead. She +was not frightened about anything; but she knew that she +had behaved as no right-minded or honorable girl should +have done. Verena’s words that afternoon had roused her, +and had given her a slight degree of pain. She lay down +on her bed without undressing. She left the blind up so +that the moon could shine through her small window, and +she kept repeating to herself at intervals through the night +the words that had haunted her when she was at Easterhaze: +“Wash and be clean.” It seemed to Pauline that +the sea was drawing her. The insistent voice of the sea +was becoming absolutely unpleasant. It echoed and echoed +in her tired brain: “Wash—wash and be clean.” After +her accident she had hated the sea while she was there, +but now she wanted to get back to it. She dreaded it and +yet she was hungry for it. +</p> +<p>As she lay with her eyes wide open it seemed to her that +she was looking at the sea. It seemed to her, too, that she +really did hear the murmur of the waves. The waves came +close, and each wave as it pressed nearer and nearer to the +excited child repeated the old cry: “Wash and be clean.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, if only I could get to the sea!” was her thought. +She pressed her hand to that part of her forehead which +felt numb and strange. All of a sudden the numbness and +strangeness seemed to depart. She saw one vivid picture +after another, and each picture revealed to her the sin +which she had sinned and the wrong she had committed. +At last she saw that fearful picture when she stood with +her little sister in the White Bay, and the waves had so +nearly drowned them. She sat up in bed. The idea of +going straight to Aunt Sophia and of telling her everything +did not occur to her. She wanted to get back to the sea. +How could she manage this? She was not in the least afraid +of Aunt Sophy; she was only afraid of the God whom she +had offended. She got up, pushed back her black hair, tied +it neatly behind her ears, and taking her little sailor-hat +and her dark-blue serge jacket, she put them on. She would +go back to the sea. She did not know exactly how she could +manage it, but somehow she would. When she was dressed +she opened a drawer. She must have money. Aunt Sophia +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +was liberal in the matter of pocket-money, but Pauline was +careless and spent hers as she got it. All she possessed now +was a shilling. She put the shilling into her pocket. Turning +round, she saw the flash of the gold thimble as it rested +on the mantelpiece. She slipped that also into her pocket. +She then opened the window, and, as she had done on a previous +night long ago, she got out and let herself down to +the ground. She was now out all alone about midnight. +Once again the numb feeling had come back to her; nevertheless +her mind was made up. She would at any cost get +back to the sea. +</p> +<p>She walked across the grass. By-and-by she found herself +at the wicket-gate. When she reached the gate she had +a sudden overwhelming memory of Nancy King. During the +last few weeks she had forgotten Nancy. Now she thought +of her. Standing with one hand on the post of the wicket-gate, +she reflected on an idea which presented itself to her. +If she, Pauline, was wicked—if she had been a naughty girl +from the first—surely Nancy was worse! If it was necessary +for Pauline to wash and be clean, it was still more necessary +for Nancy. Together they could visit the seaside; together +lave themselves in the waves; together reach that beautiful +state where sin did not trouble. +</p> +<p>Pauline smiled to herself. She walked through the Forest +in the dead of night, and presently reached Nancy’s home. +Now, it would have been a very bad thing for Pauline, as it +had very nearly been a bad thing for Penelope some weeks +ago, had Lurcher been out. But Lurcher was ill, and had +been sent to a neighboring vet.’s. And it also happened—just, +as it were, in the nick of time—that Farmer King was +returning very late from visiting a neighboring fair. He +had been kept by a friend until past midnight, and had +driven home through the woods. As Pauline got to the gate +the farmer drew up his mare within a few feet of the tired +girl. He saw a girl standing by the gate, and could not make +out who she was or what she was doing. He said gruffly: +</p> +<p>“You get out of this. What are you doing here at this +time of night?” +</p> +<p>Then Pauline raised a white face. He recognized the face, +gave a smothered, hasty exclamation, sprang to the ground, +flung the reins over the neck of the mare, and came towards +the girl. +</p> +<p>“Miss Pauline,” he said, “what in the name of all that is +wonderful are you doing here at this hour?” +</p> +<p>Pauline looked full up at him. +</p> +<p>“You said you would help me. You said you would if +ever the time came. I want to be helped—oh, so badly!