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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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Hoodie</p> +<p>Author: Mary Louisa Stewart Molesworth</p> +<p>Release Date: July 25, 2008 [eBook #26125]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOODIE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/></a> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h1>Hoodie</h1> + +<h2>By Mrs. MOLESWORTH</h2> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATED BY LEWIS BAUMER</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + +<h4>W. & R. CHAMBERS. LIMITED.<br /> +LONDON AND EDINBURGH.<br /> +1897</h4> + + +<h4>Edinburgh:<br /> +Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited.</h4> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill01" id="ill01"></a> +<img src="images/ill01.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Nobody loves poor Hoodie."</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + + + + + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. AT WAR WITH THE WORLD</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. HOODIE GOES IN SEARCH OF A GRANDMOTHER</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. LITTLE BABY AND ITS MOTHER</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. MAUDIE'S GODMOTHER</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. STORIES TELLING</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. "THE CHINTZ CURTAINS"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. TWO TRUES</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. HOODIE'S FOUNDLING</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN CAGE</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. FLOWN</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. HOODIE'S DISOBEDIENCE</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. HOODIE AWAKES</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#Books_by_Mrs_Molesworth">Books by Mrs. Molesworth</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + + +<p><a href="#ill01">"Nobody loves poor Hoodie"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill02">"I had my basket on my arm, and the big doggie stood beside me"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill03">"It's just like Martin's cottage"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill04">"Who is zou, please?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill05">Poor Cross</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill06">"Up in the nursley," said Hoodie coolly</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill07">"Has zou had a nice sleep?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill08">"He took off the cap and bowed low"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill09">Hec and Duke ... sticking daisies on to a thorn</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill10">"If peoples interrumpt, I wish they'd finish their interrumpting, and +not stop in the middle"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill11">"The darling," said Hoodie ecstatically</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill12">Hec refused to be comforted</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill13">"Please 'agive me and kiss me"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill14">"Slowly and cautiously, whistling softly all the time"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill15">"Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Are the flowers all gone?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill16">"Tell Martin they're for Miss Maudie with Miss Hoodie's love"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#ill17">Finis</a></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/illus.jpg"><img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/></a> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>AT WAR WITH THE WORLD.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who would think so small a thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could make so great a pother?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>A pretty, cheerful nursery—a nursery in which surely children could not +but be happy—with pictures on the walls and toys in the glass-doored +cupboard, and rocking-horse and doll-house, and everything a child's +heart could wish for. Spring sunshine faint but clear, like the first +pale primrose, peeping in at the window, a merry fire crackling away in +the tidy hearth. And just in front of it, for it is early spring only, a +group of children pleasant to see. A soft-haired, quiet-eyed little +girl, a book open upon her knee, and at each side, nestling in beside +her, a cherub-faced dot of a boy, listening to the story she was reading +aloud.</p> + +<p>Such a peaceful, pretty picture! Ah yes—what a pity to disturb it. But +I must show you the whole of it. Into this pretty nursery flies another +child—a tiny fairy of a girl, tiny even for her years which are but +five—in she flies, down the long passage which leads to the children's +quarters, in at the nursery door, which, in spite of her hurry, she +carefully closes, and seeing that the other door is open closes it too, +then, flying back to the centre of the room, deliberately sets to work +to—children, can you guess?—to <i>scream</i>!</p> + +<p>She sheds no tears, there is no grief, only wrath, great and furious, in +the little face which should have been so pretty, in the big blue eyes +which should have been so sweet. She shakes herself till her fair, +fluffy hair is all in a "touzle," she dances with rage till her neck and +arms are crimson, from time to time in the middle of her screams calling +out at the pitch of her voice,</p> + +<p>"I don't love <i>any</i> body. I don't want <i>any</i> 'sing. I don't like <i>any</i> +'sing. Go away ugly evybody. I don't love Pince. Go away ugly Pince."</p> + +<p>The girl by the fire looked up for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Prince isn't here," she said. "Oh, Hoodie," she went on wearily, "how +<i>can</i> you—how can you be so naughty?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie turned towards her sister.</p> + +<p>"I don't love <i>zou</i>, Maudie. Naughty, ugly Maudie. Pince <i>sall</i> be +here. Naughty Maudie. I <i>sall</i> be naughty. I don't love <i>any</i> body."</p> + +<p>"Nebber mind, Maudie dear, nebber mind naughty Hoodie. Hoodie's always +naughty. Please go on, Maudie," said one of the two little boys.</p> + +<p>Magdalen tried to go on. But in the midst of such a din, it was very +difficult to make herself heard, and at last she gave up in despair.</p> + +<p>"It's no good, Hec," she said, "I can't go on. Hoodie spoils everything +when she gets like that."</p> + +<p>The little fellows' faces lengthened.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie 'poils ebery'sing," they murmured.</p> + +<p>Just then the door opened.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," said the maid who came in, "Miss Hoodie again! And Sunday +morning too—the day you should be extra good."</p> + +<p>"The day she is nearly always extra naughty," said Magdalen, with the +superiority of eight years old. "It's no good speaking to her, Martin. +She's going to go on—she shut the doors first."</p> + +<p>Martin seated herself composedly beside the three children.</p> + +<p>"I never did see such a child," she said; "no, never. You would think, +Miss Maudie, she might stop if she liked, seeing how she can keep it in +like, as long as she's afraid of her Mamma hearing. If she can keep it +in till she shuts the doors, she might keep it in altogether, you would +think."</p> + +<p>"Stop! of course she can stop if she likes," said Magdalen. "What was it +set her off, Martin, do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Something about Prince," replied Martin. "Thomas said she was trying to +get him to come up-stairs with her, and he whistled to him, not knowing, +and Prince ran away from her."</p> + +<p>"Hoodie's keeped all her bicsits for Pince, for a treat for him for +Sunday," said little Hec, with some evident sympathy for Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"She shouldn't be so silly then," said Maudie. "What do dogs know about +its being Sunday, and treats? I know Hoodie always spoils <i>our</i> Sundays, +and we're better than dogs."</p> + +<p>"I don't love you, naughty Maudie. I don't love <i>any</i> body," screamed +Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"It certainly doesn't look as if you did, and very soon nobody will love +you, Miss Hoodie, if you go on so," said Martin, virtuously.</p> + +<p>"I wish," said Duke, the second twin, "I wish papa would build anoder +<i>gate</i> big house and put Hoodie to live there all alone, don't you, +Maudie? A gate big house where not nobody could hear her sceaming."</p> + +<p>Great applause followed this brilliant idea—but the laughter only +increased Hoodie's fury. Duke was the next she turned upon.</p> + +<p>"I don't love you, naughty, ugly Duke," she screamed. "I don't love +<i>any</i> body. Go away evybody, go away, go <i>away</i>, go <span class="smcap">AWAY</span>."</p> + +<p>Such was Hoodie—poor Hoodie—at five years old!</p> + +<p>What had made her so naughty? That was the question that puzzled +everybody concerned—not forgetting Hoodie herself.</p> + +<p>"I didn't make myself. 'Tisn't my fault. God should have made Hoodie +gooder," she would say defiantly.</p> + +<p>And was it not a puzzle? There was Maudie, just as nice and good a +little girl as one would wish to see, and Hec and Duke, both +comfortable, good-natured little fellows—all three, children to whom +things came right, and whose presence in the world seemed as natural and +pleasant a thing as that of birds in the trees or daisies in the grass. +Why should not Hoodie be like them? She was born in July—one bright +sunny day when all the world was rejoicing—and little Maudie had been +so pleased to have a baby sister, and her godmother had begged that she +might be called "Julian," and everybody had, for a time, made much of +her. But, alas, as the years went on, they told a different +tale—governesses and nurses, sister and brothers, it was the same story +with all—Hoodie's temper was the strangest and the worst that ever a +child had made herself and other people miserable by.</p> + +<p>"I could really fancy," said Maudie one day, "I could really fancy, if +there <i>were</i> such things as fairies, you know—that one of them had been +offended at not being asked to Hoodie's christening."</p> + +<p>And when Hoodie grew old enough to hear fairy tales, this speech of +Maudie's came back to her mind, and she wondered, with the strange +unexpressed bewilderment of a child, if indeed there were some mystery +about her naughtiness—some spell cast upon her which it was hopeless to +try to break. For she knew she was naughty, very naughty—she never +thought of denying it. Only deep down <i>somewhere</i> in her—where, she +could not have told—there was a feeling that she did not <i>want</i> to be +naughty—she did not <i>like</i> being naughty—there was a mistake about her +somehow or somewhere, which nobody could understand or ever would, and +which it never entered her head to try to explain to any one.</p> + +<p>The screaming went on steadily—agreeably for Hoodie herself, it is to +be hoped, for it certainly was anything but pleasant for other people. +Suddenly there came a lull—a step was heard coming along the passage, +and light as it was, Hoodie's quick ears were the first to hear it. It +was mother!</p> + +<p>Hoodie's power of self-control was really very great—her screams ceased +entirely, only, as her fury had this time been <i>very</i> great even for +her, it had naturally arrived at tears and sobs, and in consequence she +was not able all at once to stifle the sobs that shook her, or even by +scrubbing at her poor eyes with all her might, with a rather grimy +little ball which she called her "pocket-hankerwich," could she succeed +in destroying all traces of the storm. She ran over to the window and +stood with her back to the door, staring, or pretending to stare, down +at the pretty garden beds, gay with crocuses and snowdrops. But mother's +eyes were not to be so easily deceived. One glance at the peaceful, +though subdued group round the fireplace, one anxious look at the little +figure standing solitary by the window, its fat dimpled shoulders +convulsively heaving every moment or two, its face resolutely turned +away, and mother knew all.</p> + +<p>"What is wrong with Miss Julian?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Really, ma'am, I can't quite say. I was down-stairs and when I came +back she was in one of her ways, and you know, ma'am, it is no use +speaking to her while she's like that. It was just some trifle about +Prince, but if it wasn't that it would be something else."</p> + +<p>Martin's tone was slightly querulous, but Mrs. Caryll could not resent +it. Martin as a rule was so good and patient with the children, and with +the other three—Maudie and the boys—there was never a shadow of +trouble. Even to Hoodie she was really kind, and though sometimes it did +seem as if she did not take what is called "quite the right way with +her," it would hardly have been fair to blame her for that, seeing that +this mysterious right way in Hoodie's case, was quite as great a puzzle +as the passage round the North Pole! So great a puzzle indeed that its +very existence had come to be doubted, for hitherto one thing only about +it was certain—no one had ever succeeded in finding it.</p> + +<p>On the whole, mother herself managed Hoodie better than any one else, +but that, I fear, is not saying much. For whenever, after a long talk +and many tears, Mrs. Caryll left the nursery with a somewhat lightened +heart, thinking that for some time to come at least there was going to +be peace, she was almost <i>sure</i> to be disappointed. Generally these very +times were followed by the worst outbreaks, and in despair Mrs. Caryll +would leave off talks and gentle measures and simply lock the +aggravating little girl into her bedroom, whence in a few hours, the fit +having at last worked itself off, Hoodie would emerge, silent indeed, +but <i>so</i> cross, so unbearably irritable, that no one in the nursery +dared look at her, much less speak to her, till a night's rest had to +some extent soothed her down.</p> + +<p>It really seemed as if, as Martin said, there was nothing to do but +leave her to herself, and it was with a terror of making things worse +that Hoodie's mother now stood and looked at her, asking herself what +<i>would</i> be best to do.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it would have been better," she said to herself, "if I had +taken no notice of anything wrong," for she believed that Hoodie's +intense mortification at <i>mother's</i> knowing of her naughtiness was what +gave her more influence over her than any one else. But it was not quite +the kind of influence she most cared to have—mortification, to my +thinking, never does any one any good, but only fosters the evil <i>roots</i> +from whence all these troubles spring. "If Hoodie cared about my knowing +for fear of it grieving me, I would understand better how to manage +her," thought Mrs. Caryll. "But if it were so she would show her sorrow +in a different way. It is her pride, not her love, that is concerned."</p> + +<p>She was right, but wrong too. Hoodie was proud, but also intensely +loving. She did grieve in her own wild, unreasonable way, at distressing +her mother, but most of all she grieved that <i>she</i> should be the cause +of it. It would have made her sorry for mother to be grieved by Maudie +or the boys, but still that would have been different. It was the misery +of believing herself to be always the cause of the unhappiness that +seemed to come back and back upon her, making the very time at which she +was "sorriest," the time at which it was hardest to be good.</p> + +<p>Hoodie's mother stood and considered. Then she crossed the room and +touched her little girl on the neck. The bare white dumpling of a +shoulder just "shruggled itself up" a little higher, but Hoodie gave no +other sign of having felt anything.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," said her mother.</p> + +<p>No reply.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hoodie</i>," a little louder.</p> + +<p>Hoodie <i>had</i> to look round. What a face! Red eyes, tangled hair, +frowning forehead, tight shut lips. No, the good angels had not yet +found their way back to Hoodie's heart—the little black dog was still +curled up on her back, scowling at every one that came near.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," said her mother very quietly, "come with me to my room."</p> + +<p>Hoodie did not resist. She allowed her mother to take her hand and lead +her away. As the door closed after them Maudie gave a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"Let's go on with our reading as long as we can," she said. "Hoodie will +be worse than ever after she comes back. As soon as ever mother has gone +down again and she thinks she won't hear, she'll begin again. Won't she, +Martin?"</p> + +<p>"She often is like that," said Martin, "but perhaps she'll be better +to-day. Go on reading, Miss Maudie, and take no notice of her when she +comes in."</p> + +<p>In about ten minutes the door opened and Hoodie appeared. She marched in +with a half-defiant air—evidently "humble-pie" had at present no +attraction for her. No one took any notice of her. This did not suit +Hoodie. She dragged her little chair across the room and placed it +beside her sister's.</p> + +<p>"Doin' to be dood," she announced.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it, Miss Hoodie," said Martin.</p> + +<p>"Doin' to be dood. Maudie, litsen," said Hoodie impatiently, giving +Magdalen's chair a jerk, "doin' to be <i>dood</i>."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Hoodie, only please don't pull my chair," said Maudie, in +some fear and trembling.</p> + +<p>"You're not to read, you're to litsen when I speak," said Hoodie, "and I +will pull your chair, if I like. I love mother, don't love <i>you</i>, +Maudie, ugly 'sing that you is."</p> + +<p>Maudie did not answer. She glanced up at Martin for advice.</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Maudie," said Martin cheerfully, "aren't you going on with +your story?"</p> + +<p>"It's done, Martin, you forget," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>Martin gave her a glance which Maudie understood. "Say something to take +off her attention," was the interpretation of it.</p> + +<p>"I'll look for another. Don't run away, Hec and Duke," said the elder +sister quickly. "I am afraid there is nothing in this book but what we +have read lots of times," she added, after turning over the leaves for a +minute or two. "I wish it was somebody's birthday soon, and then we'd +get some new stories."</p> + +<p>"My birthday next," observed Hoodie, complacently.</p> + +<p>"No, Hoodie, 'tisn't," exclaimed both the boys, "'tisn't your birthday +nextest. 'Tis ours. Aren't it now, Martin? You told us."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dears, it is yours next. In June, Miss Hoodie dear, is theirs, +you know, and yours won't be till July."</p> + +<p>Martin made the statement gingerly. She was uncommonly afraid of what +she might be drawing on herself by her venturing to disagree with the +small autocrat of the nursery. To her surprise Hoodie took the +information philosophically, relieving her feelings only by a piece of +biting satire.</p> + +<p>"That's acos the months is wrong. When <i>I</i> make the months they will +come 'July, June,' not 'June, July,'" she said.</p> + +<p>Hec and Duke thought this so original that they began laughing. A +doubtful expression crept over Hoodie's face. Should she resent it, or +laugh with them? Martin took the bull by the horns.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you a story, my dears?" she said, "of what I once did on +one of my birthdays when I was little? It came into my mind the other +day, and I wonder I never told it you before, for it's something like +the story of 'Little Red Riding Hood,' that Miss Hoodie got her name +from."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Martin. Hoodie didn't get her name from that," said Maudie +eagerly. "It was this way. Mother got her a little hood <i>like</i> Red +Riding Hood's in our picture—only it was pink and not scarlet, and +Hoodie liked it so, she screamed when they took it off, and once she +was ill and she screamed so for it that they had to put it on her even +in bed, and she had it on three days running."</p> + +<p>"Zee days zunning," repeated Hoodie, nodding her head with great +satisfaction. She was evidently very proud of this legend of her +infancy.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Martin, "that was a funny fancy, to be sure. But the +hood wouldn't be so pretty after that."</p> + +<p>"No, of course," said Maudie. "It was all crumpled up and spoilt. And +mamma got her a new one, but Hoodie wouldn't have it on, and so after +that she didn't have hoods any more, only she was always called Hoodie."</p> + +<p>"Always called Hoodie," reiterated the heroine of this remarkable +anecdote, quite restored to good humour by finding herself looked upon +as a historical character.</p> + +<p>"And now, Martin, what did you do on your birthday?" said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"It was when I was eight," said Martin. "We lived in the country and we +had a nice little farm. My father managed the farm and my mother had the +dairy. And my old grandmother lived about three miles off in a little +cottage near a wood—that was one thing that made me say it was like Red +Riding Hood. I was very fond of going to see my grandmother, and I +always counted it one of my treats. So the day before my birthday mother +said to me, 'Janie, you shall go to your grandmother's to-morrow, if you +like, as it is your birthday, and I'll pack a little basket for you to +take to her, with some fresh eggs and butter. And I'll make a little +cake for you to take too, and you shall stay to tea with her and have +the cake to eat.'"</p> + +<p>"Had it pums in?" said Hec.</p> + +<p>"And laisins?" added Duke.</p> + +<p>"Silly boy," said Hoodie from the elevation of her five years, "pums +<i>is</i> laisins."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Duke submissively.</p> + +<p>"Do on, Martin, do on, kick, kick, Martin," said Hoodie, "gee-up-ping" +on her footstool as if Martin was a lazy horse she was trying to make go +faster.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued Martin, "I was pleased to go as you can fancy, and the +next afternoon off I set. It was such a nice day. The flowers were just +at their best—I stopped more than once to gather honeysuckle and twist +it round the handle of the basket, it looked so pretty, and when I got +to the little wood near which stood grandmother's cottage, I could +hardly get on for stopping to look at the flowers that peeped out at the +edge that skirted the road. And then I thought to myself how beautiful +it must be further in the wood, and what a lovely bunch of cowslips I +might gather. There was a little stile just where I was standing—I +climbed over it and put the basket down on the ground, as I could not +run with it in my hand, and then off I set, down a little path between +the trees, glancing at every side as I ran, for the flowers I wanted. +But I was disappointed—in the wood the flowers were not near so pretty +as at the edge, and after picking a few, I threw them away again and +turned back to the stile, where I had left my basket. But fancy my +trouble when I found it was not there! I had been away such a short +time, I could not believe it was really gone. I searched and I +searched—all in vain—it was really <i>gone</i>—so at last I sat down and +cried. I cried till I was tired of crying, and then I got up and walked +slowly on to grandmother's. She was so kind I knew she would not scold +me, but still she would be sorry and disappointed. And I really felt as +if I would be too ashamed ever to go home and tell mother. When I got to +grandmother's and walked up the little path to the cottage door—she had +a nice little garden with roses and stocks and gilly-flowers and +sweet-williams and lots of other nice old flowers—I was surprised to +see it closed. It was not often grandmother was out of an afternoon, +and besides, being my birthday, she might have known I would likely be +coming to see her.</p> + +<p>"'Everything's gone wrong with me to-day,' I said to myself, and vexed +to think of the lost basket and the long hot walk back in the sun, I sat +down on the little bench at the door and began to cry again. It seemed +too bad that my birthday should be spoilt like that. I had cried so much +that my eyes were sore, and I leant my head against the back of the +bench—it stood in a sort of little arbour—and closed them. I was not +sleepy, I was only tired and stupid-like, but you can't fancy how +startled I was when suddenly I felt something lick my hand, which was +hanging down at my side. I opened my eyes and jumped up. There stood +beside me a great big dog—a dog I had never seen before, looking up at +me with his gentle, soft eyes, while on the ground at my feet was my +lost basket! I was so delighted that I couldn't feel frightened, +besides, who could have been frightened of such a dear, kind-looking +dog? I threw my arms round his neck and hugged him, and told him he was +a darling to have found my basket, and for a minute or two I really +thought to myself he must be a sort of fairy—he seemed to have come so +wonderful-like, all of a sudden. Just then I heard voices coming along +the road. I ran to the gate to see who it was, and there, to my joy, +was grandmother, and beside her a neighbour of hers, a gamekeeper I had +seen now and then. I had my basket on my arm and the big doggie stood +beside me."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill02" id="ill02"></a> +<img src="images/ill02.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"I had my basket on my arm and the big doggie stood +beside me."</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>HOODIE GOES IN SEARCH OF A GRANDMOTHER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I care for nobody, no, not I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nobody cares for me!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Martin went on with her story:</p> + +<p>"'Janie!' cried grandmother when she saw me. 'What a nice picture they +make—my little granddaughter and your great dog—don't they?' she said +to the gamekeeper.</p> + +<p>"'And it was <i>your</i> basket, little Janie, that he found at the stile, +then,' said the dog's master, and then he and grandmother explained, +that walking along the road—grandmother was going up with him to see +his wife who was ill—the dog who was following them had suddenly darted +to one side and then crept from under the hedge with the basket in his +mouth. They couldn't think whose it was, for no one was to be seen +about, but when grandmother started to come home again the dog would +follow her with it still in his mouth, so Roberts, that was the man's +name, came along with her to see the end of it. Now wasn't it clever of +the dog to know it was mine and bring it to me like that?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i>," said the children. "But mightn't your grandmother have known +it was your mother's basket?" said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"It was a common enough one, but if she had looked inside she'd have +known mother's butter and cake, I daresay," said Martin. "But the funny +thing was, the dog would let no one touch it but me—he growled at +grandmother when she tried to look in, but he stood by and saw me take +out the things and just wagged his tail."</p> + +<p>"And did zou have nice tea, and cake, Martin?" said Hec.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, dears, very nice. But for all that it cured me of setting down +baskets or anything like that when I had to take them anywhere. For you +see it isn't every dog that would have had the sense of that one."</p> + +<p>"And then he <i>might</i> have been a woof," suggested Hoodie. "The picture +says a woof."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Maudie. "But this isn't the picture story, Hoodie. This was +a real story of Martin herself, you know, for there aren't wolfs now."</p> + +<p>"Not none?" said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not."</p> + +<p>Hoodie nodded her head, but made no further remark, and the nursery +party congratulated themselves on the astonishing success of their +endeavours to "put her crying fit out of her head."</p> + +<p>This happy state of things lasted nearly all day. Hoodie was really most +agreeable. She was rather more silent than usual, but, for her, +surprisingly amiable.</p> + +<p>Martin was delighted.</p> + +<p>"Take my word for it, Miss Maudie," she said, "the only way with a child +like her, is to take no notice and talk of something else."</p> + +<p>"But we can't always do that way, Martin,"—Maudie was not of a sanguine +temperament,—"sometimes, you know, she's naughty about things that you +<i>must</i> go on talking to her about, till you get her to do them."</p> + +<p>"I can't help it, Miss Maudie," said Martin. "Talk or no talk, it's my +belief that no power on earth will get Miss Julian to do what she wants +not to do. And folks can't live always quarrel—quarrelling. She may +improve of herself like, when she gets older, but as she is now, I +really think the less notice she gets the better."</p> + +<p>Maudie felt rather puzzled. She was only nine years old herself, +remember, and Hoodie's queer ways were enough to puzzle much wiser heads +than hers.</p> + +<p>"I don't think Martin's way would do," she said to herself, "but still I +think there must be <i>some</i> way that would make her gooder if only we +could find it."</p> + +<p>The children all went to church in the afternoon. The morning service +was too long for them, their mother sensibly thought, but the afternoon +hour, or hour and a quarter at most, no one, not even wee Hec and Duke, +found too much. And Hoodie was rather fond of going to church. What she +thought of, perched up by herself in her own corner of the pew, no one +ever knew; that she listened, or attempted to listen, to what was going +on, was doubtful in the extreme. But still, as a rule, church had a +soothing effect on her, the quiet and restfulness, the monotony itself, +seemed to calm her fidgety querulousness; possibly even the sensation of +her Sunday clothes and the admiring glances of the little +school-children helped to smooth her down for the time being.</p> + +<p>This special Sunday afternoon their mother was not with them. They went +and returned under Martin's convoy, and till about half way on their way +home again all went satisfactorily. Then unfortunately occurred the +first ruffle. Maudie had been walking on in front with little Duke, +Hoodie and Hec, each with a hand of Martin, behind, when Maudie stopped.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said, "may Duke walk with you a little? He says he's +tired."</p> + +<p>"Of course, poor dear," said Martin; "come here, Master Duke, and you, +Miss Hoodie, go on a little with your sister."</p> + +<p>Hoodie let go Martin's hand readily enough.</p> + +<p>"Wonders will never cease," thought Martin, but alas, her rejoicing was +premature. Hoodie let go her hand, but stood stock still without moving.</p> + +<p>"No," she said deliberately, "I won't walk with Maudie. Why can't Hec +walk with Maudie, and me stay here?"</p> + +<p>"Because he's such a little boy, Miss Hoodie dear, and I daresay both he +and Master Duke are getting tired. They've had a long walk you know."</p> + +<p>Martin was forgetting her own advice to Maudie. He who stopped to reason +with Hoodie was lost indeed!</p> + +<p>"And so has me had a long walk, and so you might daresay me is tired +too," returned Hoodie, standing her ground both actually and +figuratively. Two fat little legs apart, two sturdy little feet planted +firmly on the ground, there she stood looking up defiantly in Martin's +face, armed for the fight.</p> + +<p>"Was there ever such a child?" thought poor Martin. Maudie's words had +indeed been quickly fulfilled—here already was a case in which the +taking-no-notice system was impossible—the child could not be left by +herself on the high-road, where according to present appearances it was +evidently her intention to stay unless—she got her own way!</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I daresay you are tired too," said Martin soothingly, +"but still not <i>so</i> tired as poor little Duke. You're ever so much +bigger you know. Think what tiny little feet your brothers have to trot +all along the road on."</p> + +<p>"Mines is tiny too. I heard you saying them was very tiny to Mamma one +day. And them's just as tired as Duke's; 'cos I'm bigger, my feets have +more heavy to carry. I <i>will</i> have your hand, Martin, and I won't walk +with ugly Maudie."</p> + +<p>"But you must, Miss Hoodie," said Martin, attempting firmness and +decision as a last resource.</p> + +<p>"But I mustn't, 'cos I <i>won't</i>," said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>Martin glanced back along the road despairingly. Several groups of the +country people on their way home from church were approaching the little +party as they stood on the footpath.</p> + +<p>"Do come on, Martin," said Maudie; "it is so horrid for the people to +see such a fuss. And then they say all about that we are all naughty. +Look, there's farmer Bright and his daughters coming. Do come on—you'll +<i>have</i> to let Hoodie walk with you, and Hec'll come with me."</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," said Martin once more, "you are to walk on with Miss +Maudie, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, without moving an inch, "I hear, but I <i>won't</i> walk +with ugly Maudie."</p> + +<p>The Bright family were fast approaching. In despair Martin turned to +Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to let you walk with me, Miss Julian," she said, solemnly, +"because I cannot have every one in the road see how naughty you are. +But when we get home I shall speak to your Mamma, and ask her to let you +go walks alone. You make us all miserable."</p> + +<p>Hoodie took Martin's hand and marched on.</p> + +<p>"I should like to go walks alone, werry much," she said, amiably, to +which remark Martin did not make any reply.</p> + +<p>The Bright family passed them with a friendly word to Martin, saying +something in praise of the nice appearance of her little charges. And +Hoodie smiled back to farmer Bright, as if she thought herself the best +and sweetest-tempered of little girls. Then when they were out of +sight, she suddenly dropped Martin's hand.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to walk with you. You're an ugly 'sing too," she said. "I +like to walk belone, but I would walk with you if I <i>said</i> I would."</p> + +<p>And on she marched defiantly, well in front of the whole party. And +again poor Martin murmured to herself,—"Was there <i>ever</i> such a child?"</p> + +<p>What was Hoodie saying to herself on in front where no one could hear +her?</p> + +<p>"They don't love me. They like me to be away. Nobody loves poor Hoodie. +Hoodie can't be good when nobody loves her. It isn't Hoodie's fault."</p> + +<p>And through her babyish brain there ran misty, dreamy ideas of something +she would do to make "them" all sorry—she would go away somewhere "far, +far," and never come back again. But where? This she could not yet +settle about, but fortunately for the peace of the rest of the walk her +cogitations kept her quiet till they were all at home again.</p> + +<p>Martin's threat of speaking to Hoodie's mother was not at once carried +out. And Martin herself began to think better of it when at tea-time +Hoodie behaved herself quite respectably. The naughty mood had passed +again for the time, it seemed.</p> + +<p>Sitting round the table in the intervals of bread-and-butter and +honey—for it was Sunday evening, "honey evening" the little boys called +it—the children chatted together pleasantly. Martin's story had greatly +impressed them.</p> + +<p>"Weren't you frightened at first when you saw the big, big doggie, +Martin?" said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"<i>Might</i> have been a woof," remarked Duke, whose ideas had a knack of +getting so well lodged in his brain that it was often difficult to get +them out again.</p> + +<p>"But there <i>are</i> no wolfs. I told you so before," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"No," said Duke, "you toldened Hoodie so. You didn't tolden me."</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>dear</i> Duke, what does it matter?" said Magdalen, with a slight +touch of impatience in her tone. "You heard me say it, and you do go on +and on so about a thing."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Peoples always calls each other 'dear' whenever they doesn't like each +other," she remarked.</p> + +<p>Maudie flashed round upon her.</p> + +<p>"That isn't true. I do like Duke—don't I, Duke? And Hec too—don't I +love you dearly, Hec and Duke?"</p> + +<p>The two little boys clambered down from their chairs, by slow and +ponderous degrees, and a hugging match of the three ensued.</p> + +<p>"Children, children," cried Martin, "you know it's against the rules for +you to get down from your chairs at tea. Miss Maudie, dear, you +shouldn't encourage it."</p> + +<p>"But Hoodie said unkind 'sings to Maudie, and we had to kiss dear +Maudie," said the little boys. "Naughty Hoodie," and they glanced round +indignantly at Hoodie.</p> + +<p>A hard look came over Hoodie's face.</p> + +<p>"Always naughty Hoodie," she muttered to herself. "Nobody loves Hoodie. +Nebber mind. Don't care."</p> + +<p>"Little boys," said Martin, "you must go back to your seats and finish +your tea. And don't call Miss Hoodie naughty for nothing at all but a +little joke."</p> + +<p>Hoodie gave a quick glance at Martin.</p> + +<p>"Martin," she said, gravely, "if there is no woofs now, is there any +grandmothers?"</p> + +<p>"Any grandmothers, Miss Hoodie?" repeated Martin. "How do you mean, my +dear? of course every one has a grandmother, or has had."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hoodie; "I didn't know. And is grandmothers always in +cottages?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you silly girl," said Maudie, laughing; "of course not. Don't you +remember <i>our</i> grandmother? She was here two years ago. But I suppose +you're too little to remember."</p> + +<p>"Don't laugh at her for not understanding, Miss Maudie," said Martin; +"besides, don't you remember your grandmother's address is Parkwood +Cottage? Very likely she's thinking of that."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "I was 'sinking of zat. I want a grandmother in a +cottage. Grandmother in a cottage would be very kind, and there is no +woofs."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Miss Hoodie, there are no wolves," said Martin; "all the wolves +were sent away long, long ago. Now, dears, you must have your hands +washed and your hairs brushed to go down to the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>Hoodie was very quiet that evening. Her father noticed it after the +children had gone up to bed again, and said to her mother that he was in +hopes the child was going to turn over a new leaf. And her mother +replied with a smile that she had been speaking to her very seriously +that morning, and was glad to see how well the little girl had taken it. +So both father and mother felt satisfied and happy about the child, +little imagining the queer confused whirl of ideas at that very moment +chasing each other round her busy brain.</p> + +<p>For Hoodie did not go to sleep till much later than the others, though +she lay so still that her wakefulness was unnoticed. Under her pillow, +wrapped up firstly in a piece of newspaper, over that in the clean +pocket-handkerchief Martin had given her for church, were three biscuits +she had got at dessert, two pieces of bread-and-butter, and one of bread +and honey, which unobserved she had "saved" from tea. What she meant to +do with these provisions was by no means clear, even in her own mind. +She only knew that the proper thing was to have a basket of eatables of +some kind, provided for a voyage of discovery such as that on which she +was resolved.</p> + +<p>"The little Hoodie-girl in the picture has a bastwick, and Martin had a +bastwick when she was a Hoodie-girl," she said to herself dreamily. "I +will get more bead-and-butter to-morrow and then I can go. After +dinner-time Martin wented when she was a Hoodie-girl. I will go after +dinner-time too. The grandmother in the cottage will love Hoodie and +there is no woofs. Peoples here doesn't love Hoodie."</p> + +<p>And so thinking she fell asleep.</p> + +<p>The next morning happened to be rainy. Hoodie ate her breakfast in +silence, and what she did <i>not</i> eat she quietly added to the contents of +the pocket-handkerchief parcel. Martin noticed her fumbling at +something, but thankful for the quiet state of the atmosphere—otherwise +Hoodie's temper—thought it wiser to make no remarks. For after all it +was a very April sort of sunshine; and two or three times before dinner +there were signs of possible storms—once in particular, when the little +boy had got Prince up into the nursery to play with them and Hoodie +insisted on turning him out.</p> + +<p>"Him's not to come in here," she said; "Hoodie won't have him in here no +more."</p> + +<p>"<i>Really</i>, Hoodie," said Maudie, "this isn't all your room. Why won't +you let poor Prince come in? It was only yesterday you were crying +because he wouldn't come."</p> + +<p>"'Cos I loved him yesterday and I don't love him to-day," replied Hoodie +coolly.</p> + +<p>"And how would you like if people spoke that way to you?" said Maudie +virtuously. "Suppose we said we wouldn't have you in the nursery 'cos we +don't love you to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Don't care," said Hoodie. "You can't send <i>me</i> out of the nursery. I'm +not a dog. But if I like I can go of my own self," she added +mysteriously. "And if peoples don't love me I <i>sall</i> go."