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diff --git a/21231.txt b/21231.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3b48ba --- /dev/null +++ b/21231.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6800 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Penelope and the Others, by Amy Walton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Penelope and the Others + Story of Five Country Children + +Author: Amy Walton + +Illustrator: L. Leslie Brooke + +Release Date: April 27, 2007 [EBook #21231] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENELOPE AND THE OTHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + + + + +Penelope and the Others; or, A Story of Five Country Children + +By Amy Walton +________________________________________________________________ +This is another story by Amy Walton about life in the English +countryside towards the end of the nineteenth century. It is a +sequel to "The Hawthorns", except that, for some reason, the +name has become "Hawthorne". + +On the whole the principal dramatis personae, the Hawthorne +household, are unchanged. The additions are Miss Barnicroft, an +eccentric old lady from the village; Kettles, an impoverished +child from Nearminster, the cathedral city close by; Dr Budge, +a learned old man in the village, who takes on the grounding of +one of the boys in Latin; Mrs Margetts, who had spent her life +in the Hawthorne family's employment as a children's nurse; the +Dean of the Cathedral and his family, particularly Sabine, who +is the same age as Pennie; and Dr Budge's pet Jackdaw. + +There is no reason why a child of today should not read this +story and profit by it. They will perhaps be surprised to find +how much more civilised life was a hundred years ago and more, +than it is today. NH +_____________________________________________________________ + +PENELOPE AND THE OTHERS; A STORY OF FIVE COUNTRY CHILDREN + +BY AMY WALTON + + + +CHAPTER ONE. + +PENELOPE'S PLAN. + +Penelope Hawthorne sat in the school-room window-seat at Easney +Vicarage, one afternoon, looking very gravely out at the garden. + +She had sat there for some time, with her hands in her lap and a little +troubled frown on her forehead, and anyone who knew her well would have +guessed at once that she was thinking over a "plan." + +Penelope was just thirteen years old, the eldest of the Hawthorne +children, and as she was a thoughtful girl and fond of reading, she +often made very good plans for her brothers and sisters' amusement, +partly out of her own head, and partly out of books. But this +particular plan quite puzzled her, for it had nothing to do with +amusement, and she did not at all see how it was to be carried out. Yet +it was much too good to be given up. + +The plan was this. To buy a new Chinese mandarin for Miss Unity +Cheffins. + +Now Miss Unity was Pennie's godmother, and lived in the Cathedral Close +at Nearminster, which was two miles away from the village of Easney. +Amongst her knick-knacks and treasures there used to be a funny little +china figure called a mandarin which had always stood on her +sitting-room mantel-piece since the children could remember anything. +This had unfortunately been broken by a friend of Pennie's whilst the +two girls were on a visit at Nearminster; and though it had not been her +fault, Pennie felt as if she were responsible for the accident. She +found out that her godmother had a great affection for the queer little +mandarin, and it made her sorry whenever she went to Nearminster to see +his place empty, and to think that he would never nod his head any more. + +She felt all the more sorry when one day, in the cupboard by the +fireplace, she caught sight of a little heap of china fragments which +she knew were the remains of the poor mandarin, and saw by the bottle of +cement near that her godmother had been trying vainly to stick him +together. After this she began to wonder whether it would be possible +to replace Miss Unity's favourite. Could she, if she saved all her +money, get another figure exactly like it? Where were such things to be +bought? No doubt in London, where, she had heard her father say, you +could get anything in the world. It would therefore be easy to get +another mandarin so like the first that Miss Unity would hardly know the +difference, and to set it up on the mantel-piece in her room. + +Pennie thought and thought, until this beautiful idea grew to perfect +proportions in her mind. She pictured Miss Unity's surprise and +pleasure, and had settled the new mandarin in all his glory at +Nearminster, before one serious drawback occurred to her--want of money. +If she were to save up her money for years, she would not have enough, +for though she did not know the cost of the figure, she had heard it +spoken of as "valuable." What a very long time it would be before +sixpence a week would buy anything you could call "valuable!" Pennie +did not see her way out of it at all, though she worked endless sums on +scraps of paper, and worried over it both in play-hours and lesson-time. + +This afternoon it was still in her mind when Miss Grey, the governess, +came into the school-room with the other children and called her away +from the window-seat where she had sat so long. Pennie gave up her +thoughts with a sigh and prepared to write out her French translation, +while her sister Nancy and her two brothers Ambrose and David were +reading history aloud. She gave her task only half her attention, +however, and sat staring at the words for some time without thinking of +their meaning. It was one of Aesop's fables that she had to put into +French. "Union is strength," said the motto; and as she read it over +for the twentieth time a sudden and splendid idea flashed across her +mind. + +"Of course!" she exclaimed aloud in triumph. + +"Another bad mark, Pennie," said Miss Grey; for talking in school hours +was one of Pennie's failings. + +But she was now so possessed with her new idea and so eager to carry it +out, that bad marks did not seem of much consequence. She scrambled +through her other lessons, straining her ears all the while for the +first tinkle of the four o'clock bell sounding from the village school, +for that was the signal that lessons at the rectory were also over for +the afternoon. There then remained one precious hour before tea-time, +and in summer there was an immediate rush into the garden and fields. + +At last the welcome sound came. Nancy was generally the first to +announce it, but to-day Pennie was beforehand. + +"It's begun, Miss Grey," she exclaimed, starting up so hastily that +cotton, scissors, and thimble, all fell on the ground. + +"More haste worse speed, Pennie," said Miss Grey. "Now you will have to +stay and pick up all those things and put them neatly away." + +Poor Pennie gathered up her property as quickly as she could, but the +hateful thimble, as if it knew she was in a hurry, rolled into a dark +corner and could not be found. + +"Oh, _does_ it matter to-day?" she asked pleadingly, as Nancy, Ambrose, +and David, having put away their books, rushed headlong past her, and +she heard their first yells of delight as they burst into the garden. +"I'll find it afterwards--I _really_ will." + +But Miss Grey was firm. + +"You are too careless, Pennie. I must have it found before you go out." + +Pennie groped about the school-room floor, groaning with vexation. The +others would be all scattered about, and she would never get them to +listen to her plan. What did a stupid thimble matter in comparison? If +it were lost for ever, so much the better. Nancy at least might have +stayed to help. While she was peering and poking about, and fuming and +grumbling, Dickie came into the room ready for the garden, in her round +holland pinafore, and grasping a basket and spade. + +Dickie, whose real name was Delicia, was only five years old and not yet +admitted to the school-room, but she was fond of escaping from the +nursery whenever she could and joining the others in their games. She +at once cast herself flat on the floor to help in the search, and in +this position not only spied the thimble under the fender, but by means +of the spade succeeded to her great delight in poking it out. + +In another minute she and Pennie were running across the lawn to a part +of the garden called the Wilderness, where only Ambrose was to be found +soberly digging in his garden, and quite ready for conversation. But +Pennie would not unfold the plan unless the others heard it too. David +at any rate was sure to be in the barn feeding his rabbits, and perhaps +Nancy might be with him. So to the barn they all took their way. + +The barn was large and roomy, quite unused except by the children, who +kept all their pets and a good deal of what Andrew the gardener called +"rubbage" there. At one end the boys had fixed a swing and some +rope-ladders, on which they practised all sorts of monkey-like feats. +At the other lived David's rabbits in numerous hutches, Ambrose's owl, a +jackdaw, a squirrel, and a wonderfully large family of white mice. +Besides those captives there were bats which lived free but retired +lives high up in the rafters, flapping and whirring about when dusk came +on. Pigeons also flew in and out, and pecked at the various morsels of +food left about on the ground, so that the barn was a thickly-peopled +place, with plenty of noise and flutter, and much coming and going +through its wide doors. + +When the children entered, Nancy was lazily swinging herself backwards +and forwards while she watched David, who moved steadily from hutch to +hutch, with a box of bran under one arm and a huge bunch of green meat +under the other. + +"Come and hear Pennie's plan," said Ambrose; "she won't tell it till you +all listen." + +"I can't come," said David, "I've got to finish feeding the rabbits, and +after that I must do up my pig for the night. There's only just time +before tea." + +"Why don't you come in and tell it here if you want to?" said Nancy, +shoving herself off with her foot. "Look here. Ambrose, I've touched +the rafters twice. You couldn't." + +It did not seem a very promising moment. + +"If I do will you _really_ listen?" said Pennie, sitting down on a +packing-case midway between David and Nancy, "because it's an important +plan." + +David nodded, and Nancy in her wild passage through the air, now high up +in the roof, now low down on the floor of the barn, screamed out "All +right! Go on." It was not of much consequence, but Pennie felt vexed +with her. She might at _least_ have stopped swinging. Turning her full +attention therefore on Ambrose and David, whom she hoped to impress, she +began: + +"It's not exactly a pleasure plan, it's a sort of sacrificing plan, and +I want you to help me." + +"I don't know a bit what you mean," said Nancy; "but if it isn't +pleasant, what's the good of it?" + +"It _is_ pleasant," said Pennie hurriedly, for she saw a cold look of +disapproval on David's face; "not at first, but _afterwards_." + +"I like a plan that's pleasant first, and afterwards, and all the time," +said Nancy, who was now standing still on the swing. + +It was worse for Nancy to listen in this mood than to pay no attention. + +"I wish you'd go on swinging, Nancy," said Pennie impatiently, "you only +interrupt." + +"Oh, all right!" said Nancy. "I thought you wanted us to listen. I +don't like the beginning at any rate." + +She launched herself into motion again, but Pennie was uneasily +conscious that she could still hear every word, and though she explained +her plan as well as she could, she felt she was not doing it justice. +She got through it, however, without any further interruption. + +"Wouldn't it be nice," she said after dwelling on Miss Unity's +attachment to the mandarin, "if we _all_ saved up some money and put it +into a box, and when we got enough if we _all_ bought a new mandarin, +and _all_ gave it her? I wanted to do it by myself, but I never could. +It would take too long." + +She looked anxiously at her hearers. No one spoke at first. David +seemed entirely occupied in picking out the choicest bits of parsley and +carrot for Goliath, his biggest rabbit; but at last he said moodily: + +"Ethelwyn broke it." + +"Mean thing!" exclaimed Nancy's voice on high. + +"Yes, I know," murmured Pennie. + +"Then," continued David, "she ought to pay for a new one. Not us." + +"But she never would," said Ambrose. "Why, I don't suppose she even +remembers doing it." + +"If there ever was," put in Nancy, "anyone I hated, it was that stupid +Ethelwyn." + +"You oughtn't to say that, Nancy," said Pennie reprovingly. "You know +mother doesn't like you to say you hate people." + +"Well, I won't say so, then; but I did all the same, and so did you at +last." + +"Will anyone agree to the plan?" asked Pennie dejectedly, for she felt +that the proposal had been a failure. To her surprise David turned +round from the row of hutches. + +"_I_ will," he said, "because she was so kind once, but I can't give it +every week. I'll give it when I don't want it very much for something +else." + +Ambrose remained silent a little while. He was rather vexed that David +had made this offer before he had spoken himself, for he did not like +his younger brother to take the lead. + +"I don't call that much of a sacrifice," he said at length. "I shall +give some _every_ week." + +Dickie had listened to all this without any clear idea as to what it +meant, but she could not bear to be left out of any scheme, and she now +said firmly: + +"Me will too." + +Her offer was received with laughter. + +"You've got no pocket-money, Dickie," said Pennie. + +"She's got her slug-money," observed David. This property of Dickie's +consisted of the payment for slugs and snails which she collected in a +flower-pot and delivered to Andrew for execution. He kept the account +chalked up in the potting shed, and when it reached a hundred, Dickie +was entitled to ask her father for a penny. + +"I call it a shame to take her slug-money," cried out Nancy from the +swing. + +"No one wants to _take_ it," replied Pennie, "but she shall give it if +she likes." + +"I call it a stupid old plan, with nothing pleasant about it at all," +were Nancy's last words as they all left the barn. + +Pennie tried to treat those remarks with indifference, but she was in +truth wounded and discouraged by them, and felt, moreover, that they +were likely to affect the boys unfavourably. She observed that Ambrose +became very thoughtful as they approached the house, and presently he +asked in an off-hand manner: + +"How long do you suppose it will take us to buy a mandarin?" + +Pennie could not say, but she thought it might be a long while, because +she had heard that china figures of that sort were expensive, "and of +course," she added, "we must get one of the _very best_." + +"Oh, of course!" said Ambrose at once. But he began to reflect that it +would be very dull never to have any pocket-money to spend, and to wish +that he had followed David's prudent example. He could not possibly +draw back now, but he hoped the mandarin might not prove quite so +expensive as Pennie thought. + +Pennie herself hardly knew what to think about the success of her plan. +It certainly had not been received very heartily, but there was no +reason why it should fail if Ambrose and David would remain true to +their promise. That was the question. Much patience and self-denial +would be needed, and it was unfortunate that next month there would be a +great temptation in the way--Cheddington Fair. + +David had only agreed to give his share when he did not want to spend it +on anything else. Now even without the attractions of a fair there are +plenty of ways of spending 4 pence a week, and though he had a thrifty +nature, David had never found any difficulty in laying out his money. +Again, Nancy's behaviour had been most disappointing. She had always +been so fond of the old mandarin, who had so often nodded his head for +her pleasure, that Pennie had counted on her support, but instead of +this she had only displayed a most perverse and provoking spirit. + +Pennie sighed to remember all these drawbacks, but she determined not to +be beaten without an effort, and directly after tea she set about +preparing a box to receive all possible contributions. Would David lend +his china cottage for the purpose? This being graciously given she +printed the words, "For the Mandarin" in large letters on a piece of +paper, pasted it on the front, and set the house up on the school-room +mantel-piece that it might be constantly before the general eye. + + + +CHAPTER TWO. + +THE ROMAN CAMP. + +It was about a week after this that the children one day persuaded Miss +Grey to go home across Rumborough Common after a walk. She never liked +to do so, because it was a lonely, desolate place frequented by gypsies +and tramps, but the boys had a special reason for wishing it. There +were the remains of what was called a Roman camp there, which, they felt +sure, was full of strange and curious things--coins, medals, bones, +beads, all manner of desirable objects to add to their collection for +the museum. They had never been lucky enough to find any, but hope did +not forsake them, and as often as they could persuade Miss Grey to cross +the common, they lingered behind the others as much as they possibly +could and kept an eager look-out. + +Unfortunately, Miss Grey never walked so fast as in that particular +spot, and was always urging them to quicken their pace, so that it was +possible to miss many valuable curiosities. Otherwise, with time before +them, and the aid of a spade and a pickaxe, Ambrose and David felt that +they could have unearthed treasures which would have filled their museum +easily. To-day they were so far behind that Miss Grey and their sisters +were almost out of sight. Ambrose had been giving David a little solid +information about the Romans, their wars, customs, and personal +appearance, when he was suddenly interrupted by his brother. + +"I suppose," said David, "you forgot the museum when you told Pennie +you'd give your money every week?" + +Ambrose did not want to be reminded of that promise, which he had +already begun to regret; besides, this question showed that David had +not been attending to the Romans. + +"Why, of course," he said impatiently; "we sha'n't buy things for the +museum. We shall just find them by degrees." + +"I don't believe we shall ever get enough things before the winter," +replied David, with his eyes fixed on the short dry turf at his feet. +"Oh, look!" he exclaimed suddenly, "there's a funny snail." + +Ambrose stooped to examine it. It was an empty white shell with curious +black stripes on it. + +"It's a Roman snail," he said rising with a superior air. "You know +they used to eat them." + +David stood with his short legs wide apart, his hands in his pockets, +his grave eyes fixed on the shell in his brother's hand. + +"Did