—and +I have come.” +</p> +<p>“Because I said that?” exclaimed the farmer, his face +flushing all over with intense gratification. “Then you be +certain of one thing, my dear—sure and positive certain—that +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +when Farmer King says a thing he will do it. You +come straight in with me, missy—straight in with me this +blessed minute.” +</p> +<p>Pauline gave him her hand. It was quite wonderful how +he soothed her, how her fear seemed to drop away from +her, how contented and almost happy she felt. +</p> +<p>“You are very strong, aren’t you?” she said. “You are +very, very strong?” +</p> +<p>“I should about think I am. I can lift a weight with any +man in England, cut up a sheep with any man in existence, +run a race with any farmer of my age. Strong! Yes, you +are right there, missy; I am strong—strong as they’re +made.” +</p> +<p>“Then you are what I want. You will help me.” +</p> +<p>The farmer opened the hall door with his latch-key. +Nancy had been in bed for an hour or more. The farmer +unlocked the door which led into the kitchen. +</p> +<p>“The parlor will be cold,” he said, “and the drawing-room +will be sort of musty. We don’t use the drawing-room +every night. But the kitchen—that will be all right. +You come right into the kitchen, Miss Pauline, and then +you’ll tell me.” +</p> +<p>He took her into the kitchen, lit a big lamp which hung +over the fireplace, and poked the ashes in the big stove. +</p> +<p>“You do look white and trembly all over. Shall I call +Nancy to see you, miss?” +</p> +<p>“Please, please do.” +</p> +<p>Farmer King went noisily upstairs. +</p> +<p>“Nancy!” he called to his daughter. “I say, Nancy!” +</p> +<p>Nancy was in her first sleep. She opened her eyes at the +sound of the farmer’s voice, and said in a sleepy tone: +</p> +<p>“Well, what now, dad? I wish you wouldn’t call me just +because you come in late.” +</p> +<p>“You get up, my girl. There’s trouble downstairs. Missy +has come.” +</p> +<p>“Missy? Miss Pen?” +</p> +<p>“No, not Miss Pen; the other one—the one we love, both +of us—the one who was our queen—Miss Pauline. She’s +downstairs, and she’s shocking bad. She has come to me to +help her.” +</p> +<p>“Why, of course she’s bad, father,” said Nancy. “Don’t +you know all that happened? Pauline was nearly drowned +at Easterhaze, and they say she hasn’t been quite, so to say, +right in her head ever since. I have been nearly mad about +it.” +</p> +<p>“Sane, you mean, to my way of thinking,” exclaimed the +farmer; “for you never said a word to me about it, eating +your meals as hearty and contented as you please, buying +your winter finery, and talking about going to London for +Christmas. Give me a friend who will think of me when I +am in trouble. But the lass knows what’s what, and it isn’t +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +to you she has come; it’s to me. She wants me to help her +because I made her a promise, forsooth! But you come right +down, for she will want a bit of cuddling from a girl like +yourself. Come right down this minute and see her, for she +badly wants some one to do something for her.” +</p> +<p>Now, Nancy was really fond of Pauline, notwithstanding +her father’s words, and she got up willingly enough and ran +downstairs to the kitchen; and when she saw her little friend +sitting by the fire, looking very white, her head dropped forward, +and her big black eyes fixed with an almost vacant expression +straight before her, a great lot of Nancy’s heart did +go out to the sad and unhappy girl. She rushed to her side, +threw her arms round her, and hugged her over and over +again. +</p> +<p>“Come,” said the farmer, “it’s a bit of something to eat +she wants; then to go upstairs and share your bed with you, +Nance. And in the morning, why, I am at her service.