</p> + +<p>Maudie did not catch the sense of the last few words, but Prince, being +in his own mind by no means partial to the nursery, where the +children's affection expressed itself in clutches and caresses very +unsettling to his nerves, had taken advantage of the discussion to go +off "of his own self," and in the lamentation over his running away, no +more was said, and it was not till afterwards that the elder girl +remembered her little sister's threat.</p> + +<p>But through dinner-time the hard, half-sullen look stayed on Hoodie's +face, and again poor Martin shivered with fear that another storm was +coming. Somewhat to her surprise things got no worse—not even when a +message came up-stairs from "mother," that Maudie was to be ready to go +out a drive with her at two, did Hoodie's rather curiously quiet manner +desert her.</p> + +<p>"I don't care. Nobody loves me," she repeated to herself, but so low +that no one heard her.</p> + +<p>"It'll be your turn next time, you know, Hoodie dear. Mother never +forgets turns," said Magdalen consolingly, as, arrayed in her "best" +white alpaca trimmed with blue, and white hat with blue feathers to +match, she ran into the nursery to say good-bye to the stayers-at-home.</p> + +<p>"And Miss Hoodie will be good and help me with the little boys, won't +you, Miss Hoodie dear?" said Martin. "There's some ironing I do want to +get done for your Mamma this afternoon, if I could leave you three +alone for a little."</p> + +<p>"Susan may stay with them," said Mrs. Caryll, who just then came into +the nursery to see if Maudie was ready. "It is too damp still for the +boys to go out, but Hoodie can play in the garden a little. She never +catches cold and she will be the better for a run—eh, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>No answer. Mrs. Caryll turned to Martin with a question in her face. +"Anything wrong again?" it seemed to say.</p> + +<p>Martin shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I think not, ma'am," she said in a very low voice, "but really there's +no saying. But I think she'll be all right once you're started with Miss +Magdalen."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caryll said no more. She took Maudie by the hand and left the +nursery, only nodding good-bye to the little boys as she passed through +the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, darlings," said Maudie. "I'll bring you back something nice +for tea."</p> + +<p>"Dood-bye, dear Maudie," called out Hec and Duke in return. Then they +flew—no, I can hardly use that word with regard to their sturdy little +legs' trot across the room—they trotted off to the window to see the +carriage as it passed the corner of the drive and to kiss their little +hands to Mamma and Maudie. And Hoodie remained determinedly looking out +of the other window, from which no drive and no carriage were to be +seen.</p> + +<p>"Nobody calls me darling. Nobody cares for Hoodie," she said to herself. +"Nebber mind. Hoodie will go far, far."</p> + +<p>When Martin called to her a few minutes afterwards, to put her hat and +jacket on for the run in the garden, which her mother had spoken of, she +came at once, and stood quite still while her nurse dressed her. The +submission struck Martin as rather suspicious.</p> + +<p>"Now Miss Hoodie, my dear," she said, "you'll not go on the grass or +where it's wet. Just run about on the nice dry gravel for half an hour +or so, and if you see the gardener about, you may ask him to show you +the rabbits."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up in Martin's face with a rather curious expression.</p> + +<p>"I won't run in the grass," was all she said. Martin let her go off +without any misgiving. For all Hoodie's strange temper she was in some +ways a particularly sensible child for her age. She was quite to be +trusted to play alone in the garden, for instance—she might have been +safely left within reach of the most beautiful flowers in the +conservatory without any special warning; not one would have been +touched. She was truly, as Martin said, a strange mixture and +contradiction.</p> + +<p>She had made her way half down the staircase, when she suddenly +remembered her basket.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my bastwick," she exclaimed. "I was nearly forgetting my bastwick," +and up-stairs again she climbed to the cupboard, in one dark corner of +which she had hidden it. Luckily it was still there; no one had touched +it; so feeling herself quite equipped for the journey, Hoodie walked out +of the front door, crossed the gravel drive, and made her way down a +little path with a rustic gate at the end leading straight out on to the +high road. When she got there she stood still and looked about her. +Which way should she go? It had turned out a beautiful afternoon, though +the morning had been so stormy. The road was nearly dry already, the sky +overhead was blue, save here and there where little feathery clouds were +flying about in some agitation; it might rain again before night, for +though not exactly cold, there was no summer glow as yet, and the +sunshine, though bright, had a very April feeling about it.</p> + +<p>Hoodie stood still and looked about her, up and down the road. It was a +pretty, peaceful scene—the broad well-kept highway, bordered at one +side with beautiful old trees just bursting into bloom, and across, on +the other side of the low hedge, the fresh green fields, all the fresher +for the morning's rain, in some of which already the tender little +lambkins were sporting about or cuddling in by the side of their warm +woolly ewe-mothers.</p> + +<p>"I wish I was a lamb," thought Hoodie, as her glance fell on them. Then +as she looked away beyond the fields to where in the distance the land +sloped upwards into softly rising hills, a flight of birds attracted her +attention. How prettily they flew, waving, now upwards, now downwards, +like one long ribbon against the sky. "Or a little bird," she added. "If +I was up there I could see so nicely where to go, and I could fly, fly, +till I got to the sun."</p> + +<p>But just then the sound of wheels coming near brought her thoughts down +to earth again. Which way should she go?</p> + +<p>She <i>must</i> pass through a wood. That was the only thing that at present +she felt sure of, and there was a wood she remembered some way down the +road, past Mr. Bright's farm. So down the road Hoodie trotted, her +basket firmly clasped in her hand, her little figure the only moving +thing to be seen along the queen's highway. For the cart to which the +wheels belonged had passed quickly—it was only the grocer from the +neighbouring town, so on marched Hoodie undisturbed. A little on this +side of farmer Bright's a lane turned off to the left. This lane, Hoodie +decided, must be the way to the wood, so she left the road and went +along the lane for about a quarter of a mile, till, to her perplexity, +it ended in a sort of little croft with a stile at each side. Hoodie +climbed up both stiles in turns and looked about her. The wood was not +to be seen from either, but across a field from the second stile she saw +the tops of some trees standing on lower ground.</p> + +<p>"That must be the wood," thought Hoodie, and down she clambered again to +fetch her basket which she had left on the other side. With some +difficulty she hoisted it and herself up again, with greater difficulty +got it and herself down the steps on the further side, and then set off +triumphantly at a run in the direction of the trees she had seen.</p> + +<p>So far she was right. These trees were the beginning of a wood—a pretty +little wood with a tiny stream running through the middle, and little +nests of ferns and mosses in among the stones and tree-stumps on its +banks—a very pretty little wood it must be in summer-time with the +trees more fully out and the ground dry and crisp, and clear of the last +year's leaves which still gave it a desolate appearance. Hoodie's +spirits rose. She was getting on famously. Soon she might expect to see +the grandmother's cottage, where no doubt the kettle would be boiling on +the fire to make tea for her, and the table all nicely spread. For +already she was beginning to feel hungry; she had journeyed, it seemed +to her, a very long way, and more than once she eyed her basket +wistfully, wondering if she might eat just one piece of the +bread-and-butter.</p> + +<p>"The little Hoodie-girl in the picture didn't, and Martin didn't," she +said to herself. "So I 'appose I'd better not. And perhaps if the woofs +saw me eating, it would make them come."</p> + +<p>The idea made her shiver.</p> + +<p>"But Maudie said there was no woofs," she added. "Maudie said there +wasn't no woofs. But I <i>wish</i> I could see the cottage."</p> + +<p>On and on she made her way,—here and there with really great +difficulty, for there was no proper path, and sometimes the big +tree-stumps were almost higher than her fat, rather short legs could +either stride across or climb over. More than once she scratched these +same bare legs pretty badly, and but for the resolution which was a +strong part of her character, the queer little girl would have sat down +on the ground and burst into tears. But she struggled on, and at last, +to her delight, the trees in front of her cleared suddenly, and she saw +before her a little hilly path surmounted by a stile. Hoodie clapped her +hands, or would have done so but for the interference of the basket.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie's out of the wood," she said joyfully, "and up there perhaps +I'll see the cottage."</p> + +<p>It happened that she was right. When she reached the stile, there, sure +enough, across another little field the cottage, <i>a</i> cottage any way, +was to be seen. A neat little cottage, something like the description +Martin had given of <i>her</i> grandmother's cottage, which, jumbled up with +the picture of long ago Red Riding Hood the first, on the nursery walls, +was in Hoodie's mind as a sort of model of that in quest of which she +had set out on her voyage of discovery. This cottage too had a little +garden with a path up the middle, and at each side were beds, neatly +bordered, which in summer-time no doubt would be gay with simple +flowers. Hoodie glanced round the little garden approvingly as she made +her way up to the door.</p> + +<p>"It's just like Martin's cottage," she thought. "But the Hoodie-girl in +the picture was pulling somesing for the door to open and I don't see +nosing to pull. I must knock I 'appose. I am <i>so</i> glad there's been none +woofs."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill03" id="ill03"></a> +<img src="images/ill03.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>It's just like Martin's cottage</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Knock—knock—no answer. Knock, knock, <i>knock</i> a little louder this +time. Hoodie began to wonder if the grandmother was going to be out, +like the one in Martin's story—no—a sound at last of some one coming +to open.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>LITTLE BABY AND ITS MOTHER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Polly put the kettle on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let's have tea."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The latch was lifted from the inside, and there stood before Hoodie—not +an old woman with either "big" or little eyes, not a "grandmother" with +a frilly cap all round her face, such as she had been vaguely expecting, +yet certainly not a "woof" either! The person who stood in the doorway +smiling down on the little girl was a very pretty and pleasant-looking +young woman, with a fresh rosy face and merry eyes, and a sleeping baby +in her arms!</p> + +<p>For the first moment Hoodie was too surprised to understand what she +saw.</p> + +<p>At last, "I want my grandmother," she said. "<i>You</i> aren't my +grandmother. I thought this was her cottage."</p> + +<p>The young woman smiled again.</p> + +<p>"No, Missy, you must have made a mistake. But <i>your</i> grandmother doesn't +live in a little cottage like this, Missy, I'm sure. You must have quite +come out of your road. Whose little lady are you?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I want to live with my grandmother," she replied. "I don't want to be +anybody's little lady. I've come such a long way—I know the cottage +should be aside a wood, just like this. And I'm <i>so</i> tired and firsty."</p> + +<p>The quiver in her voice told that the self-control was coming to an end. +The young woman's sympathy awoke at once.</p> + +<p>"Poor dear," she said. "Tired, of course you must be tired. Come in, +dearie, and sit you down, and you shall have something to drink and to +eat too, if you please. What would you like?" she went on, after she had +established Hoodie on a funny little arm-chair by the fire—a chair +bought last fair-day by her husband in his extreme delight at being the +possessor of a fortnight old baby—"what would you like, Missy—a cup of +milk—or some tea? Kettle's boiling, and 'tis just upon tea-time."</p> + +<p>"What a nice little chair," said Hoodie, making the observation that +first came into her head before replying to the questions asked her, as +was a habit of hers. "What a nice little chair! It just fits me," +turning her fat little body—to confess the truth, a rather tight +fit—and the chair about together, like a snail congratulating itself on +its shell.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Missy, and you're the first as has ever sat in it. It's to be for +baby, the dear, as soon as she's old enough to sit up in it. But about +what you'd like to drink, Missy?"</p> + +<p>"I were going to tell you," said Hoodie, with a touch of her usual +authoritative manner. "I were going to tell you. I'd like tea—proper +tea on a table, 'cos I've got my bicsits and 'sings in my bastwick, and +we could put them out nicely. And if it's so far away to my +grandmother's perhaps I'd better stay here and fancy you're her"—she +glanced up in the young woman's face with such a queer, half-puzzled, +half-comical look in her eyes that her new friend really began to wonder +if the child was quite "right" in her head—"it would seem more like it, +if we had proper tea on a table. But asides that, I'm so firsty I'd like +a cup of milk first—just cold milk belone you know, to take away the +firsty. Martin <i>sometimes</i> gives me a drink of milk like that just afore +tea when I'm very firsty, even though she says it spoils my tea."</p> + +<p>"But I don't think it'll spoil your tea to-day, Missy," said the young +woman, as she fetched the cup of milk. "You've come a long way, you +see," she added, with a view to drawing Hoodie out as to her home and +belongings.</p> + +<p>"And you'll give me <i>real</i> tea, won't you, little baby's mother? Not +just milk and pertence?" inquired Hoodie, anxiously, as she watched the +preparations for the meal.</p> + +<p>"Of course, Missy, you must have real tea, as you've come so far to see +me. Which way did you come? I don't think I've ever seen you before, but +then we've only been here a few weeks, since Thomas engaged with Farmer +Bright."</p> + +<p>"I didn't come to see you, little baby's mother," said Hoodie, "I came +to look for a grandmother in a cottage. But you're very nice, only—oh, +do let me hold the little baby!" she exclaimed, seeing that the still +sleeping child was about to be deposited in its cradle, as it was rather +in its mother's way when lifting the kettle and so on;—"<i>do</i> let me +hold it!"</p> + +<p>She held out her arms and smoothed a place on her knees for it, all +ready. "Little baby's mother" had not the heart to refuse, though +somewhat misdoubting but that poor baby would have been better in its +cradle. But baby did not seem to think so; she gave one or two funny +little yawns, half opened her eyes, and then composed herself to sleep +again most philosophically in Hoodie's embrace. She was a nice baby and +daintily cared for, even though her home was only a stone-floored +cottage. She was number one in the first place, which says a good deal, +and she was an extremely healthy and satisfactory baby in herself—and +altogether as sweet and fresh and loveable as a wee baby buttercup under +a hedge.</p> + +<p>The young mother eyed the little couple with great admiration.</p> + +<p>"How cleverly she holds it, to be sure!" she said to herself; adding to +Hoodie, "You must have a baby at home, Miss, surely?" the remark as she +made it reminding her of her anxiety to find out where the "home" of her +mysterious little visitor was. "I cannot but give her her tea," she said +to herself; "but I hope I sha'n't get into blame for keeping her here, +if she's run away from her nurse unbeknown-like."</p> + +<p>"No," said Hoodie, with a melancholy tone in her voice. "There isn't no +baby at home. Only Hec and Duke, and they're too big to be pettened, and +they like Maudie better than me."</p> + +<p>"Do they really, Missy!" said the young woman. "Well, I'm sure I think +you're a very nice young lady, and baby thinks so too, it's plain to +see. See, she's waking, the darling."</p> + +<p>Hoodie stared solemnly at the baby as if some extraordinary marvel were +about to happen. What did happen was this. Baby stretched itself, +doubled up its little pink fists, as if to box some one, yawned, half +opened its eyes, and then closed them again, having apparently +considered the question of waking up and thought better of it—rolled +over again, and again yawned, and finally opening its nice, baby blue +eyes and gazing up inquiringly into Hoodie's face, slowly and +deliberately <i>smiled</i> at her—a sweet baby smile, half-patronizing, +half-mysterious, as if it had been away in some wonderful baby +fairy-land which it would have liked to tell her about if it could, and +rather pitied her for not having seen for herself. Hoodie gazed, +enraptured. A pretty bright smile, a smile, it must be confessed, not +too often seen there, broke over her own little face, and at the sight +baby's satisfaction expressed itself in a regular chuckle. Hoodie turned +to the young woman with a curious triumph.</p> + +<p>"Little baby's mother," she said, half awe-struck as it were, "I do +believe she <i>loves</i> me."</p> + +<p>"Of course she does, and why shouldn't she?" replied the young mother +heartily, yet feeling conscious of not altogether understanding the +little girl. "Why shouldn't she love you, Missy? Little tiny babies like +her always does love those as is kind to them. Don't you love your dear +mamma, Missy? and your sisters if you have any—and what made you love +them first, before you could understand like, if it wasn't that they +loved you and were kind to you?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie shook her head—her usual refuge in perplexity.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said. "I like peoples to love me lots—gate lots. I +don't 'zink anybody loves me lots. If I was always to sit here holding +baby so nice, do you think she'd love me lots?"</p> + +<p>Baby's mother laughed outright.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that, Missy," she said, "she'd get very hungry and cry. +And you'd be hungry, too. Aren't you hungry now? The tea's all ready, +see, Missy, and your bread and butter's laid out. But I'm afraid it's +rather hard. Won't you have some of mine instead—its nice and fresh. +Has yours been packed up a long time?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie's attention being drawn to the bread and butter, she allowed +baby's mother to regain possession of her treasure, and clambered up +herself to the chair placed for her. When safely installed she eyed the +provisions suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"I 'zink yours is nicer, little baby's mother," she said graciously, +having first bitten a piece of her own rather uninviting bread. "It was +only packened up last night—but perhaps it was the taking it to bed. I +took it to bed acos I didn't want nobody to see. But the bicsits is +nice. Mayn't baby have a bicsit, little baby's mother? If I had got to +the grandmother's cottage there'd have been cake. You hasn't none cake, +has you?"</p> + +<p>"No, Missy. You see I didn't know you were coming. If your mamma would +let you come another day and I knew in time, I could bake a nice cake."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "and baby might have some. Does baby like cake?"</p> + +<p>"She hasn't no teeth to bite it with yet, Missy dear," said the young +woman.</p> + +<p>"No teess!" exclaimed Hoodie, "what a funny baby. Did God forget zem?" +she added, in a lower voice.</p> + +<p>The young woman turned away to hide her laughter; and just at this +moment there came a rap at the door—a well-known rap evidently, for up +jumped the young woman with a pleased face.</p> + +<p>"David!" she exclaimed, as she opened the door, "I thought you wouldn't +be back till late, or I'd have waited tea."</p> + +<p>"I came in to say as I've got to go out again," said the man—a +good-humoured looking young labourer—"little baby" had every reason to +be good-humoured with such pleasant tempered father and mother!—"I've +to drive over to Greenoaks to fetch some little pigs, so I mayn't be in +till late. But bless us!" he exclaimed, as he just then caught sight of +Hoodie seated in perfect satisfaction and evidently quite at home, at +the tea-table, "who ever's this you've got with you, Liz?"</p> + +<p>His surprise was so comical that it set "Liz" off laughing again.</p> + +<p>"Bless <i>me</i> if I can tell you, David," she said. "She's the most +old-fashioned little piece of goods I ever came across. But such a nice +little lady too, and that taken with our baby! She won't tell me her +name nor nothing," and then she went on to describe to David, Hoodie's +arrival and all she had said.</p> + +<p>David scratched his head, as, half hidden in the doorway, where Hoodie +had not yet caught sight of him, he glanced at the child, still deeply +interested in her "tea."</p> + +<p>"It's my opinion," he said solemnly, as if what he was about to say was +something that could not possibly have struck any one else; "it's my +opinion as her nurse or some one has been cross to her and she's runned +away."</p> + +<p>"But what shall we do?" said Mrs. Liz, a little anxiously. "How shall we +find out where she belongs to?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, easy enough," said David. "She's but a baby. And even if she +wouldn't tell, you may be sure they'll soon be sending after her. I +could take her home on my way to Greenoaks if I knew where it was. Can't +be far off—maybe it's one of the clergyman's children down by +Springley."</p> + +<p>"They've none so little," said Mrs. David. "But there's Squire +Caryll's—I heard say there's a sight o' little ones there. 'Twill be +there."</p> + +<p>"Likely enough," said David. "But I'd like a cup o' tea, Liz, if the +young lady'll excuse my being rather rough like."</p> + +<p>Lizzie laughed.</p> + +<p>"She's but a baby," she said; and so David came forward and sat down at +the table.</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up from her tea and stopped half way through a "bicsit" to +take a good stare at the new comer.</p> + +<p>"Who is zou, please?" she said at last.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill04" id="ill04"></a> +<img src="images/ill04.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Who is zou, please?"</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>David looked rather awkward. It was somewhat embarrassing to be calmly +challenged in this way at his own table, poor man, by a mite of a +creature like this! He relieved his feelings by a glance at his wife and +a faint whistle.</p> + +<p>"Well, to be sure!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Lizzie understood the small questioner better.</p> + +<p>"Why, Missy," she said, "'Tis David. He's baby's father, and this is his +house, and he's very pleased to see you here."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked again at David; this time he seemed to find more favour in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"At the grandmother's cottage there wouldn't have been no Davids," she +remarked. "His hands is rather dirty, isn't they, little baby's mother?"</p> + +<p>This was too much for David—he went off into a roar. Hoodie looked up +doubtfully—was he laughing at <i>her</i>?—in her opinion, an unpardonable +crime—but David's funny, good-natured face gained the day, and after a +moment's hesitation Hoodie joined in the fun and laughed too, though at +what she certainly didn't know.</p> + +<p>Friendly feeling thus established, David thought it time to begin his +inquiries.</p> + +<p>"Hope you've enjoyed your tea, Miss," he said. "You must a been hungry +after such a long walk. Round by Springley way was it?"</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> did you say?" said Hoodie, opening her eyes. David's tone and +accent were puzzling to her.</p> + +<p>"He says, was it round by Springley way you came, Missy—the way the +church is?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, not the church way. I comed srough the wood and past Farmer +Bright's. Home is not the church way," said Hoodie unsuspiciously.</p> + +<p>David and his wife nodded at each other. "Squire Caryll's," whispered +Lizzie.</p> + +<p>"I'll be passing that way in the cart," said David. "Would you like a +ride, Miss?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No," she said decidedly, "I want to stay and nurse baby. May I take her +now?" she added, preparing to descend from her chair.</p> + +<p>David could not help bursting out laughing again.</p> + +<p>"What wages is her to get, Liz?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Hoodie turned upon him indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Ugly man," she exclaimed; "you'se not to laugh at me. I don't love you. +I love baby—<i>please</i> give me baby," she said beseechingly to the young +woman. "I'm all zeady," for by this time she was again settled in the +little chair and had smoothed a place for baby.</p> + +<p>Lizzie good-humouredly laid baby again in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Hold her tight, please, Missy," she said, turning towards the door +with her husband at a sign from him, and Hoodie sat in perfect content +for some minutes till baby's mother returned.</p> + +<p>"Has zat ugly man gone?" inquired Hoodie coolly. "I'll stay with you and +baby, but I don't like zat man."</p> + +<p>"But he's a nice man, Missy," said Mrs. David. "I don't know about his +being very pretty, but he's very kind to baby and me, and that's better +than being pretty, isn't it, Missy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>After a time, in spite of her devotion, baby's unaccustomed weight made +her little arms ache.</p> + +<p>"When does baby go to bed?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Baby's mother seized the opportunity.</p> + +<p>"Now, I think," she said. "I'll put her in her cradle for a bit, and +then you and I can talk a little.—Don't you think, Missy?" she went on, +when baby was safely deposited and Hoodie was free to stretch her tired +little arms, "don't you think your poor mamma will be wondering where +you are all this time?"</p> + +<p>"She's out d'iving in the calliage with Maudie. She won't know where I'm +goned," replied Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"But your nurse, Missy—<i>she'll</i> have missed you?" said Mrs. David.</p> + +<p>"We haven't no nurse. We've only Martin," replied Hoodie, "and Martin +loves Hec and Duke and Maudie best. She 'zinks Hoodie's naughty. She +<i>always</i> says Hoodie's naughty."</p> + +<p>"Little baby's mother" did not know very well what to reply to this, so +she contented herself with a general reflection.</p> + +<p>"All little girls are naughty sometimes," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "but not <i>always</i>. I'd like to stay here with you +and baby, little baby's mother, 'cos baby loves me, if you wouldn't have +zat ugly man here."</p> + +<p>"But it's his house, Missy. We couldn't turn him out of his own house, +could we? And I'm afeared there'd be many things you'd want we couldn't +give you? At home you've a nice little room now, all carpeted and +curtained, haven't you? And a pretty little bed all for yourself? We've +nothing like that—we've only one room besides the kitchen."</p> + +<p>Hoodie did not at once reply. She appeared to be thinking things over.</p> + +<p>"I'd <i>like</i> to stay," she remarked after a while, "but I'd rather be let +alone with you and baby. I don't like zat man. But if you haven't a room +for me perhaps I'd better go and look for a grandmother's cottage again, +and I'll come and see you sometimes, and baby, little baby's mother."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that you must, Missy, and bring little brothers too. You won't +think of going off to look for your grandmother again just yet. Perhaps +it's quite a long way off by the railway she lives. Couldn't you ask +your mamma to write her a letter and tell her how much you'd like to see +her?"</p> + +<p>"But I want to go to her <i>cottage</i>," persisted Hoodie. "I know it is a +cottage, Martin said so. I shouldn't want her if she wasn't in a +cottage. And I saw it in the Hoodie-girl picture too."</p> + +<p>This was getting beyond poor Mrs. David; and finding herself not +understood, added to Hoodie's irritation. She was half way, more than +half way, fully three-quarters of the way into one of her hopeless +crying fits, when fortunately there came an interruption.</p> + +<p>Hasty steps were heard coming up the garden path, followed by a hasty +knock at the door. And almost before Lizzie could get to open it, two +people hurried into the room. They were Martin and Cross the coachman. +Hoodie looked up calmly.</p> + +<p>"Has you come to fetch me?" she inquired. "I didn't <i>want</i> to go home, +but little baby's mother hasn't got enough little beds, but I'm going to +come back here again. I <i>will</i>, whatever you say."</p> + +<p>Well as Martin knew the child, this was a degree too much for her. To +have spent between two and three hours in really terrible anxiety about +the little girl; to have had to bear some amount of reproach for not +having sooner discovered Hoodie's escape; to have rushed off to fetch +her on receiving the joyful news from the young labourer as he drove +past Mr. Caryll's house, her heart full of the tenderest pity for her +stray nursling who she never doubted had somehow lost her way,—all this +had been trying enough for poor Martin. But to be met in this heartless +way by the child—before strangers, too—to be coolly defied beforehand, +as it were—it was too much. It was a toss-up between tears and temper. +Unfortunately Martin chose the latter.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," she exclaimed, "you're a naughty, ungrateful little girl, +a really naughty-hearted little girl—to have upset us all at home so; +your poor mamma nearly ill with fright, and then to meet me like that. +Speaking about not wanting to come home, and you will and you won't. I +never heard anything like it. And to think of all the trouble you must +have given to this—this young woman," she added, turning civilly +enough, but with some little hesitation in her manner, to Mrs. Lizzie, +as if not <i>quite</i> sure whether she did not deserve some share of the +blame.</p> + +<p>Poor Lizzie had stood a little apart, looking rather frightened. In her +eyes Martin was a dignified and important person. But now she came +forward eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Trouble," she repeated, "oh dear no, ma'am. Little Miss hasn't given me +one bit of trouble, and nothing but a pleasure 'twould have been, but +for thinking you'd all be put out so about her at home. But you'll let +her come again some day when she's passing, to see me and baby. She's +been so taken up with the baby, has Missy."</p> + +<p>Martin hesitated. She wanted to be civil and kind—Mrs. Caryll had +expressly desired her to thank the cottager's wife for taking care of +the little truant, and Martin was by nature sensible and gentle, and not +the least inclined to give herself airs as if she thought herself better +than other people. But Hoodie's behaviour had quite upset her. She did +not feel at all ready to reply graciously to Lizzie's meek invitation. +So she stood still and hesitated. And seeing her hesitation, naughty +Hoodie darted forward and threw her arms round Lizzie's neck, hugging +and kissing her.</p> + +<p>"I <i>sall</i> come to see you, I will, I sall," she cried. "Never mind what +that naughty, ugly 'sing says. I <i>will</i> come, dear little baby's +mother."</p> + +<p>Martin was almost speechless with indignation. Poor Lizzie saw that she +was angry, yet she had not the heart to put away the child clinging to +her so affectionately, and David's words "perhaps her nurse is cross to +her at home," came back to her mind. Things might really have become +very uncomfortable indeed, but for Cross, the coachman, who unexpectedly +came to the rescue. He had been standing by, rather, to tell the +truth—now that the anxiety which he as well as the rest of the +household had felt, was relieved—enjoying the scene.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie's a rare one, to be sure," he said to himself, chuckling +quietly. But when he saw that Martin was really taking things seriously, +and that the young woman too looked distressed and anxious, he came +forward quietly, and before Hoodie knew what he was doing he had lifted +her up with a spring on to his shoulder, where she sat perched like a +little queen.</p> + +<p>"Now, Miss Hoodie," he said, "if you'll be good, perhaps I'll carry you +home."</p> + +<p>Hoodie, though extremely well pleased with her new and exalted position, +was true to her colours.</p> + +<p>"<i>Carry</i> me home, Coss," she said imperiously; "hasn't you brought the +calliage for me?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed I haven't," replied Cross; "little Misses as runs away from +home can't expect to be fetched back in a carriage and pair. I think +you're very well off as it is. But we must make haste home—just think +how frightened your poor mamma has been."</p> + +<p>Hoodie tossed her head. Some very naughty imp seemed to have got her in +his possession just then.</p> + +<p>"Gee-up, gee-who, get along, horsey," she cried, pummelling Cross's +shoulders unmercifully with her feet. "Gallop away, old horse Coss, +gee-up, gee-up. Good night, little baby's mother, I <i>sall</i> come back;" +and Cross, thankful to get her away on any terms, turned to the door, +humouring her by pretending to trot and gallop. But half way down the +little garden path Hoodie suddenly pulled him up, literally pulled him +up, by clasping him with her two arms so tightly round the throat that +he was nearly strangled.</p> + +<p>"Stop, stop, horsey," she cried, "I haven't kissed the baby. I must kiss +the baby."</p> + +<p>Even Cross's good nature was nearly at an end, but he dared not oppose +her. He stood still, very red in the face, with some muttered +exclamation, while Hoodie screamed to Lizzie to bring out the baby to be +kissed, perfectly regardless of Martin's remonstrances.</p> + +<p>And in this fashion at last Hoodie was brought home—Martin walking home +in silent despair alongside. Only when they got close to the lodge gate +Hoodie pulled up Cross again, but this time in much gentler fashion.</p> + +<p>"Let me down, Coss, please," she said, meekly enough, "I'd rather walk +now."</p> + +<p>And walk in she did, as demurely and comfortably as if she had just +returned from an ordinary walk with her nurse.</p> + +<p>"Was there ever such a child?" said Martin to herself again.</p> + +<p>And poor Cross, as he walked away wiping his forehead, decided in his +own mind that he'd rather have the breaking in of twenty young horses +than of such a queer specimen as little Miss Hoodie.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill05" id="ill05"></a> +<img src="images/ill05.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>Poor Cross</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>MAUDIE'S GODMOTHER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If you'd have children safe abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just keep them safe at home."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>They were all standing at the door—Maudie, Hec and Duke, that is to +say, and mother in the background, and farther back still, half the +servants of the household. But Hoodie marched in demurely by Martin's +side—nay, more, she had taken hold of Martin's hand. And when Mrs. +Caryll came forward hurriedly to meet them, of the two, Martin looked +much the more upset and uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"You have brought her back safe and sound, Martin!" exclaimed Hoodie's +mother. "Oh, Hoodie, what a fright you have given us! What was she +doing? How was it, Martin?"</p> + +<p>Martin hesitated.</p> + +<p>"If you please, ma'am," she said, "I think I'd rather tell you all about +it afterwards. It's not late, but Miss Hoodie <i>must</i> be tired. Won't it +be as well, ma'am, for her to go to bed at once?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caryll understood Martin's manner.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "I think it will. Say good night to me, Hoodie, and to +Maudie and your brothers. And to-morrow morning you must come early to +my room. I want to talk to you."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up curiously in her mother's face. Was she vexed, or +sorry, or what? Hoodie could not decide.</p> + +<p>"Good night, mother," she said, quietly. "Good night, Hec and Duke and +Maudie," and she coolly turned away, and followed Martin up-stairs.</p> + +<p>The three other children crept round their mother. She looked pale and +troubled.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said one of the little boys, "has Hoodie been <i>naughty</i>? Aren't +you glad she's come home?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caryll stroked his head.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear," she said. "Of course I'm glad, <i>very</i> glad. But it wasn't +good of her to frighten us all so, and I must make her understand that."</p> + +<p>"<i>Of course</i>," said Maudie, virtuously. "You don't understand, Hec."</p> + +<p>"But if we had all kissened Hoodie, she'd have known we were glad she +had comed back," said Hec, still with a tone of being only half +satisfied.</p> + +<p>A shadow crossed Mrs. Caryll's face. Was her little son's instinct +right?</p> + +<p>"Shall us all go and kissen her now?" suggested Duke in a whisper to +Maudie.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," replied Magdalen. "You're too little to understand, +and you're teasing poor mamma. Come with me and we'll play at something +in the study till Martin comes for you. Don't be unhappy, dear mamma," +she added, turning to kiss her mother. "I am sure Hoodie didn't mean to +vex you, only she is so strange."</p> + +<p>That was just it—Hoodie was so strange, so self-willed, and yet +babyish, so heartless, and yet so impressionable. A sharp word or tone +even would make her cry, and she was sensitive to even less than that, +yet seemingly quite careless of the trouble and distress she caused to +others.</p> + +<p>"My good little Maudie," said Mrs. Caryll, "why should not Hoodie too be +a good and understandable little girl?" she added to herself.</p> + +<p>And what were the thoughts in Hoodie's queer little brain; what were the +feelings in her queer little heart, when Martin had safely tucked her +into her own nice little cot, and, rather shortly, bidden her lie quite +still and not disturb her brothers when they came up to bed?</p> + +<p>"I wish I had stayed with little baby's mother," she said to herself. +"Nobody was glad for me to come home. They is all ugly 'sings. Nobody +kissened me. If it wasn't for zat ugly man I'd go back there, I would, +whatever Martin said."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"I really think sometimes that there's something wanting in her nature," +said Hoodie's mother, sadly, that same evening. She had been listening +to Martin's account of the meeting at the cottage, and was now telling +over the whole affair in the drawing-room, for Mr. Caryll had only +returned home late that evening, as he had been some way by train to +meet a visitor who was coming to stay for a time at his house. This was +a cousin of his wife's, a young lady named Magdalen King, who occupied +the important position of Maudie's godmother. It was some years since +Cousin Magdalen had seen the children, but she had so often received +descriptions of them from their mother that she seemed to know them +quite well. She listened with great interest to the account of Hoodie's +escapade.</p> + +<p>"She must be a strange little girl," she remarked, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Caryll, "so strange that, as I said, I really think +sometimes there is something wanting in her nature."</p> + +<p>"Or unawakened," said Magdalen. "I don't pretend to understand children +well—you know I was an only child—but still a little child's nature +cannot be very easy to understand at the best of times. It must be so +folded up, as it were, like a little half-opened bud. And then +children's power of expressing themselves is so small—they must often +feel themselves misunderstood and yet not know how to say even that. And +oh, dear, what a puzzle life and the world and everything must seem to +them!"</p> + +<p>"Not to them only, my dear Magdalen," said Mr. Caryll, drily.</p> + +<p>"And," said Mrs. Caryll, "it really isn't always the case that children +are difficult to understand. None of ours are but Hoodie. There's Maudie +now—she has always been a delicious child, and the little boys are very +nice, except when Hoodie upsets them. But for her, as she is constantly +told, there never would be the least ruffle in the nursery."</p> + +<p>"But does it do any good to tell her so?" said Miss King.</p> + +<p>Hoodie's mother smiled,</p> + +<p>"My dear Magdalen," she said, "wait till you see her. What <i>would</i> do +her any good no one as yet has found out. She is just the most +contradictory, queer-tempered, troublesome child that ever was known."</p> + +<p>"Poor little girl," said Maudie's godmother, thinking to herself that a +little dog with such a <i>very</i> bad name as Hoodie was really not to be +envied. She loved her own god-daughter Maudie dearly, and she knew it to +be true that she was a very nice child, but her heart was sore for poor +cantankerous Hoodie. You see her patience had not yet been tried by her +as had been the patience of all those about the little girl, so after +all she could not consider herself a fair judge.