the Romans bring it?" he asked. "How very old it must be!" + +"How stupid you are!" said Ambrose. "Of course I meant they brought +some like it, and then there got to be more and more snails--like Sir +Walter Raleigh and the potato." + +"It'll do nicely for the museum, won't it?" said David, "and we'll write +a label for it with `_Roman snail, found near Rumborough Camp_.'" By +this time it was no longer possible to avoid seeing that Miss Grey was +waving her parasol in the far distance. Probably one of the girls would +be sent back to fetch them if they did not go at once, so with the snail +carefully secured they set off towards her at a quick trot. + +"Don't you wish," jerked out Ambrose in short sentences as he ran, "that +father would bring us--with a spade--and dig--and find things?" + +"It would be splendid," gasped David. "Do you think he would?" + +"I say," called out Ambrose, without replying to this, as they got near +to the others, "guess what we've found." + +"A skull," said Nancy at once, mentioning the thing which the boys +wanted most for their museum. + +"How could it be a skull, silly?" said Ambrose scornfully, "when I'm +holding it inside my hand?" + +More guesses followed, but in vain, and at last the Roman snail was +displayed to the wondering gaze of Pennie and Nancy. Not that they had +any part or lot in matters concerning the museum. That belonged to the +boys alone, and was jealously guarded as their very own. Ever since +Ambrose had been with his father to the museum at Nearminster he and +David had made up their minds to have one, and had begun with great +fervour to collect objects for it. Other interests, however, had come +in the way, and the museum languished until one day Mrs Hawthorne had +offered them a tiny empty room at the top of the house for their own. +It was not much bigger than a cupboard, and had a very sloping roof, but +to the boys it seemed a palace. + +What a place for the museum! They at once set to work to put up +shelves, to write labels, and to give it as much as possible the +appearance of the one at Nearminster. Ambrose hit upon an idea which +added a good deal to this. He printed the words "_To the Museum_" on +some cards, with an arrow to point the way, and when these were pasted +on the staircase wall they had a capital effect. But though it began to +have quite a business-like air, the museum was still woefully empty. +Even when spread out to their widest extent, it was impossible to make +three fossils, a few birds' eggs, and one dried snake's skin look +otherwise than meagre even in a small room. The boys arranged these +over and over again in different positions, and wrote very large labels +for them, but they were disturbed by the consciousness that it was not +an interesting collection, and that it must be increased before the 1st +of November. This would be their mother's birthday, and they then +intended to invite her to see the museum and to declare it open. + +All this, therefore, made Rumborough Common, with its store of hidden +treasure, an unusually interesting place, and it was almost too +tantalising to be hurried past the camp with only a longing glance. +Ambrose especially, since his visit to the Nearminster museum, had been +fired with ambition to make a thorough search. Visions of +strange-shaped daggers and spears, bronze cups and bowls with mysterious +inscriptions on them, rusty ornaments, and other relics floated +continually before him. There they were, all waiting hidden below, +ready to fill the empty shelves of the museum. If only father would +consent to go with him and David, and let them poke about as much as +they liked. That would be the only plan, and after much consideration +and many talks together both the boys came to the conclusion that the +vicar must be asked. Who was to ask him? The question was as usual +settled by casting lots, and it fell to Ambrose. + +Now, unluckily, the vicar was at this time specially busy. There was to +be a clerical meeting at Nearminster at which he had promised to read a +paper, and the preparation of this filled up all his spare time. At +such moments it required courage to knock at his door and ask questions, +and Ambrose drew back a little. Urged, however, by David, and by the +thoughts of the treasure, he at length made the effort. Directly he got +into the room he saw by all the great books his father had open on the +table, and by the frown on his brow, that he was deeply engrossed. He +looked up, certainly, and seemed to listen, but he was evidently very +far-away from anything connected with Rumborough Common. Gathering, +however, that he was asked to go somewhere, he looked back at his papers +and shook his head. + +"My dear boy," he said, "I will listen to you another time, but none of +you are to come and ask me questions just now. Run away to your +mother." + +His pen began to scratch away over the paper at a dreadful rate, and +Ambrose returned dejectedly to tell David of his failure. They felt +quite cast-down by it. Mother and father were both going away next +week. They were invited to stay at Miss Unity's house during the +clerical meeting, taking Dickie with them, and would not be home for +four days. This would make a terrible long delay, and it seemed +impossible to wait all that time before asking their father again. Yet +what could be done? + +Ambrose felt the disappointment more severely than David. His mind was +so fixed on carrying out his idea that he brooded over it by day and +even dreamed of it at night. Often he saw the shelves of the museum +crowded with all his heart could desire in the way of curious and +ancient objects. But this did not advance matters at all. They +remained in the cold light of day as bare as ever, with great spaces +between the few specimens, and by degrees, as he gazed mournfully at +them, a thought began to take shape in his mind and to become more and +more enticing. + +Why should not he and David go to Rumborough Camp alone? Certainly he +had an impression that it would be wrong, but as far as he could +remember it had never been distinctly forbidden, so what harm could +there be in it? He tried to remember if his father or mother had ever +said, "You are not to go alone to Rumborough Common." No. Try as hard +as he could he remembered no such words. In his heart of hearts Ambrose +was conscious all the time that if known such a thing would not be +allowed, for he and David never went beyond the fields round the house +unless Miss Grey or nurse were with them: they had occasionally been as +far as Farmer Hatchard's with a message, but that was the extreme limit. + +He would not, however, let his mind dwell on this, for the expedition +began to appear so attractive, so bold, daring, and altogether +delightful, that all other considerations seemed dull and tame. He was +almost tempted to undertake it quite alone, but a little reflection +showed him that a companion would be decidedly useful. Rumborough +Common was a desolate and somewhat alarming place, and besides he might +find too many valuable curiosities to carry home by himself. David's +advice and help must certainly, therefore, be asked. + +What would he think of it? Ambrose felt a little bit doubtful. Not +that David wanted either courage or enterprise for such an undertaking, +and if once started upon it he would be sure to carry it through with +undaunted perseverance, but--he was so matter-of-fact. He would +certainly say at once that it would be against rules, for he had a +tiresome way of looking things straight in the face, instead of turning +his eyes a little to one side when it was more convenient or pleasant to +do so. + +At any rate, he must be asked to go; but Ambrose went on to consider +that this need not be done until Monday after their father and mother +had gone to Nearminster. That would be two days hence, which would give +him time to think over his plan and make preparations, so that all might +be ready to meet any difficulties from David. Ambrose began to feel +very important when he had settled all this in his mind; it was such an +immense idea that it was most difficult to keep it all within himself, +and he went about with such an air of superiority to daily events that +the other children knew at once he had a secret. + +"You look just like Dickie's bantam hen when she has laid an egg," said +Nancy; "but I sha'n't try to guess what you're thinking about. It's +sure to have something to do with that stupid museum." + +Ambrose meanwhile began his preparations. He and David both possessed +garden spades, which would be useful; but the ground on Rumborough +Common was hard and chalky, and he felt sure that they would require a +pickaxe as well. Andrew had one, but he was surly about lending his +tools, and there was no chance of getting at them, for he kept them +carefully locked up, and never left any lying about in the garden. + +"I say, Andrew," said Ambrose in a careless manner, "I wish you'd just +lend me your pickaxe, please; just to break up some hard ground." + +"You're not man enough to use it, Master Ambrose," said Andrew. "It's +too heavy for ye. There's a nice light hoe now, I'd let ye have that +for a bit." + +"That wouldn't do," said Ambrose. "It's very hard ground. A hoe would +be of no use at all. I want the pickaxe particularly." + +Andrew shook his head. + +"Can't loan ye the pickaxe, young master. You'd be doing yourself a +mischief;" and he took up his barrow and went his way. + +So that was of no use. Ambrose began to long for Monday to come that he +might tell David and have his help and advice. It was an odd thing to +wish for his father and mother to go away. They seldom left home, and +when they did there was a general outcry and lamentation among the +children, because it was so dull without them. Yet now Ambrose felt it +would be a decided relief when they had gone to Nearminster, for then he +might unburden himself of his great secret. + +The time came at last. Ruby, the grey horse, stood waiting with the +waggonette at the door. Andrew sat on the box, ready to drive his +master and mistress into Nearminster. He looked quite a different +Andrew on these occasions from the one who worked in the garden, because +he wore his best coat and hat, which were a size too large for him, and +a roomy pair of white gloves. + +The children were all in the hall watching the departure. + +"Don't stay longer than you can help, mother," said Pennie; "it's horrid +when you're away." + +Mrs Hawthorne kissed them all and said good-bye. She hoped they would +be quite obedient to Miss Grey while she was away, and Ambrose thought +she looked specially at him as she spoke. He flushed a little as he +joined with the others in promising to remember this. + +"Now, then," said the vicar coming out of his study, "are we ready? +Where's Dickie?" + +Dickie came steadily down-stairs just then, step by step, rather +encumbered in her movements by a large Noah's ark, which she clutched to +her breast. She was calmly triumphant. Nurse followed her, still +suggesting all manner of other toys as more convenient to carry--"a +pretty doll now"--but Dickie was firm. The Noah's ark was her last +birthday present; she must and would take it to Nearminster, and +moreover she would carry it down-stairs herself. So it had to go; but +the moment she was lifted with it into the waggonette she pulled out the +sliding lid in the roof to find the _efilant_, as she called it, and +most of the animals tumbled out. This made it necessary for all the +children to throw themselves into the carriage to pick them up, so that +there was a good deal of delay in starting. At last, however, all was +really settled, and they drove off, Ambrose and David rushing on in +front, as usual, to open the gate and scream out the last good-byes. + +"Remember to be good boys," said their mother, leaning towards them as +she passed; and again Ambrose felt as though she were speaking specially +to him. He was not going to be a good boy. That he knew, but he would +not think about it. It was pleasanter to fix his thoughts on all the +advantages to be gained if David would only agree to his proposal, and +make no awkward objections. He would tell him that very evening after +tea, when they were going to fix a new shelf in the museum. Both the +boys had been taught the use of saw and plane by the village carpenter, +and were quite used to doing odd jobs for themselves. David in +particular excelled in anything requiring neatness of finish, and took +great pride in the fittings of the museum, which he was continually +adding to and altering. The shelves were made of any bits of wood the +boys had been able to get, so that at present they were all of different +colours, and did not please him. He had it in his mind to ask Andrew +for some white paint, with which he could produce a very superior +effect, and indeed he was far more engrossed just now with the fittings +of the museum than with objects to be put into it. + +Armed with a large hammer, which he wielded with great skill and +determination for so small a boy, he set to work in the museum directly +after tea. Ambrose looked on listlessly. How should he introduce the +subject with which his mind was full? There was certainly no room for +it just now between the energetic blows which David was dealing, as he +fastened up the new shelf into its place. At last he stopped and fell +back a little to look at his work. + +"Is that straight?" he asked. + +"It's straight enough," answered Ambrose moodily, "but I don't see much +good in putting it up." + +David turned round with a face of wonder. "We must have shelves," he +said. + +"But we haven't got anything to put on them," replied Ambrose. "It +looks silly to have them all empty." + +David looked rather mournful. + +"Of course they'd be much better full," he agreed; "but what can we do? +How can we get things?" + +"Isn't it a pity," said Ambrose, "that we couldn't ask father to take us +to Rumborough? We could find enough there to fill the museum easily in +half an hour." + +David nodded and sighed. + +"Why shouldn't we go alone?" said Ambrose, making a bold plunge. "I +know the way." He looked full at his brother. + +David did not seem at all startled. He merely said, as he put his +hammer into the tool-box--"Miss Grey wouldn't let us." + +"But," continued Ambrose, feeling it easier now that he had begun, +"suppose we didn't ask her?" + +David's attention was at last stirred. He turned his blue eyes gravely +towards Ambrose. + +"Father and mother wouldn't like that," he said. + +Ambrose was quite ready for this objection. "Well," he said, "we don't +know whether they would or not, because we can't ask them now." + +"They wouldn't," repeated David decidedly. + +"Mother would like the museum to be full," continued Ambrose; "we know +that. And we can't get things anywhere else. She never said we were +not to go to Rumborough alone." + +David sat cross-legged on the floor beside his tool-box in an attitude +of the deepest thought. The idea began to be attractive, but he had not +the least doubt that it was wrong. + +"We know, all the same, that she wouldn't let us go if we did ask her," +he said at last. + +Ambrose felt that it was time to strike a decided blow. + +"Well," he said, with the air of one who has made up his mind, "_I_ +shall go--and of course you needn't if you're afraid. I shall bring +home the things and put my name on all the labels, because they'll all +belong to me. It'll scarcely be your museum at all." + +David's face fell. A vision rose before him of Ambrose returning from +Rumborough laden with antiquities, and writing his name large upon each. +He, David, would have no right to any of them. Besides, how could he +miss the intense joy of digging in Rumborough Camp, of hearing his spade +strike with a hollow "clink" against some iron casket or rusty piece of +armour? Perhaps they might even be lucky enough to find a skull! It +was too much to resist. + +"I'll come," he said slowly. "I know it's wrong, but I'll come. And +I'm not a bit afraid, so you needn't think that." + +This settled, they continued to talk over the details of the +expedition--the time, the tools, and so on. Here, as Ambrose had hoped, +David proved of much service. He fixed at once on the best hour to +start. It must be quite early in the morning, between five and six +o'clock, so that they might be there and back before they were missed. + +"We can get out by the garden door," he said; "and if they do see us +coming back it won't matter much, because we shall have got the things." + +David further suggested that a sack would be useful to bear home the +treasure, laid a deep plan for the capture of Andrew's pickaxe, and +threw himself by degrees heart and soul into the project. + +Ambrose had not the least fear now that he would draw back or relax his +efforts. He knew that once David had made up his mind he would prove a +stout support all the way through, and this was a great relief, for he +began to see that there were dangers attending the expedition, and would +not have gone alone on any account. It occurred to him, especially when +he was in bed and it was quite dark, that Rumborough Common was a +favourite haunt of gypsies, tramps, and all sorts of lawless wandering +people. + +In old days it had been a noted spot for highwaymen, and though Ambrose +liked to read about them and their daring exploits, he shivered to think +of meeting them in person alone. It was some comfort to remember that +there were no highwaymen now, but there were plenty of perils left to +think of and make him uncomfortable, and at such times he half regretted +having planned the expedition at all. Now, however, he could fall back +on the thought that David was going too, and there was such support in +this that it lost half its terrors. + +On the evening before the day fixed for the expedition all was ready. +The pickaxe, secured in one of Andrew's unguarded moments, two spades, +and a large sack lay hidden in the thick ivy which covered the wall near +the garden gate. Nothing remained but to wake early enough the next +morning, before anyone was up, and creep out unobserved. The person +most to be feared was Andrew, who had an awkward habit of coming to his +work at all sorts of odd hours. The boys were inclined to doubt +sometimes if he ever went to bed, for he seemed to know exactly what +kind of weather it had been all night. However that must be risked, +although it would be most undesirable to meet him with the pickaxe in +their possession. + +Ambrose went to bed in a fever of excitement, with a mind firmly fixed +on keeping his eyes wide open until morning, for that was the only way +to be sure of being awake at the right time. It depended on him alone, +for David was such a profound sleeper that he could not be relied on at +all: it would most likely be very difficult even to rouse him at the +proper hour. Very soon, from the little bed next to him, Ambrose heard +the deep regular breathing, which showed that he was in the land of +dreams. How could he sleep on such an exciting occasion? + +Hour after hour sounded from the old church tower; shadows from the +sprays of ivy outside danced on the window-blind in the moonlight; now +and then a dog barked a long way off, and was answered by a nearer one. +What a long, long while the night lasted if you were not asleep! +Ambrose tossed restlessly on his pillow, and longed for the morning to +come. It seemed very soon after this that the next hour sounded. He +counted the strokes: these ought to have been 12, but there were only 5. +Could the clock be wrong? He started up and looked round the room; it +was not lighted by the moon now; it was broad daylight, and he had been +to sleep after all! + +The first thing was to waken David, who was lying in a tranquil slumber +with a smile on his face, as though Rumborough Camp had no existence. +Ambrose called him gently and then shook him, but though he half-opened +his eyes he immediately shut them again, turned on his side with a deep +and comfortable sigh, and was faster asleep than ever. Some decided +step must be taken. Without an instant's hesitation Ambrose got a wet +sponge and laid it on his brother's face. David woke with a snort of +disgust and started up. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +"Hush-sh-ush!" said Ambrose, holding up a warning finger; "it's time to +start. _Rumborough_, you know." + +Thoroughly wakened by these words David was out of bed in an instant, +and the two boys, creeping stealthily about the room, quickly huddled on +their clothes. Then they went on tiptoe down the stairs, which creaked +under their guilty footsteps as though they cried "Stop thief!" and on +through the wide, silent hall, where Snuff the terrier, coiled on his +mat, looked at them with an air of sleepy surprise, but did not stir. + +But then came a difficulty. The garden door closed with a bolt high +above their reach, so that David had to mount upon his brother's back to +get at it. Even then he could not manage to move it at first, for it +was rusty, and when he did succeed it shot back with sudden violence and +made enough noise to waken the whole household. The boys stared +horror-stricken at each other, but there was no movement to be heard in +the house. Recovering courage they quickly picked up their tools, and +were soon fairly started on their way. This led for a short distance +along the high-road until, crossing a stile, they came to broad meadows, +where Farmer Hatchard's cows were munching peacefully away at the short +dewy grass. So far they were not beyond the allowed limits, and though +they instinctively drew closer together as they passed through the herd +of cows, they felt that none of the perils of the adventure had begun. + +It was all familiar ground until they had passed the farm. Then came +Blackberry Lane, which was a short cut to Rumborough Common. Blackberry +Lane was so narrow that the straggling brambles and honeysuckles in the +tall hedges almost met overhead. It was very steep, very stony, and +always rather dark, a place, where it was easy to imagine any number of +robbers lying in wait. The boys climbed slowly up the steep ascent, +casting awed glances to right and left. The pickaxe weighed heavily on +Ambrose's shoulder, and David had quite as much as he could do to trudge +along with two spades and a sack. + +It was a relief when they came suddenly out of the gloomy shadows of the +lane on to the broad expanse of Rumborough Common. There it lay +stretched out before them, with a rough cart track across the middle of +it. A lonely, cheerless-looking place! Bare of trees, except for one +group of ragged firs, which marked the position of what was called the +Camp. Not a house in sight, not a sign of life anywhere, nothing to +break its even surface but some pools of water glimmering coldly grey in +the morning light. + +A sudden fear seized on Ambrose as he and David stood still for a moment +to take breath. Brought face to face with Rumborough Common in this +way, it seemed to present all manner of possible perils, which might +come to light at any moment. He would willingly have turned back, and +had he been alone would certainly have done so; but--David was there. +It would not do to show any want of courage before his younger brother, +who, moreover, had given no sign of wishing to give up the expedition. +They must go on; they must cross that wide space which lay between them +and the camp; they must reach those dark threatening fir-trees, and +encounter, very likely, some desperate characters lying there in ambush, +ready to spring upon the lonely traveller. All the romantic tales he +had ever read, all the worst stories of bloodshed and horrors crowded +upon Ambrose's mind as the two boys plodded steadily along the cart +track, bending a little under their burdens. + +"Andrew said once that there used to be a ghost here," said David, +breaking the silence. + +"Don't," said Ambrose, giving him a sharp dig with his elbow. + +"He was a tinker," continued David, "and he drowned himself in one of +the ponds." + +"I wish you wouldn't be so silly," said Ambrose impatiently. "You know +there aren't any ghosts. You know father says so--and besides they +never stay out after cock-crow--and besides, if there were they couldn't +hurt us." + +"Mother says nothing will hurt us if we're not doing wrong," said David; +"but we are doing wrong, aren't we?" + +Ambrose gave a nervous laugh, which sounded to himself very thin and +funny. + +"If there are any ghosts here, I should think they'd be Roman ghosts," +he said. + +A Roman ghost was a new idea to David. He dwelt on it a little before +he asked: + +"How should you think a Roman ghost would look?" + +"Oh, how should I know?" exclaimed Ambrose irritably. "I wish you'd +talk about something else." + +"Well," concluded David thoughtfully, "if there are any Roman ghosts +about, I shouldn't think they'd like to see us digging up their things." + +The Camp reached, they stood still a moment gravely surveying it. It +was formed by two low banks of turf, one within the other, almost +complete circles, but broken here and there; the tall, black fir-trees +stood near like sentinels on guard. + +Ambrose dropped the pickaxe off his shoulder with a sigh of relief and +sat down by it on the ground. He felt strangely indifferent to +beginning the search now that he was really here, and might dig as long +as he liked without anyone to say him nay. David's remarks about ghosts +had not made him more at his ease. Ghosts were all very well when you +were safe at home, with well-known people and things all round you; but +here, on this lonely Common, no subject could have been worse chosen. +It was stupid of David. He sat beside his pickaxe feeling more creepy +and nervous and uncomfortable every moment, until David, who had been +carefully examining the inclosed space, struck his spade firmly on a +certain spot and exclaimed: + +"Here's a good place to begin!" + +"Why?" asked Ambrose moodily, without moving. + +"It looks," said David, kneeling down to see more closely, "as if it had +been dug up before." + +"Well, then," returned Ambrose, "it wouldn't be a good place, because +they'll have found all the things." + +It was a bare spot in one side of the bank where there was no turf, and +the earth looked loose and crumbling. David rose and struck his spade +into it. + +"You try somewhere else," he said, "I mean to dig here." + +A little roused by this example Ambrose took up the heavy pickaxe again +and went over to David's side. He was making a good deep hole, but it +was very narrow because his spade was so small. + +"Wait a minute," said Ambrose, "let me have a go at it." + +He raised up the pickaxe with all his strength, down it came, and stuck +so fast that he and David together could hardly get it out again. But +when it was dislodged they found it had done good service, for it broke +up the earth all round the hole, so that they could now get both their +spades into it and work away together. For some minutes they went on in +silence, David with even steady strokes and Ambrose with feverishly +quick ones. Nothing came to light but little round stones and chalky +mould, not even a coin or a bone! + +"I believe this isn't a good place," said Ambrose hopelessly, resting on +his spade, "let's try somewhere else." + +Just as he spoke David's spade struck against something with a sharp +clinking sound. + +"What's that?" exclaimed Ambrose. + +All his excitement returning he threw himself on the ground and +scratched away the earth with his hands. + +"Wait a moment!" he cried; "don't dig. I see something shining." + +"What's it like?" asked David breathlessly. He could see nothing, for +Ambrose had thrust his head right into the hole. He presently withdrew +it, and looked up at David nearly choking and almost speechless with +eagerness. + +"I don't know yet," he managed to say, "we must get the earth away from +it." + +He scooped up handful after handful, and David, sitting on his heels, +watched the operations with deep solemnity. He could see a bit of this +mysterious object now, and presently he remarked: + +"I believe it's only a bit of broken china." + +"Nonsense!" said Ambrose hoarsely. His face was scarlet; he could +hardly speak. Ghosts, robbers, and all other terrors forgotten, his +whole soul was bent on unearthing this long-dreamed-of treasure. + +"I can feel it," he said at last. "I can get my fingers round it. But +it sticks fast." + +"Take my knife," said David, producing a stout weapon from his pocket. + +Ambrose gently eased away the earth round the unknown object. Trembling +with triumph he extracted it from its bed and raised it on high: + +"Broken china indeed!" he exclaimed scornfully. + +It was a small earthenware crock of quaint shape with two very tiny +handles or ears, and so incrusted with mould that only here and there +you could see that it was of a deep-red colour. The top was covered by +a lid. + +Ambrose laid it on the grass between himself and David, and both the +boys surveyed it with awe. They had really made a discovery in +Rumborough Camp! + +"Do you suppose it's Roman?" said David at last, drawing a long breath +and speaking very softly. + +"What else should it be?" said Ambrose. He scraped away some of the +earth clinging to the jar, touching it reverently as though it were a +sacred object. "It's just as Roman as it can be. Look at the shape!" + +"It's something like the pot Miss Unity sent us the honey in last +summer," said David, with his eyes fixed on the crock. + +"Nonsense!" said Ambrose sharply. "I tell you it's an antique. Why, I +saw rows and rows like it in the museum at Nearminster. How stupid you +are!" He spoke with some heat. David, on his side, did not like to be +treated with scorn, which he felt he had not deserved. + +"_I_ found it," he said quietly, "_I_ was digging." + +"I got it out," said Ambrose, still bending over the treasure. + +"You'd have given up digging without me," persisted David. "It's just +as much mine as yours." + +"Well, anyhow, we settled to go halves in all we found," said Ambrose, +"and you wouldn't have known it was valuable without me. A honey-pot +indeed!" + +He laughed jeeringly. + +David was becoming more and more hurt in his mind. He sat looking +sulkily at the antique, and when Ambrose laughed he had half a mind to +take up his spade and smash it. Instead of this he suddenly put out his +hand, took off the lid, and felt inside it. His fingers touched +something cold. + +"There's money in it!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Ambrose, look!" + +On his outstretched palm there glittered three bright golden pieces. + +"Coins?" said Ambrose, looking impressively at his brother. + +He took one in his hand and examined it carefully, turning it over and +over. There was a head on it, and some queer figures he could not +understand, but he knew they were numbers. + +"I told you it was Roman," he said; "here's a date in Roman figures." + +"What is it?" asked David. + +Unfortunately Ambrose could not tell. There was a v and an x, and a +great many straight strokes, but he had no idea what they represented. +He sat, puzzling over it with a deep frown. + +"They look just like sovereigns, don't they?" said the matter-of-fact +David; "and I thought old coins were never bright. They're generally +all green and brown and ugly." + +"Well," said Ambrose, putting the pieces of money back into the crock; +"we've got some splendid things for the museum at last. Aren't you glad +we came?" + +David had not quite recovered his temper. He felt that it ought to be +more thoroughly understood that it was he who had made both the +discoveries; then he should be satisfied. But he could not bear Ambrose +to take this tone of superiority. As they picked up their tools and +prepared to start homewards he said, "I should think you're glad I came, +because I found the pot, and the money too." + +"You ought to say `coins,' not `money,'" said Ambrose loftily. + +It is sad to record that, before they were half-way home, the partners +had fallen into open dispute over their booty. David wished to carry +it; Ambrose refused; wrangling followed for the rest of the way, and +when they stole guiltily in at the vicarage gate David was in tears, and +Ambrose flushed and angry. No one was in the garden to notice their +return, and, having replaced the tools, the crock was carried upstairs +hidden in the breast of Ambrose's tunic. In the passage they met Nurse. + +"You've been out early, Master Ambrose," was all she said, and passed +on, unsuspicious. + +So far the adventure had been attended with golden success at every +step, yet, strange to say, it had not brought much pleasure with it. +There was the crock of gold certainly in the museum upstairs; but there +was also a load on the boys' minds which hindered all enjoyment of it. +How could they display it to their mother when it was the price of +disobedience? + + + +CHAPTER THREE. + +CHEDDINGTON FAIR. + +Meanwhile Pennie's plan did not make much progress. The china-house on +the school-room mantel-piece stood ready for contributions, with the +slit in its roof and the label on its front door; it looked very well +outside, but she feared that it was poorly furnished within, though she +dropped all her own money into it with great regularity. This fear +became certainty soon, for Dickie came to her one day with a penny +clasped in her fat hand, and said: + +"Dickie will put it into the house." + +Pennie hesitated, for she knew it was the price of real hard work. + +"Does Dickie really want to give it?" she asked. + +Dickie nodded, gazing up at the money-box with large solemn eyes. + +"You're sure you wouldn't rather buy hard-bake?" persisted Pennie. + +Dickie was quite sure. Her mind was bent on dropping the penny into the +slit. When, however, the china-house was lifted down, and she saw her +money disappear through the roof for ever, she burst into sobs and +tears, and refused comfort till the box was opened and the money +returned. In this way Pennie became aware of the very low state of the +funds; there was indeed hardly anything beside her own contributions, +and at this rate Miss Unity would never get her new mandarin. So far +her plan had failed. + +"If only I could earn some money!" she said to Nancy. + +"P'r'aps father will want some sermons copied when he comes back," +suggested Nancy, "or mother may want some dusters hemmed." + +"I should love to do the sermons," said Pennie; "but, oh," with a face +of disgust, "how I do hate needlework!" + +"Well," said Nancy composedly, "if people want to be paid they've got to +work, whether they like it or not." + +"But there's nice work and nasty work," said Pennie; "now, to write +books--that must be splendid!" + +"I should hate it," said Nancy. "I'd much rather dig potatoes, or make +chairs and tables." + +"Girls can't do that sort of work," remarked Ambrose, who was sitting in +the window-seat with a book. "Girls can't do many things. They're not +brave enough, or strong enough, or clever enough. Boys and men earn +money, not girls." + +Nancy never wasted words on Ambrose when he talked in this way. She at +once looked round for the nearest thing to throw at him. Quite aware of +her intention, he quickly added holding up one arm to shield himself: + +"Boys can do everything better than girls." + +The school-room ruler whizzed through the air, and, without touching +Ambrose, crashed through the window behind him. + +"Girls can't even throw straight!" he exclaimed exultingly, jumping down +from the window-seat. + +With a very sober face Nancy advanced to examine the mischief. The +ruler had broken one pane of glass, and cracked two others right across. + +"There, you see!" said Ambrose tauntingly, "you've done it again. +You're always smashing things." + +It was quite true. Nancy had a most unfortunate faculty for breaking +glass, china, and any other fragile thing she came near. She looked +sadly at the window. + +"It'll be at least two weeks' pocket-money, Nancy," said Pennie, drawing +near. + +"I don't so much mind about that," said poor Nancy dejectedly; "but I do +so hate telling mother I've broken something else. I did mean not to +break anything while she was away this time." + +"Mother's never really angry when we tell her," said Pennie, trying to +give comfort. + +"I wish someone else had broken something, or done something wrong," +continued Nancy. "It's so horrid to be the only one." + +Ambrose became suddenly grave. What was a broken window compared with +his and David's disobedience in the matter of Rumborough Common? Each +day the possession of that little crock with its gold pieces weighed +upon his mind more heavily. They had not even dared to place it openly +in the museum, but after hiding it for a while in the tool-house, had +agreed to bury it in the garden as the only secure place. It might just +as well, therefore, have remained in the Roman Camp; and with all his +heart Ambrose wished it could be transported there again, for he had not +known one happy minute since its discovery. It haunted him in lesson +and play-hours, and visited him in feverish dreams at night; but, most +of all, it spoilt his enjoyment of the garden. He got into a way of +hovering round the spot where it was buried, and keeping a watchful eye +on all Andrew's movements, for he felt that he might some day be seized +by a whim to dig just there, and bring the dreadful thing to light. The +only person he could talk to on the subject was David, but there was +little comfort in that, for the conversation was sure to end in a +quarrel. David had been excited and pleased at first; but now that the +treasure was buried away, quite out of his sight, his interest in it +became fainter and fainter. + +"I don't see any good at all in it," he said; "the museum's just