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s what you do want, isn’t it, Paulie?” said +Nancy. +</p> +<p>Pauline nodded. She felt almost incapable of speaking. +So the farmer brought her food, and made her eat and +drink. And then she went upstairs with Nancy, and Nancy +made her he down by her side, and when they were both +together in the dark, in the warm bed in the pretty room, +Pauline flung her arms round Nancy and began to cry. It +was really quite a long time since Pauline had cried. At +first her tears came slowly and with great difficulty; but in +a little they rained from her eyes more and more easily, until +at last they came in torrents, and her tears hurt her and +shook her little frame, and came faster, and yet faster, until +from sheer exhaustion she dropped asleep. But when +Pauline woke from that sleep it seemed to her that the numb +part had greatly left her brain and that she could think +clearly. Only, still she had no wish to go back to The Dales. +She only wanted to wash and be clean. +</p> +<p>“You are the queerest girl that ever lived,” said Nancy. +“You come right downstairs and have breakfast. Of course, +they are sure to look for you and try to find you, but you +must come straight downstairs now and hear what father +has got to say.” +</p> +<p>Pauline got up willingly enough and went downstairs. +There was a groaning breakfast on the board. On most occasions +the farmers’ servants ate below the salt, but now only +the farmer and his daughter Nancy were present. +</p> +<p>“Here’s cake worth eating,” said the farmer, “and new-laid +eggs worth taking; and here’s honey the like of which is +not to be found anywhere else, even in the New Forest. And +here’s chicken rissoles, and here’s cooked ham. Now, missy, +fall to—fall to.” +</p> +<p>Pauline ate very little, and then she turned to the farmer. +</p> +<p>“And now you want me to help you?” he said. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“I want you to take me to the seaside. I want Nancy to +come, too. I want to go where the waves are high, and where +I can wash and be clean.” +</p> +<p>“My word!” said the farmer, “what does the little lass +say?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t want to go home. I can’t go home. If I am alone +with you and with Nancy I might get better. Don’t let me +go home.” +</p> +<p>“My lass, my lass, you have applied to Farmer King in +your trouble, and Farmer King won’t desert you. I have +not the most remote notion what trouble it can be that worrits +a poor little lass, but, such as it is, Farmer King will be +your friend. There is no doubt, my dear, that when they +miss you at The Dales they will come to look for you here, +and what am I to do?” +</p> +<p>“Hide me! Oh, hide me! I can’t go home.” +</p> +<p>“What a lark!” cried Nancy. “We could, couldn’t we, +father?” +</p> +<p>“And we won’t,” said the farmer, bringing his hand down +with a great bang on the table. “What we do we’ll do above-board. +We did wrong that time in the summer when we +took miss to that picnic and got her into trouble. Now we’re +bound to see her out of her trouble. It has to do with that +night partly, hasn’t it, missy?” +</p> +<p>“I have never been happy since,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“Well, then, my dear, I said I would help you out if the +time came, and I will. You shall stay here—I vow it—and +I am just going to get on my horse Caesar, and I shall ride +over to The Dales this blessed minute. You leave it to me. +You leave it all to me, my dear.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> +<h3>FARMER KING.</h3> +</div> + +<p>Since Pauline’s illness she had very often not been down +in time for breakfast. The fact, therefore, that she did not +appear on this special morning caused no excitement in the +mind of any one. Miss Tredgold was so much absorbed in +the task which lay before her that she scarcely noticed the +little girl’s absence; nurse would see to her, would take her +a proper meal, would do all that was necessary. Very often +nurse did not disturb Pauline until long after the others had +breakfasted, for the doctor had said that she ought never to +be wakened when asleep, and that she ought to have as much +rest and sleep as possible. So breakfast came to an end. +There was a weight in the air. Now, it happened that the day +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +was a specially fine one, for the skies, after crying so many +tears, had cleared up, the sun had come out, and the few +flowers that were left held up their heads gayly and tried +to forget the storm through which they had lived and the +winter days which were before them. +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale had, of course, forgotten what he had promised +his sister-in-law to do on the previous night. But Miss +Tredgold had not the slightest idea of letting him off. +</p> +<p>“Come, Henry,” she said; “we will go into the schoolroom +to prayers.” +</p> +<p>Accordingly they went, and Mr. Dale read prayers in his +somewhat sleepy tones. The children, with the exception of +Pauline, were all present. At last family worship was finished +and the servants were allowed to leave the room. As +nurse was going she looked at Verena. +</p> +<p>“Miss Pauline is sleeping longer than usual,” she said. +“She asked me a few days ago never to waken her, and said +she would ring her bell when she wanted breakfast or hot +water. I had better find out if she is awake.