</p> + +<p>And her first introduction to the small black sheep of the nursery did +not, it must be confessed, tend to prove that Hoodie's doings and +misdoings were exaggerated.</p> + +<p>This was how it happened.</p> + +<p>Maudie's godmother was generally an early riser, but this first morning +she somehow—tired perhaps with her journey—slept later than usual. She +was not quite dressed, at least her pretty curly brown hair was still +hanging about her shoulders, when a knock—a lot of little knocks, and +then one rather firmer and more decided—came to the door, and in answer +to her "Come in," appeared Martin, an old acquaintance of hers, beaming +with pleasure, and ushering in her little people, all spick and span +from their morning toilet, looking not unlike four rather shy little +sheep under the charge of a faithful "colly."</p> + +<p>But when Martin caught sight of the young lady in her white +dressing-gown and unarranged hair, she drew back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ma'am, I beg your pardon," she said. "My mistress said I might +bring them in to see you first thing, as you were always dressed so +early, but I can take them back to the nursery till you are ready. +They've been worrying to come to you for ever so long."</p> + +<p>"And you were quite right to bring them," said Cousin Magdalen, +heartily. "Come now, darlings, and let us make friends. I can tell +Maudie and Hoodie in a moment of course, but I'm quite in a puzzle as to +which is Hec and which Duke."</p> + +<p>"I'm Hec," and "I'm Duke," said the two little boys shyly, nestling up +to their new friend as they spoke. She kissed them fondly.</p> + +<p>"Dear little fellows!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Cousin Magdalen, aren't they dear little boys? And will you please +kiss me too?" said Maudie, in her pretty soft voice.</p> + +<p>Magdalen put her arm round her as she did so.</p> + +<p>"And Hoodie?" she said. "I must have a kiss from Hoodie too, mustn't I?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie stood stock still.</p> + +<p>"Come now, Miss Hoodie," whispered poor Martin. All the time she had +been dressing the child she had been telling her how good she was to be +to Cousin Magdalen, and hinting that perhaps if she behaved <i>very</i> +nicely it would help to make them all forget the trouble she had caused +the day before. But, alas! with what result?</p> + +<p>Hoodie stood stock still!</p> + +<p>Magdalen put out her hand and tried to draw the child to her.</p> + +<p>"You have plenty of kisses on that rosy mouth of yours, Hoodie," she +said. "Won't you spare me one?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie screwed up her lips tighter than before; that was the only sign +she gave of hearing what was said to her.</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh</i>, Hoodie," said Maudie, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>Hoodie turned upon her with a glance of supreme contempt.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> can kissen her," she said; "she's yours, she's not mine. <i>I</i> +don't want to kissen her."</p> + +<p>Cousin Magdalen looked at Maudie for explanation.</p> + +<p>"What does she mean?" she said.</p> + +<p>Maudie and Martin looked greatly distressed.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Maudie, "it's only about your being my godmother and not +hers. We were speaking about it in the nursery, and she said nobody ever +gave her anything—like me having you, you know, Cousin Magdalen—and +she was vexed, you know," she added in a lower voice, "because she +couldn't find our grandmother's cottage yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Cousin Magdalen, "I know. But, Hoodie dear, you <i>have</i> a +godmother and a very nice one, as well as a grandmother."</p> + +<p>"They're none use having," muttered Hoodie. "I never see them."</p> + +<p>"But some day you will. And besides, even though I'm Maudie's godmother, +can't I love you too?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hoodie bluntly.</p> + +<p>"And won't you kiss me?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hoodie again. "I don't like you. I don't like your hairs. +They is ugly, hanging down like that. I don't want to kiss you."</p> + +<p>And she turned her back on Cousin Magdalen, and marched quietly to the +door.</p> + +<p>Martin began some apologies, but Miss King stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Martin," she said. "It really doesn't matter. She will get +to know me better in a little."</p> + +<p>But all the same, Cousin Magdalen, being, though very amiable and +sensible, only human, <i>did</i> feel hurt by the little girl's rude repulse. +It is never pleasant to be repulsed by any one; it is, I think, to even +right-feeling people, particularly hurting to be repulsed by a <i>child</i>. +And then Magdalen had been thinking a great deal about this poor little +Hoodie that nobody seemed able to manage, and planning to herself +various little ways by which she hoped to win her confidence, and thus +perhaps be of real service to the child, and through her to her mother.</p> + +<p>"And now," she said to herself, "she has evidently taken a prejudice to +me at first sight. What a pity! Yet," she added, as she brushed out and +arranged the long thick brown hair which Hoodie had objected to, "she is +only a baby. Perhaps she will like me better when my hair is fastened +up. I must try her again."</p> + +<p>The other three children had stayed in their cousin's room—Martin +having flown after Hoodie, whom she was now afraid to trust for a moment +out of her sight—and while she finished dressing they chattered away in +their own fashion.</p> + +<p>"Poor mamma's dot one headache zis morning," said Hec.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Duke, "papa comed to the nursley to say Hoodie wasn't to go +to be talkened to, 'cos it would make poor mamma's headache worser."</p> + +<p>"Won't nobody talken to Hoodie zen?" said Hec.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Hec dear," said Maudie, "of course mamma mustn't talk +to her when her head's bad. Papa said to Martin that she must not let +Hoodie out of her sight, but that he couldn't have mamma bothered about +it any more, and that it would be better to drop the subject. What does +it mean to 'drop the subject,' Cousin Magdalen? I thought perhaps it +meant to put down the lowest bar on the gate at the end of the garden, +where Hoodie sometimes creeps through to the cocky field. Could it be +that?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Magdalen, turning away so as to hide her face, "it just means +not to say any more about Hoodie's running away yesterday, because it +has troubled your mother so much."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Maudie. "It is all that that has given her a headache. +It is nearly always Hoodie that gives her headaches. I wonder how she +<i>can</i>."</p> + +<p>"But, Maudie dear," said her godmother very gently, "do you think it is +quite kind of you to speak so? It is right to be sorry when Hoodie is +naughty, but remember how much younger she is than you. And she does not +<i>want</i> to make your mother ill—when she is naughty she just forgets all +but the feelings she has herself, but that is different from <i>wishing</i> +to hurt her mother."</p> + +<p>Maudie grew very red.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said in a low voice, "I see how you mean, Cousin Magdalen. I +don't want to say unkind things of Hoodie."</p> + +<p>"No, dear. I don't think you do," said her godmother. "Tell me why do +you call that field 'the cocky field'?"</p> + +<p>Maudie laughed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's because in one corner of it there's the little house papa's +made for the bantam cocks. Oh, Cousin Magdalen, they are <i>such</i> ducks."</p> + +<p>"<i>Such</i> ducks," echoed Hec and Duke. "And they lay such lovely eggs."</p> + +<p>"What remarkable creatures they must be," said Miss King. "But I must +own I don't quite see how they can be <i>ducks</i> if they're cocks and +hens."</p> + +<p>All the children laughed.</p> + +<p>"They isn't zeally ducks," explained matter-of-fact Duke, +condescendingly. "But, you see, we calls zem ducks 'cos zey is so nice +and pretty."</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, I see," said Cousin Magdalen, gravely. "So perhaps when you +know me better, if you think me <i>very</i> nice, you'll call me a duck. Will +you, Duke? Even though really, you know, I'm an old woman."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Duke, "p'raps I will. But I didn't know zou was a <i>old</i> +woman."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you, you dear old man?" said his cousin, laughing. "Never mind, +you may call me 'a old duck,' if you like. And after breakfast will you +take me to see these wonderful bantams—that's to say if you're allowed +to go there."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," said Maudie. "We may go whenever we like. They're so +tame—indeed, they're too tame, papa says, and that was why he made them +a place further away from the house than they used to be. They used to +come and hop about all the rooms, and once they laid an egg on one of +the library arm-chairs, and another time in papa's paper basket. They +thought that was a lovely nest."</p> + +<p>"And are they better behaved now?" said Miss King.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, only sometimes they lay astray. So papa gives us a penny if we +find any of their eggs about the field or in the hedges anywhere," said +Maudie. "That's what makes Hoodie so fond of going in the cocky field. +She's far the cleverest at finding eggs. You should see her—and she's +got such a way with the cocks. She can cluck, cluck them close up to +her, and often she catches them. They're not a bit afraid of her."</p> + +<p>"How funny," said Magdalen, not sorry to see Maudie's childish attempt +at saying something in praise of her little sister. "I must certainly go +with you to see the bantams after breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Timmediate after breakfast!" said Hec. "Will you come timmediate? For +after zen Maudie has lessons."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Maudie, "I have lessons. Miss Meade comes from Springley to +give me lessons."</p> + +<p>"And doesn't Hoodie have any?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes," replied Maudie. "When she's in a good humour. When she's +not, it's no use trying. I heard Miss Meade say so one day, and so now +Hoodie very often says she's in a bad humour whether she is or not, 'cos +she doesn't like lessons."</p> + +<p>"She <i>says</i> she's in a bad humour," repeated Magdalen, astonished.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, she just calls out to Miss Meade, 'oh, one's come, one's come,' +that means a bad humour's come, and once she says that, <i>nothing's</i> any +good. She sometimes puts her fingers in her ears if Miss Meade tries to +speak to her. So mamma settled it was no good doing anything; it did so +interrumpt <i>my</i> lessons, and I'm getting big, you know. But please, +Cousin Magdalen, will you come with us just the very minute after +breakfast, and then there'll be time?"</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Magdalen. "I'll be ready 'timmediate,' I promise you."</p> + +<p>Whether or no Miss King knew much about children, she knew enough to +understand that to them a promise, even about a small matter, is a very +sacred thing. And she took care not to forfeit their confidence. No +sooner did the four little figures appear on the lawn just outside the +dining-room window, than she started up from the table where, though +breakfast was finished, she was loitering a little in pleasant talk with +her friends.</p> + +<p>"Why, where are you off to, in such a hurry?" said Mrs. Caryll.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said Magdalen, laughing. "I promised the children +to go with them before their governess comes, to—"</p> + +<p>"Excuse my interrupting you," said Mr. Caryll, "but I would just like to +see if I can't finish the sentence for you. I am certain they are going +to take you to see the bantams, now aren't they? They have all four, +Hoodie especially, got bantams on the brain."</p> + +<p>He opened the glass-door as he spoke, and Miss King passed through. +Three of the children ran forward joyously to meet her, the fourth +followed more slowly, and from her way of moving, Cousin Magdalen +strongly suspected that either "one" had just come, or that "one" had +not yet gone. There was a decidedly black-doggy look about her fat +little shoulders.</p> + +<p>But Miss King took no notice, and slowly, very slowly, the fourth little +figure drew nearer to the others. Still she did not speak—the boys +chattered merrily, and Maudie joined in, being sensible enough to +understand that just now, at any rate, the taking no notice plan was the +most likely to bring Hoodie round again.</p> + +<p>And by the time they reached "the cocky field," it was crowned with +success. Hoodie forgot all her troubles in the pleasure of showing off +her pets, and greatly distinguished herself by the cleverness with which +she caught them and brought them up, one after the other, to be admired.</p> + +<p>"Isn't they <i>sweet</i>?" she said, ecstatically; "when I'm big, I'll have a +house with lots and lots of cocks and hens."</p> + +<p>"I thought you were going to live in a cottage, like Red Riding Hood's +grandmother, when you're big?" said Maudie, thoughtlessly.</p> + +<p>Hoodie turned upon her with a frown, and Cousin Magdalen felt really +grieved to see how in one instant her pretty, round, rosy face lost its +childlike expression, and grew hard and fierce.</p> + +<p>"You's not to laugh at me," she said. "I won't have nobody laugh at me."</p> + +<p>Maudie looked up penitently in Cousin Magdalen's face.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry. I <i>didn't</i> mean to set her off. Truly I didn't," she +whispered.</p> + +<p>Cousin Magdalen felt that she knew and understood too little to attempt +the interference she would have liked to use. More than interference +indeed. For the moment she felt so provoked with Hoodie's naughty, silly +bad temper, that she really felt ready to give her a severe scolding. +She was too wise to do so, however, and certainly it would have done no +good. More for Maudie's sake than for Hoodie's, she tried to turn the +conversation in a pleasant way.</p> + +<p>"It is very queer," she said, "that people almost never do when they are +grown up what they plan as children. When I was little I always planned +that I should do nothing but travel, and after all, very few people have +travelled less than I. I have been very stay-at-home."</p> + +<p>"I like travelling a little way," said Maudie; "but when it is a long +way, it is so tiring."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like the magic carpet that flew with you wherever you +wished to be?" said Cousin Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Was it in a fairy story?" said Maudie; and though Hoodie said nothing, +she came slowly nearer and stood staring up in Miss King's face with her +queer baby blue eyes that could look so sweet, and could, alas! look so +cross and angry.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Cousin Magdalen, in reply to Maudie's question, "in a very +old fairy story. Are you fond of fairy stories?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> is," said a voice that was certainly not Maudie's.</p> + +<p>Magdalen turned to her quietly.</p> + +<p>"Are you, dear?" she said, as if not the least surprised at her joining +in the conversation. "And you too, Maudie? And Hec and Duke?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, very," said Maudie. "Of course Hec and Duke don't like +difficult ones—there's some kinds that keeps meaning something else all +the time, and they are rather difficult, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Magdalen, smiling. "I like the old-fashioned ones that don't +mean anything else. I must try to think of some for you."</p> + +<p>Maudie clapped her hands, and Hoodie's face grew very bright. Suddenly +she gave a little spring, as if a new idea had struck her.</p> + +<p>"I've zought of some'sing," she cried, and turning to Miss King,</p> + +<p>"Does you like eggs?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Very much," said her cousin.</p> + +<p>"Zen, if you'll tell us stories, I'll get you eggs. Kite, kite fresh. +Doesn't you like them <i>kite</i> fresh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite fresh; they can't be too fresh," said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Can't be too fresh," repeated Hoodie. "Zat means just the moment minute +they'se laid. Oh, that'll be lovely. And when'll you tell us some +stories, please?"</p> + +<p>"Let's see," said Cousin Magdalen. "I'll have to think, and thinking +takes a good long while."</p> + +<p>"Nebber mind," said Hoodie. "You'll zink as soon as you can, won't you, +dear?"</p> + +<p>And for the rest of the morning's walk she was perfectly angelic, in +consequence of which Cousin Magdalen felt more completely puzzled by her +than ever.</p> + +<p>The day passed over pretty smoothly. Late in the afternoon, just as the +children were preparing for a run in the garden before tea, an +excitement got up in the nursery by the absence of Hoodie's basket, +which she insisted on taking out with her.</p> + +<p>"My bastwick; oh my bastwick," she cried. "I must have my bastwick."</p> + +<p>"What do you want it for, Miss Hoodie?" said Martin. "There'll be no +time for picking flowers, and we're not going up the lanes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I must have my bastwick," repeated Hoodie.</p> + +<p>Martin, fearful of an outbreak, stood still to consider.</p> + +<p>"When did you have it last?" she said. "Now I do believe it was +yesterday at that cottage, and I brought it home for you. Yes, and I put +it down in the back hall where your hoops are. Now, Miss Hoodie, if +you'll promise to be very good all the time you're out, you may run and +fetch it. I'll be after you with the little boys in five minutes."</p> + +<p>Hoodie was off like a shot, but the five minutes grew into ten before +Martin and the boys followed her; an ill-behaved button dropping off +Hec's boot while the careful nurse was fastening it.</p> + +<p>"And if there's one thing I can't abide to see, it's children's boots +wanting buttons," she said, "so run down, Miss Maudie, there's a dear, +and take care of your sister till I come."</p> + +<p>Maudie ran down, but as she did not return Martin felt no misgivings, +and she was greatly surprised and disappointed when, on going +down-stairs, she was met by the child with an anxious face.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't find Hoodie in the back hall or anywhere about there," she +said, "and I ran out a little way into the garden, because I knew you'd +be so frightened, but I can't see her."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, dear," said poor Martin, "wherever will she have gone to now? +Take the boys into the study, Miss Maudie dear, for a few minutes, and +I'll run round by the lodge, and ask if they have seen her pass. If +she's gone up the wood to that cottage again they must have seen her. +Dear me, dear me, I might have thought of it when she teased so about +her basket."</p> + +<p>Off rushed Martin, and Maudie, faithful to her charge, kept watch over +the little boys. They were not kept waiting very long, however. In two +minutes Martin put in her head again.</p> + +<p>"Is she with you, Miss Maudie?" she said, quite breathless with running +so fast, "No? Oh dear, where <i>can</i> she be? The woman at the lodge says +she saw her running back to the house a few minutes ago. She is sure she +did."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she's gone up to the nursery again," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Martin, "she'd never go there, once she thinks she's +escaped again. She's got something new in her head, I'm sure. I'll just +ask in the servants' hall if any of them have seen her."</p> + +<p>She left the room to do so, but as she passed by the foot of the stairs +she heard a step. There, calmly coming down, was Hoodie, without her +basket, however. But that, in her delight at recovering her truant, +Martin did not notice.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie, Miss Hoodie," she cried, "where <i>have</i> you been? You've +given me such a fright again. Where <i>have</i> you been?"</p> + +<p>"Up in the nursley," said Hoodie, coolly. "I wented out a little, and +then up-stairs to the nursley."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill06" id="ill06"></a> +<img src="images/ill06.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Up in the nursley," said Hoodie coolly</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And with this account of her doings Martin was obliged to be content.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>STORIES TELLING.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">"This is the cock that crowed in the morn."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Late that night, no, very early the next morning, just as dawn was +breaking, the peacefully sleeping inhabitants of Mr. Caryll's house were +awakened by strange and alarming sounds which seemed to come from the +direction of the nursery. The children's mother was one of the first to +wake, and yet the sounds which had roused her having been heard +indistinctly through her sleep, she was not able to say what they were.</p> + +<p>"It must be one of the children with croup—I am sure it sounded like +what I have heard croup described, or like that dreadful illness they +call the crowing cough," she said to Mr. Caryll, as she rushed out of +the room in a fright.</p> + +<p>She had only got to the end of the long passage leading to the +children's rooms when she ran against Miss King, closely followed by her +maid and one, two, three other servants all pale and alarmed.</p> + +<p>"What can it be?" each said to the other.</p> + +<p>"Martin, Martin," cried Mrs. Caryll, "are you there? What <i>is</i> the +matter?"</p> + +<p>But before any Martin was to be seen, again the sounds shrilled through +the house.</p> + +<p>"Kurroo—kurallarrallo-oo-<i>ook!</i>" with a queer sudden sort of pull-up at +the end, it seemed to sound.</p> + +<p>They all turned to look at each other.</p> + +<p>"It must be a real cock," said Miss King, looking less frightened.</p> + +<p>"It certainly doesn't sound like croup," said Mrs. Caryll.</p> + +<p>"It's just one of them mischievous bantams, ma'am," said the cook, a +countrywoman who had made a study of cocks and hens. "They always give +that sort of catchy croak at the end of their crows. But, to be sure, +what a fright it's gave us all! And where can the creature be?"</p> + +<p>As she spoke, Martin appeared at the end of the passage, a basket in her +arms, her face pale, leading by the hand a small figure in a white +nightgown, a figure that pulled and pushed and kicked valiantly in its +extreme reluctance to come any farther.</p> + +<p>"I won't be takened to Mamma. I won't, I won't. I'm not naughty. It's +zou that's ugly and naughty," it screamed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caryll gave a despairing glance at her cousin.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie again!" she said.</p> + +<p>Martin hastened forward as fast as she could, considering the +difficulties in her way.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ma'am," she exclaimed, looking nearly ready to cry, "I am so sorry, +so sorry and ashamed to have such an upset in the house at this time of +the night, or morning, I should say. It really must seem with all these +troubles as if I wasn't fit to manage the children. And just as Miss +King has come, too. But oh dear, ma'am, I don't know <i>what</i> to do with +Miss Hoodie and her queer ways."</p> + +<p>"But what <i>is</i> it, Martin? What has Hoodie been doing?" said Mrs. +Caryll, rather impatiently. "Stop crying, Hoodie. You <i>must</i>," she added +sternly, turning to the little girl, who was now regularly set agoing on +one of her roars.</p> + +<p>Hoodie took not the slightest notice, but roared on. Her mother turned +again to Martin, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," said Martin, "it's not the least use speaking to her. She +has wakened all the others, of course—first with that nasty creature +and then with her screaming."</p> + +<p>"What nasty creature? For goodness' sake explain yourself, Martin."</p> + +<p>"The cock, ma'am—the bantam cock," replied Martin, seeming quite +astonished that Mrs. Caryll did not know all about it by instinct. "Miss +Hoodie fetched it in in her basket, unbeknown to me, last night, and had +it hidden under her bed. The creature was quite quiet all night, as is +its nature, I suppose, and very likely frightened and not knowing where +it was. But this morning all of a sudden it started the most awful +screeching; it really sounded much worse than common crowing, or else it +was hearing it half in one's sleep like. I thought, to be sure, one of +those dear boys had got some awful fit. And to think it was nothing but +Miss Hoodie's naughtiness—real mischievous naughtiness." Martin +stopped, quite out of breath, and Hoodie's roars increased in violence.</p> + +<p>"Had she really no reason for it but mischief?" said Miss King.</p> + +<p>Martin hesitated.</p> + +<p>"She did begin some nonsense, ma'am, about having brought it in to lay +an egg, or something like that."</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," said Magdalen, "can't you leave off screaming and tell us +about it?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hoodie, stopping at once and with perfect ease, "I can't +leave off sc'eaming, and I won't. But I'll tell zou, 'cos it was for +zou. I brought the little cock in to lay a egg for zour breakfast, 'cos +zou said zou likened zem kite fresh, and now Martin's spoilt it all. Of +course it c'owed to tell me it was going to lay the egg, and now it +won't. It's all spoilt, and I <i>must</i> sc'eam."</p> + +<p>True to her determination she set to work again and roared so that it +was almost impossible to hear one's voice.</p> + +<p>"What <i>shall</i> we do with her?" said her mother.</p> + +<p>"May I take her to my room?" said Cousin Magdalen. "It is farther away +from the other children, so she can't disturb them even if she screams +all day."</p> + +<p>Hoodie stopped again as suddenly as before.</p> + +<p>"I won't go to zour room," she said. "I don't like zou now—not one +bit."</p> + +<p>Magdalen glanced at Mrs. Caryll.</p> + +<p>"May I take my own way with her!" her glance seemed to say. Mrs. Caryll +nodded her head, and notwithstanding Martin's whispered warning, "Oh, +Miss King, you don't <i>know</i> what a work you'll have with her," Magdalen +turned to Hoodie, and before the child in the least understood what she +was about, she had picked her up in her strong young arms and was half +way down the passage before Hoodie's surprise had given her breath to +begin her roars again.</p> + +<p>She was opening her mouth to do so, when her cousin stopped for a +moment.</p> + +<p>"Now, Hoodie," she said, "<i>listen</i>. It was kind of you to want to get me +a quite fresh egg for my breakfast, but it isn't kind of you at all to +make that disagreeable noise, and to kick and fight so because I want to +take you to my room."</p> + +<p>"I don't care," said Hoodie, "I don't like zou, and I will cry if I +like. I don't like any people."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry to find you are so silly," said Cousin Magdalen. "If +you were older and understood better you would not talk like that."</p> + +<p>"I would if I liked," persisted Hoodie. "Big peoples can do whatever zey +likes, and if I was big I could too."</p> + +<p>"Big people <i>can't</i> do whatever they like," said Miss King, "and nice +big people never like to do things that other people don't like too."</p> + +<p>"Don't zey?" said Hoodie, meditatively. By this time they were safely +shut into Miss King's room and Hoodie was plumped down into the middle +of her cousin's bed—"Don't zey? Zen I don't want to be a nice big +people. I want to be the kind that does whatever zey likes zerselves."</p> + +<p>Miss King gave a slight sigh—half of amusement, half of despair. She +was beginning to understand that Hoodie's reformation was indeed no easy +matter.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. You had better go on screaming if you like it so +much," she said, sitting down on the side of the bed and wondering to +herself what would become of the world, if all the children in it were +as tiresome to manage as Hoodie. In at the window the daylight was +creeping timidly; all kinds of pretty colours were to be seen in the +sky, and the birds were beginning their cheerful chatter. Still it was +very early, and poor cousin Magdalen was sleepy. Was there <i>anything</i> +that could make Hoodie go to sleep for an hour or two?</p> + +<p>"The little birds in the nests are kind to each other. They don't wake +each other up in the night and scream so that there is no peace. I +wonder why children can't be good too," she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm <i>not</i> sc'eaming," said Hoodie indignantly. "I've stoppened."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it. But if I get into bed and lie down and try to go +to sleep, perhaps you'll begin again, as you don't care for what other +people like."</p> + +<p>Hoodie was silent for a minute.</p> + +<p>"Does you want to go to sleep?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Magdalen. "I'm very tired."</p> + +<p>"Zen I won't sc'eam."</p> + +<p>Her cousin felt inclined to clap her hands, but wisely forbore.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said quietly, as she lay down.</p> + +<p>Hoodie wriggled.</p> + +<p>"No, zou isn't to say zank zou," she said. "I don't like zou. I don't +like any people, 'cos they stopped my getting zat nice fresh egg. I +won't get zou eggs no more. I don't like zou."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said her cousin.</p> + +<p>Some minutes' quiet followed. Then Hoodie's voice again.</p> + +<p>"When will zou tell us that story?" she inquired coolly.</p> + +<p>"What story?"</p> + +<p>"Zat story about oldwashion fairies, or some'sing like zat."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I said I'd try to think of a story for you," said Miss King, +sleepily. "Well, I won't forget."</p> + +<p>"Zou must get it ready quick," said Hoodie. "Zou must tell it me, zou +know, 'cos I've been so good about not sc'eaming."</p> + +<p>"But not now. You don't want me to tell you stories <i>now</i>," said her +cousin in alarm.</p> + +<p>"No, zou may go to sleep now," replied Hoodie, condescendingly, adding +after a moment's pause, "<i>I</i> can tell stories, lovely stories."</p> + +<p>"Can you? well, you had better think of one, and have it all ready," +said Magdalen in fresh alarm.</p> + +<p>"Mine's is always zeady, but zou may go to sleep now," was the reply, to +her great relief, the truth being that Hoodie herself was as sleepy as +she could be, for in two minutes her soft even breathing told that for a +while her fidgety little spirit was at rest.</p> + +<p>Magdalen lay awake some time longer. In a half-dreamy way she was +thinking over in her own mind the old fairy tales she had loved as a +little girl—with them there mingled in her fancy the scenes and +memories of her own childhood. She was glad to find Hoodie so eager for +stories, it might be one way of winning the strange-tempered little +creature's confidence, and she tried to call to mind some of the tales +most likely to interest her. And somehow, "between sleeping and waking," +there came back to her mind the shadow of a fanciful little story she +had either read or heard or imagined long ago, and as she fell asleep +she said to herself, "Yes, that will do. I will tell them the story of +'The Chintz Curtains.'"</p> + +<p>When Magdalen awoke again that morning it was, as might have been +expected, a good deal later than usual. Hoodie was still sleeping +soundly. Magdalen got up and dressed quietly. She was nearly quite ready +when Hoodie awoke. A little movement in the bed caught Miss King's +notice: she turned round. There was Hoodie, staring at her with +wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, Hoodie," she said, "how are you this morning?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie did not reply, but continued staring, so her cousin went on +fastening up her hair. In a minute or two there came a remark, or +question rather.</p> + +<p>"Has zou had a nice sleep?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill07" id="ill07"></a> +<img src="images/ill07.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Has zou had a nice sleep?"</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Yes, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Has zou thinkened of a story?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Magdalen. "I almost think I have."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> has too," said Hoodie, with a queer twinkle in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Have you," said her cousin, "that's very clever of you."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the little girl, "zou didn't know Hoodie was so c'ever, +did zou?"</p> + +<p>"You'd better tell me the story first, and then I'll say what I think of +it," said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Now?" inquired Hoodie, "sall I tell it now? It isn't a long one."</p> + +<p>"If you like," replied Magdalen, "you can tell it me while I finish +doing my hair."</p> + +<p>"Well," began Hoodie, solemnly, "just a long time ago—oh no, that's a +mistake, it should be just '<i>onst</i>—'"</p> + +<p>"Or 'once,'" corrected her cousin, "'once' is a proper word, and 'onst' +isn't."</p> + +<p>"I don't care," said Hoodie, frowning. "I like to say 'onst.' If zou +don't zink my words pretty you'll make one come, and if one comes I +can't tell you stories."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Magdalen, remembering Maudie's explanation of the +mysterious phrase, "very well. I won't interrupt you. You may say any +words you like."</p> + +<p>"Well then," began Hoodie again. "<i>Onst</i> there was a little girl. She +was called—no, I won't tell zou what she was called—she had a papa and +mamma and bruvvers and a sister, but zey didn't like her much."</p> + +<p>She stopped.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Magdalen, finding she was expected to say something, +"that was very sad."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "vezy sad."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't they like her?"</p> + +<p>"'Cos zey thoughtened she was naughty. Zey was alvays saying she was +naughty."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she was," said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Nebber mind," said Hoodie, "I want to go on. One day a lady comed what +wasn't <i>hern</i> godmozer, so she didn't like her, and she toldened her she +was ugly. But zen—oh zen she founded out that she wasn't ugly but she +was pretty, vezy, vezy pretty—oh, she was so nice, and the little girl +liked her vezy much—wasn't zat a nice story?"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful," said Miss King. "All except the part about her papa and +mamma and sister and brothers not liking her. I don't like that part."</p> + +<p>"Nebber mind," replied Hoodie again. "Nebber mind about zat part zen. +Doesn't zou like about the lady? Can zou guess who it was?"</p> + +<p>"Let me see," said Magdalen, solemnly. "I must think. A lady came that +wasn't <i>her</i> godmother—dear me, who could it be?"</p> + +<p>"It was zou; it was zou," cried Hoodie, jumping up in bed and rushing at +her cousin. "And the little girl was Hoodie, 'cos I do like zou now. I +do, I do, and I'll be vezy good all day, to please you."</p> + +<p>"That's my dear little girl," said Cousin Magdalen, really gratified. +"But won't you try to be good to please your papa and mamma too—and +most of all, Hoodie dear, to please God."</p> + +<p>She lowered her voice a little, and Hoodie looked at her gravely.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said. "I couldn't try such a long time and zey +<i>alvays</i> says I'm naughty. No, I'll just please zou; nobody else, and if +zou aren't pleased, I'll sc'eam. I can sc'eam in a minute."</p> + +<p>Magdalen grew alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Please don't," she said. "I'll be very pleased if you don't. And when +you see how nice it is to please me, perhaps you'll go on trying to +please everybody."</p> + +<p>Hoodie shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Zey <i>alvays</i> says I'm naughty," she repeated.</p> + +<p>Just then there came a knock at the door, and Martin put her head in.</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Hoodie awake yet, ma'am?" she inquired. "And I do hope she's +let you have some sleep?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes indeed, thank you, Martin," said Miss King, cheerfully. "We +have got on <i>very</i> well, haven't we, Hoodie? And I think you are going +to have a very good little girl in the nursery to-day."</p> + +<p>"I hope so, I'm sure, ma'am," said Martin, rather dolefully. Her tone +did not sound as if her hopes were very high, and Hoodie's next remark +did not make them higher.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I is going to be good—vezy, vezy good, <i>too</i> good. +But it isn't to please zou, Martin. It's all to please <i>her</i>," pointing +to Miss King, "and not zou, one bit. 'Cos I like her; she didn't scold +me about the cock—she zanked me, and she's going to tell me a story."</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," said Magdalen gravely, "I don't call it beginning to be good +to tell Martin you don't care to please her one bit."</p> + +<p>"Can't please ev'ybody," said Hoodie, with a toss of her shaggy head; +"takes such a long time."</p> + +<p>"But speaking that way to Martin doesn't please <i>me</i>," persisted +Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Very well zen, I won't," said Hoodie, with unusual amiability. "I'll +give Martin a kiss if you like. Only you must have the story ready the +minute moment Maudie's done her letsons—will zou?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Magdalen, "it'll be quite ready."</p> + +<p>So Hoodie went off triumphantly in Martin's arms, things looking so +promising that by the time they reached the nursery, the two were the +best of friends.</p> + +<p>And, "what a nice little young lady you might be, Miss Hoodie," said +Martin, encouragingly, "if you was always good."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Magdalen was ready for the children as she had promised. It was such a +mild beautiful day, though only April, that she got leave to take them +out-of-doors for the story-telling, and in a favourite corner, sunny yet +sheltered, they settled their little camp-stools in a circle round her +and prepared to listen.</p> + +<p>"Only," said wise Maudie, "if Hec and Duke get very tired they may run +about a little, mayn't they, Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"If even they get a <i>little</i> tired they may run about," said her +godmother. "But I don't think they will. It is a sort of nonsense story, +not clever enough to tire any of you."</p> + +<p>"What's it called, please?" said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure that it has a name," said Magdalen, "but if you'd rather +it had one, we'll call it 'The Chintz Curtains.'"</p> + +<p>"Please begin then, and say it in very little words for Hec and Duke to +understand, won't you?"</p> + +<p>Magdalen nodded her head, and began.</p> + +<p>"Once," she said, "once there was a little girl."</p> + +<p>"That's how my story began," said Hoodie, with the funny twinkle in her +eyes again.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, <i>don't</i> interrumpt," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"Well," Magdalen went on, "this little girl had no brothers or sisters, +and though her father and mother were very kind to her she was sometimes +rather lonely. And she often wished for other children to play with her. +It happened one winter that she got ill—I am not sure what the illness +was—measles, or something like that, it wasn't anything very, very bad, +but still she was ill enough to be several days quite in bed, and +several more partly in bed, and even after that a good many more before +she could get up early to breakfast as usual, and do her lessons and run +about in the garden, and play like <i>well</i> children. She didn't much mind +being ill, not as much as you would, I don't think. For, you see, except +just for the few days that she felt weak and giddy and really ill, +staying in bed didn't seem to make very much difference to her, indeed +in some ways it was rather nicer. She had lots of storybooks to +read—several of her friends sent her presents of new ones—and +certainly more dainty things to eat than when she was well—"</p> + +<p>"Delly?" said Hec. "Duke and me had delly when we was ill."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Maudie, "last winter Hec and Duke had the <i>independent</i> +fever, and they had to have jelly and beef-tea and things like that to +make them strong again."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Magdalen, "that was why Lena—I forgot to tell you that that +was the little girl's name—that was why they gave all those nice things +to little Lena. But the worst of it was she didn't like them nearly as +much as when she was well, and she often wished they would give her just +common things, bread and butter and rice-pudding, you know, when she was +ill, and keep all the very nice things for a treat when she was well and +could enjoy them. She was getting well, of course; by the time it comes +to thinking about what you have to eat, children generally are getting +well; but she was rather slow about it, and even when she was up and +about again as usual, she didn't <i>feel</i> or look a bit like usual. She +was thin and white, and whatever she did tired her. Something queer +seemed to have come over all her dolls and toys; they had all grown +stupid in some tiresome way, and when she tried to sew, which she was +generally rather clever at, all her fingers seemed to have turned into +thumbs."