as +empty as it was before. I think we'd better break it all up into tiny +bits and throw it away." + +"But the coins--" said Ambrose. + +"Well, then," was David's next suggestion, "we'd better tell." + +"If ever you dare to be so mean as that, I'll never speak to you or play +with you again," returned Ambrose. "So there!" + +David looked very sulky. + +"I hate having it in my garden," he said. "I'm always wanting to plant +things just where it is." + +Disputes became so frequent between the boys that at length, by a silent +agreement, they avoided the subject altogether, and by degrees the crock +ceased to be so constantly in Ambrose's thoughts. But even when he had +managed to forget it entirely for a little while, something always +happened to bring it back to his memory, and this was the case after +Nancy had made her confession of the broken window. + +"My dear Nancy," said Mrs Hawthorne when she was told of it, "you knew +it was wrong to throw things at your brother, didn't you?" + +"Why, yes, mother," said Nancy; "but I didn't think of it till after the +window was broken." + +"But it would have been just as wrong if the ruler had not hit anyone or +broken anything. The wrong thing was the feeling which made you throw +it." + +"I shouldn't have minded so much, though," said Nancy, "if it hadn't hit +anything." + +"I suppose not; and the next time you were vexed you would have been +still readier to throw something. Each wrong thing makes it easier to +do the next, and sometimes people go on until it comes to be more +natural to do wrong than right. But when they find that the wrong-doing +gets them into trouble, and gives them pain, they remember to stop in +time when they are most tempted. So it is not altogether a pity that +the window is broken." + +"There are two panes," said Nancy, "it'll take three weeks' +pocket-money. You couldn't ask Mr Putney to put in very cheap glass, +could you, mother?" + +Ambrose had listened attentively to all this, though he was apparently +deeply engaged in scooping out a boat with his penknife. It brought all +his old trouble about the crock back again with redoubled force. He +envied Nancy. Her fault was confessed and paid for. What was the loss +of three weeks' money compared with the possession of unlawfully got and +hidden treasure? And yet he felt it impossible to tell his mother that +he had not only disobeyed her, but persuaded David to do so also. No. +The crock must take its chance of discovery. Perhaps in a little while +he should be able to forget its existence altogether and be quite happy +again. + +But it was not easy, and, as if on purpose to prevent it, Pennie's +stories had just now taken the direction of dire and dreadful subjects. +They varied a good deal at different times, and depended on the sort of +books she could get to read. After a visit to Nearminster, where Miss +Unity's library consisted of rows and rows of solemn old brown volumes, +Pennie's stories were chiefly religious and biographical, taken, with +additional touches of her own, from the lives of bygone worthies. When +she was at home, where she had read all the books in the school-room +over and over again, she had to fall back on her own invention; and then +the stories were full of fairies, goblins, dwarfs, and such like +fancies. But lately, peering over the shelves in her father's study, +where she was never allowed to touch a book without asking, she had +discovered a thick old volume called _Hone's Miscellany_. To her great +joy she was allowed to look at it, "although," her father added, "I +don't think even you, Pennie, will find much that is interesting in it." + +Pennie had soon dived into the inmost recesses of the _Miscellany_, +where she found much that was interesting and much that she did not +understand. There were all sorts of queer things in it. Anecdotes of +celebrated misers, maxims and proverbs, legends and pieces of poetry, +receipts for making pickles and jams, all mixed up together, so that you +could never tell what you might find on the next page. She thought it a +most wonderful and attractive book, and picked out a store of facts and +fancies on which to build future stories. + +Unfortunately for Ambrose, those which most attracted her were of a dark +and grim character. One poem, called "_The Dream of Eugene Aram_," So +thrilled and excited her that she learned it at once by heart and +repeated it to her brothers and sisters. It would have had a great +effect upon Ambrose at any time, but just now he saw a dreadful fitness +in it to his own secret. Pennie added a moral when she had finished, +which really seemed pointed directly at him. + +"We learn by this," she said, "that it is of no use to hide anything, +because it is always found out; and that if we do wrong we are sure to +be punished." + +Pennie was fond of morals, and they were always listened to with +respect, except when they came into Dickie's stories, who could not bear +them, and always knew when they were coming. At the least hint of their +approach, however artfully contrived, she would abruptly leave her seat +and run away, saying, "No more, no more." Ambrose, however, was deeply +impressed both by the poem and the moral, and felt quite as guilty as +Eugene Aram. + +True, it was only a crock he had buried, and as far as he knew he had +not robbed anyone of the gold, except the ancient Romans, who were all +dead long ago. But he began to be troubled with doubts as to whether +the coins were really so old. David had said they looked bright and +new; perhaps they belonged to someone alive now, who had buried them in +Rumborough Camp for safety. If this were so, he and David were robbers! +There was no other name for them. + +This was such a new and terrible idea that he felt unable to keep it +entirely to himself. He must have someone's opinion on the matter; and +after some thought he resolved to try if Pennie could be of any service. +"If I say, `Suppose So-and-so did so-and-so,'" he said to himself, "she +won't know it really happened, and I shall hear what she thinks. I'll +do it to-morrow on the way to Cheddington Fair." + +For the time for Cheddington Fair had come round again, and as it was +the only entertainment of any kind that happened near Easney, it was +looked forward to for weeks beforehand, and remembered for weeks +afterwards. It was indeed an occasion of importance to all the +country-side, and was considered the best fair held for many miles +round. The first day was given up to the buying and selling of cattle, +and after that came two days of what was called the "pleasure fair," +when all the booths and shows were open, and many wonderful sights were +to be seen. + +There was a wild-beast show of unusual size, a splendid circus, numbers +of conjurers, places where you might fire off a rifle for a penny, +merry-go-rounds where you might choose the colour of your horse, Aunt +Sallys where you could win a cocoa-nut if you were skilful--no end to +the attractions, no limit to the brilliancy and bustle of the scene. +The gingerbread to be bought at Cheddington Fair had a peculiar +excellence of its own, whether in the form of gilded kings and queens, +brandy-snap, or cakes; everything else tasted tame and flat after it, as +indeed did most of the events of daily life for some days following +these exciting events. + +The children were glad when it was settled this year that they were to +go on the first day of the pleasure fair, for they had an uneasy fear +that if they waited till the second all the best things would be bought +from the stalls and booths. They set out therefore in very good +spirits, under the care of Nurse, and Jane the nursery-maid, to walk +from Easney to Cheddington, which was about a mile. + +Pennie did not join in the chatter and laughter at first: she walked +along with unusual soberness, for though she liked going to the fair +quite as much as the others, she had just now something to think about +which made her grave. The children, she reflected, would certainly +spend every penny of their money to-day, besides that which mother had +given them for the wild-beast show. There would be nothing at all for +the mandarin. Should she make up her mind to save all hers, and buy +nothing at all for herself? As she gradually resolved upon this, she +began to feel that it would certainly be a very unselfish thing to do, +and she held her head a little higher, and listened with superiority to +her brothers and sisters as they chattered on about their money. + +"I haven't got much," said Nancy, "hardly anything really, because I've +got to pay for that horrid window." + +"I expect David's got most," said Ambrose, "he's as rich as a Jew." + +"Jews aren't always rich," remarked David slowly. "Look at Mr Levi, +who stands in the door of the rag-and-bone shop at Nearminster." + +Pennie could not help striking in at this point. "He doesn't look +rich," she said, "but I dare say he's got hoards buried in his garden." + +"He hasn't got a garden," objected Nancy. + +"Well, then, in his chimney, or perhaps sewn up in his mattress," she +answered. + +"If that's all he does with it he might just as well be poor," said +David. + +"But he isn't a poor man for all that," said Nancy, "if he's got a +mattress full of gold." + +Ambrose became silent as the dispute about the poverty or wealth of Mr +Levi proceeded, and presently, edging close up to Pennie, who was a +little behind the others, he said wistfully: + +"I say, Pennie, I want to ask you something." + +"Well," said his sister rather unwillingly. "Suppose--you found +something," began Ambrose with an effort. + +"What sort of thing?" + +"Oh, something valuable," said Ambrose, thinking of the glittering gold +coins. + +"What then?" asked Pennie, looking at him with a little more interest. + +"What would you do with it?" continued Ambrose earnestly. + +"Do with it!" repeated his sister. "Why, I should give it back to the +person who lost it, of course." + +"But suppose you couldn't find out who it belonged to, or suppose the +people were dead." + +Pennie was tired of supposing. + +"Oh! I should ask mother what to do," she said, dismissing the +question. "I can hear the band," she suddenly added. + +Ambrose gave a little sigh, as all the children quickened their +footsteps at this welcome sound. + +There was no advice to be got from Pennie. He must shake off the +thought of his tiresome secret and enjoy himself as much as he could +to-day. Afterwards there would be time to trouble about it. And now +they were getting quite near to the tents and flags and gaily-painted +caravans and confused noises of men and beasts. Nurse seized Dickie's +unwilling hand as they reached the turnstile which admitted them into +the field. + +"Keep close together, my dears," she said anxiously. "You stay along +with me, Miss Pennie, and Miss Nancy and Jane, you come after me with +the other two." + +She looked distractedly at the little faces smiling with delight and +eager to plunge into the pleasures of the fair. Since Dickie had once +run away quite alone to go to the circus she had always been more +nervous about the children. + +"Jane," she said sharply to the small nursery-maid, "what are you gaping +at? Keep your wits about you, do." + +Jane, who had never been inside a fair before, was gazing open-mouthed +at an enormous portrait of the "Living Skeleton." She turned to Nurse +with a face from which all expression had gone but one of intense +surprise. + +"You're not a bit of use," said Nurse. "See here, Master David, I can +depend on _you_. Keep with Master Ambrose and Jane as close to me as +you can. And if you lose sight of me in the crowd be at the gate by +four o'clock and wait there for the carriage." + +David nodded, and Nurse, with one more severe look at Jane, plunged into +the crowd with Dickie toddling beside her. + +How gay, how enchanting it all was! Boom, boom went the drums. "Walk +in, ladies and gentlemen. Here you will see the performing seal, the +Circassian beauty, the Chinese giant, and the smallest dwarf in the +world." Next to those attractions came the circus, outside of which, on +a raised platform, stood harlequin, clown, and columbine, all in a row, +and in full dress. + +"Here we are again," cried the clown. "How are you to-morrow?" + +How kind and inviting all the showmen were! Bang! Bang! "Two shots +with a rifle for a penny. Who'll win a cocoa-nut?" "This way for +Signor Antonio, the famous lion-tamer!" And so on, till the brain +reeled, and choice amongst all these excitements became almost +impossible. + +Mother had given money for one entertainment, and the children had +agreed beforehand that the wild-beast show would be far the best to see, +but now that they were in the midst of the fair they began to waver. It +was painful to think that whichever entertainment they fixed on the +others might be better. On one point Nurse was firm. Wherever they +went they must all go together, and at last, after a harassing +consultation and some difference of opinion, it was decided that on the +whole the menagerie would be best. + +"Though I did want," said David, rather regretfully, as they entered, +"to see that performing pig who knows his letters and dances a +hornpipe." + +The wild-beast show over, there remained a great deal to be seen +outside; and now in the bustle and struggle of the narrow ways the party +became separated, the three little girls remaining with Nurse and the +boys with Jane. + +"And I hope to goodness," said Nurse anxiously, "that Jane won't lose +her head. Master David's there--that's one comfort. No, Miss Dickie, +you don't let go of my hand for one minute, so it's no good pulling at +me." + +Up till now Pennie had had no difficulty in keeping her money in her +pocket, for she had seen nothing she specially wanted to buy. Nancy had +spent hers before she had been five minutes in the fair, had won a +cocoa-nut, and was now hugging it triumphantly under her arm. No doubt +Ambrose and David would also part with theirs before long. + +"There's a funny stall," said Nancy suddenly, "nothing but rubbishing +old books." + +"Let's go and look at it," said Pennie. + +They were very shabby old books indeed. Some of them with cracked +bindings and the letters on the backs rubbed off; others with no binding +at all, in soiled paper covers. There were piles and piles of them, not +neatly arranged, but tossed about anyhow, and behind the stall stood an +old man with a withered face and a pointed chin--a sort of wizard old +man, Pennie thought. Nancy seemed struck with his appearance too. + +"He's just like pantaloon, isn't he?" she said in a loud whisper as they +stopped in front of the stall. + +The old man peered sharply at the two little girls over the open book he +held in his hand. + +"What do you want, Missie?" he asked in a cracked voice. + +"We don't want anything, thank you," said Pennie politely. "What a lot +of old books you have!" + +"Ah! they're too old for such as you," said the old man, glancing at the +watchful form of Nurse in the background; "but I've got a pretty one +somewheres that'd just suit you." + +"Come along, do, Miss Pennie," said Nurse entreatingly, "there's nothing +like old books for fevers." + +But the old man had dived beneath his stall, and now produced a book on +which Pennie's eyes were immediately fastened with the deepest interest. + +"There!" he said, laying it before her, "there's the book to suit you, +my little lady." It was a square book in a gaily-coloured parchment +cover, somewhat faded, but still showing attractive devices of shields, +swords, and dragons. On it was emblazoned in old English letters the +title, "_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_." + +Pennie gazed at it in silent rapture. + +"Full of 'lustrations," continued the old man slowly turning the leaves, +and leaving it open to display a picture. + +Pennie and Nancy both bent over it. It was a wonderful picture. There +was a man with wings on his shoulders flying high up above a great city, +and shooting arrows from a bow at the crowd of people beneath. How did +he get wings? Who was he? + +Pennie cast her eyes hurriedly on the next page to find out, but before +she could master one sentence the old man turned over the leaf; "That's +the book for you, Missie," he repeated, "you're a scholard, I can see +that." + +Much flattered, Pennie asked quickly, "Does it cost much?" + +"Dirt cheap," said the old man. "I'll let _you_ have it for +eighteenpence." + +Pennie had exactly that sum in her purse. "Do come away, Miss Pennie," +said Nurse's voice behind her. + +"Why don't you buy it?" said Nancy; "you won't have such a chance +again." + +Pennie gulped down a sort of sob. "I should love to," she said, "but I +want to keep my money." + +"Well, if you're not going to buy, you'd better not look at it any +more," said Nancy; "I haven't got any money." + +With an immense effort, and a parting glance full of affection at +"_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_," Pennie turned away from the stall, much +to Nurse's relief. Soon the old man and his books were lost to sight, +but they remained very clearly and distinctly in Pennie's mind. She saw +the picture of that flying man more vividly than all that was going on +round her, and would have given worlds to be acquainted with his +history. If only she had more money, enough to buy the book and the +mandarin too! + +Then she began to wonder how the boys had spent theirs. No doubt they +had bought just what had taken their fancy, and she would be the only +one to go back empty-handed. It was a little hard. The only drop of +comfort in it was that she would be able to tell them what a real +sacrifice she had made. Yesterday she had seen David writing ten times +over in his copy-book, "_Virtue is its own reward_." If that meant +feeling good, better than other people, Pennie had no doubt she was +tasting the reward of virtue now, and it consoled her not a little for +the loss of "_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_." + +It was now nearly four o'clock, and Nurse was not sorry to turn towards +the entrance, where Andrew was to wait with the carriage, and where she +hoped to join the boys and Jane. + +"They're there already," cried Nancy as they approached the turnstile, +bobbing her head from side to side to see through the crowd, "and oh! +what _has_ David got?" + +Nurse groaned. + +"Something he oughtn't to have, I make sure," she said. + +"It's something alive!" exclaimed Nancy, giving a leap of delight as +they got nearer, "I can see it move. Whatever is it?" + +David was standing as still as a sentinel with his back against the +gate-post and a look of triumph on his face, clutching firmly to his +breast a small jet-black kitten. It was mewing piteously, with some +reason--for in his determination not to let it go, he gripped it hard, +so that it was spread out flat and could hardly breathe. The children +gathered round