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, do, nurse,” said Miss Tredgold briskly; “and ask her +to be quick and come downstairs. I want all the children except +little Marjorie to be present.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear Sophia!” said Mr. Dale at that moment, +“you cannot expect me to wait here with all my morning’s +work neglected while one of the girls chooses to dress herself.” +</p> +<p>“Here’s a very interesting paper on Plato,” said Miss Tredgold +suddenly, and as she spoke she handed Mr. Dale the +last number of the <i>Spectator</i>. “I thought you might like to +see it.” +</p> +<p>“Eh? What?” he cried. “An article on Plato. By +whom?” +</p> +<p>“By the great classical scholar, Professor Mahaffy,” replied +Miss Tredgold calmly. +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale was in an intense state of excitement. +</p> +<p>“When did this come?” +</p> +<p>“On Saturday morning.” +</p> +<p>“But this is Wednesday. How is it I did not see it before?” +</p> +<p>“To tell you the truth, Henry, I read it and kept it back +on purpose. I want to keep your attention until all the family +are assembled. Here is your chair, here are your spectacles, +and here is the paper.” +</p> +<p>Mr. Dale took the paper, muttering to himself: +</p> +<p>“Mahaffy—Mahaffy; one of the greatest scholars of the +time;” and then he was lost to external things. +</p> +<p>Yes, Mr. Dale of The Dales, the head of an ancient house, +the father of a large family, forgot everything on earth except +a certain disputed passage in which he and Professor +Mahaffy diametrically disagreed. He continued to forget +everything else, even when nurse rushed into the room. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></p> +<p>“Why, she has gone!” cried the good woman. “She ain’t +in her bed; and what’s more, she’s been out of it for hours, +and the window is open. Oh, whatever has come to the +child? Where in the world is she?” +</p> +<p>Miss Tredgold looked terribly startled. Verena’s face +turned like a sheet. Briar and Patty clasped each other’s +hands. Pen said to herself: +</p> +<p>“This is the time for a good sort of child like me to do +something.” +</p> +<p>Then a clatter of horse’s hoofs was heard on the gravel +outside, and a stoutly built, rubicund man, on a very large +horse, drew rein at the front door. +</p> +<p>“It’s Farmer King!” cried Verena. +</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s Farmer King,” said Pen. +</p> +<p>“Penelope, be quiet,” said her aunt. +</p> +<p>The next moment the door was opened, and the parlor-maid +said that Farmer King had come and was anxious to +see Mr. Dale and Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“Show him in here,” said Miss Tredgold. “Henry, have +the goodness to give me that paper.” +</p> +<p>“But I—— My dear Sophia, I have not finished reading +it. I don’t agree a bit with Mahaffy—not a bit. He takes +the text in its literal meaning. He ought to read it with +the context. Now, there is not the slightest manner of +doubt that Plato meant——” +</p> +<p>“Henry! Are you mad? Give me that paper.” +</p> +<p>It is to be regretted that Miss Tredgold snatched the <i>Spectator</i> +from Mr. Dale’s unwilling hand. +</p> +<p>“Now, Henry, wake up,” she said. “Pauline is lost, and +Farmer King has come to speak to us both on a matter of +importance.” +</p> +<p>Just then Farmer King came into the room. Now, the +Kings may have been the humble retainers of the Dales for +generations, but there was not the slightest doubt that +Farmer King made a far more imposing appearance at that +moment than did Mr. Dale of The Dales; for Mr. Dale stood +up, thin, bewildered, shivering, his mind in the past, his +eyes consumed by a sort of inward fire, but with no intelligence +as far as present things were concerned; and Farmer +King was intensely wide awake, and, so to speak, all there. +</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dale,” he said. “And I beg your +pardon, miss. I presume I am speaking to Miss Tredgold?” +</p> +<p>“You are, Mr. King,” said that lady. +</p> +<p>“Good-day to you all, misses,” said the farmer. +</p> +<p>He looked round at the somewhat frightened little group +of sisters in the background. +</p> +<p>“I have come to say something,” said the farmer. “It is +something about Miss Pauline. It is something about myself +and Nancy, and it has to do with you, sir”—here he bowed +low to Mr. Dale—“and with you, madam”—his bow was not +quite so reverential when he turned to the lady. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></p> +<p>“What is it? Please speak,” said Miss Tredgold. “We are +very anxious about Pauline. Our nurse has just told us that +she is not in her bedroom. Do you know where she is?” +</p> +<p>“Well, madam, about half an hour ago I left Miss Pauline +seated in my warm kitchen, in the company of my good +daughter, Nancy, and eating as good a breakfast as I could +provide for her. She did not eat much, madam, but it is +there for her acceptance. The young lady is heartily welcome. +She prefers us to you for the time being. She did +not want you to know anything about it, but that ain’t quite +my way, so I came to explain.” +</p> +<p>“Please, please, Aunt Sophy, don’t be too angry,” here +came from Verena’s lips. +</p> +<p>“Silence, Verena!” said her father. +</p> +<p>Surely there was quite a new note in his voice! He rose; +his languor left him; he came up to Farmer King and held +out his hand. +</p> +<p>“Why, good old friend,” he said, “it seems ages since we +met. Do you remember that day when we were boys together +and went in search of robins’ eggs?” +</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” said the farmer. +</p> +<p>He gave an embarrassed laugh, which ended in a sort of +roar. +</p> +<p>“And haven’t I the eggs safe still?” he said. “I have +parted with many things, but not with the eggs the young +squire and I took together.” +</p> +<p>“It is ages since we met,” said Mr. Dale. “You are looking +very well, Robert—admirably well. I am pleased to see +you. Sit down, won’t you? Pray sit down.” +</p> +<p>“That man is enough to turn the brain of any one,” was +Miss Tredgold’s private ejaculation. Aloud she said: +</p> +<p>“I presume, Farmer King, that you have not come here +without a story to tell.” +</p> +<p>“That is just it, madam. And now, if I may speak, I will +tell you my story.” +</p> +<p>“We are all prepared to listen,” said Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“Yes, Robert, and with attention—with attention and interest,” +said Mr. Dale. “Why, upon my word, this is almost +as good as a fresh rendering of the immortal Plato. Sit +down, farmer, sit down.” +</p> +<p>The farmer did not sit down. +</p> +<p>“It’s no use mincing matters,” he said, “nor walking round +the bush. It is just this. If there is a family on this earth +that I have been proud to have to do with, it is that of the +Dales. If there were children that I loved next to my own, +it was the Dales. Why, I was brought up, so to speak, to +look on them as my liege lords. My mother had the old +feudal principles in her, and she never went with the times. +She never held that we were as good as our betters. We +were good enough, straight enough, honest enough, but we +hadn’t the blue blood of the Dales in us. That is how I was +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +brought up. Well, you, sir, were married, and came to live +here with your good lady. It was the will of the Almighty +that she should be taken, and the children were left motherless; +and my little Nancy and I, we used to watch to do +them a kindness. They were right pleased to come over and +see us, and to ride barebacked on my two Forest ponies, and +have their fun whenever they could get as far away as The +Hollies. And Nancy was free to come to your house, and +much she enjoyed it.” +</p> +<p>“Well, Robert, very natural—very natural indeed,” said +Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>“So I took it; so I took it.” +</p> +<p>Here the farmer flashed an angry eye in the direction of +Miss Tredgold. +</p> +<p>“But never mind,” he continued. “I did not presume—far +from that—far indeed from that. It pleased the Almighty +to give you ten daughters, Mr. Dale, and to give me but one. +And I love my one as much, perhaps, as you love the whole +of your ten. But be that as it may, when Nancy went to +The Dales to have her fun and her larks and her gay time, +I was as pleased as Punch. And then this good lady came, +and she said to herself, ‘Who is Nancy King?’ and the +young ladies told her the plain truth; and then this good +lady did not take the trouble to inquire. A farmer’s daughter +was only a farmer’s daughter to her. Oh, I am not blaming +her; but a little thought, a little less prejudice, would +have prevented a lot of mischief. Anyhow, the