</p> + +<p>"How dedful," said Hoodie, stretching out her two chubby hands and +gravely gazing at them. "All zumbs wouldn't look pretty at all. I hope +mine won't never be like that if I get ill."</p> + +<p>"My dear Hoodie," said Magdalen, as soon as she could speak for +laughing. "I didn't mean it that way. Not <i>really</i>. I just meant that +her fingers had got clumsy, you know, with her being weak and ill. It is +just a way of speaking."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hoodie, rather mystified still, "I'm glad them wasn't +<i>zeally</i> all zumbs."</p> + +<p>"Only, Hoodie, I <i>do</i> wish"—began Maudie, but Magdalen went on before +she had time to finish her sentence.</p> + +<p>"And as the days went on and she didn't seem to be getting back to be +like herself, her mother grew rather anxious about her.</p> + +<p>"'We must do something about Lena,' she said to her father, 'she is not +getting strong again. The doctor says she should have a change of air, +but I don't see how to manage it. I cannot leave home while my mother is +so ill,'—for Lena's grandmother lived with them and was rather an old +and delicate lady—'and you, of course, cannot.'</p> + +<p>"Lena's father was always very busy. It was seldom he could leave home, +not very often, indeed, that he had time to see much of his little girl, +even at home. But he was very fond of her, and anxious to do everything +for her good. So he and her mother talked it well over together, and at +last they thought of a good plan, and when it was all settled her mother +told Lena about it.</p> + +<p>"She called her to her one day when the little girl was sitting rather +sadly trying to amuse herself with her dolls. But her head ached, and +all her ideas seemed to have gone out of her mind. She could not think +of any new plays for them, and she began to fancy their faces looked +stupid.</p> + +<p>"'I almost think I'm getting too big for dolls,' she was saying to +herself, when she heard her mother's voice calling her. And she slowly +got down from her chair and went up-stairs to the drawing-room, where +her mother was sitting writing.</p> + +<p>"'Are you very tired, dear?' she said kindly.</p> + +<p>"'Yes, mamma, I think so,' said Lena, as if she didn't much care whether +she was tired or not.</p> + +<p>"'You seem often tired now, my poor little girl,' said her mother. 'I +think it is that you have not got properly strong since you were ill. +The doctor says a change of air would be the best thing for you, but +just now neither your father nor I can leave home. Would you mind very +much going away for a little without us?'</p> + +<p>"'Would it be very far, mamma?' said Lena. She liked the idea of going +away, she had not often left home, and she had a great fancy for +travelling, but still you can understand to go quite away without either +her father or mother seemed rather lonely."</p> + +<p>"Hadn't she a nice nurse?" asked Maudie.</p> + +<p>"No, she hadn't a nurse quite all for herself. She was the only child, +you know, and her father and mother were not very rich people, so the +maid who waited on her had other work to do too. Her mother went on to +explain to her that it was not to any very far-away place they thought +of her going. It was to a pretty little sheltered village near the sea, +where in an old-fashioned farmhouse there lived a very kind old woman +who had been her mother's nurse long before Lena was born. Lena had seen +her two or three times and liked her very much, and Mrs. Denny, that was +the old nurse's name, had often told her about her pretty home where she +lived with her son, who had never married, and for many years had taken +care of this farm for the gentleman it belonged to. Mrs. Denny had +promised Lena that if she came to see her she should have as much new +milk as she could drink, and plenty of quite fresh eggs, and all sorts +of nice country things. She had also promised her a particular bedroom +all to herself—and Lena had forgotten none of these things, so that +when her mother told her that it was to Rockrose Farm they were thinking +of sending her, Lena, in her quiet way, felt quite pleased. She was not +a little girl that made a fuss about things—she had lived too much +alone to be anything but quiet—and just now she felt too tired to seem +very eager. But her mother was pleased to see the bright look that came +into her eyes, and to hear the cheerful sound in her voice when she +replied, 'Oh, if it is to Mrs. Denny's, mamma, I should like to go +<i>very</i> much. And I wonder if she will let me sleep in the room where the +bed has such beautiful chintz curtains, all covered with pictures, +mamma?'</p> + +<p>"Her mother smiled.</p> + +<p>"'I daresay she will, dear,' she said. 'I'm just writing to nurse now, +and if you like I'll ask her to be sure to let you have the +bedroom—with——'"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>"THE CHINTZ CURTAINS."</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O lovely land of fairies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are so bright and fair."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"The chintz curtains."</p> + +<p>Cousin Magdalen stopped for a minute.</p> + +<p>"Are you getting tired, dears, any of you?" she said.</p> + +<p>All the four heads were shaken at once.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"In course not," said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>And "It's a vezy pretty story," said Hec; while Duke faintly echoed, +"Vezy pretty."</p> + +<p>So Magdalen, thus encouraged, went on.</p> + +<p>"You begin to understand now why I said you might call the story 'the +chintz curtains,'" she said. "We're now got like to the real beginning. +At least I needn't explain any more about Lena—you must just fancy her +arriving one afternoon at Rockrose Farm. It was a nice bright afternoon, +though the winter was scarcely over, and little Lena already began to +feel stronger and better when she ran out into the garden at one side of +the house for a breath of fresh air after the long drive from the +railway. Her father had brought her to the station, and there Mrs. Denny +had met her, so that he might go straight back by the next train without +losing any time.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, how nice it is,' she said to Mrs. Denny, as she stood in the +middle of the little grass-plot beside the old sun-dial, and felt the +sweet fresh air blowing softly over her face. 'How pretty the garden +must be in summer.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, my dear,' said Mrs. Denny. 'The flowers are very sweet. It seems +to me there never were such sweet ones. And do you hear that sort of +soft roar, Miss Lena? Do you know what that is?"</p> + +<p>"Lena stood quite still to listen, and a pleased look came over her +face.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' she said, 'I believe it is the sea. It is like far-away organs, +isn't it?'</p> + +<p>"'And sometimes in stormy weather it is like great cannons booming,' +said Mrs. Denny.</p> + +<p>"But just then it was difficult to think of storms or cannons, or +anything so unpeaceful. Nothing could seem more perfectly calm and at +rest than that dear old garden the first time Lena ever saw it. I don't +think anything (any place perhaps I should say) can be more delicious +than a little nest of a place like Rockrose, sheltered from the high +winds by beautiful old trees, and yet open enough for the sea breezes to +creep and flutter about it, and sometimes even to give what Lena called +'a salty taste' to the air, if you stood with your mouth open and got a +good drink of it. But I mustn't go on talking so much about the outside +of the house, or I never shall get to the inside, shall I?</p> + +<p>"Well, after Lena had admired the garden, and promised herself many nice +runs in it, Mrs. Denny took her into the house again. They passed +through the kitchen, which had a little parlour out of it, where already +tea was set out—it was such a delicious old kitchen, the paved floor as +white and clean as constant scrubbing could make it, and the old +cupboards and settles of dark wood shining like mirrors—they passed +through the kitchen and across a little stone hall with whitewashed +walls, out of which opened the best parlour, only used on very grand +occasions, and up two flights of stone steps ending in a wide short +passage running right across the house. At one end of this passage Mrs. +Denny opened a door, which led into a sort of little ante-room, and here +another rather low door being opened, Lena followed Mrs. Denny into the +bedroom which was to be hers. It was not a very little room—there were +two windows, one at each side—one of them looked out on to the garden, +the other had a lovely view far away over the downs, to where one knew +the sea <i>was</i>, though one could not see it. But fond as Lena was of +pretty views, she did not run to the window to look out. She stood still +for a moment and then ran forward eagerly to the end of the room, where +the bed was placed, crying out with delight,</p> + +<p>"'Oh, that's the bed—that's the very bed you told me about, dear Mrs. +Denny—the bed I did so want to sleep in. Thank you so much for +remembering about it. Oh, how <i>beautiful</i> it is—I shouldn't mind being +ill if I was in that bed.'</p> + +<p>"It really was a rather wonderful bed. It was a regular four-poster, if +you know what that is—a bed with wooden posts at each corner, and +curtains running all round, so that once you were inside it, you could +if you liked draw them so close that it was like being in a tent."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Maudie, "I've seen beds like that. But I don't think +Hoodie and the boys have—let me see; oh yes, I can tell them what it's +like. It's like the bed in our <i>best</i> doll-house—the one with pink +curtains trimmed with white. You know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "the one where Miss Victoria has been so ill in, +since she's got too ugly to sit in the drawing-room. I know."</p> + +<p>"But it's such a weeny bed," said Hec, "was zour little girl no bigger +than zat little dolly, Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Of course</i>," said Maudie, hastily. "How stupid you are, Hec."</p> + +<p>"Maudie," said her godmother, and Maudie got very red. "Maudie meant it +was the same <i>shape</i> as that, but much bigger, Hec dear. Just the same +as the piano in the study is the same shape as the one in the +doll-house, only much bigger."</p> + +<p>"Oh zes," said Hec.</p> + +<p>"A great deal bigger than any of the beds people have now," continued +Magdalen. "It was really big enough to have held six little Lenas +instead of one. But it was the curtains that made it so particularly +wonderful. They were very old, but the colours were still quite bright, +they had been washed so carefully. And the pattern was something I +really could not describe if I tried—it was the most delicious muddle +of flowers, and trailing leaves and birds, and here and there a sort of +little basket-work pattern that looked like a summer-house or the +entrance to a grotto.</p> + +<p>"Lena stood feasting her eyes upon these marvellous curtains.</p> + +<p>"'I never did see anything so nice,' she said. 'Can I see the pictures +when I'm <i>in</i> the bed, Mrs. Denny?'</p> + +<p>"'Oh yes, my dear, they're double—the same inside as out,' said Mrs. +Denny, turning them as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"'How nice!' said Lena; 'well, if I'm late for breakfast, Mrs. Denny, +you'll know that it'll be with looking at the curtains.'</p> + +<p>"'I'm not afraid but that you'll sleep well in this bed, Miss Lena,' +said the old nurse. 'There's something very lucky about it. Many a one +has told me they never had such sweet sleep or such pretty dreams as in +our old bed. It's maybe that the room is a very pleasant one, never +either too hot or too cold, and there's a beautiful scent of lavender, +Miss Lena, all through the bed, as you'll find.'</p> + +<p>"Lena poked her little nose into the pillows on the spot.</p> + +<p>"'Oh yes,' she said, 'it's <i>beautiful</i>.'</p> + +<p>"'But you must be, or any way you should be, hungry, my dear,' said +nurse. 'And tea's all ready. Come away down-stairs, and then you must go +to bed early, you know. I must take great care of you, so that you'll +look quite a different little girl when you go home again.'</p> + +<p>"Lena did justice to the tea, I assure you. She thought she had never +enjoyed anything so much before as the nice things Mrs. Denny had got +ready for her. And after tea there was her little box to unpack, and her +things to arrange neatly in the old-fashioned bureau and on the shelves +of the large light closet, opening out of the room. And by the time all +this was done Lena began to feel both sleepy and tired, and was not at +all sorry when Mrs. Denny told her that she thought it was quite time +for her to go to bed.</p> + +<p>"And oh how very comfortable she felt when she was fairly settled in the +dear old bed! It was <i>so</i> snug—just soft enough, but not too soft—not +the kind of suffocatingly soft feather-bed in which you get down into a +hole and never get out of it all night. It was springy as well as soft, +and though the linen was not perhaps so fine as what Lena was accustomed +to at home, it was real homespun for all that—and through everything +there was the delicious wild thymy sort of scent of lavender which Mrs. +Denny had promised her. Lena went to sleep really burrowing her nose, +which was rather a snub one to begin with unfortunately, into the +pillow, and the last words she thought to herself were, 'I could really +fancy myself in a sort of fairy-land. And oh how nice it will be in the +morning to lie awake and look at those lovely curtains.'</p> + +<p>"There was not so very much lying awake however the first morning as she +had expected. It was so late when she awoke that the sun was quite a +good way up in the sky, and Mrs. Denny was standing by the bed smiling +at her little visitor, and wondering if she would have to make fresh +bread and milk for her, as the bowlful that was ready would be quite +spoilt with waiting so long. Up jumped Lena.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, dear Mrs. Denny,' she said, 'I have had such a beautiful, lovely +sleep. And you don't know what funny dreams I had. I dreamt that there +were fairies hidden in all the little crinks of the curtains, and I +heard them talking about me and telling each other that it was the first +time I had slept there, and they wondered if I was a good little girl. +And then I thought I heard one say "if she is good we can please her +well." <i>Wasn't</i> it funny, Mrs. Denny?'</p> + +<p>"'Very funny,' said Mrs. Denny, smiling. 'But you know, Miss Lena, I +told you you'd have beautiful sleeps and dreams here, didn't I?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' said Lena, 'and I'm <i>so</i> hungry, you don't know how hungry I +am.'</p> + +<p>"So she jumped up and washed and dressed and said her prayers, and came +down to the kitchen as fresh and bright as a little girl could look. And +Farmer Denny declared, if the roses in the gardens had been in bloom, he +could have thought she had been stealing some for her cheeks—for +already there was certainly more colour in them than when she had +arrived. So the time passed very happily, and Lena did not feel the +least dull either by day or by night.</p> + +<p>"It had not been the time of the full moon when she first came, but a +few days later it happened to be so, and as the weather was beautifully +fine just then there were almost no clouds in the sky, and the moon had +it all her own pretty way. One night Lena woke up suddenly—it seemed to +her that she had been asleep a long, long time, and she didn't feel the +least heavy or confused, but quite fresh and brisk as if she had had all +the sleep she needed. And the shining moonlight came pouring in at the +windows in a sort of wide band of light falling right across the bed and +showing out most beautifully the colours and patterns on the +old-fashioned curtains. They looked even brighter than by daylight, and +as Lena lay and looked at them, she saw wonderful new pictures that she +had never noticed before—the sort of pathway between the green branches +and foliage that seemed to lead up to one of the little bowers or +grottos grew more distinct, and as Lena tried to trace it out with her +eyes, she suddenly saw a little figure moving along the path she was +looking at. She rubbed her eyes and looked again—the figure had +disappeared, but instead she saw clearly in the moonlight two +butterflies flitting about the same path, darting first backwards, then +forwards, as if inviting her to follow them.</p> + +<p>"'If only I were a fly and could walk straight up a wall,' thought Lena, +'I'd really step up that curtain and see if I couldn't make my way into +that grotto,' and then she laughed to herself at the fancy—'as if any +one <i>could</i> walk into a picture!' she said.</p> + +<p>"And then it seemed to her that the butterflies melted into the +leaves—and there was no movement at all on the curtains.</p> + +<p>"'It must have been the trembling of the moonlight that made me fancy +it,' Lena said to herself. And the next morning when she awoke she stood +up on tiptoe to examine the particular spot where she had seen these +curious things. It looked just the same as the other parts of the +curtains—only half hidden among the bushy leaves near the rustic +doorway that Lena called the arbour, she found out a queer brown little +face that she had not seen before. It seemed to her to peep out at her +suddenly, and she fancied that it was the face of the figure she had +watched moving along the path in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"'How funny that I never noticed it before,' she said, for when she +looked at the same place on the pattern in other parts of the curtains +she noticed the same queer little brown face, just like a monkey peeping +from among the branches.</p> + +<p>"She was so surprised that she thought she would ask Mrs. Denny if <i>she</i> +had ever noticed 'the monkeys,' but somehow it went quite out of her +head. It was not till the next night that she remembered anything more +about them.</p> + +<p>"For the next night, strange to say, she wakened again in the same +sudden way. And again the moonlight was shining right on the curtains, +and this time Lena felt more sure than the night before, that something +was moving about among the leaves and flowers and branches that seemed +to stand out so brightly.</p> + +<p>"'Oh dear,' she thought to herself, 'I <i>do</i> wish I could creep up quite +quietly and see if it is one of those monkeys that has got loose. Oh +please, Mr. Monkey, if you are a fairy, <i>do</i> come down and fetch me,' +she added, laughing.</p> + +<p>"But her laughter stopped suddenly. Almost as she said the words the +most curious sound reached her ears—at first it seemed like the buzzing +of lots and lots of flies, bluebottles, midges, bees, cockchafers—every +sort of creature of the kind, so that Lena started up in a fright. But +no—no flies of any sort were to be seen, but nearer and nearer, louder +and louder came the sound, till at last it grew into a sort of chant, as +if a great number of little feet were stepping along together, and a +great number of little buzzing voices singing in time to them. And +glancing up at the curtains Lena plainly saw a whole quantity of tiny +brown figures stepping—you couldn't call it sliding, they moved too +regularly—downwards in the direction of her face. And if she had looked +closer, she would have seen that every place in the pattern where the +wee brown faces peeped out was empty! The monkeys had come to fetch her! +Where to?</p> + +<p>"That I must try to tell you—but as to how she got there, that is a +different matter. She never knew it herself, so how could any one else +know it? All I can tell you is this—she found herself standing in +front of a little house—a pretty little house, something like the +carved Swiss cottages that your mamma has in the library—there was a +garden all round it, thick trees and bushes at the sides, and as Lena +suddenly, as it were, seemed to awake to find herself there, she heard +at the same moment a sort of scuttling all about her, just as if a lot +of hares or rabbits had taken flight. And when she quickly turned round +to look, she saw disappearing among the shrubs ever so +many—<i>quantities</i> of pairs of little brown legs and feet—the bodies +and heads belonging to them being already hidden in the green.</p> + +<p>"'It must be the monkeys,' thought Lena, and as this came into her mind +it struck her too that this place where she found herself was the very +place where she had wished to be. Till this moment she had somehow +forgotten about it, but now she looked about her with great +interest—yes—this cottage must be the very place she had called an +arbour, for the fence in front of it was of rustic work like dried +branches twisted together, and there at the side was one of the trees +with the thick leaves where the monkey's face had peeped out—and at the +other side were the plants with the big bobbing red flowers, and the +other ones with the hanging yellow lilies—all the things she had +noticed so often. Lena had really got her wish. She was <i>in</i> the chintz +curtains. Only there were no birds, no butterflies, nothing moving at +all—no monkeys' faces peeping at her from among the leaves. Everything +was perfectly still.</p> + +<p>"'What shall I do?' thought Lena. 'Shall I go into the house and look +about me? I wonder if it would be rude.'</p> + +<p>"It didn't seem so, for the door was left open—wide open, as if on +purpose; so, after knocking once or twice and no one coming, Lena walked +in. Such a pretty, but such a queer little house it was. It was more +like a nest than a house. There was a little kitchen with cupboards all +round, with open lattice-work doors through which you could see what was +in them. They were filled with all sorts of queer provisions, nuts, +acorns, apples of different kinds, and some fruits that Lena had never +seen before. Then in the parlour the carpet was the prettiest you could +imagine. Lena could not think what it was till she stooped down and felt +it with her hands, and then she found it was moss, real live growing +moss, so bright and green, and so soft and springy. And the sofa and +chairs were all made of growing plants, twisted and trained so that the +roots made the seat and the branches the back. Each was different. Lena +sat down in one or two, and could not tell which was the most +comfortable, they were all so nice, and so pretty. For each was +ornamented with a different flower that seemed to grow in a wreath on +purpose round the back and down the arms. There was no fireplace in the +room, but there were some nice furry-looking rugs lying about, and when +Lena looked at them closely she saw they were made of moss too—moss of +a different kind, browner than the other, plaited together in some +wonderful way with the soft flowery tufts kept outside. Lena lay down on +the sofa and covered herself up with one of these rugs.</p> + +<p>"'How comfortable it is! What an awfully nice little house this is!' she +said to herself. 'But how I do wish some one would come to speak to me. +It feels rather like Silverhair in the Three Bears. Mr. Monkey, if this +is your house, please come and speak to me.'</p> + +<p>"No sooner had she said this than there stood before her a wee brown +figure—brown all over, face, hands, feet and all—only his eyes, which +sparkled brightly like beads, were black. He was dressed in a short +scarlet jacket, and on his head was a scarlet cap with a long, very long +tassel. He took off the cap and bowed low—very low at Lena's feet—the +top of his head when he stood upright reached about to her knees, and he +bowed so low that his nose nearly touched her toes. Lena felt rather +uncomfortable—she was not used to such very great respect, and she felt +a little startled to think that she had called out to the little man, as +'Mr. Monkey.' No doubt he was rather like a monkey, but still—</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill08" id="ill08"></a> +<img src="images/ill08.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"He took off the cap and bowed low."</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"She stood to think of something nice and civil to say, but she could +not, try as she might, think of anything better than 'Thank you, sir.'</p> + +<p>"It did quite well—the little man seemed quite pleased, for he bowed +again as low as before, and in a clear silvery voice like a little bell +he spoke to Lena.</p> + +<p>"'What are your biddings, little lady?'"</p> + +<p>"'Oh,' said Lena, 'I do so want to see all this funny place. It was very +kind of you to bring me up here, but I would like to see it all. May I +walk all about your garden, Mr. Mon—oh, I beg your pardon,' she added +in a hurry.</p> + +<p>"'Never mind,' said the little man. 'One name is as good as another. My +brothers and I have been watching you, and we wish you well. If you will +come with me I will show you all I can.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, thank you,' said Lena, jumping up in a moment.</p> + +<p>"The little man walked out of his house, and standing in front of it he +gave a long shrill whistle. Immediately from every direction whole +quantities of other little brown men appeared—they seemed to tumble out +of every branch of the trees, to peep up out of the ground almost at +Lena's feet—till at last she felt like Gulliver among the Lilliputians.</p> + +<p>"'Fetch the carpet,' said the first little man, who seemed a sort of +commander, and before Lena had time to see where it came from a +beautifully bright blue sheet was stretched out before her, held all +round by the dozens and dozens of little brown men, as if they were +going to shake it.</p> + +<p>"'Step on to it, little lady,' said her friend.</p> + +<p>"Lena did so, and no sooner had her feet touched it than she felt it +rise, rise up into the air, up up, till she wondered where she was going +to. Then suddenly, as suddenly as it had begun to move, it stopped.</p> + +<p>"'Where are we?' she said, just then noticing for the first time that +her own particular little brown man was sitting at her feet.</p> + +<p>"'At the top,' said the little man; 'it would have taken you a long time +to climb up here, and we did not want to tire you. Now you shall see our +gardens.'</p> + +<p>"He jumped off the carpet, and Lena followed him. All the other little +men had disappeared, but she hardly noticed it, she was so delighted +with what she saw. Before her were beautiful flower paths—paths edged +with tall growing flowers of every colour indeed, for they never stayed +the same for half a moment, but kept changing like rainbows—melting +from one shade into another in the loveliest way, like the coloured +lights at the pantomime.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, how lovely!' said Lena. 'May I gather some, please?'</p> + +<p>"The little man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"'You cannot,' he said, walking on before her.</p> + +<p>"After a while he turned down another path.</p> + +<p>"'These are our birds,' he said; and Lena, glancing more closely at what +she had thought were still flowers, saw that they were trees with +numberless branches, on each of which sat or perched a bird. They were a +contrast to the many-coloured flowers, for each bird was of one colour +only, and all the birds on each tree were the same. There was a tree +perfectly covered with pure white ones, another with all red, a third +all blue, and so on. And the birds swayed gently backwards and forwards +on the branches, in time; though there was no sound, it seemed to Lena +like hearing beautiful music. And somehow she did not feel inclined to +speak or to ask any questions. She just quietly followed the little man, +feeling happier and more pleased than she had ever felt in her life. +And soon there came another change. Looking up, Lena saw that all the +birds and flowers were left behind, and she was walking through a sort +of thicket of leafless bushes. She wondered why they were so bare, when +everything else in the brownies' country was so rich and bright.</p> + +<p>"'These are our orchards,' said her guide. 'But we keep the fruit packed +up till it is wanted. It keeps it fresher. See now!' As he spoke he +touched a bush.</p> + +<p>"'Grow,' he said, and in an instant there came a sort of flutter over +the tree, and then at once there sprouted out all over the branches the +most tempting-looking clusters of fruit. They were something like +beautiful purple grapes, but richer and more luscious-looking than any +grapes Lena had ever seen. And while she was admiring them the little +man touched another, and instantly oranges, golden and gleaming like no +oranges she had ever seen before, glistened out all over the branches. +And the little man stepped on in front, touching the trees as he went, +till the whole path was a perfect glow of fruits of every colour and +shape. So beautiful were they to look at, that Lena somehow felt no wish +to eat them.</p> + +<p>"On went the brownie, touching as he went, till suddenly the path came +to an end, and Lena saw in front of her a high wall of bright green +grass, with steps cut in it.</p> + +<p>"'Up here,' said her little friend, 'are our fish-ponds. Would you like +to see them?'</p> + +<p>"Lena nodded her head. She was getting quite used to wonderful things, +but the more she saw the more she wanted to see. She followed the little +man up the steps, and when she got to the top she stood silent with +surprise and delight. Of all the pretty wonders he had shown her, what +she now saw was the prettiest. Six tiny lakes lay before her, and in +each a fountain rose sparkling and dancing. And the fish that were in +each lake rose up with the waters of the fountain and glided down them +again as if almost they had wings. In each pond the fish were of +different colours. There were, let me see, six ponds, did I not say? +Yes—well in the first the fish were gold, in the second silver, in the +third bronze; and in the three others even prettier, for in them the +fish were ruby, emerald, and topaz. I mean they were of those colours, +and in the water they gleamed as if they were made of the precious +stones themselves. Lena gazed at them in perfect delight, and held out +her hands so that the spray from the fountains fell on them, half hoping +that by chance some of the fish might drop into her fingers by mistake.</p> + +<p>"The little man looked at her and smiled, but shook his head.</p> + +<p>"'No,' he said, as if he knew what she was thinking, 'no, you cannot +catch them, just as you could not have gathered the flowers.'</p> + +<p>"Lena looked disappointed.</p> + +<p>"'I would so like to take some of them home,' she said, gently.</p> + +<p>"'It cannot be, child,' said the little man. 'They would have neither +life nor colour out of their own waters. There are many, many more +things to show you, but I fear the time is over. I must take you home +before the moon sets.'</p> + +<p>"'But mayn't I come again?' said Lena. She had not time to hear the +little man's answer, for again there came the quick rushing sound of the +quantities and quantities of little feet, and again a sort of cloudy +feeling came over Lena. She tried to speak again to the brownie, but her +voice seemed to have no sound, and all she heard was his shrill whistle. +It grew shriller and shriller till at last it got to sound not a whistle +at all, but more like a cock's crow. And just then Lena opened her eyes, +which she did not know were closed, and what do you think she saw? The +morning sun peeping in at the lattice-window of her bedroom, and +lighting up in its turn, as the moon had done a few hours before, the +queer quaint patterns on the old chintz curtains. And down below in the +yard Farmer Denny's young cock was busy telling all its companions, and +little Lena as well, if she chose to listen, that it was time to be up +and about."</p> + +<p>Magdalen stopped.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" said Maudie.</p> + +<p>Hoodie said nothing, but stared up for her answer.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said their cousin.</p> + +<p>"You don't know?" said Maudie. "Cousin Magdalen, you're joking."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed I'm not. I really don't know. I daresay there's lots more if +I had time to tell it you. The little man told her there were lots and +lots more things to show her."</p> + +<p>"Did her ever go back again?" asked Hoodie gravely.</p> + +<p>"I hope so—I think so," said Magdalen. "But I don't think she ever went +back quite the same way."</p> + +<p>Hoodie stared harder. Maudie looked up with a puzzled face.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Magdalen," she said, "I believe after all you've been taking us +in. There is something in the story that means something else. How do +you mean that Lena went back again to the brownies' country?"</p> + +<p>"I mean," said Magdalen, "that it was the country of fancy-land—a +country we may all go to, if——"</p> + +<p>"If what, please?"</p> + +<p>"If we keep good and kind and sweet and pretty feelings in our hearts," +said Magdalen, slowly, and a little gravely. "But if we let ugly things +in—crossness, idleness, and selfishness, and ugly creatures like +that—the pretty fairies will never come near us to fetch us away to see +their treasures. The brownies would not let untidy or ill-tempered +children into their neat little nests of houses. And even if such +children <i>did</i> get into fairy-land or fancy-land—whichever you like to +call it, where there are such numberless beautiful and strange +things—it would not be fairy-land to them, because their poor little +eyes would be blind, and their poor little ears deaf."</p> + +<p>"I think I understand," said Maudie, "and some day perhaps, Cousin +Magdalen, you'll tell us some more about Lena."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said Magdalen, smiling.</p> + +<p>But Hoodie said nothing, only stared harder up in her cousin's face with +her big blue eyes.</p> + +<p>And Hec and Duke, who had been amusing themselves since the story was +over and the talking had begun, by sticking daisies on to a thorn, +trotted up to Cousin Magdalen to kiss her and say, "Zank zou for the +pitty story."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill09" id="ill09"></a> +<img src="images/ill09.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>Hec and Duke ... sticking daisies on to a thorn</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>TWO TRUES.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The little stars are the lambs, I guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fair moon is the shepherdess."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Nursery Song.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>A few mornings after the story telling in the garden, as Miss King was +passing along the passage on her way down to breakfast, she overheard +tumultuous sounds from the direction of the nursery. She stopped to +listen. Various little voices were to be distinguished raised much +higher than their wont, and among them, now and then, Martin's rather +anxious tones as if entreating the children to listen to her advice.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," were among the first words Cousin Magdalen made out +clearly, "there isn't two trues, and what I'm telling is real true +<i>true</i>, as true as true."</p> + +<p>The speaker was Hoodie. Then came the answer from Maudie.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie, how <i>can</i> you?" she said in a voice of real distress. "I think +it's dreadful to tell stories, and to keep on saying they're true when +you know they're not. It wouldn't have mattered if you had explained it +was a sort of fairy story like what Cousin Magdalen told us the other +day, for of course that wasn't true either, only in a way it was."</p> + +<p>"And Hoodie didn't usplain a bit, not one bit," said Duke virtuously. +"Her keeped on saying it were as true as true."</p> + +<p>"And we is too little to under'tand, isn't we?" put in Hec. "If Hoodie +had toldened us she was in fun——"</p> + +<p>"But I <i>wasn't</i> in fun, you ugly, naughty, <i>ugly</i> boy," retorted Hoodie, +by this time most evidently losing her temper. "And if peoples 'zinks so +much about trues, they shouldn't vant me to say what isn't true about +being in fun when I wasn't in fun. The moon <i>does</i>——"</p> + +<p>A choky sound was now heard, caused by Maudie's putting her hand over +her sister's mouth.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie, you're <i>not</i> to say that again," she exclaimed, no doubt with +the best intention, but with an unfortunate result. Hoodie turned upon +her like a little wild cat, and was in the act of slapping her +vigorously when Miss King hurried into the room.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hoodie!</i>" she said reproachfully.</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up with a mixture of shame and defiance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hoodie, I am <i>so</i> sorry. I thought you had quite left off +everything like that," said her cousin.</p> + +<p>One or two big tears crept slowly out of the corners of Hoodie's eyes.</p> + +<p>"They shouldn't say I was telling untrue things," she muttered. "'Tisn't +my fault."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Miss Hoodie," said Martin, injudiciously, "how <i>can</i> you say so? +I'm sure, Miss," she went on, turning to Magdalen, "no one said a word +to put her out. She was telling fairy stories like, to Master Duke and +Master Hec, and they began asking her to explain and she would say it +was quite true, not fairy stories at all. And Miss Maudie just tried to +show her she shouldn't say that, and then you see, Miss, she flew into a +temper."</p> + +<p>"What were the stories about, Hoodie?" inquired Miss King, kindly.</p> + +<p>Hoodie vouchsafed not a word in reply.</p> + +<p>Magdalen glanced at the others.</p> + +<p>"<i>I'll</i> tell," said Duke. "They was about things up in the sky, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Angels, do you mean?" said Miss King.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, not angels," said Maudie. "It was about the stars and the moon. +Hoodie has a fancy——"</p> + +<p>"It <i>isn't</i> a fancy," put in Hoodie fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie says," continued Maudie calmly, "that the moon and the stars and +all of the things up in the sky, know each other, and talk to each +other, and that she has heard them. The moon takes care of the stars, +she says, and early in the morning when it is time for them all to go +away the moon calls to them. I mean Hoodie says she does."</p> + +<p>"'Cos she <i>does</i>," replied Hoodie, before any one else had time to +speak. "She calls to them and they all come round her together, and then +they all go away like a flash—<i>so</i> quick, and it is so bright."</p> + +<p>Her funny eyes gleamed up into Magdalen's face. In the interest of what +she was telling she forgot her temper.</p> + +<p>"Was it that that you saw?" asked Magdalen, gravely. "The flash of their +going, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "I've seen it lots of times, and I try to keep awake +on purpose. It passes—the flash, I mean—it passes by the little window +near my head. The little window for seeing up into the sky, you know."</p> + +<p>Magdalen nodded her head.</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "I had a window like that in my room when I was a +little girl, and I was very fond of it. But I don't think I ever saw the +moon and the stars saying good night, or good morning—which is it? And +are none of the little stars ever left behind?"</p> + +<p>The whole of Hoodie's face lighted up with a smile, but the rest of the +faces round Miss King looked grave and rather puzzled. Was she really +going to encourage Hoodie in her fancies—thought Maudie and Martin?</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>'zink</i> so," said Hoodie, "but I'll look the next time."</p> + +<p>"Cousin Magdalen," whispered Maudie, gently pulling her godmother's +dress, "it <i>isn't</i> true. You don't want Duke and Hec to think it is."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it would matter much if they did," replied Magdalen in +the same tone. "Thinking little fancies like that true would do them far +less harm than thinking their sister was telling falsehoods. But I will +try to explain to Hoodie that perhaps it is better not to say any more +about it to the little boys. Only, Maudie dear, I think you are old +enough to understand better that Hoodie was not meaning to tell +untruths."</p> + +<p>"She said she heard the moon and the stars <i>talking</i>," remonstrated +Maudie.</p> + +<p>"Well—what if she did? Many a time when I was a little girl I have +thought I heard the wind say real words when I was lying awake in my +little bed. Of course I know better now, but so will Hoodie, and if +these fancies please her and keep her content and happy, why not leave +her them?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Martin</i> doesn't think so," said Maudie, rather mortified that her +efforts to bring Hoodie to a sense of her wrong-doings were so little +appreciated.</p> + +<p>"Miss Maudie, dear!" exclaimed Martin, "I never said so, I'm sure. I +don't think I rightly understood what it was all about. I'm sure I don't +want to be sharp on any of you for fancies that do no one any harm. I +had plenty of them myself when I was little."</p> + +<p>"You see, Maudie, Martin does understand," said Miss King. "I'll try and +explain about it better to you afterwards, but just now I really must +hurry down to breakfast."</p> + +<p>She was turning away when a clamour of little voices stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Won't you come back after breakfast, Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do tum back."</p> + +<p>"It's such a wet day and we've nothing to do, 'cause it's Saturday, and +Saturday's a holiday."</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to come and give you lessons then?" said Magdalen, +mischievously.</p> + +<p>Dead silence—broken at last by Duke.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you tum and tell us more stories?"</p> + +<p>Magdalen shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I haven't got any ready. Truly I haven't," she said. "It takes me a +long time to think of them, always. But I'll tell you what we might do. +I'll come up after breakfast with my work and you might all tell <i>me</i> +stories. That would amuse everybody. Each of you try to think of one, +but you mustn't tell each other what it is."