him in an ecstasy. + +"What a little black love!" exclaimed Nancy; "where did you get it?" + +"I saved its life," was all David answered as Nurse packed them all into +the waggonette. + +"I helped," said Ambrose. + +It was not until they were fairly on their way and had shaken down into +something like composure, that the history of the kitten could be told. +It then appeared that David and Ambrose had heard feeble cries +proceeding from a retired corner behind a caravan. They had at once +left Jane, and gone to see what it was. + +Finding two gypsy boys about to hang a black kitten, they had offered +them sixpence to let it go, at which they had only laughed. The price +had then risen to two shillings besides all the marbles Ambrose had in +his pocket, and this being paid David had seized the kitten, and here it +was. + +"And so," said Pennie, "you've both spent every bit of your money." + +"We couldn't let them hang the kitten, you see," remarked Ambrose. + +At another time Pennie would have been the first to agree to this, and +to feel interested in the rescue of the kitten; but now she was so full +of her own good deed, that she only said coldly: + +"It wasn't worth nearly all that. Why, you can get a kitten for +nothing--anywhere." + +David, still grasping his treasure, stared at her solemnly, for this +speech was strangely unlike Pennie. + +"What did you buy?" he asked. + +The moment had come. Pennie looked round her with conscious virtue as +she replied, "I saw a book I wanted very much, quite as much as you +wanted the kitten, but I saved all my money for the mandarin." + +"How stupid!" said Ambrose. + +"It's much better to save someone's life than to buy a mandarin," said +David. + +Pennie felt hurt and disappointed; the reward of virtue was not +supporting under these circumstances. She wanted a word of praise or +admiration. If someone had only said, "That _was_ good of you," she +would have been satisfied; but no one seemed even surprised at what she +had done. And yet how much she would have liked to buy Siegfried! The +boys had the kitten; Nancy had her cocoa-nut, even Dickie was clasping a +rabbit on a green stand, and a gingerbread man. Pennie alone had +brought nothing home from the fair; she was very sorry for herself. + +A sudden outburst from Dickie roused her, as she sat sad and silent in +the midst of chatter and laughter. No one could make out at first what +was the matter, and Dickie could not tell them: she only kicked out her +fat little legs and sobbed more convulsively at every fresh attempt to +comfort her. But at last she managed to make them understand that her +gingerbread man was spoilt; she had eaten his head, and he would never, +never be whole again. This was followed by a torrent of tears, for +Dickie never did anything by halves, and when she cried she put her +whole heart into it. + +"Bless the child, she'll make herself ill," said Nurse, taking her upon +her knee. "Now, Dickie, my dear, don't give way. You know you can stop +if you like. Look at your pretty rabbit!" + +Dickie dealt the offered rabbit a blow on the nose with her doubled +fist. + +She did not want the rabbit, she sobbed out, but she thought she could +stop if she had the black kitten to hold. To this David had a decided +objection. It was his kitten, and if Dickie had it she would let it go. +Fresh screams from Dickie. + +"Lor, Master David," said Nurse in despair, "let her have it, do. I'll +take care it don't get away." + +Peace was somewhat restored after Dickie had been allowed to stroke the +kitten on Nurse's lap; but it was not a cheerful carriageful that +arrived shortly afterwards at the Vicarage, every one seemed to have +something to grumble at and be injured about. + +"I'm thankful to be home," said Nurse to Jane as they went upstairs. +"I'd rather anyday have a week's work than an afternoon's pleasure." + +As for Pennie, she dropped her money into the china-house, and went to +bed that night with the feelings of a martyr. She would not give up her +plan, but she was now beginning to see that it was a failure. No one +showed any real interest in it--no one except herself was willing to +sacrifice anything in the cause. It was certainly lonely and +uncomfortable to stand so high above other people. + + + +CHAPTER FOUR. + +"KETTLES." + +Pennie was haunted for days after the fair by the bright pages of +"_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_," for she became more and more conscious +that she had made a useless sacrifice. She might just as well have +bought it, she sadly reflected; none of the others seemed the least +likely to help her in her plan, and certainly she could not carry it out +alone. The more she thought of it the more injured and disappointed she +felt. It was certainly a good plan, and it was certainly right to +sacrifice one's self; of those two things she was sure, and it both hurt +and surprised her to be unable to impress this on her brothers and +sisters. Pennie was used to command, and accustomed to success in most +of her little schemes, and it seemed hard to be deserted in this way. +She stood on a lonely height of virtue, conscious of setting a good +example of generosity; but it was not a cheerful position, and, besides, +no one seemed to notice it, which was vexatious and trying. This made +her by turns condescending and cross, so that she was neither so happy +herself nor so pleasant a companion as she had been. + +"I can't think why you're so disagreeable," said Nancy at last. "If +it's because you've put all your money into the box, I wish you'd take +it out again and be as you were before." + +"You don't understand," said Pennie, "you never give up anything." + +"Yes, I do," replied Nancy quickly, "I've given up three weeks' money +for that broken window." + +"That wasn't sacrifice," answered Pennie; "you _had_ to do that. +Sacrifice means giving up something you like for the sake of other +people." + +"Well, if it makes you cross and tiresome I wish you wouldn't sacrifice +things," replied Nancy; "I don't see the good of it. Do you know," she +added, seizing hold of David's black kitten, "that mother says we may go +and see old Nurse?" + +Pennie's brow cleared at once, the peevish look left her face. + +"Oh, when?" she exclaimed joyfully. + +"This afternoon," said Nancy. "Mother's going to drive into +Nearminster, and leave us at the College while she goes to see Miss +Unity. Isn't it jolly?" + +"I suppose we shall have tea with Nurse," said Pennie; "but," she added, +"I hope Dickie isn't to go this time. She does spoil everything so." + +"Only you and me," said Nancy, rolling the kitten tightly up in a +newspaper so that only its head appeared. "Doesn't it look like a mummy +cat? There's one just like it at Nearminster. It would do for the +boys' museum." + +"It wouldn't stay there long," said Pennie, as the kitten writhed and +wriggled itself out of the paper. "I am real glad we're going to see +old Nurse." + +"Do you like going in winter or summer best?" asked Nancy. + +"Oh, I don't know!" said Pennie. "I like both. But I think perhaps it +looks nicer in summer, because you see the flowers are in bloom and the +old people are sitting on the benches, and all that." + +"I like winter best," said Nancy, "because of making the toast." + +All the year round a visit to old Nurse was one of the children's +greatest pleasures, but it was specially so to Pennie. She now felt +quite cheerful and happy in the prospect, not only because she was very +fond of her, but because she lived in such an extremely delightful and +interesting place. For Mrs Margetts, who had been Mrs Hawthorne's +nurse when she was a child, had now left service for many years and +taken up her abode in the almshouse at Nearminster, or The College as it +was called. Next to the cathedral Pennie thought it the nicest place +she had ever seen, and there was something most attractive to her in its +low-arched massive doors, its lattice windows with their small leaded +panes, and its little old chapel where the pensioners had a service and +a chaplain all to themselves. + +The College was built in the form of a quadrangle, one side of which +faced the High Street, so that though they were snugly sheltered within +from noise and turmoil, the inmates could still look out upon the busy +life they had quitted. As you passed the entrance you caught glimpses +of bright green turf, of trim borders of flowers, of neat gravel paths +and quaint old figures standing about, or sitting on stone benches +against the walls. Over it all rested the air of peace and stillness. +It was a place where neither hope nor fear, labour nor struggle could +come. These were left outside in the troublesome world, and all who +entered here had nothing more to do with them. They might sit in the +sun with folded hands, talk over their past hardships, grumble a little +at their present aches and pains, gossip a great deal, and so get gently +nearer and nearer to the deepest rest of all. + +The bishop, who had founded the College long ago, still stood carved in +stone over the doorway, crozier in hand, watching the many generations +of weary old souls who crept in at his gate for refuge. Pennie thought +he had an expression of calm severity, as if he knew how ungrateful many +of them were for his bounty, how they grumbled at the smallness of the +rooms, the darkness of the windows, and the few conveniences for +cooking. It must be hard for him to hear all those murmurs after he had +done so much for them; but he had at any rate no want of gratitude to +complain of in old Nurse, who was as proud of her two tiny rooms as +though they had been a palace. + +Mrs Margetts was in all matters disposed to think herself one of the +most fortunate people upon earth. For instance, to be settled so near +her dear "Miss Mary," as she still called Mrs Hawthorne, and to have +the pleasure of visits from the little "ladies and gentlemen," was +enough to fill anyone's heart with thankfulness. What could she want +more? She was indeed highly favoured beyond all desert. Other people +may have thought that a life of faithful service and unselfish devotion +to the interests of her employers had well earned the reward of a few +quiet years at its end. But old Nurse did not look upon her good +fortune as due to any merits of her own, but to the extraordinary +kindness and generosity of others, so that she was in a constant state +of surprise at their thoughtfulness and affection. + +Not less did she cherish and respect the memory of the days which came +before Mrs Hawthorne's marriage, and this was what the children liked +best to hear. Stories of Miss Mary, Master Charles, Miss Prissy, and +the rest, who were now all grown-up people, never became wearisome, and +certainly Nurse was never tired of telling them. Her listeners knew +them almost by heart, and if by any chance she missed some small detail, +it was at once demanded with a sense of injury. + +Pennie, in particular, drank in her words eagerly, and would sit +entranced gazing with an ever-new interest at the relics of the "family" +with which the little room was filled. Hanging by the fireplace was a +very faded kettle-holder, worked in pink and green wool by Miss Mary, +now Mrs Hawthorne; on the mantel-piece a photograph of a family group, +in which Miss Mary appeared at the age of ten in a plaid poplin frock, +low in the neck and short in the sleeves, with her hair in curls; on +each side of her stood a brother with a grave face and a short jacket. + +There was a great deal to be told about this picture. Nurse remembered, +she said, as if it was yesterday, the day it was "took." Master Owen +had a swollen cheek, and had cried and said he did not want his picture +done, but he had been promised a pop-gun if he stood still, and had then +submitted. And that was why he stood side-face in the photograph, while +Master Charles faced you. It was almost past belief to Pennie and Nancy +that Uncle Owen, who was now a tall man with a long beard, had ever been +that same puffy-cheeked little boy, bribed to stand-still by a pop-gun. + +There were also on the mantel-piece two white lions or "monsters," as +Nurse called them, presented by Miss Prissy, and quite a number of small +ornaments given from time to time by the Hawthorne children themselves. +But perhaps the crowning glory of Nurse's room was a sampler worked by +herself when a girl. Pennie looked at this with an almost fearful +admiration, for the number of tiny stitches in it were terrible to think +of. "I'm glad people don't have to work samplers now," she often said. +This was indeed a most wonderful sampler, and it hung against the wall +framed and glazed as it well deserved, a lasting example of industry and +eyesight. At the top sat the prophet Elijah under a small green bush +receiving the ravens, who carried in their beaks neat white bundles of +food. Next came the alphabet, all the big letters first, and then a row +of small ones. Then the Roman numerals up to a hundred, then a verse of +poetry:-- + + "Time like an ever-rolling stream + Bears all its sons away, + They fly forgotten as a dream + Dies at the break of day." + +And then Nurse's name, "Kezia Margetts," and the date when this great +work was completed. + +Dickie's favourite amongst all Nurse's curious possessions was what she +called her "weather-house," a building of cardboard covered with some +gritty substance which sparkled. The weather-house had two little +doors, out of one of which appeared an old woman when it was fine, and +out of the other an old man when it was going to be wet. They had +become rather uncertain, however, in their actions, because Dickie had +so often banged the naughty old man to make him go in, supposing him to +have a bad influence on the weather. Nurse spoiled Dickie dreadfully, +the other children considered, and they were pleased when she did not +make one of the party. + +"I suppose Nurse knows we're coming?" said Pennie, as they were driving +from Miss Unity's house, where they had left their mother, to the +College. + +"Of course," replied Nancy; "you know we never take her by surprise, +because she always likes to get something for tea." + +"I don't think surprises are nice," said Pennie. "I like to have lots +of time to look forward to a thing. That's the best part." + +"I like to surprise other people though," said Nancy; "it's great fun, I +think. Here we are!" + +There were no old people standing about in the garden, and all the +benches were empty, for it was a chilly autumn afternoon. As the +children crossed the quadrangle they saw here and there, through the +latticed panes, the cheerful glow of a fire. + +"It must be very nice to be an old woman and live here," said Pennie. + +"Well, I don't know," said Nancy. "How would you like to be Mrs +Crump?" + +Mrs Crump was a discontented old lady who lived in the room beneath +Nurse. For some reason Nancy took a deep interest in her, and even in +the middle of Nurse's best stories she was always on the alert for the +least sound of the sharp complaining tones below. + +"Oh, of course not!" said Pennie hastily; "I mean some contented, +good-natured old woman." + +"Mrs Crump says," continued Nancy, "that she never knew what it was to +be quick in her temper till she felt the want of an oven. She thinks +it's the baker's bread that makes her cross. She turns against it, and +that makes her speak sharp." + +"She's a tiresome old woman," said Pennie, "and I can't make out why you +like to hear about her, or talk to her. Let's go up softly, else she'll +come out." + +"I should like her to," said Nancy as the little girls climbed the steep +carpeted stairs which led up to Nurse's room. "She's just like an old +witch woman." + +The children were warmly received by Nurse, who was waiting for them +with all her preparations made. A snug round tea-table, with a bunch of +chrysanthemums in the middle, a kettle hissing hospitably on the hob, +and something covered up hot in the fender. She herself was arrayed in +her best cap, her black silk gown, and her most beaming smiles of +welcome. + +"It's my turn to make the toast," said Nancy, pulling off her gloves +briskly. "You've got a lovely fire. You cut the bread, Pennie. +Thick." + +"And how's Miss Dickie?" said Nurse, watching these preparations with a +delighted face. "Bless her dear little heart, I haven't seen her this +long while." + +"She wanted to come," said Pennie, "but she's got a cold, so mother +wouldn't let her." + +"A little dear," repeated Nurse. She sat with her hands folded on her +waist, turning her kind round face first on Pennie and then on Nancy, +who, kneeling on the hearth, was making toast in a business-like serious +manner. + +"How's Mrs Crump?" inquired the latter. + +"Well, she's rather contrairy in her temper just now, my dear," answered +Nurse. + +"She always is, isn't she?" returned Nancy. + +"I can't altogether deny that, Miss Nancy," said Nurse, chuckling +comfortably; "but you see it's a constant trouble with her that her room +window don't look on the street. She's been used to a deal of life +before she came here, and she finds it dull, and that makes her short. +When you've been used to stirring and bustling about, charing and so on, +it do seem a bit quiet, I daresay." + +"I should have thought," said Nancy, "that she'd have been glad to rest +after all that; but I think I'd rather have a room looking on the street +too. I should like watching people pass." + +Pennie was sitting in her favourite place, the window-seat, where +Nurse's flower-pots stood in a row--a cactus, a geranium, and some musk. +She looked out into the garden. + +"I think this way's much the nicest," she said, "because of the flowers +and the grass, and the quietness." + +"Tea's ready!" exclaimed Nancy, springing up from the fire with one +scarlet cheek, and waving the last piece of toast on the top of the +toasting-fork. + +The little party drew in their chairs, Pennie pouring out tea, as usual +on these occasions, for to her own great delight Nurse was always +treated rather as a guest than hostess. By the good luck which, she +considered, always attended her, she had that very morning received a +present of a pot of honey, and she was pressing this on her visitors +when the sound of a footstep was heard on the stairs. + +"Perhaps it's Mrs Crump!" exclaimed Nancy eagerly. "If it is, do ask +her to tea." + +"It isn't Mrs Crump," said Pennie, listening; "it's somebody whose +boots are much too big." + +The steps came slowly up the steep stairs, one at a time, with evident +difficulty, and then there was a timid knock at the door. + +"I know who it is. You may come in, Kettles," said Nurse, raising her +voice. + +The door opened and Kettles came in. She was a little girl of about +Nancy's age, in a tattered frock, an old shawl, and a straw bonnet +hanging back from her head by the strings. Her hair fell rough and +tangled over her forehead, beneath which