good aunt +gave the word—my girl and the young ladies were to have +nothing to do with each other in the future. Mark you that, +sir, when they were brought up, so to speak, together—always +tumbling about in the same hay-field, and riding the +same ponies, and playing the same games. It was all to end +because of madam. Now, Mr. Dale, I was real mad when +Nancy came and told me what had happened. My feelings +were hot and strong and bitter, and I thought the treatment +dealt out to my child and me none too just. So, sir, when +Nancy asked me to help her, I helped with a will. When +Miss Pauline came over to see us—which she did unknown +to her aunt—I gave her the best of welcomes, and we started +our midnight picnic for no other reason in life but to have +her with us.” +</p> +<p>“When did you have your midnight picnic?” asked Miss +Tredgold very gently. “When? Kindly give me the date.” +</p> +<p>The farmer looked into her face. When he saw how white +she was, and when he glanced at the two little girls, Briar +and Patty, his heart smote him. +</p> +<p>“I was given over to evil feelings at that time,” he said, +“and I don’t pretend for a moment I did right. Miss Pauline +didn’t want to be coaxed, but Nancy was a rare temptress. +We did our best, and the children came—three of them. +You want to know the date, madam. It was the date of Miss +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +Pauline’s birthday—the night after her birthday. Oh, yes, +madam, we had our wild time—a right good time, too.” The +farmer gave a short laugh. “You thought your young +ladies quite out of the reach of the influence of Farmer +King and his family; but you never guessed, madam, that all +through one long beautiful summer night we had revels in +the woods—dancing, madam; and a picnic, no less; and +the young miss crowned with flowers as queen, and +given the best presents we could give her. We took +a drive under the oaks and elms and beeches of the +New Forest, and you never guessed, madam—never. But +Miss Pauline, Miss Briar, and Miss Patty were there, +and Miss Pauline was our queen. Ah! she had a gay birthday, +but you ask her what sort of a birthnight she had. It +is true she was queen of the day, but that was nothing to +the time when she was queen of the night. Well, sir”—the +farmer’s eyes shone as he spoke—— “I meant it as a big joke, +and I was desperately proud of myself; but I saw even +then that Miss Pauline was fretting, and I spoke to her +quite seriously, and I said, ‘If ever the time comes when +you want a friend, I am the man for your purpose. Don’t +you forget that; because you are a Dale and I am a King, +and you Dales have always been our liege lords, so don’t you +forget that.’ And the child, sir, she believed me. Lots of +things happened afterwards, but of them I have nothing to +say until last night. Miss Pauline came back to me, and she +reminded me of what I had said to her that night in the +woods. And, sir—and, madam—I mean to keep my promise. +I came home at midnight, and there she was standing at the +gate, white and slim and pretty as though she was a moonbeam. +And she said, ‘You promised to help me when I was +in trouble, and I have come to you to get you to keep your +promise.’ Now, sir and madam, I have come here about that. +The young lady wants to be helped. She has got a shock, +and wants a bit of humoring. She says some words which +have no meaning to me, but they mean something to her, +and she must be humored. ‘I want to wash and be clean,’ +she keeps saying; and she wants Nancy and me to take her +away to the seaside where the waves are big and strong, and +she insists on it that she will only go with Nancy and me. +So, Miss Tredgold and Mr. Dale, I have come here to-day to +say that we mean to take her.” +</p> +<p>“Can I see her?” asked Miss Tredgold. “I have nothing +to say. Perhaps I did wrong that time. We all make mistakes +sometimes. I ought to have known you better, Mr. +King. But that time is over. The important thing now is +to restore the balance of Pauline’s mind. Can I see her?” +</p> +<p>“You can, madam, when the right time comes; but that is +not to-day, and it won’t be to-morrow. This is my business +now, madam, and you must leave it to me.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> +<h3>THE CLEANSING WATERS.