</p> + +<p>Hoodie's face lighted up, but Maudie looked rather lugubrious.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> can't think of one," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes you can, if you try," said Magdalen, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Must it be all out of my own head?"</p> + +<p>Miss King hesitated.</p> + +<p>"No, if you can remember one that you've read that the others don't +know, that would do."</p> + +<p>Maudie looked relieved.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't need to remember one," said Hoodie. "I know such heaps. My +head's all spinning full of them."</p> + +<p>"So's mine," said Duke, jumping about and clapping his hands.</p> + +<p>"And mine too," said Hec. "Kite 'pinning full."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense," said Hoodie. "You <i>don't</i> know stories. It's only me +that does."</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush," said Miss King. "My plan won't be nice at all if it makes +you quarrel. Now I <i>must</i> run down."</p> + +<p>The children were very quiet through breakfast time. Every now and then +the little boys leant over across their bowls of bread and milk to +whisper to each other.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't that be lovely?" or</p> + +<p>"That'd be a vezy pitty story," till called to order by Martin, who told +them that spilling their breakfast over the table would not be at all a +good beginning to the stories.</p> + +<p>"'Twouldn't matter," remarked Hoodie, philosophically. "The cloth isn't +clean; it's Saturday, you know, Martin."</p> + +<p>"Saturday or no Saturday," replied Martin, "it isn't pretty for little +ladies and gentlemen to spill their food on the table. And it gets them +in the habit of it for when they get big and have their breakfasts and +dinners down-stairs."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't big people <i>never</i> spill things on the cloth?" inquired Hec, +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fielding does," said Hoodie. "One day when he was here at luncheon, +he was helping Mamma to wine, and he poured all down the outside of her +glass. I think he's dedfully ugly. I wouldn't like ever to be a big +people if I was to be like him."</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," remonstrated Martin, hardly approving of the turn the +conversation was taking, "do get on with your breakfast, and you'd +better be thinking about your stories than talking about things you +don't understand."</p> + +<p>Hoodie glanced at Martin with considerable contempt.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to make a story about Beauty and the Beast," she said. "I know +who'd be the beast, but <i>you</i> shouldn't be Beauty, Martin."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't I, Miss Hoodie?" said Martin, good-naturedly. "Miss King +would make a nice Beauty, to my mind."</p> + +<p>Almost as she spoke the door opened, and Cousin Magdalen re-appeared.</p> + +<p>"Children," she said, "your mother says we may have the fire lighted in +the billiard-room because it is such a chilly day, so I am going to take +my work there and you may all come. Martin will be glad to get rid of +you, because I know Saturday's a busy morning for her always."</p> + +<p>The news was received with great satisfaction, and before the end of +another half-hour the four children were all under their cousin's charge +in the billiard-room, for an hour or two, greatly to Martin's relief.</p> + +<p>"What pretty work you are doing, Cousin Magdalen," said Maudie, stroking +admiringly the large canvas stretched on a frame at which Miss King was +working.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you think it's pretty," said her godmother. "I think it is +very pretty; but the colours are not very bright, and children generally +like very bright colours. The pattern is copied from a very old piece of +tapestry."</p> + +<p>"What's tapestry?" said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Old-fashioned work that used to be made long ago," said Miss King. "It +was more like great pictures than anything else, and such quantities of +it were made that whole walls were covered with it. Once when I was a +very little girl I slept in a room all covered with tapestry, and in the +middle of the night——"</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>" said Hoodie eagerly, peering up into her face. "What came in +the middle of night?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say anything came," said Cousin Magdalen, laughing. "I +stopped because I thought I could make it into a little story and tell +it to you afterwards. But we are forgetting all about your stories. Who +is going to begin? Eldest first—you, Maudie, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Maudie looked rather melancholy.</p> + +<p>"I can't tell nice stories," she said. "I've been thinking such a time, +and I can't think of anything except something very stupid."</p> + +<p>"Well, let us hear it, any way," said her cousin, "and then we can say +if it is stupid or not."</p> + +<p>"It was a story I read," said Maudie, "or else some one told it me. I +can't remember which it was. It was about a very poor little girl—she +was dreadfully poor, just as poor as you could fancy."</p> + +<p>"No clothes—hadn't she no clothes?" asked Duke.</p> + +<p>"And nucken to eat?" added Hec.</p> + +<p>"Very little," said Maudie. "Of course she had some, or else she would +have died. She hadn't any father or mother, only an old grandmother, who +wasn't very kind to her. At least she was very old and deaf and all +that, and perhaps that made her cross. And the little girl used to go +messages for a shop—that was how she got a little money. It was a +baker's shop near where they lived, and it was rather a grand shop—only +they kept this little girl to go messages, not to the <i>grand</i> people +that came there, you know, but to the people that bought the bread when +it wasn't so new—and currant cakes that were rather stale—like that, +you know. And on Sunday mornings she had the most to do, because they +used to send a great lot of bread very early to a room where a kind lady +had breakfast for a great many poor people—for a treat because it was +Sunday. They used to have lots of bread and butter and hot coffee—very +nice. And Lizzie, that was the little girl's name, liked Sunday mornings +and going with the bread to that place, because it all looked so +cheerful and comfortable, and the smell of the hot coffee was so good."</p> + +<p>"Didn't they never give her none?" asked Duke.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think so. At least not before what I'm going to tell you. +You should wait till I tell you. Well, one Sunday in winter, it was a +dreadfully cold day; snowing and raining, and all mixed together, and +wind too, I think—dreadful cold wind. And Lizzie nearly cried as she +was going along to that place. She had such dreadfully sore chilblains +on her feet and on her hands too. She got to the place and emptied the +basket, and she was just coming away at the door, when a carriage came +up and she stopped a minute to see the people get out. The first was the +lady who gave the breakfast, Lizzie had seen her before, for she came +sometimes—not every Sunday, but just sometimes—to see that the +breakfast was all nice for her poor people. But this day, after she got +out, she turned back to lift a little boy out of the carriage. And +Lizzie had never seen this little boy before, because this was the first +time he had ever come. His mother had brought him with her for a great +treat. He was a very pretty little boy and his name was Arthur, and he +was about six, I think it said in the story. The lady went into the room +quick without noticing Lizzie, as she was in a hurry not to be late for +the poor people, but Arthur stayed behind a minute and stared at Lizzie. +She was so very cold, you know, she did look miserable, and then she had +cried a little on the way, so her eyes were red.</p> + +<p>"Arthur went close up to her, staring all the time. Lizzie didn't mind. +She stared at him too. He was so pretty and he had such pretty clothes +on. When he got close to her, he looked sharp up into her face and +said—</p> + +<p>"'What is you crying for?'</p> + +<p>"Lizzie had forgotten she had been crying, so she said, 'I'm not crying. +I'm only very cold.'</p> + +<p>"'Poor little girl,' said Arthur, 'I'll ask Mamma to give you a penny.'</p> + +<p>"He ran after his mother, who was wondering what he was staying for, and +in a minute he came back again and put a little paper packet into +Lizzie's hand.</p> + +<p>"'That's all mother's got in her penny purse,' he said, and he ran off +again before Lizzie had time to thank him.</p> + +<p>"She was going to open the packet and see how much there was, but just +then one of the men who helped to put out the breakfast came past and +told her not to loiter about. So she took up her basket and ran away, +for people often spoke crossly to her, and she was easily frightened. +All the way home she kept thinking about her pennies and what she would +buy with them, but she didn't open the packet, because the way she had +to go there were so many rude boys about that she was afraid they might +snatch it from her. And when she got to the shop where she had to take +the basket to, the baker sent her another message, so it wasn't till +much later than usual that she got home. And all this time she had never +opened the packet, at least it said so in the story, though I think <i>I</i> +would have peeped at it before—wouldn't you, Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure," said Magdalen. "I think if one has something nice it is +sometimes rather tempting to keep it for a while without looking it all +over. It is something to look forward to."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie. "<i>I'd</i> have keepened it for alvays wrapped up, and +then I could have alvays thought perhaps it was a fairy thing like."</p> + +<p>"You silly girl," said Maudie, "you're always fancying about fairies."</p> + +<p>"Maudie, <i>dear</i>" said Magdalen, "do try not to say things like that. You +are telling the story so nicely and we're all so happy. Please don't +spoil it by saying unkind little things."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to be unkind," said Maudie penitently.</p> + +<p>"P'ease do on with the story," said the little boys.</p> + +<p>"Well, when at last she got home, she opened the little packet," +continued Maudie, "and what <i>do</i> you think she saw? Instead of two +pennies and a halfpenny perhaps, or something like that, there were—let +me see—yes, that was it—there were a gold pound, a half-a-crown, and a +shilling. Just fancy! Lizzie was so surprised that she didn't know what +she felt—she looked at them and looked at them, and turned them in her +hand, and then all at once it came into her mind that of course the lady +had given her them by mistake, and that she should take them back to +her. And she jumped up very quick and said to her grandmother there was +another message she had to go, and without thinking anything about +whether the lady would still be there or not, off she ran back again to +the place where the poor people had their breakfast. She ran as hard as +she could, but of course when she got there it was too late—the +breakfast was done long ago, and all the people away and the doors +locked, and there was no one about at all to tell her where she could +find the lady. And Lizzie was so unhappy that she sat down on a step and +cried. You see it was such a disappointment, for she couldn't tell how +much the lady <i>had</i> meant to give her, and so she didn't like to take +any. Besides, she felt that it would be better to give the packet back +just as it was, only she had so wanted the pennies, for she never had +any. The baker's wife always paid her grandmother, not Lizzie herself, +for Lizzie's going messages.</p> + +<p>"And after she had cried a good while she got up and went home. But just +as she got near the baker's shop she thought she might ask there if they +knew the lady's name, so she went in to ask. There was no one in the +shop but the young woman who helped—the others had gone to church."</p> + +<p>"How was it the shop was open, then, as it was Sunday?" asked Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't open, only there was a sort of door in the shutters that +Lizzie always went in and out by on Sunday mornings. I know that, +because there was a picture of it—I remember now where I read the +story—it was in a big picture magazine when I was quite a little girl," +said Maudie. "And this young woman was tidying the shop a little, and +just going to shut it altogether when Lizzie went in. She was a +good-natured young woman and she looked in the money books for the +lady's name, but it wasn't in—only the name of the man the room +belonged to where the breakfast was—and then she asked Lizzie what she +wanted to know for, and Lizzie told her. The young woman told her she +was very silly to think of giving it back. She said to her that +certainly the lady had <i>given</i> it her, it wasn't even as if she had +found it. And Lizzie could not say that was not true, and she felt so +puzzled at first that she didn't know what to say. The young woman +offered to change it for her so that nobody could wonder how she had got +a gold piece, but Lizzie said she would think about it first. And then +she went home, and thought, and thought, till at last it came quite +plain into her mind that though it was true that the lady had given it +her, still it was <i>more</i> true that she hadn't meant to give it her. And +then she didn't feel so unhappy."</p> + +<p>Maudie stopped for a moment. It had turned out quite a long story, and +she was a little tired.</p> + +<p>"And what did she do then? Quick, Maudie," said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"What did her do? Kick, kick, Maudie," said the little boys.</p> + +<p>"Hush, children, don't hurry Maudie so. Let her rest a minute," said +Cousin Magdalen; "she must be a little tired with speaking so long."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not tired now," said Maudie, "only I want to remember to tell +it quite right, and I couldn't quite remember what came next. Any way, +she couldn't do anything more that day. But she wrapped up the money +again quite safe, and put it in another paper, outside the one it had, +and—oh, yes, that was it, she settled that she would wait till the next +Sunday, and then stand at the door of the breakfast place to see the +lady again. She didn't like telling any more people for fear they might +take the money away from her, or something like that, and she couldn't +think of anything better to do. Well, the next Sunday morning she took +the bread as usual, and then she waited at the door for the lady to +come, but she never came. Lizzie waited and waited, but she never came, +and all the people had gone in and the breakfast was nearly done, but +the lady never came. And at last she went and asked somebody if the lady +wasn't coming—the woman who poured out the coffee, I think it was—and +she told her no, the lady wasn't coming that day, and wouldn't come +again for a great long while, because she was going away somewhere a +good way off. Lizzie was so sorry, she began to cry, so the woman asked +her what was the matter, and she told her, and the woman was so pleased +with her for being so honest, that she gave her the lady's address and +told her to go at once to the house, for perhaps she wouldn't have gone +yet. But it was only another disappointment, for when poor Lizzie got +there she found it was all shut up; they had gone away the day before."</p> + +<p>"Poor Lizzie," said Magdalen, "what did she do then?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Lizzie," said Hec and Duke, "and didn't she never get the real +pennies?"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't pennies she wanted so much," said Hoodie, "she wanted the +lady to know how good she was."</p> + +<p>"She wanted to <i>be</i> good, don't you think that would be a nicer way to +say it, Hoodie?" said Cousin Magdalen. "You see, being so poor, it must +sometimes have been very difficult for her not to use any of the money."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Maudie, "it said that in the story. Well, any way she <i>was</i> +good. She sewed the money up in a little bag and put it in a safe place, +and tried not to think about it. And all that winter she kept it and +never touched it, though they were very poor that winter. It was so very +cold, and poor people are always poorer in very cold winters, Martin +says. Often they had no fire, and Lizzie's chilblains were dreadful, for +her boots didn't keep out the rain and snow a bit, and often she was +very hungry too, but still she never touched the money. And at last, +after a very long time, the winter began to go away and the spring began +to come, and the woman who poured out the coffee told Lizzie she had +heard that the lady was coming home in the spring. So Lizzie began to +wait a little every Sunday morning when she had given in the bread, to +see if perhaps the lady would come. She waited like that for about six +Sundays, I think, till at last one Sunday just as she was thinking it +was no use waiting any more, the lady wouldn't be coming, a carriage +drove up to the door, the very same carriage that Lizzie had seen come +there before, and—and—the lady—the real same lady, and the real same +little boy, got out! And Lizzie was so pleased she didn't know what to +do, for though she had only seen them once before, she had watched for +them so long that they seemed like great friends to her. But though she +was so pleased, she began all to tremble and at first she couldn't +speak, her voice went all away. She just pulled the lady's dress and +looked up in her face but she couldn't speak. At first the lady didn't +understand, though she was a kind lady she didn't like a dirty-looking +little girl pulling her dress, and she looked at her a little sharply. +But the little boy understood, and he called out—</p> + +<p>"'Oh, mamma, mamma, it's the same little girl. Don't you remember? I +wonder if she's been waiting here ever since.'</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> was rather silly of him; of course she couldn't have been there +ever since, but he was quite a little boy. And then the lady looked +kindly at Lizzie and Lizzie's voice came back, and she said—</p> + +<p>"'Oh, ma'am, this is the money you gave me by mistake. I've kept it all +this time,' and she put the little packet into the lady's hand. And then +something came over her; the feeling of having waited so long, I +suppose, and she burst into tears. And what <i>do</i> you think the lady did? +She was so sorry for poor Lizzie, and so pleased with her, that she +actually kissed her!"</p> + +<p>"Aczhally <i>kissed</i> her," repeated Hoodie, Hec, and Duke. "That dirty +girl!"</p> + +<p>"No," said Maudie, "she wasn't dirty. She was poor, but she wasn't +dirty."</p> + +<p>"You said she was once," said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't mean dirty, really. I meant she looked so, because her +clothes were so old. And any way the lady did kiss her, and then she was +so kind. She had never thought of having given Lizzie the money. It was +some she had put up to pay a bill with, and she had meant to put it in +her other purse, and when she couldn't find it, she thought she had lost +it somehow. And though she was sorry, of course it didn't matter so very +much. And she said if she had known she would have written a letter to +the coffee woman to tell her to spend it for warm clothes for poor +Lizzie. But after all, it all turned out nice. The lady was very kind to +Lizzie after that, and paid for her going to school and being taught all +nice things, so that when she got a little bigger she was a very nice +servant. I think it said in the story that she learnt to be a nurse, and +she was a very kind nurse always."</p> + +<p>"Like Martin?" said Duke.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she was even kinder than Martin," suggested Hec. "Perhaps she +was <i>awful</i> kind."</p> + +<p>"Nobody could be kinder than Martin, except when we're naughty," said +Duke, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think we should all thank Maudie for telling us such a nice +story?" said Magdalen. "<i>I</i> thank her very much."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Duke.</p> + +<p>"And me," said Hec.</p> + +<p>"And me," said Hoodie, "only I want to tell a story too."</p> + +<p>"We're all ready to listen," said Miss King. "But it mustn't be <i>very</i> +long. I've to go out with your mother this afternoon, so I must write +some letters before luncheon. And Hec and Duke have stories to tell, +too, haven't they? So fire away, Hoodie."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOODIE'S FOUNDLING.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I almost think a robin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To a fairy I prefer."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Hoodie gazed round her condescendingly.</p> + +<p>"I've such lots of stories in my head," she said. "They knock against +each other. Well—I think I'll tell you a story of two little goblins. +They lived in a star, and they were just e'zackly like each other. As +like as two pins, or as like as a pin is to itself if you look at it in +the looking-glass. They lived all alone in the star, and all day they +stayed asleep like we do all night, but all night they were awake like +we are all day, 'cos you see all day the star was shut up—like a shop, +you know, only with curtains all round—all the stars are shut up like +that all day, you know, and at night the moon wakes up and sends round +to draw the curtains, and all the stars come out, rubbing their eyes."</p> + +<p>"They hasn't any hands—how can they rub their eyes?" objected Duke.</p> + +<p>"You silly boy," said Hoodie, very sharply. "How do <i>you</i> know? You've +never been in the stars."</p> + +<p>"But you hasn't neither," he persisted.</p> + +<p>"Never mind. I know, and if I didn't I couldn't tell you. That's how +people can tell stories. Well, the stars come out, lots and lots of +them, and go running about all night, and then in the morning the moon +sends round to draw all the curtains again and they're all to go to +sleep."</p> + +<p>"But some nights the moon isn't there and the stars are there without +her. How is that, Hoodie?" said Cousin Magdalen, rather mischievously.</p> + +<p>"You think so 'cos you don't know; but I do," said Hoodie, nodding her +head sagaciously. "The moon's <i>alvays</i> there, only sometimes she has a +cold, and then she wraps up her white face in a shawl and you can't see +her."</p> + +<p>There was a twinkle of fun in Hoodie's green eyes as she said this that +showed her cousin that her little teasing was understood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed," she said, gravely, "I did <i>not</i> know. Thank you, Hoodie, +for explaining to me."</p> + +<p>"And so," continued Hoodie, "the goblins never saw anything of day +things, but they saw very funny things at night when they went sailing +about on the star."</p> + +<p>"Stars don't go sailing about," objected Maudie. "They're always quite +still."</p> + +<p>"They're <i>not</i> then," said Hoodie: "that shows you don't listen, Maudie. +I heard Papa say one day that the stars are going as fast as fast, only +they go <i>so</i> fast that we can't see them."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense! Isn't it nonsense, Cousin Magdalen?" pleaded Maudie.</p> + +<p>"No," said Miss King. "It is true they are moving faster than we can +even fancy, but the reason we can't see them moving isn't <i>exactly</i> what +Hoodie says."</p> + +<p>"What is it then?"</p> + +<p>"I can't explain it to you just now—it would not be very easy for you +to understand, and if I explained it, it would take too much time and we +shouldn't hear the rest of Hoodie's story. I think we should let poor +Hoodie go on with her story now without interrupting her any more."</p> + +<p>Hoodie required no further bidding.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "all night long the goblins went sailing about in the +star, and sometimes they saw very funny things. They were up so high +that they could look down and see everything, you know. They could see +the big ponds up in the sky where the rain is made, and the <i>awful</i> big +windmills up there where the wind blows from, and the cannons that bum +the thunder down."</p> + +<p>"Could they——?" began Duke, timidly, and then he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Could they what?" said Hoodie, rather snappishly. "If peoples +interrumpt, I wish they'd finish their interrumpting, and not stop in +the middle."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill10" id="ill10"></a> +<img src="images/ill10.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"If peoples interrumpt, I wish they'd finish their +interrumpting, and not stop in the middle."</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"I didn't like to say it," said Duke. "I only wanted to know if they +could see right into the middle of the sky where the angels are."</p> + +<p>"No," said Hoodie, decidedly, "they couldn't. They was goblins; they +wasn't angels at all, so they didn't want to see angels. It isn't that +kind of story, Duke—I'll tell you one like that another day—Sunday +perhaps. Now I want to go on about the goblins. What they liked best was +to peep into the windows and look at people, and play them tricks +sometimes. They was awful fond of playing tricks; goblins always is. But +sometimes they gets tricks played them, and that's what my story's +about. There was a window up in a house that they wanted to look in at, +but they couldn't ever get quite high enough up, 'cos the window was at +the top of the house, you see. It was the window of a witch, but the +goblins didn't know that. She was a witch that lived all alone, and +there wasn't anything she cared for except playing tricks, she was +always playing tricks. She knowed the goblins wanted to peep in at her +window, she knowed everything, 'cos that's what it means to be a witch, +that and playing tricks. And she set herself to play a trick on the +goblins—a reg'lar good trick, 'cos she didn't see what they was always +wanting to peep in at her window for."</p> + +<p>Hoodie paused for a moment to take breath.</p> + +<p>"I <i>wonder</i> what the trick was," whispered Duke and Hec under their +breath, evidently very much impressed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you may wonder," said Hoodie, majestically. "You'd never guess. +Not in a milliond guesses. Well then, one night when the goblins was +twisting and turning theirselves about on the very edge of the star, +trying to peep in at the window, all of a suddent the witch's house +turned right round, so that the window came to the side instead of up at +the top, and one of the goblins gave a great jump and screamed out to +the other—</p> + +<p>"'I say, brother, we can see into the witch's house now.'"</p> + +<p>"But you said the goblins didn't know it was a witch that lived there," +said Maudie.</p> + +<p>"Well, they didn't know <i>at first</i>, but when they saw the house turned +round, of course they knowed it must be a witch that lived there. Nobody +else could turn their house round," said Hoodie, composedly. "And so +they both <i>screamed</i>, they were so pleased, and all the time the witch +was settling about the trick she'd play them. Now I must tell you what +the trick was. The witch wasn't all a bad witch—she was a little good +too, and there was a little girl lived in the room next to her that +liked her very much, 'cos the witch was very good to her and used to +tell her funny stories. And that was why the witch didn't want the +goblins to peep into her room, 'cos she thought perhaps they'd steal +away the little girl for a trick, for she was very often in the witch's +room, and goblins is <i>awful</i> fond of stealing children and taking them +up into the stars to live with them, so she—the witch, I mean—was sure +that they'd try to steal her little girl once they saw her. So when the +little girl came to see her that night, she made her go to bed in a nice +little bed she'd made for her, and told her she was to be quite still, +for perhaps a' ogre was coming to see her. The little girl was a little +frightened but not very, for she knowed the witch would take care of her +even though she knowed the witch had got very funny friends, ogres you +know, and black cats that was really fairies, and all creatures like +that—it's rather a dedful story, isn't it?—but you needn't be +frightened, Duke and Hec, it'll come unfrightening soon. And so the +little girl got into the little bed and cuddled herself up just like the +witch had told her. And the goblins came sailing and sailing up on the +star; they was working it like, to make it go quick you know, like a +boat with men oaring it you know, and they was oaring and oaring so +hard, they was as hot as hot. And at last they got the star right up to +the edge of the window, but they made a little noise and the little girl +was startled and jumped up in bed, just what the witch had not wanted +her to do, and the goblins when they saw her forgot all about the witch +and called out, 'Oh what a nice little girl to steal,' and they were +<i>just</i> going to jump in and catch her up and steal her, when—what <i>do</i> +you think?—the witch jumped out of the corner where she had been +watching them and caught hold of them fast, one in each hand, and put +them—where <i>do</i> you think?—one into each of the little girl's eyes! +And they couldn't ever get out again, for there's a fine little glass +lid in people's eyes that nobody could open but a witch, and she shut it +down on them tight, and there they were; they couldn't do anything but +peep out, and there they were for always, peeping out."</p> + +<p>"But didn't it hurt the little girl?" asked Maudie. "It would hurt +dreadfully to have the least thing put in your eye."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Hoodie, "it didn't hurt her—not a bit—she just thought a +fly had tickled her eyes, and she winkled them, and the witch said to +her, 'You may come out of bed now, my dear. The ogre won't be coming +to-night.' And so the little girl got out of bed, and when she came up +to the witch, the witch looked at her and laughed, and the little girl +couldn't think what she was laughing at, and she never knowed about the +goblins being in her eyes till one day when her little brother was +playing with her, he peeped in her face and said, 'I see two goblins in +your eyes.'"</p> + +<p>"That was me," exclaimed Duke. "It was one day I looked in Hoodie's eyes +and I saw two goblings in 'zem, I did. Hoodie's made the story about +me."</p> + +<p>"I hasn't," said Hoodie, indignantly. "I've got stories enough without +making them about silly little boys like you. Of course you saw the +goblins in mine eyes—there's goblins in every little girl's eyes ever +since the witch put them into her little girl's. It's comed to be the +fashion, and now you know how it was, and that's the end of the story."</p> + +<p>"Thank you for telling it, Hoodie," said Magdalen. "We're all very much +obliged to you, and another day I hope you'll tell us some more. Now +Duke and Hec, are your stories ready?"</p> + +<p>Hec looked exceedingly solemn.</p> + +<p>"I only know one," he said; "Duke knows lots."</p> + +<p>"Well, which of you is going to begin?"</p> + +<p>"Hec," said Duke.</p> + +<p>"Duke," said Hec.</p> + +<p>"Mine isn't ready," said Duke. "Hec, you begin. If you only know one it +must be always ready."</p> + +<p>"Mine's only about a little dog," began Hec, modestly. "It was a little +dog that had only three legs."</p> + +<p>"Only three legs!" exclaimed Magdalen. "My dear Hec, are you sure you +haven't made a mistake?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Hec, "the housemaid had broke its leg off a long time ago, +when she was dusting the mantelpiece, so the Mamma gave it to the little +boy because it was spoilt for the drawing-room. And the little boy was +very fond of it—it was made of hard stuff, you know, all white and +shiny, and it had blue eyes. It was <i>very</i> pretty. Martin told me the +story. She knowed the little boy. And one day the little boy lostened +the little dog. He always had it on the nursery table at breakfast and +dinner and tea; and he used to 'atend to feed it. Sometimes he put it on +the edge of his plate, and sometimes if he 'atended it was 'firsty he +put it on the edge of the milk-jug. And one day he lostened it. It was +there at the beginning of tea he was sure, but at the end it wasn't +there. And he looked and looked and looked but he couldn't find it; and +the nurse looked and looked, but she couldn't find it. So the little boy +cried. He cried dedfully, but he couldn't find it. And the nurse was +vexed 'cos he wouldn't stop crying. She wasn't as kind as Martin. So he +had to go to bed crying, and the next morning when he got up he cried +again for his little doggie. And his Mamma said she would buy him +another, but he didn't care for that. He said he wouldn't like any but +his own dear doggie with only three legs. Well, that day they had +rice-pudding for dinner. The little boy kept crying even when he was +eating his dinner, and they zeally didn't know what to do with him. But +what do you think came? He put some pudding in his mouf, and there was +some'sing hard. He thought it was a stone, and he feeled to see what it +was, and it was his little dog that had been cooked in the +pudding—aczhally cooked in the pudding."</p> + +<p>"Like Tom Thumb," said Magdalen. "Yes, it was very funny. But it must +have been a very little dog, Hec, to go in the little boy's mouth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, littler than Martin's fimble. She showed me," said Hec. "It was +quite a little wee doggie. And Martin said it had got into the pudding, +'cos it had been on the edge of the milk-jug and had felled in, and so +it went down to the kitchen in the milk-jug, and the cook had put the +milk that was over, to make a pudding. The little boy was so dedfully +glad, you can't fancy. He never lostened the little dog again, Martin +said, and he said he would keep it till he was a big man. That's all my +story."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dear. You've told it very nicely. Hasn't he?" said Miss +King.</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i> nicely," said Maudie.</p> + +<p>But Hoodie tossed her head rather contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> like stories that peoples make out of their own heads," she said.</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Duke. "I've been making mine while Hec was telling his; +I didn't need to listen, for I've heard the story of the little dog +before. Now, I'll tell you mine. Onst there was a ogre that lived in a +castle, and the castle was on the top of a big, big hill—such a awfully +big hill that nobody could ever get up it—not the biggest person that +ever was made couldn't get up it."</p> + +<p>"How did the ogre get up it then?" said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"He didn't. He'd always been there and he had a' ogre's wife to cook his +dinner, and he had a—a—oh yes, I know, he had a awful big +billiard-table, and he used to use little boys' heads for the balls," +continued Duke, his eyes wandering round the room for inspiration as he +proceeded. "And," he went on, as he caught sight of a large mirror at +the end of the room, "he was so big he couldn't get any plates big +enough for him to eat off, so he used to have big looking-glasses for +plates, and—and—he had a coal-box for a salt-cellar, and when he had +a' egg for breakfast he had the shovel for a' egg spoon, and—and—the +white muslin curtains was his pocket-hankerwitches, and——" here Duke +came to a dead stop, but another gaze round the room provided fresh +material, "and," he proceeded energetically, "the Venetian blind sticks +was his matches, and his ogre's wife used to wash his hankerwitches in a +lake, and that was his basin; and for soup she used a—oh I don't know +what she had for soup—never mind that. But she had beautiful big +earrings," his eyes at this moment happening to catch sight of +Magdalen's side-face, "beautiful big earrings made of two shiny glass +and goldy things for candles, like that one hanging up there, and——"</p> + +<p>"You're just making a rubbish story, Duke," said Maudie. "You just put +in whatever you see. I don't call that a proper story at all. Is it, +Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"You're very unkind, Maudie," said Duke, dolefully, before Magdalen had +time to reply. "It isn't a rubbish story. I was just going to tell you +about one day when the ogre was very hungry——"</p> + +<p>"Well, what did he do?"</p> + +<p>"Well," repeated Duke, somewhat mollified, "one day when the ogre was +very hungry, he couldn't find nothing to eat, and he said to his wife, +'Ogre's wife, I'll eat <i>you</i>, if you don't get me somefin to eat +too-dreckly.' And his ogre's wife cried, and she said she'd go to the +green-baker's and see if she couldn't get somefin for he to eat."</p> + +<p>"Go to the <i>where</i>, Duke?" said Magdalen, looking up from her work.</p> + +<p>"To the green-baker's, that's where they sell apples and pears and +p'ums," said Duke.</p> + +<p>Maudie burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>"He means the green-<i>grocer's</i>," she said. "Oh, Duke, how funny you +are!"</p> + +<p>"And how could the ogre's wife go and buy him things at shops if they +were up on the top of a hill so big that nobody could get down?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," replied Duke, "'cos there was andnother hill just a very little +way off that they could get on quite easily, like steps, and there was +lots of shops on the nother hill—all kinds."</p> + +<p>"All shops for ogreses?" inquired Hec timidly.</p> + +<p>"No, in course not. Shops for proper people. But when the ogre's wife +went to buy somefin for him to eat she had to buy a whole shop-ful—lots +and lots—but I zink I've toldened you enough for to-day. I must make +some more up first."</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear, perhaps it will be better, and thank you for what +you've told us to-day," said Cousin Magdalen, beginning to fold up her +work. "I must try now to get my letter written before luncheon. I hope +it's not going to rain all the afternoon."</p> + +<p>One or two of the children ran to the window, as she spoke, to examine +the state of the clouds. Suddenly, as they stood there, something, a +small dark thing, was seen to fall or flutter to the ground, a short way +off.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" said Hoodie, whose quick eyes always saw things before +any one else.</p> + +<p>"What?" said Duke deliberately.</p> + +<p>"Didn't you see something fall, stupid boy?" said Hoodie politely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw somefin, but perhaps it was only a leaf."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps it wasn't only a leaf," said Hoodie impatiently. "There +now, look there, don't you see it's moving? Over there by the little fat +tree with the spiky leaves—oh, oh, oh! It's a bird—a poor little +innicent bird—that's felled out of a netst," screamed Hoodie, in +tremendous excitement, which always upset her English. "Oh, Cousin +Magdalen, quick, quick! open the door, do, do, and let Hoodie go and +fetcht the poor little bird."</p> + +<p>She danced about with impatience, her eyes streaming—for in curious +contrast with Hoodie's scant affection for her fellow human beings was +her immense tenderness and devotion towards dumb animals of every kind. +She "would not hurt a fly" would have very poorly described her +feelings. She had been known to nurse a maimed bluebottle for a week, +getting up in the night to give it fresh crumbs of sugar—she had cried +for two days and a half after accidentally seeing the last struggles of +a chicken which the cook had killed for dinner, and had she clearly +understood that the mutton-chops she was so fond of were really the ribs +of "a poor sweet little sheep," I am quite sure mutton-chops would in +future have been cooked in vain for Hoodie.</p> + +<p>Cousin Magdalen had not hitherto seen much of this side of the little +girl's character, and she looked at her with some surprise, not sure if +there was a mixture of temper in all these dancings-about and +callings-out. But she came quickly across the room all the same, to the +window, or glass door rather, where all the children were now +assembled—</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she said. "Hoodie, dear, why do you get into such a fuss?"</p> + +<p>"'Cos I want to go out and pick up the little bird, poor little innicent +thing, that's felled out of the tree. Oh, Maudie's godmother, do open +the door—quick, quick, and let me out," said Hoodie, still dancing +about. "The bird will be lying there thinking that nobody cares."</p> + +<p>Magdalen quietly unfastened the door, which was bolted high up, out of +the children's reach, and led the way out into the shrubbery. The rain +had left off, but it had warmed rather than chilled the spring morning +air, and a delicious scent of freshened earth met the little party as +they came out of the billiard-room. Magdalen would have liked to stand +still for a moment and look about her, and enjoy the sweet air, and +listen to the pretty soft garden sounds—the crisp crunch of the heavy +roller which the men were drawing over the damp gravel of the drive, the +voices, further off, of the school children running home, for it was +twelve o'clock,—prettier still, the faint cackles from the +poultry-yard, and the twitterings, gradually waking up, of the birds, +whose spirits had been depressed by the heavy rain—but where <i>Hoodie</i> +was, such lingerings by the way must never be thought of! The child +darted out the moment the door was opened, and rushed across the +grass-plot just in front—heedless of the soaking to which this exposed +her feet and legs up to her knees, for the grass hereabouts was allowed +to grow wild, and in the corners near the wall was mixed with coarse +ferns and bracken, through all of which Hoodie determinedly ploughed her +way.