a pair of bright grey eyes +looked out half suspiciously at the company, and yet with a sort of +mouse-like shrewdness, which was increased by the whole expression of +her sharp little pointed face. Pennie glanced at once at her feet. She +had been right. Kettles' boots were many sizes too large for her, which +accounted for her difficulty in getting upstairs, and indeed everything +she wore seemed to belong to a bigger and older person. + +The children both stared in surprise at this little dingy figure, and +Kettles returned their gaze, shifting her furtive glance from one face +to the other with wonderful swiftness as she stood just inside the door, +clasping a cracked china jug to her chest. + +"You've come for my tea-leaves, haven't you?" said Nurse as she opened +her corner cupboard and took out a basin. "How's your mother to-day?" + +"She's bad," said Kettles decidedly, shutting up her mouth very tight +after she had spoken. + +"Is it her head again?" inquired Nurse. + +"It's 'ralgy all down one side of her face--orful," said Kettles. + +"Well, a cup of tea will do her good," said Nurse as she put the +tea-leaves into the jug. + +"Her knees is bad too," added Kettles, as if unwilling to have the +matter too slightly treated. + +"Ah! I don't wonder," said Nurse sympathetically, "kneeling about in +the damp so much as she's forced to." + +Nancy, who had noticed that Kettles' eyes were straying over the +eatables on the table, here nudged Nurse with her elbow. + +"Wouldn't she like some bread and honey?" she whispered. + +"This little lady wants to know if you'd like some bread and honey?" +repeated Nurse aloud condescendingly. + +Kettles made no answer, though there was a sudden gleam in her eyes. + +"Perhaps you don't like honey?" ventured Pennie slyly. + +"Don't know what it is," answered Kettles. "I like bread and dripping." + +"Oh, I'm sure it must be much nicer than that," said Nancy. "That +doesn't sound at all nice. May I spread some for her?" she asked +eagerly of Nurse. + +It is doubtful if Nurse quite liked such a use made of her honey, for +she thought dripping more suitable for such as Kettles, but she could +not refuse Nancy anything. So she answered readily enough,--"To be +sure, my dear," and made no objection; while Nancy, choosing the biggest +piece of toast, proceeded to plaster it thickly with honey. When, +however, these preparations being finished, she dragged up a chair and +hospitably invited Kettles to take a seat between herself and Pennie, +Nurse felt it time to protest. + +"Kettles had better run home now, my dear, and eat it on the way. Her +mother will want her." + +But there was such an outcry against this from both the girls that she +had to give way, and in a moment the energetic Nancy had seated Kettles +at the table, taken away her jug of tea-leaves, and placed the bread and +honey before her. A strange addition certainly to Nurse's tea-party, +and quite out of keeping with the fresh neatness of the other visitors, +the bright ribbons in Nurse's cap, and her glistening satin apron. From +her battered old bonnet to the grimy little claw in which she held her +bread, there was nothing neat or fresh or bright about poor Kettles. + +Nurse sat looking on at all this with very mixed feelings. She liked to +give the children pleasure, and yet what could be more unsuitable than +the close neighbourhood of Kettles? If Mrs Hawthorne or Miss Unity +"chanced in," what would they think of finding Pennie and Nancy in such +strange company? They would certainly blame Nurse for allowing it, and +quite rightly too--even if Kettles had been a neat clean little girl it +would not be "the thing;" but as it was, nothing could have been more +unlucky than her appearance just at that time. + +While these thoughts passed through Nurse's mind and completely spoilt +any enjoyment of her tea, Pennie and Nancy cast sidelong glances, full +of curiosity and interest, at their visitor. They were too polite to +stare openly at her, and went through the form of a conversation with +Nurse in order that she might feel quite at her ease. Presently, +however, when she had got well on with her meal, to which she applied +herself in a keen and business-like manner, Nancy could not forbear +asking: + +"Where do you live?" + +Kettles held the slice away from her mouth just long enough to say, very +quickly: + +"Anchoranopally," and immediately fastened her teeth into it again. + +The children looked at Nurse for an explanation. + +"It's the `Anchor and Hope Alley,' she means, my dears, turning out of +the High Street just below here." + +Pennie nodded seriously. She knew where the Anchor and Hope Alley was, +and also that it was called the lowest quarter in Nearminster. She +looked at Kettles with greater interest than ever, and longed to make +some inquiries about her home and surroundings. This was so evident in +her face that poor Nurse's uneasiness increased. If Kettles began to +talk she might drop into language and mention details quite usual in +Anchor and Hope Alley, but also quite unfit for Pennie and Nancy to +hear. What was to be done? Kettles' slice of bread seemed endless, and +here was Pennie on the point of speaking to her again. Nurse rushed +nervously in with a question, which she repented as soon as she had put +it: + +"What's your father doing now, Kettles?" + +"Drinkin'," answered Kettles at once. "He come home last night, and--" + +"There, there, that'll do," said Nurse hastily. "We don't want to hear +about that just now. You finish your tea and run home to mother." + +And in spite of beseeching looks from the girls, Kettles was shortly +afterwards hurried away with her jug of tea-leaves, and Nurse gave a +great sigh of relief as the big boots went clumping down the stairs. + +"She's far nicer than Mrs Grump," said Nancy when they were left alone +with Nurse, "only you don't let her talk half enough. I wanted to ask +her lots of things. Is her name really Kettles? and how did you come to +know her? and why does she wear such large boots?" + +It appeared that Kettles' real name was Keturah, but being, Nurse +explained, a hard sort of name to say, it had got changed into Kettles. +"Her mother, a decent, hard-working woman, came to the College to scrub +and clean sometimes. She was very poor, and had a great many children +and a bad husband." Here Nurse shook her head. + +"What do you give her tea-leaves for?" asked Pennie. + +"Why, my dear, when folks are too poor to buy fresh tea, they're glad +enough to get it after it's been once used." + +"We've enjoyed ourselves tremendously," said Nancy when, the visit +nearly over, she and Pennie were putting on their hats again, "and +you'll ask Kettles to see us next time we come, won't you?" + +But this Nurse would not promise. It was hard, she said, to refuse any +of the dear children anything, and she was aware how little she had to +give them, but she knew her duty to herself and Mrs Hawthorne. Kettles +must not be asked. "To think," she concluded, "of you two young ladies +sitting down to table with people out of Anchor and Hope Alley!" + +"We always have tea with the children at the school feasts at home," +said Nancy. + +"That's quite different, my dear, in your dear papa's own parish," said +Nurse. + +"Are they wicked people in Anchor and Hope Alley?" asked Pennie. "Is +Kettles wicked?" + +"Poor little soul, no, I wouldn't say that," said Nurse. "She's a great +help to her mother and does her best. But she sees things and hears +things that you oughtn't to know anything about, and so she's not fit +company for such as you. And now it's time to go to the gate." + +As they passed Anchor and Hope Alley on their way to Miss Unity's house +in the Close Pennie stretched her neck to see as far down it as she +could. + +"How dark and narrow it is! Fancy living there!" she said. "Don't you +wonder which is Kettles' house?" + +"Shouldn't you like to know," said Nancy, "what it was that her father +did when he came home that night? I do so wish Nurse hadn't stopped +her." + +"What a nice little funny face she had!" said Pennie thoughtfully, "such +bright eyes! If it was washed clean, and her hair brushed back smooth, +and she had white stockings and a print frock, how do you suppose she'd +look?" + +"Not half so nice," said Nancy at once, "all neat and proper, just like +one of the school-children at Easney." + +And indeed it was her look of wildness that made Kettles attractive to +Pennie and Nancy, used to the trim propriety of well-cared-for village +children, who curtsied when you spoke to them, and always said "Miss." +There was a freedom in the glance of Kettles' eye and a perfect +carelessness of good manners in her bearing which was as interesting as +it was new. + +"She's the sort of little girl who lives in a caravan and sells brushes +and brooms," continued Pennie as the carriage stopped at Miss Unity's +door. + +Mrs Hawthorne was accustomed sometimes to read to herself during her +frequent drives between Easney and Nearminster, and to-day, when the +children saw that she had her book with her, they went on talking very +low so as not to disturb her. The conversation was entirely about +Kettles, and the subject proved so engrossing that Pennie quite forgot +all her late vexations and was perfectly amiable and pleasant. It was +indeed long since she and Nancy had had such a comfortable talk +together, and agreed so fully in their interests. As they jogged +steadily home along the well-known road, new fancies as to the details +of Kettles' life and surroundings constantly occurred to them; there was +even a certain pleasure in heightening all the miseries which they felt +sure she had to bear. + +"In the winter," said Nancy, "she has chilblains on her feet--broken +ones." + +Pennie shuddered. She knew what chilblains were. + +"They must hurt her dreadfully," she said, "in those great, thick +boots." + +"And no stockings," added Nancy relentlessly. + +"Oh, Nancy!" said Pennie. + +She felt almost as sorry as if Nancy were telling her positive facts. + +"Wouldn't it be a good thing to get one of those thick grey pairs of +stockings for her out of the shop at Easney," said Nancy after a short +silence, "and a pair of boots to fit?" + +"I've got no money," replied Pennie shortly. + +"Well, no more have I now," said Nancy; "but we could save some. You'd +much better give up that stupid mandarin thing. You don't even know +whether Miss Unity would like it." + +Now Pennie was at heart very much attracted by the idea of supplying +Kettles with comfortable stockings and boots. It was a splendid idea, +but it had one drawback--it was not her own. Her own plan had been cast +aside and rejected, and she could not meekly fall in with this new one +of Nancy's, however good it might be. Pennie was a kind-hearted little +girl, and always ready to help others, but she liked to do it in her own +way. She was fond of leading, advising, and controlling; but when it +came to following counsel and taking advice herself she did not find it +pleasant. Therefore, because the new mandarin was an idea of her own +she was still determined to carry it through, though, in truth, she had +almost lost sight of her first wish--to give Miss Unity pleasure. + +So now she made no answer, and Nancy, looking eagerly at her, saw a +little troubled frown instead of a face covered with smiles. + +"You'll never get enough to buy it alone," she continued. "And just +think how Kettles would like new boots and stockings!" + +As she spoke they turned in at the Vicarage gate, and saw just in front +of them a figure stepping jauntily up the drive. + +"Oh!" cried Nancy. "Mother! Pennie! Look! Phere's Miss Barnicroft +going to call." + +Mrs Hawthorne roused herself at once from her book, for no one could +look forward with indifference to a visit from Miss Barnicroft. + + + +CHAPTER FIVE. + +MISS BARNICROFT'S MONEY. + +Not very far from the Roman camp Rumborough Common ended in a rough +rutty road, or rather lane, and about half-way down this stood a small +white cottage with a thatched roof. It was an ordinary labourer's +cottage with the usual patch of garden, just like scores of others round +about; but it possessed a strange and peculiar interest of its own, for +it was not an ordinary labourer who lived there, it was Miss Barnicroft, +with two dogs and a goat. + +Now Miss Barnicroft was not in the least like other people, and the +children considered her by far the most interesting object to be seen +near Easney, so that they never passed her lonely dwelling without +trying to get a glimpse of her, or at least of her animals. They were +careful, however, only to take side glances, and to look very grave if +they did happen to see her, for they had been taught to regard her with +respect, and on no account to smile at anything odd in her appearance or +behaviour. "Poor Miss Barnicroft" she was generally called, though +Andrew spoke less politely of her as the "daft lady." + +In their walks with Miss Grey it was with a thrill of pleasure that they +sometimes saw the well-known flighty figure approaching, for there was +always something worth looking at in Miss Barnicroft. Her garments were +never twice alike, so that she seemed a fresh person every time. +Sometimes she draped herself in flowing black robes, with a veil tied +closely over her head and round her face. At others she wore a +high-crowned hat decked with gay ribbons, a short skirt, and yellow +satin boots. There was endless variety in her array, but however +fantastic it might be, she preserved through it all a certain air of +dignity and distinction which was most impressive. + +Her face, too, was delicate in feature and refined in expression. Her +short upper lip had a haughty curl, and her grey eyes flickered +uncertainly beneath well-marked brows. Although she was not more than +middle-aged her hair was snowy white, and sometimes escaping here and +there in stray locks from her head-dress, added to the strangeness of +her appearance. Miss Barnicroft was indeed quite unlike other people; +her very food was different, for she lived on vegetables and drank +goat's milk. It was even whispered that she did not sleep in a bed, but +in a hammock slung up to the ceiling. + +Nothing could be more interesting than all this, but the children did +not see her very often, for she went out seldom and never came to +church. Occasionally, however, she paid a visit to the Vicarage, when +she would ask for the vicar and carry on a very long conversation with +him on all manner of subjects, darting from one to the other with most +confusing speed. Mr Hawthorne did not appreciate these visits very +much, but the children were always pleasantly excited by them. When, +therefore, Nancy caught sight of Miss Barnicroft proceeding up the drive +she abruptly left the subject of Kettles' boots and stockings, and lost +no time in pointing out the visitor to her mother. + +"I expect Miss Barnicroft wants to see your father," said Mrs +Hawthorne. + +And so indeed it proved, for by the time they reached the door Miss +Barnicroft had been shown into the study, and to their great +disappointment the girls saw her no more. + +Ambrose, however, was more fortunate, for it chanced that afternoon that +he had been excused some of his lessons on account of a headache, and at +that very moment was lying flat on the hearth-rug in his father's study +with a book. He was afraid, on the visitor's entrance, that he would be +sent away, but was soon relieved to find that no notice was taken of +him, so that he was able to see and hear all that passed. What a lucky +chance! and what a lot he would have to tell the others! + +At first the conversation was not interesting, for it was about some +question of taxation which he did not understand; but suddenly dropping +this, Miss Barnicroft began to tell a story of some white owls who lived +in the keep of a castle in Scotland. Just as the point of this history +was reached she dropped that too, and asked, casting a lofty and +careless glance down at Ambrose: + +"Is that one of your children?" + +"That is my eldest boy," said the vicar. "Come and speak to Miss +Barnicroft, Ambrose." + +"Ah!" said Miss Barnicroft with a coldly disapproving look as Ambrose +shyly advanced, "I don't like boys." + +"How is that?" asked Mr Hawthorne. + +"They grow to be men," she answered with a shudder, "and even while they +are young there is no barbarity of which they are not capable. I could +believe anything of a boy." + +"Dear me!" said the vicar, smiling, "that is very severe; I hope all +boys are not so bad as that!" + +"It is greatly, I believe, owing to the unnatural manner in which they +are fed," she continued, turning away from Ambrose. "Most wickedness +comes from eating meat. Violence, and cruelty, and bloodthirstiness +would vanish if men lived on fruit and vegetables." + +"Do you think so?" said the vicar mildly; "but women are not as a rule +cruel and bloodthirsty, and they eat meat too." + +"Women are naturally better than men, and it does not do them so much +harm; but they would be still better without it. It makes them selfish +and gross," said Miss Barnicroft. + +Mr Hawthorne never encouraged his visitor to argue long on this +subject, which somehow crept into all her conversations, however +far-away from it they might begin. So he merely bowed his head in +silence. + +Miss Barnicroft rose with an air of having settled the question, but +suddenly sat down again and said with a short laugh: + +"By the way, you have thieves in your parish." + +"Really! I hope not," said the vicar. + +Ambrose, who had retired to his former position on the rug, began to +listen intently. This sounded interesting. + +"A month ago," she continued, "I put away some gold pieces for which I +had no use, and they have been stolen." + +"Did you lock them up?" asked Mr Hawthorne. + +"I did a safer thing than that," said Miss Barnicroft, laughing +contemptuously; "I buried them." + +"In your garden?" + +"No. I put them into a honey-jar and buried it in what, I believe, is +called the Roman Camp, not far from my house." + +The words, spoken in Miss Barnicroft's clear cold tones, fell icily on +Ambrose's ear, and seemed to turn him to stone. He and David were +thieves! It was no antique vessel they had discovered, but a common +honey-pot; no Roman coins, but Miss Barnicroft's money. If only he had +done as David wished, and told his father long ago! + +He clasped his hands closely over his scarlet face and listened for the +vicar's answer. + +"I don't think you chose a very safe place to hide your money," he said. +"Gypsies and pedlars and tramps are constantly passing over Rumborough +Common. Someone probably saw you bury it there." + +"I am more inclined to think that it was stolen by someone in the +parish," said Miss Barnicroft. "They were French napoleons," she added. + +"Then you see they would be of no use to anyone living here, for they +could not change them. They