</h3> +</div> + +<p>That very day Farmer King went away with his daughter +and Pauline. They went to a small village called Rosestairs, +not many miles from Easterhaze. The farmer was immensely +proud and pleased at having the care of Pauline, and he was +determined that if man could restore her to health, he would +be that individual. Rosestairs was a very pretty little place, +and quite sheltered. The Kings took lodgings in a tiny cottage, +where they lived as plainly as people could. Here Pauline +rested and took long walks, and, as she expressed it +afterwards, found herself again. But although day by day +the weight in her head grew less, the haunting words still +clung to her: “Wash and be clean.” One night they entered +into her dreams, and she awoke quite early with the +words hovering on her lips: “Wash, Pauline; wash and be +clean.” Nancy was sleeping peacefully by her side. Pauline +raised her head. She felt well—absolutely well—but for +those haunting words. She stole out of bed and went and +stood by the window. +</p> +<p>The sea was only a few yards off, and the waves were coming +in fresh and lovely and sparkling. “Come, wash,” they +seemed to say, and each soft thud of a wave on the shore +seemed to repeat the words. +</p> +<p>“I will—I will; I must,” thought the young girl. +</p> +<p>She opened her trunk very softly, took out her bathing-dress, +put it on, and ran down to the beach. There was no +one about. In a moment she had entered the waves. She +breasted them as far as her waist; she ducked and covered +herself with the invigorating salt water. And as the sparkling +salt water rolled over her, it seemed to her fancy that +a load rolled off her mind. She felt light of heart and gay. +She felt cheerful and happy. A few minutes later she was +back in the cottage. Nancy turned in her sleep, started, +opened her sleepy eyes, and looked at the dripping figure +standing in the middle of the room. +</p> +<p>“Why, Paulie,” she cried, “what are you doing? Oh, you +are dripping wet; your hair and all. What have you been +at?” +</p> +<p>“I am wet because I have washed. I have washed and I +am clean. Oh, Nancy, Nancy! it is as right as possible. The +terrible, haunting words have gone, and the longing for the +sea has gone. I know that I am forgiven. Nancy, do you +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +hear? I am washed, and I am clean. Oh! I know at last +what it means.” +</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake take off those wet things and get back +into bed and let me warm you up. You will catch your +death.” +</p> +<p>“My death!” cried Pauline, “when I am so happy I +scarcely know how to contain myself.” +</p> +<p>Nancy sprang out of bed, dragged Pauline towards her, and +helped her to pull off her wet things. Then she wrapped her +up in her warm night-dress, made her cuddle down in bed, +and kissed her and hugged her. +</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” she said, “you are the queerest girl; but your +face looks as it did long ago.” +</p> +<p>“I feel as I did long ago—or, rather, I feel different. I +was a child then and did not understand much. Now, it +seems to me, I understand a great deal—yes, a great deal. +Oh! and there is your father in the garden. I must dress; +I must go to him.” +</p> +<p>So Pauline jumped out of bed, got quickly into her +clothes, and ran out to join the farmer. +</p> +<p>“Mr. King,” she cried, “I am quite well again.” +</p> +<p>“It looks like it, little missy,” said the farmer. +</p> +<p>“I am,” repeated Pauline. “I am as perfectly well as a girl +can be. You know how often I told you I wanted to wash +and be clean. I had my wash this morning, and it was +really what I did want, for that dull feeling has left my head. +I know just everything, and how I behaved, and all the rest, +and I am prepared to take the bitter as well as the sweet. It +is very, very sweet living here with you and Nancy, and +whatever happens, you will be my friends as long as I live. +And it is very bitter to think that I must tell Aunt Sophia +and Verena and the rest of them the whole truth; but, bitter +or not, I am going to do it, and I am going back to them, +for it is right. I want to go back to them this very day. +May I?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, my lass; I understand you,” said the farmer +gravely. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>It was a lovely day for the time of year; although it was +November, the sun shone brilliantly. Miss Tredgold stood on +the lawn in front of the house and talked to Verena, who +stood by her side. +</p> +<p>“I understand all of you now, Verena,” she said, “except +Pauline. I never did understand her, and I sometimes think +I never shall, poor child!” +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, you will,” said Verena. “When Paulie comes +back she will be as you never knew her—as she used to be, +her sweetest and best. In some ways she is stronger and +better and braver than any of us. I think she ought to +make a splendid woman some day, for she has so much character +and so much determination.