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," exclaimed poor Magdalen, "how <i>silly</i> I was to open the door! +Just look at Hoodie, Maudie. She will be perfectly drenched. Martin +really will have reason to think I am not fit to take care of you."</p> + +<p>"And she has her <i>best</i> house shoes on," said Maudie, lugubriously. +"Martin put them on when she made us neat to come down to you, Cousin +Magdalen, because one of her common ones wanted stitching up at the +side, and Martin always says mirocco shoes never <i>are</i> the same again +after they get soaked."</p> + +<p>"I must go after her, at all costs," said Magdalen, lifting up her long +skirts as well as she could to prevent their getting any <i>more</i> than +their share of drenching. "Now, Duke and Hec, stay where you are, +whatever you do, or better still, go back into the billiard-room. I +trust you, Maudie, to take care of them. I am afraid their feet are wet +already."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and Hec gets croup when his feet are wet," replied Maudie, +consolingly. "Never mind though, Cousin Magdalen. I'll take him in, and +take off his shoes and stockings by the fire and dry them."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dear," said Magdalen, at the bottom of her heart, though she +would not have said so to the children, considerably relieved that +Martin need not be summoned to the rescue. "She would really feel that I +could not be trusted with them, and it would be such a pity, just when I +wanted so much to be of use and to help Beatrice." (Beatrice was the +name of the children's mother.)</p> + +<p>It was no very pleasant business following Hoodie across the long, soppy +grass; even if one were quite careless of the effect on one's clothes, +the soaking of one's feet and ankles was disagreeable, to say the least. +But Magdalen faced it bravely, and found herself at last beside her +troublesome charge. Hoodie, not content with having thoroughly drenched +her fat little legs and feet in their pretty clothing of open-work socks +and "mirocco" slippers, was actually down on her knees in the wet grass, +tenderly stroking the ruffled feathers of the little bird whose +misfortunes had aroused her sympathy, while tears poured down her face, +and her voice was broken with sobs as, looking up, she saw her cousin, +and cried out—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Maudie's godmother, him's dead. The innicent little sweet. I do +believe him's dead, or just going to deaden. I daren't lift him up. Oh +dear, oh dear!"</p> + +<p>It was impossible to scold her—her grief was so real; so with one +rueful glance at the destruction already wrought on the nice blue merino +frock and frilled muslin pinafore, Magdalen set to work to soothe and +comfort the excited little girl.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Hoodie dear," she said. "You really mustn't cry so, even if the +poor little bird is dead."</p> + +<p>"But Hoodie can't help it, for you know, Maudie's godmother, little +birds doesn't go to heaven when they's dead—not like good people, you +know, so I can't help crying."</p> + +<p>To this reason for Hoodie's tears Magdalen thought it best to make no +reply, but she stooped down and carefully lifted up the little bird. It +was a pretty little creature—its wings and breast marked with +delicately shaded colour, though just now the feathers were ruffled and +disordered—a very young bird; and Magdalen's country-bred eyes +recognized it at once as a greenfinch.</p> + +<p>"Poor little birdie," she said gently, as she held it up to examine it +more closely. "I wonder if its troubles are really over," she added to +herself softly, not wishing to rouse Hoodie's hopes before she was sure +of grounds for them. "No—it is not dead. It certainly is not—only +stunned and terrified. Hoodie, the little bird is not dead. Leave off +crying dear, and look at it. See, its little heart is beating quite +plainly—there now, it is moving its wings. I don't think it is even +much, or at all hurt."</p> + +<p>Hoodie drew near, her tear-stained cheeks all glowing with eagerness, +holding her breath just as she did when her father for a great treat let +her peep into the works of his watch.</p> + +<p>"Him's not dead," she exclaimed. "<i>Oh</i>, Cousin Magdalen, are you <i>sure</i> +him's not dead? Oh, what <i>can</i> we do to make him quite well again?"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands together with intense eagerness, and looked up in +Magdalen's face as if her very life hung upon her words.</p> + +<p>"It must have fallen out of the nest," said Magdalen, looking up as she +spoke at some of the trees near where they stood. "Still it seemed fully +fledged, and it should be quite able to fly—most likely its parents +suppose it is out in the world on its own account by now, and even if +we could find the nest, it is pretty sure to be deserted."</p> + +<p>"You won't put it back in the netst, Cousin Magdalen—you don't mean +that? It wouldn't have nothing to eat, and it would die," said Hoodie, +the tears welling up again, for she hardly understood what her cousin +was saying.</p> + +<p>"No, dear. I don't think it would be any good putting it back in the +nest, and it would be very difficult to know which was its nest, there +must be so many up in those trees," said Magdalen. "Besides, as you say, +it wouldn't get anything to eat, for if all its brothers and sisters +have flown away, the parent birds will not return to the nest. No, I +think we had better take it into the house and take care of it till it +gets quite strong. See, Hoodie, it is beginning to get out of its fright +and to look about it."</p> + +<p>"The darling," said Hoodie, ecstatically. "It's cocking up its <i>sweet</i> +little head as if it wanted me to kiss it. Oh, <i>dear</i> Cousin Magdalen, +isn't it sweet? Do let me carry it into the house."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill11" id="ill11"></a> +<img src="images/ill11.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"The darling," said Hoodie ecstatically</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But Magdalen told her it was better to leave the bird for the present in +her handkerchief, which she had made into a comfortable little nest for +it, "till we can find a cage for it; there is sure to be an empty cage +of some kind about the house. And then we must see if your mother will +give you leave to keep it for a while."</p> + +<p>"For alvays!" said Hoodie. "I must keep it for alvays, Maudie's +godmother. Maudie has two calanies in a cage, so I might have one +bird—mightn't I, Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"We'll ask your mother," repeated Magdalen, afraid of committing herself +to a child like Hoodie, who never, under any circumstances, forgot +anything in the shape of a promise that was made to her, or had the +least mercy on any unfortunate "big person" that showed any signs of +"crying off" from such.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>THE GOLDEN CAGE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Here secure from every danger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hop about, and chirp, and eat."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Yes," repeated Hoodie to herself, as she followed her cousin into the +house, "I'll keep the little bird <i>alvays</i>, and I'll teach it to love +me; I'll be so <i>vezzy</i> kind to it."</p> + +<p>And as they entered the billiard-room where, true to her charge, +faithful little Maudie was drying and warming the twins' feet by the +fire, Hoodie exclaimed with great triumph—</p> + +<p>"It's a bird, Maudie, a most bootiful bird, and I'm going to have it all +for my vezzy own and keep it in a cage alvays. Cousin Magdalen is going +to ask Mamma. May I go and tell her to come now quick, Cousin +Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, certainly not. Your mother's busy and must not be +interrupted. You may go and ask for a little milk and a bit of bread, +and I'll try if I can make the little bird eat something. It's opening +its mouth as if it was hungry. But no—stop, Hoodie. I was forgetting +what a state you are in. Maudie, take off her shoes and stockings +too—that's a kind little girl. I'll help you in a minute when I've +found a safe place for the little bird. There now—that'll do +beautifully," as she spoke taking the skeins of wool out of her little +work-basket and putting the bird in instead and carefully closing the +lid. The children looked on with great interest.</p> + +<p>"Is him always to live in zere, Cousin Magdalen?" inquired Hec.</p> + +<p>Magdalen was by this time employed in examining into the state of +Hoodie's garments. It was rather deplorable!</p> + +<p>"It's no good, Maudie," she exclaimed at last. "She must be thoroughly +undressed, for she's damp all over. I <i>must</i> take her up to Martin—oh, +dear, what a pity! Just when we had had such a nice morning."</p> + +<p>"But it was a vezzy good thing I saw the little bird felling down, +wasn't it?" said Hoodie complacently, as she trotted off with her +cousin's hand. "And Martin won't 'cold <i>me</i>, 'cos it was your fault for +letting me go out in the wet; wasn't it, Cousin Magdalen?" she added +with great satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Magdalen, to tell the truth, found it rather difficult to keep her +temper with Hoodie just then.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hoodie</i>," she said sharply. "It is not right to speak like that. You +<i>know</i> you ran away out before I could stop you."</p> + +<p>"But if you hadn't opened the door, I couldn't have goned," was Hoodie's +calm reply, with mischievous triumph in her bright eyes.</p> + +<p>Martin received the misfortune very philosophically—perhaps she was not +sorry, at the bottom of her heart, that some one else should have some +experience of the trials she had with Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Not that she means always to be naughty, of course, Miss," she +explained to Magdalen. "But she's that heedless and tiresome—oh dear! +Though one could manage that if it wasn't for her queer temper—<i>queer</i> +indeed! queer's no word for it."</p> + +<p>"Martin, Martin," came in Hoodie's shrill voice from the inner room, +where she was sitting, minus the greater part of her attire, while +Martin "aired" the clean clothes, unexpectedly required, at the nursery +fire. "Martin, you must go down to the kitchen <i>at oncest</i>, and get +some bread and milk for my bird. I'm going to keep it <i>alvays</i>, Martin, +and you mustn't let Duke and Hec touch it never."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, Missie, we'll see," said Martin; "you must get your Mamma's +leave first, you know."</p> + +<p>"By the bye, I'd better go and speak to her about it," said Magdalen. +"Shall I tell the other children to come up-stairs, Martin? And my poor +letter," she said, smiling rather dolefully, as she went out of the +nursery, "I'll never get it written before luncheon, for I must +superintend the feeding of the bird, otherwise the children will +certainly kill it with kindness."</p> + +<p>Magdalen had a good deal of experience in rearing little birds and +little lambs, and all such small unfortunates. She had always lived in +the country, and having neither brothers nor sisters her tender heart +had given its affections to the dumb creatures about her. It was +fortunate for the foundling bird that it fell into her hands, as had it +been left to Hoodie's affectionate cares its history would certainly +have been quickly told. She was very indignant with Magdalen for the +very tiny portions of bread and milk, which was all she would allow it +to have, and asked her indignantly if she meant to "'tarve" the poor +little pet.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Hoodie," said her mother, who had come to see the little bird. +"If you speak so to Cousin Magdalen I certainly will not let you keep +the bird. You should thank her <i>very</i> much for being so kind to you and +giving up all her morning to you."</p> + +<p>Hoodie did not condescend to take any notice of her mother's reproof.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," said Mrs. Caryll, "do you not hear what I say?"</p> + +<p>No reply.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hoodie</i>," more sternly.</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up at last.</p> + +<p>"Mamma dear," she said sweetly, "may I keep the little bird for my vezzy +own? Cousin Magdalen said she would ask you if I might."</p> + +<p>Her mother looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"If you are good perhaps I will let you keep it," she replied.</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up sharply.</p> + +<p>"Did Cousin Magdalen ask you to let me keep it, Mamma?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said her mother.</p> + +<p>Hoodie turned to Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Maudie's godmother," she said condescendingly. "I thought +perhaps you had forgottened."</p> + +<p>"And you wouldn't thank me till you were sure—was that it—eh, Hoodie?" +said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>One of her funny twinkles came into Hoodie's green eyes.</p> + +<p>"I like peoples what doesn't forget," she remarked, with a toss of her +shaggy head.</p> + +<p>Magdalen turned away to hide her amusement, but Hoodie's mother +whispered rather dolefully, "Magdalen, was there <i>ever</i> such a child?"</p> + +<p>And Hoodie heard the words, and her little face grew hard and sullen.</p> + +<p>"I'm always naughty," she said to herself. "Naughty when I tell true, +and naughty when I don't tell true. Nobody loves me, but I'll teach my +bird to love me."</p> + +<p>"What is to be done about a cage for this little creature?" said +Magdalen, looking up from her occupation of feeding the greenfinch with +quillfuls of bread and milk. "Isn't there an old one anywhere about, +that would do?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not," said Hoodie's mother. "What can we do?"</p> + +<p>"Leave it in the basket for the present," said Magdalen. "And—if Hoodie +is <i>very</i> good, perhaps——"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps what?" said Hoodie, very eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps some kind fairy will fly down with a cage for the poor little +bird," said Magdalen, mysteriously.</p> + +<p>Again Hoodie's eyes twinkled with fun.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> know who the kind fairy will be," she said, skipping about in +delight. Then suddenly she flung herself upon her cousin and hugged her +valorously.</p> + +<p>"I do love <i>you</i>, Cousin Magdalen," she whispered. "I do. I <i>do</i>. And +I'd love Mamma too," she added—her mother having left the room—"if she +wouldn't <i>alvays</i> say I'm naughty."</p> + +<p>"But Hoodie, my dear little girl, do you really think you are always +good?" said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"In course not," said Hoodie, "but I'm not <i>alvays</i> naughty neither."</p> + +<p>Just then the luncheon-bell rang, and the interesting discussion, +greatly, it is to be feared, to Hoodie's satisfaction, could not be +continued.</p> + +<p>"You're going to be very good to-day, any way, aren't you, Hoodie?" +whispered Magdalen, as they went into the dining-room, where the +children dined at the big people's luncheon.</p> + +<p>"P'raps," replied Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Because you know the kind fairy can't give you the cage if you're not," +said Magdalen, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I forgot about that," observed Hoodie, coolly.</p> + +<p>And her behaviour during the meal left nothing to be desired. But to do +her justice, her naughtiness did not as a rule show itself in such +circumstances, and according to Martin this was the "provokingest" part +of it. "That a little lady who could be so pretty behaved if she chose +should stamp and scream and rage like a little wild bear"—though where +Martin had seen these wonderful performances of little wild bears, I am +sorry to say I cannot tell you—<i>was</i> aggravating, there is no doubt. +And as Magdalen watched Hoodie through luncheon, and saw her pretty way +of handling her knife and fork, and noticed how she never asked for +anything but waited till it was offered her, never forgot her "if you +please's" and "thank you's," and was always perfectly content with +whatever was given her, she repeated to herself in other words Martin's +often expressed opinion.</p> + +<p>"What a nice child she might be! What a nice child she <i>is</i>, when she +likes! Oh, Hoodie, what a pity it is that you ever let the little black +dog climb on to your shoulders or the little cross imps get into your +heart!"</p> + +<p>Just at that moment Hoodie caught her eye. She drew herself straight up +on her chair with a little air of inviting approval.</p> + +<p>"Am I not <i>vezzy</i> good?" Magdalen could almost fancy she heard her +saying, and in spite of herself, she could not help smiling back at the +funny little girl.</p> + +<p>Luncheon over, the children were dismissed for their walk, for the rain +was now quite over and the afternoon promised to be fine and sunny. As +they were leaving the room Hoodie threw her arms round Magdalen's neck +and drew her head down that she might whisper into her ear.</p> + +<p>"Will the fairy come, does you think?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," said Magdalen, in the same tone; "but, Hoodie, you must +promise me one thing. You must not touch the little bird while I am +away. I have put it on my table in the basket and it will be quite safe +there. You may go in to look at it with Maudie, but you must not touch +it."</p> + +<p>"Won't it be hungry?" inquired Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, I'll give it a little more before I go out, and then it will be +all right till I come in. You promise, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie nodded her head.</p> + +<p>"P'omise," she repeated.</p> + +<p>Magdalen looked after her anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Poor little Hoodie," she said to herself, as she watched the neat +little figure tripping out of the room. Just then the children's mother +came over to her.</p> + +<p>"Magdalen, my dear child," she said, "you must not worry yourself about +these children. You have been looking quite careworn all the morning, +and I can't have it."</p> + +<p>"But I wanted to help you with them, so that you might have a little +rest and get quite strong again, dear Beatrice," said Magdalen. "You +have never been really well since your illness last winter, and Mamma +and I thought I should be able to help you—and—and—" the tears came +into Cousin Magdalen's pretty eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, dear, and who could have done more to help me than you, since you +have been here? I shall miss you terribly when you go, especially about +Hoodie," and in spite of her wish to cheer Magdalen, Hoodie's mother +gave a little sigh.</p> + +<p>"It was about Hoodie I was thinking," said Magdalen. "I was so anxious +to do her good."</p> + +<p>"And don't you think you have?"</p> + +<p>Magdalen hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Sometimes I think I have made an impression on her, and +then it seems all to have gone off again. She is such a queer +mixture—in some ways so old for her age, and in some ways such a +baby."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Caryll. "It is so very difficult to know how to treat +her. But she is very fond of you, Magdalen, and I am so glad to see it. +We really used to think it wasn't in her to be fond of any one."</p> + +<p>"But I am sure it is in her," said Magdalen, "only—I hardly can say +what I mean—if she could be made to believe that other people love +<i>her</i>, that she could be of use to others—I think that would take away +the sort of defiance and hardness one sees in her sometimes. It is so +unlike a child. She is always imagining people don't care for her, and +then she takes actual pleasure in being as naughty as she can be."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie's mother; "there really are days when she goes out of +her way to be naughty, one might say,—when it is enough for Martin to +tell her to do or not to do <i>anything</i>, for her to wish to do or not to +do the opposite. Still she <i>has</i> been better lately, Magdalen, and it is +all thanks to you."</p> + +<p>"Poor little Hoodie!" said her cousin, "I wonder why it should be so +very difficult for her to be good. But we must get ready now, must we +not, Beatrice? And <i>whatever</i> I do I must not forget the cage, or any +good I can ever hope to do Hoodie will be at an end!"</p> + +<p>"But she is only to have it if she really has been good?" said Mrs. +Caryll, who was sometimes afraid that Magdalen was rather inclined to +spoil Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Only if she has been good, you may be sure," said Magdalen. "And there +is one thing about Hoodie—she does keep a promise."</p> + +<p>"You think she is honest and truthful?" said Mrs. Caryll.</p> + +<p>"By nature I am sure she is. But her brain is so full of fancies that +she hardly understands herself, that I can quite see how sometimes it +must seem as if she were not straightforward. Not that the fancies would +do her any harm if they were all happy and pretty ones—but I do wish +she could get rid of the idea that no one cares for her. It is <i>that</i> +that sours her and spoils her, poor little girl."</p> + +<p>Hoodie's mother looked affectionately at Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"Where have you learnt to be so wise about children, Magda?" she said. +"You seem to understand them as if you had lived among them all your +life."</p> + +<p>"It is only because I love them so much," said Magdalen, simply. "And +often somehow——" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Often what?" said her cousin, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I was going to say—but I stopped because I thought perhaps you would +not like it as we were talking of your children who have everything to +make them happy—" said Magdalen. "I was going to say that sometimes, +often, I am so very, very sorry for children. Even their naughtinesses +and sillinesses make me sorry for them. They are so strange to it +all—and it is so difficult to learn wisdom."</p> + +<p>Hoodie's mother smiled again.</p> + +<p>"You are such a venerable owl yourself, you funny child," she said. +"However, I do understand you, and I agree with you. I do feel very +sorry for poor Hoodie sometimes, even though she really goes out of her +way to make herself unhappy. But what <i>is</i> one to do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is the puzzle," said Magdalen. "In the first place any way, I +am going to buy her a cage for her bird—it will be good for her to take +regular care of the bird. I am so glad you said she might keep it."</p> + +<p>"I only hope we shall be able to rear it," said Mrs. Caryll. "Hoodie +would indeed think all the powers were against her if it died. That is +the worst of pets."</p> + +<p>"I think this bird will get on, if it is taken care of and not +over-fed," said Magdalen. "It is a greenfinch, you know, and +greenfinches take kindly to domestic life. Besides, it is not so very +young a bird, and it looks quite bright and happy now that it has got +over its fright," and so saying she followed Hoodie's mother out of the +room to prepare for their drive.</p> + +<p>It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when they returned. Cousin +Magdalen ran joyously up-stairs to the nursery carrying a very +funnily-shaped parcel in her hand. The children were all at tea. She +heard their voices and the clatter and tinkle that always accompanies a +nursery meal as she came along the passage, and she opened the door so +softly that for a moment or two she stood watching the little party +before any of them noticed her.</p> + +<p>How nice and pretty and happy they looked! Martin, a perfect picture of +a kind, tidy nurse, sat pouring out the tea, looking for once quite +easy-minded and at rest; Maudie, a little model of neatness as usual, +her small sweet face wearing an expression of the utmost gravity as she +carefully spread some honey on Hec's bread and butter; Duke, frowning +with eagerness to understand some mysterious communication which his +neighbour Hoodie was making to him in a low voice, her eyes bright with +excitement, her cheeks rosy, and her pretty fat shoulders "shruggled" +up, as she bent to whisper to her little brother.</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> do you say, Hoodie? I don't under'tand. How could it be all of +gold?" were the first words that met Magdalen's ears.</p> + +<p>"<i>Hush</i>, Duke," said Hoodie, placing her sticky little hand on his +mouth, "you're <i>not</i> to tell. I didn't say it would be all gold. I said +p'raps the little points at the top would be goldy—like the shiny top +of the point on the church. But you're too little to know what I mean. +You must wait till—Oh!" with a scream of delight, "<i>there's</i> Maudie's +godmother! Oh, Maudie's godmother, Maudie's godmother, <i>have</i> you got +it?"</p> + +<p>She was off her seat and in Magdalen's arms in an instant—hugging, +jumping, kissing, dancing with eagerness. It was all Magdalen could do +not at once to hold out to her the parcel, but her promise to Hoodie's +mother must not be broken.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I have got it. But first tell me, Hoodie dear—have +you been really a good little girl all the afternoon? Has she, Martin?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, trually I've been good—vezzy good—haven't I, Martin?" said +Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss. I must really say she has been very good. I don't remember +ever having a more peacefuller afternoon," said Martin with great +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad," said Magdalen. "And you didn't touch the bird, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>"No, oh no, I didn't touch it one bit," said Hoodie earnestly. "I went +and lookened at it, but I didn't touch it. Martin will tell you."</p> + +<p>"No, Miss, she was quite good. She just stood and peeped at it, but she +didn't touch it, I'm sure, for I went with her to your room and stayed +there a few minutes while she looked at the bird."</p> + +<p>"That was very nice," said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"We didn't let Hec and Duke go," said Hoodie, "for they'd have wanted to +touch the bird, wouldn't they? They're so little, you see, and Hec says +he likes smooving down the feavers on little birds's backs, so Martin +and me thought we'd better not let them be temptationed to touch the +bird."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, that was very wise. And as Martin stayed with you, you weren't +temptationed either, were you, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>Somewhat to her surprise, at this Hoodie grew rather red.</p> + +<p>"I didn't stay all the time, Miss," said Martin. "I heard the little +boys calling me, so I left Miss Hoodie for a minute or two feeling sure +I might trust her."</p> + +<p>"So there's nothing to prevent my giving you the cage. That's very +nice," said Magdalen. She lifted the funny-looking parcel on to the +table and unfastened the paper. There stood the cage—and such a pretty +one! It was painted white and green, and greatly and specially to +Hoodie's satisfaction the pointed tops of the pagoda-like roof were +gilt.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you so," she said to Duke in a tone of great superiority, +"I told you there'd be goldy points on the top."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Duke, much impressed; "I wonder how you knowed, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie tossed her head.</p> + +<p>"Knowed, in course I knowed," she said.</p> + +<p>Only Hec did not seem as much interested and delighted as the others. He +just glanced at the cage and then subsided again to his bread and honey.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with Hec?" said Cousin Magdalen. "He doesn't look as +bright as usual, does he, Martin?"</p> + +<p>"He's been very quiet all the afternoon," said Martin, "but I don't +think he can be ill. He's eaten a good tea, hasn't he, Miss Maudie?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Very</i>," said Maudie. "Three big slices first—only with butter, you +know, and then six with honey. We always have to eat three plain first, +on honey days," she added by way of explanation to her cousin.</p> + +<p>"<i>Nine</i> slices," said Magdalen, opening her eyes. "Martin, isn't that +enough to make him ill?"</p> + +<p>"Bless you, no, Miss," said Martin, laughing. "As long as it's bread and +butter, there's not much fear."</p> + +<p>"Or bread and honey," corrected Hoodie. "One day Duke and Hec and +me—Maudie wasn't there—one day Duke and Hec and me eatened firty-two +slices—Martin counted. It was when we was at the seaside."</p> + +<p>"My dear Hoodie!" exclaimed Magdalen, and the astonishment on her face +made them all laugh.</p> + +<p>The consumption of bread and butter and honey seemed however over for +the present, so Magdalen led the way to her own room, followed by Hoodie +carrying the precious cage which she would entrust to no other hands, +Maudie, the twins, and Martin bringing up the rear.</p> + +<p>Magdalen opened the door and crossed the room, which was a large one, to +the side window, on the writing-table, in front of which, she had left +the basket containing the bird. She had placed it carefully, with a +little circle of books round it to prevent the bird's fluttering +knocking it over. As she came near the table, she gave an exclamation of +surprise and vexation. The circle of books was still there undisturbed, +but the basket was no longer in the centre—indeed, at the first glance +Magdalen could not see it at all.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!" she exclaimed. "Where can the basket be? Hoodie, you <i>surely</i> +didn't touch it?"</p> + +<p>The moment she had said the words she regretted them—but just at first +she had not time to look at Hoodie to see how she had taken them, for +another glance at the table showed her the basket peeping up behind the +edge where it had slipped down, though fortunately the table was pushed +too near the wall for it to have fallen quite on to the floor.</p> + +<p>Magdalen darted forward and carefully drew out the basket, in +considerable fear and trembling as to the state of the little bird +inside. But to her relief it seemed all right. It had had another +fright, no doubt, poor thing—it must have thought life a very queer +series of falls and bumps and knocks, I should think, judging by its own +experience, but still it seemed to have a happy faculty of recovering +itself, and though its position in the toppled-over basket could not +have been very comfortable, it looked quite bright and chirpy when +Magdalen gently lifted the lid to examine it.</p> + +<p>"It is hungry, I'm sure," she said; "can't you give me a little bread +soaked in milk for it again, Martin. There's some milk on the nursery +table, isn't there?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, Miss," said Martin, starting off at once. To her surprise, +as she left the room she felt a hand slipped into hers. It was Hoodie's.</p> + +<p>"I'll go with you," said the child, and Martin, thinking she only wanted +to go with her to see about the bread and milk, made no objection. It +was not till they reached the nursery that Martin noticed the expression +of the little girl's face. It was stormy in the extreme.</p> + +<p>"I won't go back to Maudie's godmother's room," she exclaimed. "I won't +have the cage. I won't speak to her—nasty, <i>ugly</i> Maudie's godmother."</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie!" said Martin, in amazement and distress. "You speaking +that naughty way of your cousin who has been so very nice and kind to +you."</p> + +<p>"I don't care," said Hoodie, fairly on the way to one of her grandest +tempers, "<i>I</i> don't care. She's not nice and kind. She doesn't believe +what I say. I <i>toldened</i> her I didn't touch the basket, and she said I +did."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Miss Hoodie, my dear, I'm sure she didn't say that. She only +asked you if you were quite sure you didn't. And who could have done it, +I'm sure I can't think," said Martin, herself by no means satisfied +that Hoodie's indignation was not a sign of her knowing herself to +blame. "No one was in the room but you and me this afternoon, for none +of the servants ever go near it till dressing time. Besides, they +wouldn't go touching the bird. If it had been one of the little boys +now. It's just what they might have done, reaching up to get it. But +they weren't there at all."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't care," reiterated Hoodie. "I didn't do it, but Maudie's +godmother doesn't believe me. <i>I</i> don't care. But I won't have the +cage." And in spite of all Martin could say, the child resolutely +refused to leave the nursery.</p> + +<p>Hoodie sat there alone, nursing her wrath and bitter feelings.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't care," she kept repeating to herself. "Nobody likes me. I'm +alvays naughty. What's the good of being good? I did so want to touch +the bird when Martin went out of the room and left me alone, but I +didn't, 'cos I'd p'omised. I might as well, 'cos Maudie's godmother +doesn't believe me. It's very unkind of God to make it seem that I'm +alvays naughty. It's not my fault. <i>I</i> don't care."</p> + +<p>In Magdalen's room Martin was relating Hoodie's indignation.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how sorry I am for saying that," said Magdalen. "It will just make +her lose her trust in me. And I do believe her. I'm sure she didn't +touch it. Don't you think so, Martin?"</p> + +<p>Martin hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss, I do think I believe her. Only didn't you notice how red she +got when I said I wasn't with her <i>all</i> the time in your room this +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Magdalen; "but I thought it was just that she felt so eager +for me to know she had kept her promise. I <i>don't</i> think she touched it, +Martin. I really don't. But I am afraid it will be difficult to make her +believe I don't."</p> + +<p>Just then a sudden sound of weeping made them all start, thinking for a +moment that it must be Hoodie herself, who had run back from the +nursery. But no—it was not Hoodie—it was Hec. The little fellow had +crept under the table unobserved, and there had been listening to the +conversation.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, dear? What's the matter, my darling? Don't cry so, +Master Hec," said Martin, as she drew him out.</p> + +<p>"Poor Hec! Poor little Hec! Has he hurt himself?" exclaimed all the +others.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I hasn't hurt myself," sobbed Hec. "I'm crying 'cos it was +<i>me</i>. It was <i>me</i> that tumbled the basket down, and Cousin Magdalen +'colded Hoodie. It wasn't poor Hoodie. It was all me."</p> + +<p>And for some minutes, conscience-stricken Hec refused to be comforted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill12" id="ill12"></a> +<img src="images/ill12.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>Hec refused to be comforted</h3> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>FLOWN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One flew away, and then there was none."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Three Little Birds.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Hoodie sat alone in the nursery, wrathful and sore. All the pleasure in +the little bird and the beautiful cage seemed to have gone.</p> + +<p>"I don't love her neither, not now," she said to herself. "I don't +<i>think</i>—no, I really don't <i>think</i> I love anybody, 'cos nobody loves +me, and ev'ybody thinks I'm naughty. Never mind—I'll go away some day. +As soon as ever I'm big enough I'll go kite away and never come back +again, and I sha'n't care what anybody says then."</p> + +<p>There was some comfort though of a rather vague kind in this thought. +Hoodie sat swinging her legs backwards and forwards, while queer fancies +of where she would go—what she would do, once she was "big enough," +chased each other round her busy little brain.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a sound in the passage outside the nursery door made her look +up just in time to see the door open and Magdalen, leading tearful Hec +by the hand, followed by Maudie, Duke, and Martin, come in.</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," said Magdalen, "Hec wants to tell you how sorry he is that you +have got blamed on his account. It was he that touched the basket and +knocked it over. He ran into my room to look at the bird without +Martin's knowing he had left the nursery, and he was so afraid that he +had hurt the little bird, by knocking it over, that he didn't like to +tell. Kiss him and speak kindly to him, poor little boy, Hoodie dear. He +has been so unhappy."</p> + +<p>Hoodie gravely contemplated her little brother, but without giving any +signs of obeying her cousin's request.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> have been unhappy too," she said, "and it wasn't my fault. It <i>was</i> +Hec's."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Magdalen, "it should make you the more sorry for Hec. +He has had the unhappiness of knowing it <i>was</i> his fault, which is the +worst unhappiness of all."</p> + +<p>Hoodie threw back her head.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't think so," she said. "I think the worst is when people alvays +says you're naughty when you're not."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you thought I said you were naughty when you weren't, +Hoodie," said Magdalen, "but you thought I meant more than I did. As +soon as I thought about it quietly I felt sure you hadn't touched the +basket—and even <i>more</i> sure, that if you had been tempted to touch it, +you would have said so."</p> + +<p>"'Cos Hec toldened you it was him," said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"No, before Hec said a word, I said to Martin I was sure it wasn't you."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up with a new light in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>Did</i> you?" she said, as if hardly able to believe it.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, Miss Hoodie," said Martin, "Miss King did say so. And very +kind of her it was, to trust you so, for you did look very funny when I +said you had been a few minutes alone in the room."</p> + +<p>Hoodie flamed round upon her.</p> + +<p>"It's vezzy nasty of you to say that, Martin," she exclaimed violently. +"<i>Vezzy</i> nasty. You alvays think I'm naughty. I daresay I did look +funny, 'cos I was temptationed, awful temptationed to touch the bird, +but I wouldn't, no I <i>wouldn't</i>, 'cos I'd p'omised."</p> + +<p>And at last her mingled feelings found relief in a burst of sobs.</p> + +<p>The sight was too much for Hec, already in a sorely depressed and +tearful condition. He threw his arms round Hoodie, nearly dragging her +off her chair in his endeavours to get her shaggy head down to the level +of his own close-cropped dark one for an embrace.</p> + +<p>"Oh Hoodie, Hoodie, <i>dear</i> Hoodie, don't cry," he beseeched her. "It's +all Hec's fault. Naughty Hec. Oh Hoodie, please 'agive me and kiss me, +and I'll never, never touch your bird again."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill13" id="ill13"></a> +<img src="images/ill13.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Please 'agive me and kiss me."</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Hoodie was quite melted.</p> + +<p>"Dear Hec—poor Hec," she cried in her turn. "Don't cry, dear Hec," and +the two little creatures hugged and kissed and cried, all in one.</p> + +<p>"Let's kiss Maudie's godmother too. She didn't think you was naughty, +Hoodie," suggested Hec, and Hoodie at once took his advice, so the +kissing and hugging were transferred to poor Magdalen, who bore them +heroically, till at last she was so very nearly smothered that she was +obliged to cry for mercy.</p> + +<p>"And let us go back to my room now," she said, "and introduce the little +bird to its new house. It hasn't seen it yet, you know, Hoodie."</p> + +<p>"<i>Hasn't</i> it?" said Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Of course not. The cage is yours—your very own. I waited for you to +come before putting the bird in it."</p> + +<p>"That was <i>vezzy</i> good of you," said Hoodie, approvingly; and as happy +and light-hearted as if no temper or trouble of any kind had ever come +near her, she took Hec's hand and trotted off with her cousin to help in +the installation of the bird in its beautiful cage.</p> + +<p>"What funny creatures children are," said Magdalen to herself, "and of +them all surely Hoodie is the funniest."</p> + +<p>It would be impossible to tell the pleasure that the possession of the +little bird gave to Hoodie, and the devotion she showed to it. For some +days its cage remained in Miss King's room, that Cousin Magdalen herself +might watch how the little creature got on, and there, as Martin said, +"morning, noon, and night," Hoodie was to be found. It was the prettiest +sight to see her, seated by the table, her elbows resting upon it, and +her chubby face leaning on her hands, while her eyes eagerly followed +every movement of her favourite. She was never tired of sitting thus, +she was never cross or impatient, nor did she ever attempt to touch the +greenfinch without Magdalen's leave. And finding that the little girl +was so gentle and obedient, and that the bird gave her such pleasure, +Magdalen kindly did her utmost to increase this pleasure. She taught +Hoodie how to tame and make friends with her pet, to call to it with her +soft little voice—for no one could have a softer or prettier voice than +Hoodie when she chose—always in the same tone, till the bird learnt to +recognize it and to come at her summons. And oh the delight of the first +time this happened! Hoodie was holding out her hand, the forefinger +outstretched to the open door of the cage, half-cooing, half-whistling, +in the pretty way Magdalen had taught her, when birdie, its head cocked +on one side as if half in timidity, half in coquetry, at last mustered +up courage and hopped on to the fat little pink finger.