were more likely to be dug up by some of +the gypsy people who so often camp about there, and are now far enough +from Easney." + +It was truly dreadful to Ambrose to hear his father talk in that calm +soothing tone, and to imagine how he would feel if he knew that his own +son Ambrose had taken Miss Barnicroft's money, and that the hateful +little crock of gold was at that very moment lying quite near him in +David's garden. His heart beat so fast that the sound of it seemed to +fill the room. Would Miss Barnicroft never go away? He longed and yet +dreaded to hear her say good-bye; for after that only one course was +before him--confession. + +But she remained some time longer, for she was not at all satisfied to +have the matter treated so quietly. She tried to impress upon Mr +Hawthorne that it was his duty to make a thorough inquiry amongst his +people, for she felt certain, she said with an air of conviction which +made Ambrose tremble, that her money was somewhere in Easney. + +"I should advise you in future, Miss Barnicroft," said the vicar when +she at last took her departure, "to bring me anything you wish taken +care of--it would be safer here than burying it. And there's the bank, +you know, in Nearminster. I should be glad to take any money there for +you at any time." + +"You are very kind," she answered with an airy toss of the feathers and +ribbons on her head, "but no banks for me. Banks fail." + +She flitted out of the room, followed by Mr Hawthorne, and Ambrose was +alone. Now, in a minute, he would have to tell his father. There was +the hall-door shutting; there was his step coming back. How should he +begin? + +"Well, my boy," said the vicar, "how's the head? Not much better, I'm +afraid. You look quite flushed. You'd better go to your mother now; +she's just come in." + +He sat down and lifted his pen to go on with a letter. Ambrose got up +from the rug and stood irresolute by the door. He tried to say +"Father," but no voice came, and Mr Hawthorne did not look round or ask +what he wanted. It made it so much worse that he did not notice or +suspect anything. + +"I can't do it now," said Ambrose to himself, "I must tell David first." + +Lessons were only just over in the school-room, and he found David +putting away his books, while Pennie and Nancy, still with their hats +and cloaks on, were talking very fast about all they had seen and done +in Nearminster. How happy they looked! They had nothing dreadful on +their minds. It made Ambrose all the more anxious to have someone to +bear his secret with him, and he went softly up to David and said in a +low voice: + +"I want to speak to you." + +"All right!" said David rather unwillingly, for he wanted to hear more +about Nearminster and Kettles. + +"Not here," whispered Ambrose. "Upstairs--in the museum. It's very +important." + +David turned and looked at his brother. Ambrose's cheeks were scarlet, +his eyes had a scared expression, and his hair was sticking up in spikes +as if he had been running his hands through it. + +At these certain signs of excitement David at once concluded that +something had happened. He hastily thrust away his last books, and the +two boys left the school-room. + +"Is it a ghost?" he asked as they ran up the flight of stairs leading to +the museum. + +"Much worse," returned Ambrose. "It's something real. It's awful." + +The museum looked bare and cold, and rather dusty, as if it had been +neglected lately; its deal shelves with their large white labels and +wide empty spaces seemed to gape hungrily--a cheerless place altogether, +with nothing comfortable or encouraging about it. + +The boys sat down facing each other on two boxes, and Ambrose at once +began his story. Alarming as the news was, he had a faint hope while he +was telling it that David might not think it so bad as he did. David +always took things calmly, and his matter-of-fact way of looking at them +was often a support to Ambrose, whose imagination made him full of +fears. So now when he had finished he looked wistfully at his brother +and said, in a tone full of awe: + +"Should you think we really are _thieves_?" + +David's blue eyes got very large and round, but before answering this +question he put another: "What can they do to thieves?" + +"Put them in prison, and make them work hard for ever so long," replied +Ambrose. "They used to hang them," he added gloomily. + +"I don't believe father would let them put us in prison," said David. + +"He couldn't help it," said Ambrose. "Nobody's father can. Don't you +remember when Giles Brown stole a silver mug, his father walked ten +miles to ask them to let him off, and they wouldn't?" + +"Well, but,"--said David, feeling that there was a difference between +the two cases--"he stole a thing out of a house, and we didn't; and his +father was a hedger and ditcher, and our father is vicar of Easney." + +"That wouldn't matter," said Ambrose. "It would depend on Miss +Barnicroft. She wouldn't let us off. She said she couldn't bear boys. +She'd be glad to have us punished." + +He rested his chin on his hand and stared forlornly on the ground. + +"It's telling father I mind most," he added presently, "much more than +going to prison." + +But here David disagreed. He thought it would be dreadful to go to +prison. + +"I suppose," he said, "we should be shut up in different cells, and only +have bread and water. I think the sooner we tell father the better, +because he'll think of some way to help us." + +"I shall never be able to begin," said Ambrose despairingly. + +"Well, you ought to," said David, "because you're older than me, and +because you thought of the whole thing, and because I wanted to tell +long ago, and because I did say when we found it that it was only an old +honey-pot." + +Far from being a comfort, every word David spoke seemed to add to the +sharpness of Ambrose's misery, their very truth made them bitter. + +"It's no good saying all that now," he cried impatiently. "Oh, I wish I +was in bed and had told father!" + +After a little consultation it was agreed that this must be done that +very evening, directly after the school-room tea, when Mr Hawthorne was +generally to be found alone in his study. If he should happen to be +engaged, it must be put off till the next day. + +"I hope he wont be," said David, as the boys went down-stairs together, +"because it will be getting dark, and even if the lamp is lighted it +will be much easier than telling it in the daylight." + +But Ambrose, in his own heart, could not help a faint hope that their +father might be too busy to speak to them that night. Anything to put +off the confession. He dreaded it far more than David, partly because +he was naturally more timid, and partly because he felt himself chiefly +to blame in the whole affair, for David would certainly never have +thought of the adventure unless his elder brother had suggested it. +During tea-time, therefore, he found it impossible either to join in the +conversation or to eat anything with this dreaded interview still before +him. + +Resting his hot cheek on his hand, he looked on with surprise at his +brother's steady appetite, for David, perhaps feeling that this was the +last comfortable meal he might enjoy for some time, munched away with +his usual zeal, not forgetting to ask for the "burnt side" when his +slice of cake was cut. It was hard to realise that all this might be +changed on the morrow for a lonely cell, bread and water, and the +deepest disgrace! Ambrose's headache was considered sufficient reason +for his silence and want of appetite, and his sisters, finding that they +could not even extract any news about Miss Barnicroft's visit from him, +left him undisturbed to his moody misery. + +Late that afternoon the vicar came in from a long ride to a distant part +of his parish, threw himself into his easy-chair, and took up the +newspaper for a little rest before dinner. At this hour he was +generally secure from interruption, his day's work was over, the +children were safe in the school-room, there was a comfortable half-hour +before he need think of going upstairs. He was just rejoicing in the +prospect of this repose when a little knock came at his door. It was a +very little knock, one of many which Ambrose and David had already made +so timidly that they could not be heard at all. With a patient sigh Mr +Hawthorne laid his paper across his knees and said, "Come in." + +The door opened very slowly and the boys entered, David somewhat in +front, holding Ambrose by the hand. Their father saw at once that they +had something of importance on their minds, for while Ambrose kept his +eyes fixed on the ground, David's were open to their widest extent with +a sort of guilty stare. Neither spoke a word, but marched up to Mr +Hawthorne and stood in perfect silence at his elbow. + +"Well?" said the vicar inquiringly. + +Ambrose gave a twitch to David's sleeve, for he had promised to speak +first. + +"We've come to say--" began David and then stopped, his eyes getting +bigger and rounder, but not moving from his father's face. + +"Go on," said Mr Hawthorne. + +But David seemed unable to say anything more. He turned to his brother +and whispered hoarsely, "You go on now." + +Ambrose had gathered a little courage now that the confession had really +begun, and he murmured without looking up: + +"We know where Miss Barnicroft's money is." + +The vicar started. He had in truth forgotten all about Miss Barnicroft +and her money, for he had thought it merely one of her own crazy +inventions. That Ambrose and David should have anything to do with it +seemed impossible, and yet the guilty solemn looks of the two little +boys showed that they were in the most serious earnest. + +"Miss Barnicroft's money!" he repeated. + +"It's in my garden," continued David, taking his turn to speak, +"buried." + +Completely bewildered Mr Hawthorne looked from one face to the other. + +"I don't know what you're both talking about," he said. "Ambrose, you +are the elder, try to explain what you mean, and how you and David come +to know anything about Miss Barnicroft's money." + +That was not so easy, but at last, by dint of some help from David and +many questions from his father, Ambrose halted lamely through the +history. He had a feeling that the vicar's face was getting graver and +graver as he went on, but he did not dare to look up, and it was David +who asked anxiously when he had finished: + +"Are we thieves, father? Will she put us in prison?" + +"Did you remember, Ambrose," said Mr Hawthorne, "when you asked your +brother to go with you to Rumborough Camp, that you and he are strictly +forbidden to go so far alone?" + +"Yes, father," whispered Ambrose, "but we did so want things for the +museum." + +"And when you had taken all this trouble to get them, why did you not +put the coins into the museum?" + +"Because," put in David, "we were afraid the others would ask where we +got them. But we didn't know they belonged to Miss Barnicroft, so _are_ +we thieves, father?" + +That seemed to David the one important point to be settled. If they +were not thieves they would not be sent to prison. + +"As far as Miss Barnicroft is concerned, you are not thieves," replied +Mr Hawthorne. + +David gave a sigh of relief. + +"But--" he continued gravely, "you and Ambrose have stolen something +from me of much more value than Miss Barnicroft's money. Do you know +what that is?" + +The boys were silent. + +"Listen, and I will try to explain what I mean," said the vicar; "and I +speak more particularly to you, Ambrose, because you are older than +David, and he did wrong through your persuasion. When you dug the coins +up you did not know that you were taking what belonged to someone else, +but you did know very well that you were disobedient in going there at +all. That is what was wrong, and by doing that you have destroyed my +trust in you. Now, trust in anyone is a most precious thing, more +precious a great deal than Miss Barnicroft's money, and much harder to +give back when it is once lost. The money you will return to-morrow; +but how are you going to restore my trust? That is not to be done in a +moment. Sometimes, after we once lose a person's trust, we can never +give it back at all, and that is very sad, because nothing else in the +world makes up for it." + +"Sha'n't you ever trust us any more?" asked David bluntly, with his eyes +full of tears. + +"I hope so," said his father, "but that must depend on yourselves. You +will have to show me that you are worthy of trust." + +Crest-fallen and sorrowful, the boys crept out of the study when the +interview was over. + +"I do believe," said Ambrose, "I would rather have been sent to prison, +or have had some very bad punishment." + +"It'll be rather bad, though, to-morrow to have to take it back to Miss +Barnicroft, won't it?" said David. "Do you suppose father will go in +with us?" + +That very evening, in the twilight, the crock with its glittering pieces +was unearthed for the second time, but with far less labour than at +first. + +"I'm glad it's out of my garden anyway," said David as they went back to +the house with it. + +"I'm not glad of anything," replied Ambrose despairingly; and indeed he +felt that he should never care about pleasure or be happy again until +his father had said that he could trust him. + +Snuff, the terrier, knew quite well the next morning when the boys +started with their father that there was something wrong. No smiles, no +shouts, no laughter, no throwing of sticks for him to fetch--only two +sad and sober little boys marching along by the vicar's side. The dog +tried at first, by dancing round them with short barks and jumps, to +excite the dull party into gaiety, but soon finding no response forsook +them altogether, and abandoned himself heart and soul to a frantic +rabbit hunt. Rumborough Common looked coldly desolate as ever, and as +they passed the Camp and saw the very hole where the crock had been +buried an idea struck David. + +"Mightn't we put it where we got it, and tell her it's there?" he asked. + +But the vicar would not hear of this. + +"You must give it back into Miss Barnicroft's own hands," he answered, +"and tell her how you came to dig it up. Perhaps Ambrose had better go +in alone, and we will wait here in the lane for him." + +Arrived at Miss Barnicroft's gate, Ambrose hung back and cast an +imploring glance at his father. He had wished for a "bad punishment;" +but it was too dreadful to face all the unknown terrors of Miss +Barnicroft's house alone. + +"Come, Ambrose," said Mr Hawthorne encouragingly, "you must take +courage. It is never easy to confess our faults, but there is nothing +really to fear. It will soon be over." + +Ambrose pushed open the gate, and with the crock under his arm crept a +few steps towards the cottage door. Then he turned, his face white with +fear. + +"You won't go away till I come out," he said. David had been standing +by his father's side, feeling very much relieved that he was not to go +in and see Miss Barnicroft. He had still a lingering doubt in his mind +that she might wish to send him and his brother to prison. But when +Ambrose gave that frightened look back, something made him feel that he +must go in too; he left his father without a word, went up to Ambrose, +and took hold of his hand. + +"I'll go in with you," he said. + +How often they had longed to see the inside of this mysterious dwelling, +and yet now that the moment had come, how gladly would they have found +themselves safely at home in the Vicarage! Pennie and Ambrose had vied +with each other in providing strange and weird articles of furniture and +ornaments for it; but the reality was almost startlingly different. +When, after several knocks, the boys were told to "come in," they +entered a room which was just like that in any other cottage, except +that it was barer. There was, indeed, scarcely any furniture at all, no +curtain to the window, no pictures on the blank whitewashed walls, and +only a very tiny square of carpet on the floor. A common deal table +stood in the middle of this, and two deal boxes or packing-cases seemed +to serve for seats; on the wide hearth, a fire of sticks was crackling +under a kettle which hung over it by a chain, and two dogs which had +been asleep, got up and growled at the strangers. There was nothing the +least strange in the room, unless it was Miss Barnicroft herself, who, +with her head tied up in a white cotton handkerchief, sat on one of the +boxes, writing busily in a book. She gazed at her two visitors without +knowing them at first, but soon a light came into her eyes. + +"Ah, the vicar's little boys, I think?" she said graciously. "Pray sit +down." + +She waved her hand with the majesty of a queen towards the other box, +and the boys, not daring to dispute her least sign, bestowed themselves +upon it, as close together as possible, with the fatal little crock +squeezed between them. There they sat for a minute in silence staring +at Miss Barnicroft, who, with her head bent gently forward and a look of +polite inquiry, waited to hear their errand. + +It was so dreadful to see her sitting there, and to know how her face +would change presently, that Ambrose had a wild impulse to run out of +the room and leave the crock to tell its own tale. He gave a glance at +David, and saw by the way he had placed his hands on his knees, and +fixed his eyes immovably on Miss Barnicroft, that he had no intention of +either moving or speaking. Ambrose was the elder; it was for him to +take the lead. There were times when Ambrose would cheerfully have +given up all the rights and privileges belonging to that position, and +this was one of them, but he knew that he must make an effort. Father +was waiting outside. They could not sit there in silence any longer. +He must speak. + +Seizing the crock, he suddenly rushed up to Miss Barnicroft, held it +out, and said huskily: + +"We've come to bring back this!" + +David now slid off the box and placed himself gravely at his brother's +side. Miss Barnicroft looked from the boys to the crock with a +satirical light in her eyes. + +"And may I ask where you found it?" she said with icy distinctness which +seemed to cut the air like a knife. + +"In Rumborough Camp," murmured Ambrose. + +"I knew the thief was in your father's parish," said Miss Barnicroft, +"and I'm not surprised to find that it's a boy; but I certainly didn't +suspect the vicar's own son." + +"We didn't know the money was yours," broke in David, "and father says +we are not thieves." + +"At any rate," returned Miss Barnicroft, fixing him sharply with her +cold light eyes, "you knew it wasn't yours. _I_ was always taught that +to take what was not mine was stealing." + +"We thought it was Roman," said David, still undaunted, "and they're all +dead." Then, seeing no reason for staying longer, he added quickly, +"Good-bye! father's waiting for us." + +"Oh, really!" said Miss