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></p> +<p>“I think I have done the rest of you good by coming here; +but if I have done Pauline harm, I sometimes wonder if I +can ever be happy again,” said the poor lady. +</p> +<p>“You have not done her harm. Only wait until she comes +back. She is just getting the right treatment now. She +felt everything so terribly that her mind was quite numb +and incapable of conducting her right for a time; but wait +until she returns.” +</p> +<p>“Day after day I long and hope for her return,” said Miss +Tredgold, “but day after day there is a fresh excuse.” +</p> +<p>“And yet you say you want her to return,” said Verena. +“Oh, aunty, aunty! who is this coming up the path? Here +she is—Paulie herself; and Nancy is following her, and there +is Farmer King. They have entered by the wicket-gate and +are coming up through the plantation. Oh, look, look! And +she is well. I know by the way she walks, by the way she +runs, by the way she smiles. She is as well as ever she was +in all her life.” +</p> +<p>“Better—far better than ever!” cried Pauline’s gay and +almost rollicking voice. “Here I am, stronger than ever, and +quite, quite well.” +</p> +<p>The next moment Pauline’s arms were flung round her +aunt’s neck. +</p> +<p>“You must forgive me first of all,” she said. “I have +come back to confess, and I want to get my confession over. +I want all the others to stand round and listen. Ah! here +they come. Don’t rush at me for a moment, girls. Don’t hug +me or do anything of that sort. Stand still and listen, listen, +listen. I was rebellious, and I did wrong, and——” +</p> +<p>“My darling,” interrupted Miss Tredgold, “we know the +whole story. We only want you to confess that you did +wrong, and then never, never to allude to it again; for I see, +Pauline, by your eyes that you mean to do right now.” +</p> +<p>“I will obey you because I love you,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>“There, madam! I think she is pretty well restored,” cried +the farmer. “And she is the best young lady in the world. +Nancy and I have brought her home, and now, with your +permission, madam, we will take our leave.” +</p> +<p>“Nothing of the sort!” cried Miss Tredgold. “If you did +wrong, Pauline, I was by no means altogether in the right. +I little knew when I told you, my dears, to have nothing +more to do with Farmer King and his daughter, that I was +preventing your enjoying the society of a gentleman. Please +shake hands with me, Mr. King.” +</p> +<p>Farmer King’s face was quite pale with emotion. +</p> +<p>“I admire you; I thank you,” said Miss Tredgold. “You +are a man in a thousand;” and again she held out her hand. +</p> +<p>This time Farmer King wrung it. But he was absolutely +speechless; not a single word passed his lips. +</p> +<p>“Nancy,” said Miss Tredgold, “I revoke what I said. You +must come and see my girls whenever you like.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p> +<p>“On condition, madam,” said the farmer, “that the young +ladies sometimes come to see Nancy and me.” +</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Miss Tredgold; “but I also must put in a +condition.” +</p> +<p>“What is that, madam?” +</p> +<p>“That I occasionally accompany them.” +</p> +<p>But at this the farmer gave such a cheer of hearty goodwill +that all the children joined in in spite of themselves. +</p> +<p>“Was there ever anything quite so jolly in all the world?” +cried Pauline. “I feel younger than ever, and jollier than +ever. Here comes father, too. We are all together. Father, +I am back again, and it is all owing to Farmer King and +Nancy that I am cured. Whom shall we cry three cheers for? +You give the word.” +</p> +<p>“Aunt Sophy, of course,” cried Verena. +</p> +<p>“Hip! hip! hurrah!” shouted the Dale family. +</p> +<p>“And I should like to suggest a hearty cheer for my good +old friend, Farmer King,” said Mr. Dale. +</p> +<p>“And for his cure,” said Pauline. +</p> +<p>And then the Dale family and the King family joined hands +and shouted “Hip! hip! hurrah!” once more. +</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:2em;'>THE END.</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.07 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Jun 21 07:57:37 -0600 2008 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Girls of the Forest, by L. T. 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