</p> + +<p>Hoodie <i>nearly</i> screamed with delight, but recollected herself just in +time not to frighten the bird.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Cousin Magdalen," she whispered in the most tremendous excitement, +"Him is pouching, him's pouching on my finger. Oh the darling,—look, +look, Maudie's godmother."</p> + +<p>But before Maudie's godmother could get across the room to look, Mr. +Birdie had hopped off its new perch, and the experiment had to be +repeated.</p> + +<p>"Come and pouch, birdie, dear birdie; <i>do</i> come and pouch on my finger," +said Hoodie, beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"Call it the way I taught you," whispered Magdalen.</p> + +<p>Hoodie did so, and at the sound of her well-known call, the greenfinch +cocked its head, looked round on all sides, appeared to consider, and at +last condescended again to hop on to its little Mistress's finger.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it <i>sweet</i>?" said Hoodie ecstatically, though scarcely daring to +breathe for fear of disturbing it.</p> + +<p>"If you take care never to startle it," said Magdalen, "it will get in +the way of coming regularly whenever you call it. <i>Never</i> let it hear +you speaking angrily or roughly, Hoodie. That would startle it more than +anything."</p> + +<p>"<i>Would</i> it?" said Hoodie, regarding her pet with affection not +unmingled with respect. "Would it know I was naughty? Cousin Magdalen," +she added, looking up into her friend's face with considerable awe in +her bright green eyes; "Cousin Magdalen, do you think <i>p'raps</i> my bird's +a fairy, and that God sent it to teach me to be good?"</p> + +<p>Fortunately by this time Magdalen's intercourse with Hoodie had taught +her the necessity of great control of herself. Whatever Hoodie said or +did, she must not be laughed at—not even smiled at, if in the smile +there lurked the slightest shadow of ridicule. Once let Hoodie imagine +she was being made fun of and all hope of leading her and making her +love and trust you was over.</p> + +<p>So Magdalen's face remained quite grave as she replied to Hoodie's +question,</p> + +<p>"I think that <i>everything</i> nice and pretty that comes to us is sent by +God, dear. And He means them all to teach us to be good. But I don't +think you need fancy your little bird is a fairy."</p> + +<p>"It's <i>so</i> clever," said Hoodie. "Fancy him knowing when I call. Do you +think some day it'll learn to speak, Cousin Magdalen?"</p> + +<p>Cousin Magdalen shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not. It isn't the kind of bird that ever learns to speak," +she replied, as gravely as before. "But I shouldn't wonder if it learns +to know you very well—to come in a moment when it hears you call, and +to show you that it is pleased to see you."</p> + +<p>"Oh how lovely that'll be," said Hoodie, dancing about with delight. +"Fancy it coming on my finger whenever I say 'Birdie dear, come and +pouch.' I'll <i>never</i> let it hear me speak c'oss, Cousin Magdalen. +Whenever I feel <i>it</i> coming I'll go out of the room and shut the door +tight so it sha'n't hear me."</p> + +<p>"Whenever you feel what coming?" asked Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"<i>It</i>," repeated Hoodie, "c'ossness, you know. It must come +sometimes—<i>all</i> chindrel is c'oss <i>sometimes</i>," she added +complacently.</p> + +<p>"Well, but suppose some children were to make up their minds to be cross +<i>no</i> times," said Magdalen with a smile. "Wouldn't that be a good thing? +Suppose a little girl I know, not very far from here, was to set the +example."</p> + +<p>Hoodie laughed.</p> + +<p>"Cousin <i>Magdalen</i>," she said, with an accent on the name that she +always gave when amused. "Cousin <i>Magdalen</i>, how funny you are! I know +who you mean—yes, I do, kite well. But she couldn't, that little girl +couldn't help being c'oss <i>sometimes</i>."</p> + +<p>She shook her head sagaciously.</p> + +<p>"Well, any way," said Magdalen, "try and let the 'sometimes' come as +seldom as possible. Won't you do that, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>Just then there came a tap at the door.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," said Martin's voice. "Come to tea, please. It's quite +ready."</p> + +<p>Hoodie gave an impatient shake. Fortunately the bird was no longer on +her finger, otherwise its nerves would have been considerably startled. +Hoodie had been on the point of putting her hand into the cage to entice +it to hop on to her finger and thus to lift it out when Martin's summons +came.</p> + +<p>"I don't want any tea," she said; "do go away, Martin. You <i>alvays</i> +come for me when I don't want to go."</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," whispered Magdalen, "the bird will be quite frightened to hear +you speak like that."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked startled.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," she said. "I quite forgot. You see, Cousin Magdalen, it +<i>will</i> come. There's no good trying to keep it away."</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is," said Magdalen. "There's good in trying to keep it away, +and there's good in trying to send it away even after it's come. You're +sending it away now, Hoodie, I think."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" said Hoodie, doubtfully. Then with a sudden change of tone, +"Well, I <i>will</i> then. I'll go goodly with Martin. Martin," she said +amiably, turning to her nurse, "I'm coming. I'll go out of the room kite +goodly and quiet, and then perhaps birdie won't remember about my +speaking c'oss."</p> + +<p>"I daresay he won't," said Magdalen encouragingly. "I'll give him some +fresh seed to eat, as it's rather low in his box, and that will give him +something else to think of. But I won't speak to him, Hoodie. I never +do, because I want him to learn to know your voice."</p> + +<p>"That's out of the Bible," was Hoodie's parting remark, as she went off +with Martin, quite "goodly," as she had promised.</p> + +<p>Day by day Hoodie loved her bird more and more, and her love was repaid +by great success in taming the little creature. It grew to know her +wonderfully well, to hop on to her rosy finger when she called to it, +adding always, "Birdie, birdie, come and <i>pouch</i>," with a soft clear +note of delight that it was quite a pleasure to hear. Its cage was +placed in the window of a little ante-room, out of which Miss King's +room opened. There had been some talk of putting it in the nursery, but +Hoodie pleaded against this. The cat <i>had</i> been known to enter the +nursery, for Hec and Duke were rather fond of old pussy, and Prince was +a frequent visitor there. And besides this, Hoodie could not feel quite +sure that her little brothers might not be some day "temptationed" to +touch her favourite. It was pretty clear any way that birdie's residence +in the nursery would be a source of quarrels, so Mother and Magdalen and +Martin agreed that the ante-room window would be the best and safest +place.</p> + +<p>"It isn't as if winter was coming instead of summer," said Magdalen. "In +that case a room without a fire would be too cold for it. But every day, +now, the weather is getting brighter and warmer. What are you looking +so grave about, Hoodie?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up solemnly.</p> + +<p>"I were just thinking," she replied, "what a pity it would be if winter +comed back again instead of summer, just when we've settled about my +bird so nicely—by mistake you know."</p> + +<p>"But winter and summer don't come of themselves, Miss Hoodie," said +Martin. "You know God sends them, and He never makes mistakes."</p> + +<p>"But <i>supposing</i> He did," said Hoodie, "you are so stupid, Martin. You +might <i>suppose</i>."</p> + +<p>"Hoodie!" said Magdalen, warningly.</p> + +<p>Hoodie gave a wriggle, but said no more. Not that she was vanquished +however. She waited till bed-time, and then, after saying aloud as usual +her little evening prayer, added a special clause for Martin's +edification. "And p'ease, dear God, be sure not to forget to send the +nice warm summer for my little bird, and don't let cold winter come back +again by mistake."</p> + +<p>"It'll do no harm to <i>'amind</i> God, any way," she observed with +satisfaction, as she lay down in bed and composed herself for her +night's repose.</p> + +<p>Weeks passed on and the nice warm summer came. Hoodie's devotion to her +bird seemed to increase as time went on, and so much of her time was +spent beside its cage that the nursery peace and quiet were much greater +than before its arrival.</p> + +<p>One day, just after the nursery breakfast, she hastened to her pet as +usual. Rather to her vexation she saw that her two little brothers were +standing by the cage, of which the door was open, Miss King beside them. +Hoodie frowned, but did not venture to say anything.</p> + +<p>"See, Hoodie," said Magdalen, "see how very confiding birdie has learnt +to be. He has actually hopped on to Duke's finger when he whistled to +him the way you do. It will do him no harm now to be friendly to other +people too—now that he knows you so well. Look at him."</p> + +<p>"See, Hoodie," cried Duke in delight, holding up his stumpy little +forefinger, on which birdie was contentedly perched.</p> + +<p>An ugly black cloud came over Hoodie's face. She darted forward, furious +with anger.</p> + +<p>"I <i>won't</i> have him pouch on your finger, Duke," she cried. "I won't +have <i>anybody</i> call him but me. I won't. I won't—he's the only thing +that loves me and nobody's to touch him. Go away, naughty Duke; ugly +Duke."</p> + +<p>She pushed Duke aside with one hand and with the other attempted, +gently, notwithstanding her passion, to take the bird. The window was +wide open, and the children were standing beside it. Magdalen, who was +at the other side of the table on which stood the cage, hurried forward, +but too late. Startled by Hoodie's loud voice, not recognizing in the +furious little girl its gentle mistress, and with some instinct of +self-preservation, the greenfinch, with a frightened uncertain note, +flew off Duke's finger, alighted for one instant on the window-sill, +from which it seemed for a moment to look at the group in the room, as +if in farewell, then, before Magdalen could do anything, before Hoodie +had taken in the idea of the misfortune that threatened her, raised its +pretty wings with another soft reproachful note, and flew away—away out +in the bright sunny garden, over the bushes and flowers, away—away—to +some leafy corner up among the high trees, where there would be no angry +voices to startle it, no quarrelsome children to frighten its tender +little heart—no sound but the soft brush of the squirrel's furry tail +among the branches, and the gentle flutter of the summer breeze. Away, +away! But what did that "away" mean to poor broken-hearted Hoodie?</p> + +<p>She stood motionless with surprise and horror—she did not dart to the +window as one would have expected—ready almost to throw herself out of +it in fruitless pursuit of her favourite—she stood perfectly still, as +if turned into stone. But the expression on her face was so strange and +unnatural that Miss King felt frightened.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," she exclaimed. "Hoodie, child, don't stand like that. Come to +the window and call to your bird. Perhaps he will hear you and fly +back."</p> + +<p>She said it more to rouse Hoodie out of the depth of her misery than +because she really thought the bird would return, for in the bottom of +her heart she feared much that it had truly flown away, and that once it +felt itself out in the open air its natural instinct of freedom would +prevent its returning to its cage.</p> + +<p>Hoodie started.</p> + +<p>"Come back? Do you <i>think</i> he'll come back, Cousin Magdalen?" she +exclaimed, and rushing to the window, and leaning out so far that +Magdalen was obliged to hold her for fear she should fall over, she gave +the soft clear call which her cousin had taught her—over and over +again, till, tired and out of breath, she drew in her head and looked up +in Magdalen's face despairingly.</p> + +<p>"He won't come," she said, "he won't come. P'raps he's flied away too +far to hear me. P'raps he can hear me but he doesn't want to come. Oh +dear, <i>oh</i> dear, what shall I do? My bird, my bird—you always said he +would fly away if he heard me speak c'oss, and I did speak c'oss, dedful +c'oss. <i>Oh!</i> what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>Hoodie sank down on the floor—a little heap of tears and misery. Hec +and Duke flung their arms around her, beseeching her not to cry so, but +there was no comfort for Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"It was my own fault," she kept repeating, "my own fault for speaking so +c'oss. The bird will never come back. Oh no, Hec and Duke, dear Hec and +Duke, it isn't no good kissing me. I'll never, never be happy again, and +it's my own fault."</p> + +<p>It was impossible not to be sorry for her. Magdalen felt almost ready to +burst into tears herself. She took Hoodie up in her arms and tried to +comfort her.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you should quite lose heart about birdie, Hoodie. He may +come back again, once he has had a good fly. We must keep the window +open, and you must keep calling to him every now and then, in the way he +is used to. And perhaps it would be a good plan to go out in the garden +and call—he may perhaps have flown up among the trees at the other +side."</p> + +<p>Hoodie was only too ready. Patiently, while her cousin went down to her +breakfast, the little girl stood at the window calling to the truant. +Every now and then the sobs that would continue to rise, made a sad +little quaver in the middle, and once or twice poor Hoodie was obliged +to stop altogether. But she soon began again, and every now and then +between her whistles, she said in a beseeching, half heart-broken tone—</p> + +<p>"Oh, birdie, <i>won't</i> you come? Come, dear birdie, oh <i>do</i> come and pouch +on my finger. I'll never, never speak c'oss again—never, dear birdie, +if only you'll come back and pouch on my finger."</p> + +<p>It was very melancholy. Very melancholy too was the walking about the +garden in vain hopes that birdie might be somewhere near and would fly +down again. The whole day passed most sadly. Hoodie's eyes were swollen +with crying, and she could scarcely eat any dinner or tea, and her +distress naturally was felt by all the nursery party. It was one of the +saddest days the children had ever known, and they all went to bed with +sorely troubled little hearts.</p> + +<p>Magdalen too was grieved and sorry.</p> + +<p>"I blame myself," she said to Hoodie's mother. "Pets are always a risk, +and Hoodie is such a strange mixture that one shouldn't run risks with +her. I wish I had never suggested her keeping the bird as a pet, but I +thought it might be good for her to have something of her very own to +care for and attend to."</p> + +<p>"And so it was," said Hoodie's mother. "It has done her a great deal of +good; it has softened her wonderfully. We all noticed it. And even this +trouble may do her good; it may teach her really to try to master that +sad temper of hers."</p> + +<p>"I had no idea she would have been so put out at Duke's playing with her +bird," Magdalen went on, "or I would not have risked it."</p> + +<p>"But she <i>should</i> not have been put out at it," said Mrs. Caryll. "You +have nothing whatever to reproach yourself with, dear Magdalen. Hoodie +<i>must</i> be taught that she cannot be allowed to yield to that selfish, +jealous temper."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Magdalen. "But how are we to teach her? that is the +difficulty—the least severity or sternness which does good to other +children, seems to rouse her very worst feelings and only to harden her. +She is not hardened now, poor little soul, she is perfectly humble. Oh, +how I do wish I could find her bird for her!"</p> + +<p>"Don't trouble yourself so much about it, dear. You really must not," +said Mrs. Caryll, as she bade her cousin good night.</p> + +<p>But unfortunately those things which our friends beg us not to trouble +ourselves about are generally the very things we find it the most +impossible to put out of our minds. Magdalen could not leave off +"troubling" about poor Hoodie. She slept little, and when she did sleep +it was only to dream of the lost bird, sometimes that it was found again +in all sorts of impossible places—sometimes that Hoodie was climbing a +dreadfully high mountain, or attempting to swim across a deep river, +where Magdalen felt that she would certainly be drowned,—in search of +it. And once she dreamt that the bird flew into her room and perched at +the foot of her bed, and when she exclaimed with delight at seeing it +again it suddenly began to speak to her, and its voice sounded exactly +like Hoodie's.</p> + +<p>"I have come to say good-bye to you, Maudie's godmother," it said. +"Nobody loves me, and I am always naughty, so I'd better go away."</p> + +<p>And as Magdalen started up to catch the bird, or Hoodie, whichever it +was—in her dream it seemed both—she awoke.</p> + +<p>It was bright daylight already, though only five o'clock. Outside in the +garden the sun was shining beautifully, the air, as Magdalen opened her +window, felt deliciously fresh and sweet, everything had the peaceful +untroubled look of very early morning—of a very early spring morning +especially—when the birds and the flowers and the sunshine and the +breezes have had it all to themselves, as it were, undisturbed by the +troubles and difficulties and disagreements that busy day is sure to +bring with it, as long as there are men and women, and boys and girls, +in this puzzling world of ours.</p> + +<p>Though, after all, it is better to be a child than a bird or a +flower—whatever mistakes we may make, whatever wrong we may do, all, +alas, adding to the great mass of mistakes and wrong—whatever sorrows +we may have to bear, it is something to feel in us the power of bearing +them, the power of <i>trying</i> to put right even what we may have helped to +put wrong—best of all the power of loving each other, and of helping +each other in a way that the happy, innocent birds and flowers know +nothing about. Is it not better to be <i>ourselves</i>, after all?</p> + +<p>Magdalen leant out of the window, enjoying the sweet air and sunshine, +but thinking all the time how much more she would have enjoyed this +bright morning but for her sympathy with poor Hoodie's trouble.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a thought struck her. <i>Possibly</i> the bird, chilled and hungry +after some hours' freedom, unaccustomed to be out in the dark, or to +find food for itself—<i>possibly</i> he might have returned to his cage in +the night. Magdalen threw on her dressing-gown and hurried into the +ante-room. The window was open, the cage-door stood open too, everything +was ready to welcome the little wanderer—fresh seed in the box, fresh +water in the glass—Hoodie had seen to it all herself before going to +bed—but that was all!</p> + +<p>There was no little feathered occupant in the cage—it was empty, and +with a fresh feeling of disappointment, Magdalen stood by the window +again, looking out at the bright morning, and wondering what she could +do to comfort poor Hoodie. Outside, the birds were singing merrily.</p> + +<p>"Should I get her another bird?" thought Magdalen, "a canary, perhaps, +accustomed to cage life? No, I think not. It might only lead to fresh +disappointment; besides, I don't think Hoodie is the sort of child to +care for another, <i>instead</i>. No, that wouldn't do."</p> + +<p>Suddenly a sort of flutter in the leaves round the window-frame—Mr. +Caryll's house was an old one; there were creepers all over the +walls—made Magdalen look up.</p> + +<p>"Can there be a nest in the eaves?" she said to herself, for the flutter +was evidently that of a bird; and as she was watching, she saw it fly +out—fly down rather from the projecting window-roof, and—to her +amazement, after seeming for an instant or two to hesitate, it summoned +up courage and flew a little way into the room—too high up for her to +reach however, and not far enough into the room for her to venture to +shut the window. She stood breathless, for as it at last settled for a +moment on the curtain-rod, she saw what at first she had scarcely +ventured to believe, that it was Hoodie's bird.</p> + +<p>It stayed a moment on the rod, then it flew off again—made a turn round +the room—"oh," thought Magdalen, "if it <i>would</i> but settle somewhere +further from the window, so that I could shut it in"—But no, off it +flew again—out into the open air, and Magdalen's heart sank. Patience! +Another moment and it was back again, with designs on its cage +apparently, but it hesitated half way. Now was the critical moment. +Magdalen hesitated. Should she risk it? She stretched out her hand +towards the bird and softly and tremulously whistled to it in Hoodie's +well-known call. The wavering balance of birdie's intentions was +turned—it cocked its head on one side, and with a pretty chirp flew +towards Magdalen and perched on her finger! Slowly and cautiously, +whistling softly all the time, she slipped her hand into the cage, and +quickly withdrawing it the instant birdie hopped off he found himself +caught.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill14" id="ill14"></a> +<img src="images/ill14.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Slowly and cautiously, whistling softly all the time"</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>But he seemed quite content, and in two moments was pecking at his seed +as if nothing had happened.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>HOODIE'S DISOBEDIENCE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where are the pretty primroses gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lately bloomed in the wood?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Notwithstanding her troubles, on account of them partly, perhaps, for +nothing tires out little children more than long crying, Hoodie slept +soundly that night. She was still sleeping when, at seven o'clock, +Magdalen, already dressed and with the cage in her hand, came into her +room to watch for her waking.</p> + +<p>Martin, who had heard the joyful news an hour ago, stood with Miss King +beside the little girl's bed and looked at her. Poor Hoodie! Her rosy +face still bore traces of yesterday's weeping, and now and then through +her sleep one heard that little sobbing catch in her breathing which is, +to my thinking, one of the most piteous sounds in the world.</p> + +<p>"She's tired herself out," said Martin. "She may sleep another hour or +more. You'll be tired standing there, miss. Who would think Miss Hoodie +had it in her to take things to heart so, for to see her sometimes she's +like as if she had no heart or love in her at all."</p> + +<p>"I think I'll put the cage on a chair beside the bed," said Magdalen, +"and then she'll be sure to see it the moment she wakes."</p> + +<p>She did so and went quietly away. Half an hour later, coming back again +to see if Hoodie was still sleeping, she heard as she opened the door +the sound of the little girl's voice. She had just awakened and had +discovered the return of her bird. She was in an ecstasy of delight, +very pretty to hear and see.</p> + +<p>"Oh my darling little bird," she was saying, "oh my sweet, innocent pet, +have you come back? oh my dear, <i>dear</i> bird! You didn't mean to go away +from Hoodie, did you? You lost your way, didn't you? Hoodie will never +speak c'oss again, birdie, <i>never</i>. I do think God is vezzy kind to send +you back again, and I <i>will</i> try to please Him by being good, 'cos He's +so kind."</p> + +<p>Magdalen stood still and watched her, with pleasure, but with a strange +sort of slight sadness and misgiving too. There was something almost +startling in the little girl's extreme love for the bird, and it made +her cousin wish it could be bestowed on a higher object.</p> + +<p>"Why can't she love her sister and brothers more?" she thought to +herself. "I do not know what she would do now if anything again happened +to the bird. I wonder if it would have been better if it had not come +back. But no, I must not think that. <i>All</i> love must do good to a nature +like Hoodie's, and her love for the bird may teach her other things. And +oh, I should have been sorry to leave her while she was as unhappy as +she was yesterday."</p> + +<p>Then she came forward into the room, and when Hoodie saw her, there was +a fresh cry of delight, and Magdalen had to tell her over and over again +exactly how it had all happened; how it was that she was up so early, +how birdie flew in and then out again, and how Magdalen feared that +after all she might not be able to catch him, and how delighted she was +when she felt sure she had got him safe.</p> + +<p>"I was so glad to think how pleased you would be, Hoodie, dear!" she +said.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Cousin Magdalen, you are vezzy kind," said Hoodie. "And I +think God is vezzy kind too, for you know I said my prayers to Him last +night to send birdie back again, so He must have told him to come. +P'raps He sent a' angel to show birdie the way. I'm going to be vezzy +good now, Cousin Magdalen, <i>awful</i> good, alvays, 'cos God was kind and +sent birdie back. <i>Won't</i> God be glad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, God is always glad when His little children are good. He +likes them to be happy, and being good is the only way," said Magdalen.</p> + +<p>"But won't He be <i>dedfully</i> glad for me to be kite good?" said Hoodie, +seemingly not quite satisfied with her cousin's tone. "I wouldn't have +tried so much if He hadn't sent birdie back, but now I'm going to try +awful hard."</p> + +<p>"But, Hoodie dear, even if God hadn't sent birdie back it would have +been right to try as hard as ever you could," said Magdalen. "That's +what I wish you could understand—even when God <i>doesn't</i> do what we ask +Him we should try to please Him. For He loves us just the same—better +than if He did what we ask, for He knows that sometimes what we ask +wouldn't be good for us. I don't think you understand that, Hoodie dear. +You think when your mother, or Martin perhaps, doesn't do all at once +what you ask, that it is because they don't love you. You mustn't feel +that way, dear, either about your friends here, or about God, your best +friend of all."</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up, rather puzzled. Magdalen feared she had not understood +what she said, and almost regretted having said it. And afterwards she +wondered what had put it into her mind to try to explain to the little +girl what puzzles and bewilders far wiser people, but by the time that +"afterwards" came she no longer regretted having said what she had.</p> + +<p>"I do think God loves me now," said Hoodie, sturdily, "'cos He's sent +birdie back, and so I'm going to try to be good. But if I was God I'd +<i>alvays</i> do what ev'ybody asked me, and I'd <i>make</i> it be good for them, +and then ev'ybody would be so pleased, they'd always try to be good."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not, Hoodie," said Magdalen with a slight smile. "I'm afraid +if everybody always got what they want there would soon be very little +goodness left anywhere."</p> + +<p>Hoodie at this looked more puzzled than before, but Magdalen, who had +been speaking more to herself than to the child this time, did not try +to explain any more. She bent over Hoodie and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Any way don't forget about trying to be good, and ask God to help you," +she said.</p> + +<p>The next day "Maudie's godmother" went away. She had stayed longer than +she had intended, and now her father and mother could spare her no +longer. The children were greatly distressed at her going. Maudie cried +gently, the boys more uproariously, and all three joined in reproaching +Hoodie for not crying at all. Hoodie seemed quite indifferent to their +remarks.</p> + +<p>"Why should I cry?" she said. "It would be very silly to cry when Cousin +Magdalen is going back to her father and mother. Crying isn't any good."</p> + +<p>"You don't love Cousin Magdalen," said Maudie, "if you did you couldn't +help crying."</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> love her. I love her as many times as you do, ugl"——</p> + +<p>She stopped—Magdalen was looking at her with a look that Hoodie +understood. Hoodie ran to her and threw her arms round her neck.</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> love you, Cousin Magdalen," she whispered. "Don't you believe +me? I do love you, and I'm trying dedfully to be good, to please you and +God, 'cos of birdie coming back."</p> + +<p>"I do believe you, dear," said Magdalen, and Hoodie glanced round with +triumph.</p> + +<p>I am coming now to a part of Hoodie's history which I cannot prevent +being rather sad. I wish, for some reasons, I could prevent it. But true +stories must be told true, and even fancy stories must be told in a +fancy true way, or else they do not suit themselves. When I was a +little girl I never cared for the new-fashioned "Red Riding Hood" story; +the one in which she was <i>not</i> eaten up at the end after all, but saved +by a wood-cutter at the last minute. Of course it was very nice to think +of poor Red Riding Hood not being eaten up, if one could have managed to +believe it. But somehow I never could, and even now whenever I think of +the story the old original ending, dreadful as it was, always comes back +to me. So now that I am telling you about—not Red Riding Hood—but my +queer, fanciful, but still I hope lovable, Hoodie, I feel that I must go +straight on and tell you what really happened, even though it makes you +rather sad.</p> + +<p>For some time after Miss King left, things went on pretty smoothly, very +smoothly, perhaps I should say. Hoodie did not forget about trying to be +good, especially in her bird's presence. It became a sort of conscience +to her, and as, by a law which is a great help in learning to be +good,—though also a danger the more in learning <i>wrong</i>,—by the law of +<i>habit</i>, every time one tries to keep under one's ill temper, makes it +easier for the next time, it grew really easier for Hoodie to check her +naughty cross words and looks from the way she kept them down when +beside her little pet. And Martin and every one began to think it had +been a happy thing for Hoodie and those about her that her cousin had +taught her how to tame and care for the pretty greenfinch.</p> + +<p>It was so pretty, poor little birdie! It grew so tame that, with the +window shut of course, it spent a great part of its time flying freely +about the ante-room where stood its cage. It would "pouch" not only on +Hoodie's finger but on her shoulder, her head—anywhere she chose to +place it. And in an instant, at the sound of her call, it would fly to +her. Every morning it was her first thought, every night her last. And +night and morning when she said her prayers, she never forgot to thank +God for being "<i>so</i> kind as to send birdie back again," and to beg Him +to keep birdie safe and well.</p> + +<p>One evening—how it happened I cannot tell,—it was very hot and sultry +weather, with thunder about, and at such times people are careless about +closing doors and windows—one evening, by some mischance which no one +ever could explain, the window of "birdie's room," as it had come to be +called, was either left open, or flew open in some way. Hoodie was sure +she had closed it when she went to bid her pet good night, but it was +what is called a lattice window, and these are apt to fly open unless +very firmly shut. Birdie was safe in his cage however, and the door of +<i>that</i> was fortunately—even when you hear what happened, children, you +will agree with me that that part of it <i>was</i> fortunate—quite fastened. +Early next morning, one of the servants who slept in an attic above the +ante-room, heard a noise below. She was a kind-hearted girl, and her +first thought was of Miss Hoodie's bird. She got up at once, and +hurrying down-stairs—it was not so very early after all, nearly six +o'clock—ran to the ante-room. As she opened the door, to her horror a +great big strange cat jumped out of the window.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, oh dear," said Lucy, "can he have got at birdie?"</p> + +<p>The cage was not to be seen—but in another moment Lucy spied it on the +floor, knocked down off the table by the cruel cat. He had not got at +birdie—birdie lay in one corner, quite still as if dead, and yet when +Lucy with trembling fingers unfastened the cage door and tenderly lifted +out his little occupant, she could see no injury, not the slightest +scratch.</p> + +<p>"His heart's beating still," she said, "perhaps it's only the fright of +the fall," and she was turning to the window to examine birdie more +closely, when a sound behind her made her start, and turning round she +saw in the doorway the bird's little mistress, poor Hoodie herself. She +was in her nightgown only—she had run from her room with her little +bare feet, having heard Lucy passing down-stairs, with an instinct of +fear that some evil had befallen her pet.</p> + +<p>"Lucy, Lucy," she cried, "what is the matter? It isn't anything the +matter with birdie. Oh, dear Lucy, <i>don't</i> say it is."</p> + +<p>Her voice somehow, as Lucy said afterwards, sounded like that of a +grown-up person—all the babyishness seemed to have gone out of it—she +did not cry, she stood there white as a sheet, clasping her hands in a +way that went to Lucy's heart.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Hoodie," she replied, the tears running down her face, for she +was very tender-hearted, "oh dear, Miss Hoodie, don't take on so. I hope +birdie's not badly hurt. The cat didn't touch him. It knocked over the +cage, and it must have been the fall; but <i>perhaps</i> he's more frightened +than hurt."</p> + +<p>"Give him to me, Lucy," said Hoodie. "Let me hold him in my own hands. +Oh, birdie dear, oh, birdie darling, don't you know me?" for birdie lay +still and limp—almost as if dead already. Hoodie, forcing back the +tears, whistled her usual call to him, and as its sound reached his +ears, birdie seemed to quiver, raised his head, feebly flapped his +wings, and tried, with a piteous attempt at shaking off the sleep from +which he would never again awake, tried to rouse himself and to struggle +to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lucy," cried Hoodie, "he's getting better," but as she said the +words, birdie fell over on his side, uttered the feeblest of chirps, and +with a little quiver lay still—quite still—he was dead. The fright had +killed him.</p> + +<p>Hoodie looked up in Lucy's face with tearless eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is he dead?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Hoodie dear," said Lucy, softly stroking the ruffled +feathers, "he is dead, but oh dear, Miss Hoodie, it isn't so bad as if +the cat had torn and scratched him all over. You should think of that."</p> + +<p>But Hoodie could think of nothing in the shape of comfort. She held the +little dead bird out to Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Take him and bury him," she said. "He can't love me any more, so take +him away. All the loving's dead. He was the only thing that loved me. I +won't try to be good any more. God is very unkind."</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie!" exclaimed Lucy, considerably shocked. But Hoodie just +looked at her with a hard set expression in her white face.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand," she said. "Take him away and bury him."</p> + +<p>She turned to the door and left the room. She went slowly back to her +own room, and got into her little bed again. Then, like the old Hebrew +king, poor little English Hoodie "turned her face to the wall," and wept +and wept as if never again there could be for her brightness in the +sunshine, or love and happiness in life.</p> + +<p>"My bird, my bird," she moaned. That was all she could say.</p> + +<p>She refused at first to get up and be dressed. Then, with an idea +perhaps that if she did so she would be more independent than if staying +in bed, with papa and mamma and Martin and everybody coming to talk to +her, and try to comfort her, she slowly got out of bed and let Martin +dress her. But when it came to saying her prayers, she altogether +refused to do so, and on this point there was no getting her to give in. +She did not refuse to eat her breakfast, because she had sense enough to +know that sooner or later she would be obliged to eat, but the moment it +was swallowed, she took her little chair and seated herself in the +corner of the nursery, her face to the wall, crying, crying steadily, +and hopelessly, turning like a little fury upon any one who ventured to +speak to her, only moaning out from time to time—</p> + +<p>"My bird, oh my bird!"</p> + +<p>They were all very sorry for her. Maudie's tears and those of the little +boys had flowed freely when the sad story was first told to them; they +had all rushed to Hoodie to try to kiss and comfort her. But her extreme +crossness, or what any way looked like it to them, sent them away +puzzled and hurt. Hoodie's mother had proposed that the little girl +should spend the whole day down-stairs with her, have dinner at the +dining-room luncheon, and go a drive in the afternoon, but to all this +Hoodie only replied by a determined shake of the head, as well as to her +father's offer of a new bird, or two if she liked, the prettiest that +could be bought.</p> + +<p>So they were all really at their wits' end.</p> + +<p>It was very sad, but one must also allow that it was very tiresome. +Martin began to fear that the child would really make herself ill, and +as was Martin's "way," her anxiety began to make her rather cross.</p> + +<p>"I wish Miss King had never put it into the child's head to have a pet +bird," she muttered to herself as she was washing up the tea-things that +evening, glancing at Hoodie's disconsolate figure still in the corner of +the nursery. "Miss King may be all very well and kind, but she's no +knowledge of children, how should she have any? I think it's much best +to leave children to them that understands them; though indeed as for +any one's understanding Miss Hoodie——!"</p> + +<p>Fortunately it did not occur to Hoodie to make any objection to going to +bed, and it was a relief to every one to know of her being there and +safely asleep, "forgetting her troubles for a while," as Martin said. +The next day was very little better. Hoodie did not cry quite so much, +but she still sat in a corner doing nothing, and when any one attempted +to speak to her, however kindly, she turned upon them with fierceness, +like a little ill-tempered cat.</p> + +<p>Yet it was not ill-temper; it was really misery, or at least it was +ill-temper caused by misery. But as no gentleness and patience, no +sympathy or attempt at comforting her did any good, but harm—and as any +approach to reasoning with her, or scolding her, seemed to harden her +already embittered little heart more and more, what was to be done, what +could be done, but leave her alone? She continued determinedly to +refuse, night and morning, to say her prayers, and refused, too, to say +grace at the nursery table when it was her turn. But of all this Mrs. +Caryll wisely desired Martin to take no notice, and not to try to force +the child to any formal utterance of words in which her heart had no +part.</p> + +<p>"It <i>must</i> be all right again soon if only we are patient with her," +said Hoodie's mother, more cheerfully than she was really feeling, for +she saw that Martin was very much worried and distressed about Hoodie, +and she was anxious to encourage her.</p> + +<p>"It is to be hoped so, ma'am, I'm sure," was Martin's rather hopeless +reply.</p> + +<p>Somewhat to everybody's surprise, on the third day Hoodie condescended +to ask a favour. Might she go out for a walk alone with Lucy? Everybody +was so enchanted at her seeming to take interest in anything or wishing +for anything, that with some conditions her request was at once granted. +It was arranged that she should set off with Lucy and go wherever she +wished, with the understanding that she would meet Martin and the other +children at four o'clock at a certain point on the road, as it was not +convenient that Lucy should stay out longer. To this Hoodie agreed.</p> + +<p>"I'm going through the wood," she said. "I want to get some flowers that +grow there, and Lucy must take a basket and a knife to dig them up, and +then I'll tell her what to do."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Miss Hoodie," said Martin, but privately she told Lucy not +to let the little girl go to the cottages at the edge of the wood, for +Martin had never forgotten the fright of Hoodie's escapade several +months ago. "If she gets in the way of going to that young woman's +cottage, she'll be for ever running off," she said. "So silly of the +people to encourage her, when they might see we didn't like it. We met +the young woman the other day, and she actually stopped short in the +road and began asking when Miss Hoodie was coming to see her again."</p> + +<p>"But mamma says they're very respectable people, Martin," said Maudie, +who was standing by. "I don't think she would mind if Hoodie did go to +see them. Papa said one day he wished the young woman's husband was one +of our men. He's so steady."</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, Miss Maudie," said Martin with unusual sharpness. She +knew that what the child said was true, but she had taken a prejudice +against the little family in Red Riding Hood's cottage, as the children +always called it, and when a good conscientious woman of Martin's age +and character once takes a prejudice, it is rather a hopeless matter!</p> + +<p>Poor Maudie slid away, feeling in her turn that things were rather hard +upon her. She had been very patient and gentle with her strange-tempered +little sister these three days, and had tried not to feel hurt at +Hoodie's indifference to all her small overtures of sympathy. And now +to be told by Martin to hold her tongue when all she meant was to try to +make things better, was not easy to bear.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure Hoodie wants to get flowers to put on birdie's grave," she +thought to herself, as she wiped away the tears called forth by Martin's +sharp words. "I think she <i>might</i> have told me about it and asked me to +go too."</p> + +<p>But she said nothing about it, and set off uncomplainingly on her +solitary walk with Martin, for the two little boys were spending the +afternoon with the children at the Rectory.</p> + +<p>Hoodie marched Lucy straight off to the wood. Primroses were the flowers +on which her heart was set, for birdie's grave, as Maudie had guessed. +She had seen them growing in the wood in the spring in great numbers and +beauty, and no flower, she had settled in her mind, could look so pretty +on birdie's grave. She said very little to Lucy, having satisfied +herself that the knife to dig the roots up with and the basket to carry +them home in had not been forgotten, she walked along in silence. But +when they reached the wood and had gone some little way into it and no +primroses were to be seen Hoodie looked very much disappointed.</p> + +<p>"There were such lots," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>"Lots of what, Miss Hoodie?" asked Lucy, thinking her charge the oddest +child she had ever had to do with.</p> + +<p>"Of p'imroses," said Hoodie. "That's what I came for, to plant them on +birdie's grave, you know, Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Primroses," repeated Lucy. "Of course not now, Miss Hoodie. They're +over long ago. See, these are their leaves—lots of them."</p> + +<p>She stooped as she spoke, and pointed out the primrose plants clustering +thickly at their feet. Hoodie stooped too, to look at them.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Are the flowers all gone? What shall I do? If +we unplanted one, Lucy, and took it home, and watered it <i>lots</i>, twenty +times a day p'raps, wouldn't more flowers come?"</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill15" id="ill15"></a> +<img src="images/ill15.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Are the flowers all gone?"</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Not this year, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy. "Not all the watering in the +world would make any flowers come before the spring, and watering too +much would kill the plant altogether."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear," repeated Hoodie, "what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Won't no other flowers do?" said Lucy. "There's violets still, and lots +of others in the garden that Hopkins would give you—much prettier than +primroses."</p> + +<p>"No," said Hoodie, shaking her head, "none but p'imroses would do. +Birdie liked them best, I know, for when I put some once in the wires of +his cage, he chirped. When will the spring come, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Not for a good bit, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy, "it's only July now. +There's all the summer to go through, and then autumn when it begins to +get cold, and then all the cold winter, before the spring comes. A good +while—eight months, and there's more than four weeks in each month, you +know."</p> + +<p>"I can't help it," said Hoodie, "only p'imroses will do. Please dig some +roots up, Lucy, and we'll plant them on birdie's grave. The green leaves +are a little pretty, and in the spring the flowers will come. And if I'm +dead before the spring," she added solemnly, "you mustn't forget to +water them all the same."</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie!" said Lucy, reproachfully, "you should not talk that way +really. Your mamma wouldn't like it."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Hoodie, "there's lots about deadening in the Bible and +in the church books, so it can't be naughty. I wouldn't mind, if only I +thought birdie was in heaven."</p> + +<p>"We'd better be going on," said Lucy, rather anxious to give a turn to +the conversation, "or we'll be late for Martin and Miss Maudie. I've got +up two nice roots, and we may see some others that take your fancy as we +go on."</p> + +<p>They made their way slowly through the wood—Hoodie peering about here +and there in search of primroses still, some two or three might, she +thought, possibly have been left behind, or some buds might by mistake +have bloomed later than their neighbours. For Hoodie, as you have seen, +was not easily convinced of anything that she did not wish to believe.</p> + +<p>But all her peering was in vain; they reached the end of the little wood +without a single primrose showing its pretty face, and Hoodie was +obliged to content herself with the brightest and freshest plants they +could find, which Lucy good-naturedly dug up for her.</p> + +<p>At the edge of the wood, the path led them in front of the cottage to +which three or four months ago Hoodie's memorable visit had been paid. +Lucy walked on quickly, talking of other things in hope of distracting +the little girl's attention till the forbidden ground was safely passed. +Vain hope. Hoodie came to a dead stand in front of the little garden +gate.</p> + +<p>"That is the cottage where baby and its mother and the ugly man live," +she announced to Lucy. "Once, a long time ago, I went there to tea. +Baby's mother asked me to come again some day."</p> + +<p>"But not to-day, Miss Hoodie," said poor Lucy, nervously "we'd be too +late if we stopped now."</p> + +<p>"No, not to-day," said Hoodie. "I don't want to go to-day. I'm too +unhappy about birdie to care for cakes now. I don't think I'll ever care +for cakes any more. Besides," with a slight hesitation, "she won't have +any ready. She said I was to let her know. <i>P'raps</i> I'll let her know +some day."</p> + +<p>She was turning to walk on, immensely to Lucy's relief, when the gleam +of some pale yellow flowers growing close under the cottage walls, up at +the other end of the long narrow strip of garden, caught her glance.</p> + +<p>"Lucy," she cried. "I see some p'imroses in the garden. I must run in +and ask baby's mother to give me some. I'm sure she will."</p> + +<p>She unfastened the wooden gate and was some steps up the path before +Lucy had time to reply.</p> + +<p>"They're not primroses, Miss Hoodie," she said. "Indeed they're not. I +can see from here. They're quite another kind. Oh, do come back, Miss +Hoodie."</p> + +<p>"I won't be a minute," said Hoodie, "I'd like some of the flowers any +way," and she began to run on again.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," cried Lucy, driven to despair, "Martin said you mustn't +on no account go into the cottage."</p> + +<p>Hoodie's wrath and self-will were instantly aroused.</p> + +<p>"Well then, Martin had no business to say so," she replied. "<i>Mamma</i> +never said I wasn't to go. She said I should go some day to see the +baby again and to thank baby's mother."</p> + +<p>"But not by yourself—without Martin, Miss Hoodie. Your mamma always +tells you to be obedient to Martin, I know."</p> + +<p>Hoodie vouchsafed no answer, but marched on, up the little garden path +towards the house. Lucy looked after her in dismay. What should she do? +Following her and repeating Martin's orders would probably only make +Hoodie still more determined. Besides, Lucy was a very gentle, civil +girl; it was very disagreeable to her to think of going into the +cottage, and telling the owners of it that the child had been forbidden +to speak to them, and she gazed round her in perplexity, heartily +wishing that Miss Hoodie had not chosen her for her companion in her +walk. Suddenly, some distance off, coming across the fields, she +perceived two figures, a tall one and a little one. Lucy had good eyes.</p> + +<p>"Martin and Miss Maudie," she exclaimed, with relief, and just glancing +back to see that Hoodie was by this time inside the cottage, she ran as +fast as she could to meet the new comers and tell of Hoodie's +disobedience.</p> + +<p>She was all out of breath by the time she got up to them, though they +hastened their steps when they saw her coming—and at first Martin +could not understand what Lucy was saying. When she did so, she was +exceedingly put out.</p> + +<p>"Run into the cottage, has she, Lucy?" she exclaimed. "And after all I +said! I really do think you might have managed her better, naughty +though she is. Oh dear me, I do wish she hadn't been allowed to come out +without me."</p> + +<p>Maudie stood by in great trouble at Hoodie's misdoing.</p> + +<p>"Martin will be so cross to her," she thought, "and Hoodie will speak +naughtily, I'm sure. I'll run on to the cottage first and tell her how +vexed Martin is, and beg her to come back quick and say she's sorry."</p> + +<p>And before Martin and Lucy noticed what she was doing, she was half way +across the fields to the cottage.</p> + +<p>The door stood open when she got there. Maudie peeped into the kitchen +but saw no one. "Hoodie," she called out softly, "are you there?"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," called Maudie again, more loudly, "I've come to fetch you. +Martin's just coming."</p> + +<p>Then Hoodie's voice sounded from above.</p> + +<p>"I'm up here, Maudie. I came up here 'cos there was no one in the +kitchen. And baby's mother doesn't want me to stay 'cos poor baby's ill, +so I'll come."</p> + +<p>Maudie could not, however, clearly distinguish what Hoodie said, so, +guided by the sound of Hoodie's voice, she in turn mounted the +ladder-like staircase which led to the sleeping-room above. Hoodie was +just preparing to come down, but when Maudie made her appearance she +drew back a little into the room.</p> + +<p>"Baby's mother won't let me nurse baby," she said, "'cos she's ill, +though I'm sure I wouldn't hurt her. Do look at her, Maudie. You can't +think how pretty she is when she's well—but her face is very red +to-day—baby's mother thinks she's getting her teeth."</p> + +<p>Maudie approached rather timidly. Certainly the baby's face was very +red.</p> + +<p>"Please, miss," said its mother, "I think you'd better not stay. It's +very kind of you, and I'm that sorry I can't tell you, to ask you to +go."</p> + +<p>"I've only <i>just</i> come up-stairs," said Hoodie. "I waited ever so long +in the kitchen, 'cos I thought baby's mother was out, and that she'd +come in soon. And then I called out and I heard she was up-stairs, so I +came up, but she won't let me touch baby and I can nurse her so nicely."</p> + +<p>"It isn't for that, miss," said Mrs. Lizzie in distress; "it's only +<i>for fear</i> there should be anything catchin' about her. Doctor saw her +yesterday and thought it was only her teeth, still it's best to be +careful."</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you," said Maudie, "I think we'd better go. Perhaps we'll +come again when baby's better. Come, Hoodie."</p> + +<p>With some difficulty she got Hoodie away, for though considerably +offended with baby's mother, Hoodie was much more inclined to stay and +argue it out with her, than to give in quietly. At the foot of the stair +they met Martin; Maudie explained things to her, and Martin's face grew +very grave. She was too really alarmed to be cross.</p> + +<p>"Run out at once," she said, "both of you, into the open air, and stay +in the field till I come; I have sent Lucy home. Better know the worst +at once," she added to herself, as she climbed the steep little stair, +"oh dear, oh dear! who ever would have thought of such a thing?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>HOODIE AWAKES.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And till we're nice old ladies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We'll love each other so."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>When Martin joined the two little girls again, her face looked not only +grave, but white. Maudie felt frightened, she hardly knew why. Hoodie, +in a state of defiance to meet the expected scolding, was so amazed at +its not coming that the surprise kept her quiet. So they all three +walked home in silence, though as fast as possible. No lingering by the +way to gather flowers, or to watch the ducks in Farmer Girton's pond! +Martin held a hand of each little girl, and merely saying now and then, +"We must go straight home, my dears," marched steadily on. It was a +strange, unnatural kind of walk—the children felt something mysterious +about it, without knowing what, and poor Martin's heart was terribly +sore. She <i>could not</i> scold Hoodie, naughty as she had undoubtedly +been, for sad fears were picturing themselves before her—what might not +be the result of Hoodie's disobedience?</p> + +<p>"Supposing," thought poor Martin, who was of a very anxious, as well as +affectionate disposition, "supposing this is the last walk we ever have +together? oh dear, oh dear—scarlet fever is an awful thing once it gets +into a family, and the kind that is about is a bad kind, they say."</p> + +<p>She did not lose her presence of mind, however. As soon as ever they +reached the house, she sent the two children straight up to Maudie's +room, a plainly furnished little room opening out of the day-nursery, +and told them to wait there till she came to them. Then she went at once +to see their mother, and some time passed before she came up to them.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Martin?" said Maudie, timidly. "Why do you look so +sad?"</p> + +<p>She did not notice that her mother had followed Martin into the room.</p> + +<p>"Martin is rather troubled about something," said her mother, "and you +must both try to be very good. And I want to tell you that dear little +Hec and Duke are not coming home this evening. They are going to stay a +few days at the Rectory."</p> + +<p>Maudie gazed up into her mother's face. She saw there were tears in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mamma!" she exclaimed. Then in a low voice she whispered, "I +understand, mamma. I'll try to be good, and I'll pray to God for us not +to get the catching illness."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caryll stooped and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would be good, dear, and try to make Hoodie so too. Poor +Hoodie—she does not know what her disobedience may have caused."</p> + +<p>The next few days passed slowly and strangely. It was strange and dull +to be without the boys, and to Hoodie it was particularly strange that +no one scolded her for what she knew she had deserved scolding. They +went out for a walk twice a day, by the doctor's orders, who came to see +them the morning after the unfortunate visit to the cottage. Every one +was very kind, but every one looked grave, and very soon Hoodie began to +find it very dull to have no lessons to do, no Hec and Duke to play and +quarrel with, and to have to spend all their time in the two rooms, +except of course when they were out with Martin, who never left them for +a minute. It was very dull, but worse was to follow. On the morning of +the sixth day, Maudie woke with a headache, and a bad pain in her +throat, and bravely as she tried to bear it, it was plain to be seen +that the poor little girl was suffering very much. Martin would not let +her get up, and an hour or two after breakfast, Hoodie, sitting alone +and very disconsolate in the day-nursery, heard Dr. Reynolds and her +mother coming up-stairs. She jumped up and ran to meet them.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," she said, "Martin won't let me play with Maudie, and I've +nothing to do. Martin is very cross."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Caryll looked gravely at Hoodie.</p> + +<p>"Hoodie," she said, "you <i>must</i> be obedient."</p> + +<p>"And Miss Maudie doesn't want her, ma'am," said Martin, appearing at the +door of Maudie's room. "She can't bear the least noise; and any way it's +better for Miss Hoodie not to be near her, isn't it, sir?" she asked, +turning to the doctor.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"As to infection," he said, "separating them now is a chance the more, +that's all one can say. But one must do one's best. And in any case the +child is better out of a fevered atmosphere. I would prepare another +room for her, I think," he added to Mrs. Caryll, and then they both went +into Maudie's room, and Hoodie heard no more.</p> + +<p>Hoodie sat by herself, drumming her little fat legs on the side of the +table.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what they mean," she said to herself. "I wonder what the +doctor means about affection. That's loving—at least people always put +it at the end of their letters whether they're loving or not. I think +people tells lots of stories when they'se big—<i>lotser</i> than when +they'se little. And it's all that horrid Martin that's stoppened my +going into Maudie's room—I don't believe Maudie said she didn't want +me."</p> + +<p>Just then Martin put her head out at the doorway of the inner room.</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," she said, "please ring the bell—there's no bell in +here—and when Jane comes up, tell her to send Lucy to speak to me at +the other door—the door that opens to the passage."</p> + +<p>Hoodie executed the commission with great alacrity—even having a +message to give was better than having nothing at all to do, and ringing +the bell had always been greatly after Hoodie's own heart.</p> + +<p>Somewhat to her surprise, a few minutes after Jane had gone down again +in search of Lucy, Lucy herself came into the nursery.</p> + +<p>"You were to go to the <i>other</i> door. What a time you've been of coming +up," said Hoodie, politely.</p> + +<p>"I've <i>been</i> to the other door, Miss Hoodie, and Martin has told me what +she wants me to do," replied Lucy. "Poor Martin, I'm right down sorry +for her, and poor little Miss Maudie," said Lucy. "Now, Miss Hoodie, I'm +going to take you out into the garden a little, and when we come in I'm +going to stay with you in the sewing-room."</p> + +<p>Lucy's manner had become more decided, and somehow Hoodie did not make +any objection. She let Lucy put on her hat and take her into the garden, +quietly enough.</p> + +<p>"Is Maudie <i>very</i> ill, Lucy?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," said Lucy, "but it's too soon to say much yet."</p> + +<p>"Why are you sorry for Martin?" was Hoodie's next inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, because it's such a upset, and her that's that fond of you all," +said Lucy. "I'm sure if there's anything I can do, I'll be only too +glad. I'm very glad I've had the fever."</p> + +<p>"Why are you glad? When did you have it, and was it the affection fever +like what Maudie's got?" asked Hoodie.</p> + +<p>Lucy did not laugh. She was rather a matter-of-fact girl.</p> + +<p>"I had it when I was six, and people don't often, almost never, have it +twice," she replied. "That's how I'm to take care of you, Miss Hoodie, +otherwise they'd have been afraid of my catching it. Your mamma's a very +kind lady that way, and it's dreadfully catching—just see how poor Miss +Maudie's got it with that one minute in that cottage the other day."</p> + +<p>Hoodie stared at her.</p> + +<p>"Did Maudie catch it that day she ran to tell me to come away from the +baby's mother's cottage?" she said.</p> + +<p>Lucy stared at her in turn.</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said. "Didn't you know that, Miss Hoodie? It can't be +helped now, you see, and we must hope Miss Maudie will get better. But +it'll be a lesson to you to be obedient another time. Let's go and +gather some flowers, Miss Hoodie, and make a little nosegay for you to +send in to Miss Maudie."</p> + +<p>But Hoodie shook her head, and she had a look in her face which made +Lucy wish she had not told her what she had, though never doubting but +that the child already knew it.</p> + +<p>"Maudie wouldn't care for any flowers from <i>me</i>. Nobody will ever love +me at all now," she said. "It was me that made Maudie ill. Oh, I do wish +God had made me ill instead of Maudie, for everybody loves her, and +nobody loves me."</p> + +<p>"Miss Hoodie," said Lucy, really startled. "You <i>mustn't</i> talk so. +Everybody would love you just as they do Miss Maudie if you'd try to be +a good and obedient little girl."</p> + +<p>Hoodie shook her head again.</p> + +<p>"You don't know, Lucy," she said. "I have tried and it isn't any good, +so I've left off."</p> + +<p>Lucy trembled a little as to what this announcement might be followed up +by, in the way of special naughtiness. But her fears were misplaced. +Hoodie was perfectly good and gentle all day—almost too much so indeed; +Lucy would have liked to see a touch of her old self-will and petulance, +for she could not help fearing she was to blame for the strange +depression of Hoodie's spirits. She was very kind and good to the little +girl, and did her utmost to amuse her, but it was a strange, sad time. +The house, lately so cheerful with children's voices and the patter of +their restless little feet up and down the passages, was now silent and +gloomy, and the servants spoke with hushed voices and went about with +anxious looks. Hoodie was not allowed to go near Maudie's room—she only +saw her mother and Martin now and then at the end of the passage, or out +of the window, for they were both engrossed in nursing Maudie. Every +morning Hoodie sent Lucy as soon as she awoke to ask for news of +Maudie, and though she said very little, there was a look in her eyes +when Lucy brought back the answer—"Not much better yet, Miss +Hoodie,"—that went to Lucy's heart.</p> + +<p>"I'll never say Miss Hoodie has no feelings again," she said to herself, +"never."</p> + +<p>After a few days there came a morning when Lucy, who was not very clever +at hiding <i>her</i> feelings, came back to Hoodie looking graver than usual, +and with something very like tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Isn't Maudie better <i>yet</i>, Lucy?" asked Hoodie with a sad sort of +impatience.</p> + +<p>"She couldn't be better <i>yet</i>, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy, "an illness like +that always takes its time."</p> + +<p>"But is she <i>worser</i> then?" said Hoodie, staring up in Lucy's face.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid she is, rather. Her throat's so sore," said Lucy, turning +away.</p> + +<p>Hoodie said nothing, but sat down quietly on her little chair, leaning +her head on her hands. A few minutes after, Lucy went down to the +kitchen with Hoodie's breakfast things—she happened not to shut the +door firmly, as the tray was in her hands, and when she came up-stairs +again, she was surprised to hear some one talking in the room.</p> + +<p>"Who can it be?" she said to herself, for Mrs. Caryll had given strict +orders that in case of any infection about Hoodie herself, none of the +other servants were to be with her. Lucy stopped a minute to listen. The +voice was Hoodie's own. She was kneeling in a corner of the room, and +the words Lucy overheard were these—</p> + +<p>"Maudie is worser," Hoodie was saying, "Maudie is worser, and if she +keeps getting worser she'll die. And it wasn't Maudie's fault that she +got the affection fever. It was Hoodie's fault. Oh, please, dear God, +make Maudie better, and Hoodie won't mind if <i>she</i> gets the fever, 'cos +it was her fault. Hoodie's been so naughty, and poor Maudie's good. And +everybody loves Maudie, but nobody <i>can</i> love Hoodie. So please, dear +God, make Maudie better," and then she ended in her usual fashion—"For +Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."</p> + +<p>Lucy stood holding her breath at the door. When she saw that Hoodie got +up from kneeling and sat quietly down on her chair again, she ventured +to enter the room. Hoodie looked at her rather suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Lucy," she said, with a touch of her old imperiousness, "I think you +should 'amember to knock at the door."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy meekly, for somehow she could not +have helped agreeing with whatever Hoodie chose to say, "I'll not forget +again."</p> + +<p>Hoodie sat quite quiet, still leaning her head on her hands, doing +nothing and seeming to wish for nothing.</p> + +<p>"Are you not well to-day, Miss Hoodie?" Lucy asked at last.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hoodie, "I'm kite well, and I think Maudie'll be better +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>But all day long she continued very, very quiet, and once or twice Lucy +wondered if she should let Hoodie's mother or Martin know how strange +the child seemed.</p> + +<p>"I'll wait till to-morrow, any way," she decided. "It seems a shame to +trouble them more to-day, for this has been much the worst day with Miss +Maudie, I fancy. It's to be hoped it's the turn."</p> + +<p>And when to-morrow morning came she was glad she had not troubled them, +for Hoodie seemed better and brighter than for some days past. She did +not seem impatient for the news of Maudie, not as impatient as Lucy +herself, who ran along to tap at Martin's door as soon as she awoke, and +came back with a relieved face to tell Hoodie that the news was much +better this morning, Maudie seemed really to have got the turn.</p> + +<p>"I knew she'd be better to-day," said Hoodie, composedly. "Didn't I tell +you so, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>And when they went out into the garden she carefully gathered a nosegay +for Maudie, choosing the prettiest flowers and tying them together with +a piece of ribbon she took off one of her dolls.</p> + +<p>"Take those to Maudie's room, Lucy," she said, "and tap at the door, and +tell Martin they're for Miss Maudie with Miss Hoodie's love, and she's +very glad she's better."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill16" id="ill16"></a> +<img src="images/ill16.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"Tell Martin they're for Miss Maudie with Miss Hoodie's love."</h3> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Miss Maudie will be pleased, I'm sure," said Lucy, thinking to herself +as she said so how very pretty Miss Hoodie was looking. Her eyes were so +bright, and her cheeks so rosy, and on her face there was such a pretty +smile while she was arranging the flowers, that Lucy could not resist +stooping down to kiss her.</p> + +<p>"Never was a sweeter child than she can be when she likes," said Lucy to +herself, as she made her way with the nosegay and the message to +Maudie's room.</p> + +<p>Altogether things were beginning to look much brighter again, and, +reassured as to Maudie's being really better, Mrs. Caryll went to bed +that night for the first time for a fortnight, with a lighter heart.</p> + +<p>"Maudie is much better," she had written that evening to Cousin +Magdalen, "and it is not now likely that Hoodie will get the fever, as +so many days have passed. Somehow I have never felt very uneasy about +Hoodie from the first, though 'by rights,' as the children say, she +should have had it and not poor Maudie, as it all came through her +disobedience. And even if she had got it, I should not have felt so +anxious as about Maudie—Hoodie is so very strong. But I hope now that +we need not be anxious about either, and that our troubles are passing +over."</p> + +<p>Poor Mrs. Caryll would not have written so cheerfully had she known that +that very afternoon Lucy's fears about Hoodie had again been aroused. +The little girl would not eat anything at tea-time, though she drank +eagerly two or three cups of milk. And after tea she said her head +ached, and she was so sleepy and tired that Lucy thought it well to put +her early to bed.</p> + +<p>"Such a pity," thought Lucy, "just when she was looking so bright this +morning. I wish I could think she had just caught cold, but the +weather's so fine, it's not likely."</p> + +<p>All night Hoodie tossed about uneasily. She started and talked in her +sleep, and by morning she looked so flushed and strange that Lucy felt +that she must at once tell Martin, and that there could be no question +of Hoodie's getting up and being dressed. She wanted to get up, poor +little girl, but her head felt so giddy when she raised it from the +pillow that she was glad to lay it down again. And before the day was +many hours older, there was no doubt that Hoodie had got the fever.</p> + +<p>She knew it herself, though nothing was said about it before her, and +she had her own thoughts about it in her mind, which she expressed to +Lucy when no one else was there.</p> + +<p>"I've got the affection fever, Lucy," she said. "I'm sure I have, 'cos I +asked God to make Maudie better 'cos it wasn't her fault, and I said I +wouldn't mind if I had it, 'cos it was my fault."</p> + +<p>And poor Lucy, not knowing what to say, turned away to hide the tears in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I don't think we need be anxious about her," said Mrs. Caryll to the +doctor, "she is so much stronger than Maudie."</p> + +<p>But Dr. Reynolds did not reply very heartily; the truth being that he +saw from the first that Hoodie was likely to be much more ill than +Maudie had been. And Hoodie herself from the first, too, seemed to have +a strange, babyish instinct that it was so.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad Maudie is better," she said often during the first day or +two, to Lucy, "'cos you know it wasn't her fault. I don't mind having +the affection fever, but it is rather sore. Everybody loves Maudie so, +it's a good thing she's better."</p> + +<p>"But everybody loves you too, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy, tenderly, +"specially when you're such a good, patient little girl."</p> + +<p>Hoodie made a movement as if she would have shaken her head, only the +poor little head was too heavy and aching to shake.</p> + +<p>"No, Lucy," she said, "not like Maudie, 'cos she's so good, and I'm not. +I did try, but I had to leave off. And my bird's dead, you know, though +I did ask God to take care of it every time I said my prayers. But I'm +glad God's made Maudie better. I 'appose it's 'cos she's good. But I +don't mind having the fever—not now my bird's dead, 'cos he did love +me, didn't he, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>Her mind was beginning to wander, and for many days and nights Hoodie +knew nothing of anything that passed about her. Sometimes she seemed in +a sort of stupor, at others she would talk incessantly in her little +weak childish voice, till it made one's heart ache to hear her. She did +not suffer so much from her throat as Maudie had done, though otherwise +so much more ill. The fever seemed to have seized her in its strong, +cruel arms with so hard a grasp, that often and often it appeared to +those about her as if it never again would let her go, but would carry +her away out of their sight, without her even being able to bid them +good-bye—murmuring ever those sad words which seemed to be burnt into +her childish brain, about nobody loving her because she wasn't good like +Maudie, about having tried in vain to be good, and that her birdie was +dead and God didn't love her either, always ending up that it was a good +thing Maudie was better, "wasn't it, Lucy?" Though when poor Lucy choked +down her tears to answer cheerfully "Yes, indeed, Miss Hoodie," poor +Hoodie could not hear her voice, and began again the same weary +murmurings.</p> + +<p>It was very sad for them all—most sad of all for Hoodie's mother, whose +heart grew sore as she listened to her poor little girl's faint words. +It seemed to her that never before had she understood her child, and the +great longing for love that had been hidden in her queer-tempered, +fanciful nature.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hoodie darling, we do love you—dearly, dearly," she would +sometimes say as she bent over her; but the bright eyes, too bright by +far, gazed up without seeing, and the weary little head, shorn of its +pretty tangle of fuzzy hair, moved restlessly on the pillow, while +Hoodie kept talking about her dead bird and nobody loving her, through +the slow weary hours while life and death were fighting over her little +bed.</p> + +<p>"If she dies without knowing us again, it will break my heart," said +Hoodie's mother to the doctor; and what could he say, poor man, but +shake his head sorrowfully in sympathy?</p> + +<p>They tried to prevent Maudie knowing how ill Hoodie was, but it was +impossible. When people are ill, or recovering from illness, they seem +to guess things in a way that is sometimes quite astonishing, and so it +was with Maudie. She was now much better—she had been half-dressed and +lifted on to a sofa in her own room some days ago, but when she found +out about Hoodie, she fretted so dreadfully that it threatened to make +her ill again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do let me see her!" she cried. "I don't mind if she's too ill to +know me. I don't mind if she can't speak to me, but I must see her. Poor +Hoodie, dear little Hoodie," she went on, the tears streaming down her +face. "Oh, mamma, I don't think I was always very kind to her. I used to +tell her we'd be happier without her, but I <i>do</i> love her. Oh, do let me +see her!"</p> + +<p>For unfortunately, through hearing some of the servants talking, Maudie +knew some part of what Hoodie had been saying in her unconsciousness, +and it was this that was distressing her so greatly.</p> + +<p>Oh, children dear, remember this—there is no pain so terrible, no +suffering so without comfort, as the feeling sorrow <i>too late</i> for +unkindness or want of tenderness to others—little sharp words which did +not seem so bad at the time, careless or selfish neglect of the wishes +we could have gratified with just a little trouble—how they all rise up +<i>afterwards</i> and refuse to be forgotten! Our grief may then exaggerate +our past unkindness perhaps, and, as is the way with our weak human +nature, things out of our reach seem of double value; the affection we +knew to be always at hand we never prized enough till we lost it. But +should we not take this as a warning? Avoid the <i>habit</i> of small +unkindnesses, of sharp, hurting words—even though in your heart you do +not mean them. Try, my darlings, every hour and every day, to behave to +each other as you would wish to have behaved, were this day to be your +last together. Then indeed even the sore parting of death would lose +half its bitterness—the kingdom of Heaven would already have begun in +your own hearts—the happy kingdom where there is neither sorrow nor +bitterness, nor tears—the kingdom over which reigns the beautiful +Spirit of Love.</p> + +<p>At last there came a day on which the doctor said that without risk +Maudie might be taken to see Hoodie—only to see her—there was no +thought of her speaking to Hoodie, or Hoodie to her, for the little girl +was lying in a stupor—quite quiet and unconscious, and out of this +stupor, though he did not say so, Dr. Reynolds had but little hope of +her waking to life again. The fever had let her go at last, had thrown +her down, as it were, careless of how she fell, and the poor little +shaken worn-out Hoodie that it had left there, white and thin and +lifeless, hardly seemed as if it <i>could</i> ever rouse up again to live and +talk and play—and there was nothing to do but to wait.</p> + +<p>So Maudie was carried into the room where this unfamiliar Hoodie was +lying, and allowed to look at her poor little face and to cry quietly to +herself as she looked. In whose arms, children, do you think she was +carried? It was in Magdalen's. When she heard of the trouble that had +fallen over her little friends she could not rest till she came to them. +She had had the fever long ago, she wrote; she was so strong that +nursing never made her ill or tired—she could sit up a whole week of +nights without being knocked up. But when she arrived she found that in +the way of actual nursing there was little to do. Hoodie lay still and +lifeless—all the restlessness gone; for her indeed, it seemed to +Magdalen, there would never again be anything to do, no care and +tenderness to bestow—and the thought brought burning tears to poor +Magdalen's eyes, though she bravely drove them back, and did her best to +comfort Maudie and her mother.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Magdalen," said Maudie, when they had sat for a few minutes by +Hoodie's bed, "Cousin Magdalen, can't we do <i>anything</i> to make her +better? Oh, dear, dear little Hoodie, oh, how I wish I had never been +the least bit not kind to her."</p> + +<p>Then raising herself in her cousin's arms, she knelt on her lap, and +leaning her head on Magdalen's shoulder, she said, while her voice was +broken with sobs—</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear God, <i>please</i> make Hoodie better. We do so love her—and she +doesn't know how we love her, because I've been unkind to her sometimes. +Oh, dear God, <i>please</i> make her better."</p> + +<p>And then, her voice changing a little, as if she were afraid that her +simple entreaty was hardly solemn enough to be considered "prayer," she +added, like Hoodie, "For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."</p> + +<p>A slight movement just then made itself heard in Hoodie's cot; a +flutter more than anything else. Magdalen, gently putting Maudie on her +chair, started up in alarm. She knew that any change in Hoodie was now +most critical. She bent over the child, the better to observe her. A +faint smile came fluttering to Hoodie's face, and in another moment, +with a little effort, she opened her eyes. But she did not seem to see, +or if she saw, she did not recognize, Magdalen, for the word that she +whispered was "Maudie."</p> + +<p>Low as it was Maudie heard it.</p> + +<p>"She's speaking to me," she exclaimed. "Yes, Hoodie dear, what is it?"</p> + +<p>Magdalen lifted her on to the bed. She could not refuse, though afraid +that perhaps she was not doing right. The two little sisters lay close +together.</p> + +<p>"Maudie," whispered Hoodie again, in a little, weak, faint voice. +"Maudie, I was waking, and I heard you speaking so nice. I heard you say +'Please God make Hoodie better, 'cos we <i>do</i> so love her.' I didn't know +that, Maudie, I've been so naughty. But if you want me to get better +I'll try. God's been very kind except that He let birdie die. But I love +you better than birdie, Maudie, and perhaps God'll make me better too."</p> + +<p>She could not say any more, but she smiled again as Maudie, put her +arms round her and covered her face with loving kisses. Then Martin, +whom Magdalen had summoned, gave her the wine the doctor had ordered in +case of her awaking; Hoodie took it meekly, and then turning her head on +the pillow murmured gently, "I'm very sleepy, but I'll soon get better. +The affection fever was very sore, Maudie."</p> + +<p>Hoodie was right. From that moment she did begin to get better. They +were still very anxious about her—there were many days still to pass +before it was quite sure that she was out of danger, and for many more +after that she was so weak that it hardly seemed as if a child's usual +strength could ever come back to her. But in time all came right, and +terribly ill as she had been, the fever left no lasting harm. And the +life that began for the two little sisters from this time was a bright +and peaceful one—they had learnt to value each other and each other's +love as never before, and from the moment that it came home to Hoodie, +that she really took into her fanciful little heart, how dearly she was +loved, half her troubles seemed at an end. Day by day she learned new +ways in which even she, a little simple child, might help and comfort +and cheer those about her—she lost the old sore feeling of being +nothing but a trouble and a worry, an "alvays naughty" Hoodie, and +never again was any one tempted to say that among the fairies invited to +baby Julian's christening, those of sweet temper and unselfishness had +been forgotten.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They are grown-up now—much more than grown-up. If you met them in the +street, if they came to call on your mother some day, you would not +guess they were quiet little Maudie and queer-tempered Hoodie. And as +for Hec and Duke!—they could jump you up on their great strong +shoulders as easily as the ogres they used to be so fond of making up +stories about. There is only one thing which, if you heard it said, as +it often is, might remind you of the children I have been telling you +about. Men and women as they are, separated sometimes by half the world, +it has always been remarked of them how much they love each +other—brothers and sisters in deed, as well as in name, friends tried +and true to each other through all the difficulties and sorrows and +troubles which have come to them as to every one else in this world of +many colours; of rainy as well as of sunny days—of discouragement and +disappointment, but of happiness too—and love through all.</p> + +<p>Cousin Magdalen's dark hair is beginning to get white now, but still I +feel sure you would think her very pretty. Did she ever write out the +story that she promised to tell Hoodie and the others some day? By the +bye I must not forget to ask her the next time we meet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="ill17" id="ill17"></a> +<img src="images/ill17.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Books_by_Mrs_Molesworth" id="Books_by_Mrs_Molesworth"></a>Books by Mrs. Molesworth</h2> + +<h4>PUBLISHED BY</h4> + +<h3>W. & R. CHAMBERS, Limited.</h3> + + +<p>MEG LANGHOLME; or, The Day after To-morrow. Eight Illustrations by W. +Rainey</p> + +<p>PHILIPPA. Eight Illustrations by J. Finnemore</p> + +<p>OLIVIA. Eight Illustrations by Robert Barnes</p> + +<p>BLANCHE. Eight Illustrations by Robert Barnes</p> + +<p>ROBIN REDBREAST. Six Illustrations by R. Barnes</p> + +<p>WHITE TURRETS. Four Illustrations by W. Rainey</p> + +<p>IMOGEN; or, Only Eighteen. Four Illustrations by H. A. Bone</p> + +<p>THE NEXT-DOOR HOUSE. Six Illustrations by W. Hatherell</p> + +<p>THE GREEN CASKET, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated</p> + +<p>THE BEWITCHED LAMP. Frontispiece by R. Barnes</p> + +<p>NESTA; or, Fragments of a Little Life</p> + + +<p>W. & R. CHAMBERS, <span class="smcap">Ltd., London and Edinburgh</span>.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOODIE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 26125-h.txt or 26125-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/6/1/2/26125">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/1/2/26125</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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