Barnicroft, rising with a short laugh. "Well, +you can give him my compliments, and say that I haven't altered my +opinion of boys, and that I advise him to teach you your catechism, +particularly your duty towards your neighbour." + +As the boys made hurriedly for the doorway, she suddenly called to them +in quite a different voice,--"Stay a minute. Won't you have some +ambrosia before you go?" + +Ambrose had no idea what ambrosia could be, but he at once concluded +that it was something poisonous. + +"No, thank you," he said, pulling David's sleeve to make him refuse too. + +"It's honey and goat's milk," said Miss Barnicroft persuasively; "very +delicious. You'd better taste it." + +"We'd much rather not, thank you," said Ambrose with a slight shudder, +and in another second he and David had unlatched the door, scudded down +the garden like two frightened rabbits, and joined their father. + +At the Vicarage, all this while, their return had been eagerly looked +for by Pennie and Nancy. They had heard the whole adventure of +Rumborough Common and the crock of gold with much interest, and although +the boys had been wrong to disobey orders, and were now in disgrace, it +was impossible not to regard them with sympathy. They had been through +so much that was unusual and daring that they were in some sort heroes +of romance, and now this was increased by their having penetrated into +that abode of mystery, Miss Barnicroft's cottage. + +It was somewhat consoling to the boys, after their real alarm and +discomfort, to be received in this way at home, and questioned with so +much eagerness as to their experiences. Ambrose, indeed, warming to the +subject, was inclined to give a very highly-coloured description of what +had passed, and would soon have filled Miss Barnicroft's dwelling with +wonderful objects, if he had not been kept in check by David, who always +saw things exactly as they were, and had a very good memory. + +"When we went in," began Ambrose, "some immense dogs got up and barked +furiously." + +"Weren't you frightened?" asked Pennie. + +"I wasn't," replied David, "because there were only two--quite small +ones, not bigger than Snuff, and they only growled." + +"Miss Barnicroft had got her head all bound up in linen," pursued +Ambrose, "like the picture of Lazarus in the big Bible." + +"It was a pocket-handkerchief," said David. "I saw the mark in one +corner." + +"What was in the room?" asked Nancy. + +"Nothing," said David, "except Miss Barnicroft, and two boxes and a +table, and the dogs." + +"Oh, _David_!" broke in Ambrose in a tone of remonstrance; "there was a +great cauldron smoking over the fire, a regular witch's cauldron!" + +"I don't know what a cauldron is," said David; "but there was a black +kettle, if you mean that." + +"And only think, Pennie," continued Ambrose; "she offered us something, +she called _ambrosia_. I daresay it was made of toadstools and +poisonous herbs picked at night." + +"She said it was honey and goat's milk," finished David; "but we didn't +taste it." + +As long as there remained anything to tell about Miss Barnicroft, +Ambrose was quite excited and cheerful; but soon after the adventure had +been fully described, he became very quiet, and presently gave a heavy +sigh; on being asked by Pennie what was the matter, he confided to her +that he never could be happy again, because father had said he was not +fit to be trusted. + +"It doesn't matter so much about David," he added mournfully; "but you +see I'm so much older. Do you think there's anything I could do? +anything very dangerous and difficult?" + +"Like Casabianca," said Pennie, thinking of a poem she was fond of +reciting: + + "The boy stood on the burning deck, + Whence all but he had fled." + +"Oh, don't go on," cried Nancy, "about that stupid boy. He couldn't +have supposed his father wanted him to stop there and be all burnt up. +I'm sure he wasn't fit to be trusted." + +"We're not to have any pocket-money for a month," continued Ambrose, +taking no notice of Nancy; "but I don't mind that a bit. It's the other +I mind." + +Pennie was sorry for her brother; but this last remark turned her +thoughts another way. No pocket-money! She glanced ruefully at her +china-house. Fate was certainly against Miss Unity's mandarin. Nancy +saw the glance and smiled triumphantly. + +"There, you see!" she exclaimed. "There's nobody left to give anything +to it, so you'd much better give it up, and begin to collect for +Kettles." + +In season and out of season she never ceased to impress this on Pennie, +and although they did not see Kettles again after meeting her at the +College, she soon became quite a familiar acquaintance. The little +girls carried on a sort of running chronicle, in which Kettles was the +chief character, and was made to do and say various surprising things. +Those were mostly suggested by Pennie, for Nancy, though equally +interested, would much have preferred a glimpse of the real Kettles +herself. She never could secure this, though, whenever she drove into +Nearminster, she hung over the waggonette to peer into Anchor and Hope +Alley with such earnestness that she nearly toppled over. Once she was +somewhat repaid by seeing a ragged man in a long coat and battered hat +turn into the alley. + +"Pennie," she said, directly she got back, "I do believe I've seen +Kettles' father." + +All these talks and fancies made Pennie feel weaker and weaker in +holding to her own plan. + +She was tired of standing quite alone, and though her pride was still a +little hurt at her failure, she could not help seeing how much more +interesting it was to have Nancy's sympathy and help. + +So, one day, she took her money out of the china-house, rubbed the label +off the door, and restored the box to David. Nancy knew, when she saw +that, that Pennie's support in the matter of shoes and stockings for +Kettles was secure. + + + +CHAPTER SIX. + +"DANCING." + +The even course of Miss Unity's life in her dark old house at +Nearminster had been somewhat ruffled lately. A troublesome question, +which she could neither dismiss nor answer, presented itself so +continually before her that her peace of mind was quite destroyed. It +was always there. It sat with her at her wool-work, so that she used +the wrong shades of green; it made her absent while she dusted the +china, so that she nearly dropped her most valuable pieces; and more +than once it got mixed up with her marketing, and made her buy what she +did not want, to Betty's great surprise. + +Every morning when she woke it was ready for her, and this was the form +of it: + +"Am I doing my duty to my god-daughter, Penelope Hawthorne?" + +Miss Unity's conscience pricked her. There were, in truth, several +things she considered important which she did not approve of in Pennie; +and yet, being a timid lady as well as a conscientious one, she had +always shrunk from interference. + +"Mary ought to know best," she argued with herself in reply to the +obstinate question; "she is the child's mother. I shall offend her if I +say anything. But then, again, as godmother, I have some responsibility +too; and if I see plainly that Penelope pokes over her books and writing +too much, and is getting high-shouldered, and comes into the room +awkwardly, and does not hold herself upright, I ought to speak. I owe +it to the child. I ought not to consult my own comfort. How I should +have to reproach myself if she were to grow up untidy, rough-haired, +inky, the sort of woman who thinks of nothing but scribbling. And I see +signs of it. She might even come to write books! What she wants is a +refining influence--the companionship of some nice, lady-like girls, +like the Merridews, instead of romping about so much with her brothers +and Nancy, who is quite as bad as a boy. But how to make Mary see it!" + +Miss Unity sighed heavily when she came to this point. She felt that +Pennie's future was in some measure in her hands, and it was a very +serious burden. One afternoon, feeling it impossible either to forget +the subject or to find any answer to it, she put away her work and went +to call upon the dean's wife, Mrs Merridew. If anything could change +the current of her thoughts it would be a visit to the deanery, which +she considered both a pleasure and a privilege. Everything there +pleased her sense of fitness and decorum, from the gravity of the +servants to the majestic, ponderous furniture of the rooms, and she +thought all the arrangements admirable. It is true that she did not +understand Dr Merridew's portly jokes, and was rather afraid of his +wife, but her approval of their five daughters was unbounded. They were +models of correct behaviour--her very ideal of what young people should +be in every respect. If only, she secretly sighed, Mary's girls were +more like them! + +The Merridews, Miss Unity was accustomed to say, were quite the "nicest" +people in Nearminster, and she sincerely thought that she enjoyed their +society immensely. It was, however, quite a different enjoyment to that +which attended a cup of tea with old Miss Spokes, the greatest gossip in +the town, and was slightly mingled with awe. + +On this occasion Miss Unity was singularly favoured by fortune, although +she had not gone to the deanery with any idea of finding help in her +perplexity, for before she had been there five minutes the conversation +took a most lucky turn. Mrs Merridew had been so much concerned +lately, she said, about her dear Ethel's right shoulder. It was +certainly growing out; and, indeed the four younger girls would all be +much better for some dancing and drilling lessons. There was nothing +she so much disliked as an awkward carriage. She was sure Miss Unity +would agree with her that it was important for girls to hold themselves +properly. Miss Unity, with Pennie in her mind, assented earnestly, and +added that she believed Miss Cannon had a class for dancing at her +school in the town. + +"Oh yes, I know!" replied Mrs Merridew; "and I hear she has a very good +master, Monsieur Deville; but I don't quite fancy the children going +there--all the townspeople, you know. I don't think the dean would +quite like it." + +"Oh no! to be sure not," murmured Miss Unity. + +"No, it's not quite what one would wish," continued Mrs Merridew; "but +I've been wondering if I could get up a nice little class here!--just a +dozen or so of children among my own friends, and have Monsieur Deville +to teach them. You see he comes down to Miss Cannon every week, so +there would be no difficulty about his coming on here." + +Miss Unity could hardly believe her ears, for, of course, the next step +on Mrs Merridew's part was to wonder if Mrs Hawthorne would let her +children join the class. Could anything be more fortunate, not only +because of Pennie's deportment, but because it would give her a chance +of improving her acquaintance with the dean's daughters. It was the +very thing of all others to be wished. + +Quite stirred and excited out of her usual retirement, Miss Unity +offered to lay the matter before Mrs Hawthorne in the course of a few +days, when she was going to stay at Easney. She felt sure, she said, +that it could be arranged; and she finally took her leave, feeling that +she had at last accomplished some part of her duty towards her +god-daughter, and much happier in her mind. This lasted until she +reached her own door-step, and then she began to shrink from what she +had undertaken to do. She had the deepest distrust of her own powers of +persuasion, and as she thought of it, it seemed very unlikely to her +that she should succeed in placing the subject in its proper light +before Mrs Hawthorne. Never in her whole life had she ventured or +wished to advise other people, or to see what was best for them. It was +a bold step. "I shall say the wrong thing and offend Mary, or set her +against it in some way," she said to herself. "It would have been +better to leave it in Mrs Merridew's hands." + +She troubled herself with this during the days that remained before her +visit to Easney, and grew more anxious and desponding as time went on. +If the welfare of Pennie's whole life had depended on her joining the +dancing-class, poor Miss Unity could scarcely have made it of more +importance. + +It was, therefore, in a very wrought-up state that she arrived at the +vicarage, determined to speak to Mrs Hawthorne that very same day, for +until it was over she felt she should not have a moment's comfort. She +had brooded over it so constantly, and held so many imaginary +conversations about it, that she had become highly nervous, and was +odder in manner and more abrupt in speech than ever. As she sat at tea +with Mrs Hawthorne, she answered all her inquiries about Nearminster +strangely at random, for she was saying to herself over and over again, +"It is my duty; I must do it." + +Suddenly the door was flung wide open, and Pennie threw herself hastily +into the room. + +"Oh mother!" she cried, "will you lend me your india-rubber?" + +Miss Unity set down her tea-cup with a nervous clatter as her +god-daughter advanced to greet her. Yes, Pennie certainly poked out her +chin and shrugged up one shoulder. She had none of the easy grace which +adorned the Merridews. All her movements were abrupt. Worst of all, on +the middle finger of the hand she held out was a large black stain of +ink. + +"My _dear_ Pennie," said her mother significantly as she noticed this. + +"Yes, I know, mother," said Pennie immediately doubling down the +offending finger, "I can't get it off. I've tried everything. You see +I've been writing up the magazine, and there's such a lot of it, because +the others always forget." + +"Then I think I should do without their contributions," said Mrs +Hawthorne. + +"Oh, mother!" exclaimed Pennie reproachfully, "there'd be hardly +anything in it. It's a very good one this month," she added, turning to +Miss Unity. "David's sent quite a long thing on `The Habits of the +Pig,' and Ambrose has written an `Ode to Spring.'" + +"Then why," inquired Miss Unity, "have you so much writing to do?" + +"Well, you see I'm the editor," explained Pennie, "and all the things +have to be copied into the magazine in printing hand by the first of the +month. So when the others forget, I do it all." + +"How fast Pennie grows!" began Miss Unity hurriedly as the door closed +behind her god-daughter. "You don't think so much writing makes her +stoop too much?" + +"Oh, no!" replied Mrs Hawthorne lightly; "it's a great amusement to +her, and she gets plenty of exercise." + +"Because," continued Miss Unity, speaking so fast that she was almost +unintelligible, "if you thought so--I thought--that is, Mrs Merridew +thought--you might like her to join a dancing-class at the deanery." + +She paused, frightened at her own boldness. She had meant to approach +the subject in the most delicate and gradual manner, and now she had +rushed into the very thick of it at once. + +Mrs Hawthorne looked puzzled; she frowned a little. + +"I do not understand," she said, "what Mrs Merridew can have to do with +Pennie's writing too much." + +"Oh nothing, nothing in the world!" hastily replied Miss Unity; "of +course not. I have always said it's for you to judge--but I said I +would ask you to let the children join. Mr Deville's going to teach +them. The Merridews are nice girls, don't you think?" she added +wistfully, for she saw no answering approval on Mrs Hawthorne's face. +"I knew I should offend Mary," she said to herself. + +Even when the arrangement with all its advantages was fully explained, +Mrs Hawthorne did not seem at all eager about it. She had once +thought, she said, of sending the children to Miss Cannon's class, but +the distance was the difficulty, and that would remain in this case. + +Then Miss Unity made her last effort. + +"As to that," she said breathlessly, "I thought of asking you to allow +me to give Pennie some lessons, and I should be pleased for her to sleep +at my house after the class every week, if you had no objection." + +But Mrs Hawthorne still hesitated. It was most kind of Miss Unity, but +she feared it would trouble her to have Pennie so often; yet she did not +like to refuse such a very kind offer, and no doubt the lessons would be +good for the child. Finally, after a great many pros and cons, it was +settled that the vicar's opinion should be asked, and then Miss Unity +knew that Mary had decided the matter in her own mind. Her offer was to +be accepted. So she had done her best for her god-daughter, and if it +were not successful her conscience would at least be at rest. + +Perhaps no one realised what an effort it had been to her, and what real +self-sacrifice such an offer involved. She was fond of Pennie, but to +have the regularity of her household disturbed by the presence of a +child every week--the bustle of arrival and departure, the risk of +broken china, the possible upsetting of Betty's temper; all this was +torture to look forward to, and when she went to bed she felt that she +was paying dearly for a quiet conscience. + +But if it was a trial to Miss Unity it was none the less so to Pennie, +who looked upon herself as a sort of victim chosen out of the family to +be sacrificed. She was to go alone to the deanery without Nancy, and +learn to dance with the Merridews, who were almost strangers to her. It +was a most dreadful idea. Quite enough to spoil Nearminster, or the +most pleasant place on earth. However, mother said so, and it must be +done; but from the moment she heard of it Pennie did not cease to groan +and lament. + +"I don't even know their names," she began one night, after she and +Nancy were tucked up side by side in bed. + +"Why, you know there's one called Ethel," replied Nancy, "because +whenever Mrs Merridew comes here she asks how old you are, and says, +`Just the age of my Ethel!'" + +"I don't think I like the look of any of them much," continued Pennie +mournfully, "and--oh, Nancy, I do hope I sha'n't see the dean!" + +"Why?" asked Nancy. "I don't mind him a bit." + +"He never makes jokes at you," said Pennie, "so of course you don't mind +him; but whenever I meet him with father I know just what he'll say. +`This is Miss Penelope, isn't it? and where's Ulysses?' and then he +laughs. I can't laugh, because I don't know what he means, and I do +feel so silly. Suppose he comes and says it before all the others!" + +"I don't see that it matters if he does," replied Nancy. "You needn't +take any notice. It's the dean who's silly, not you." + +"It's all very well for you," said Pennie with an impatient kick at the +bed-clothes; "you're not going. Oh! how I wish you were! It wouldn't +be half so bad." + +"I should hate it," said Nancy decidedly; "but," she added, with an +attempt at comfort, "there'll be some things you like after all. +There'll be the Cathedral and the College, and old Nurse, and oh! +Pennie, have you thought what a chance it'll be to hear more about +Kettles?" + +But Pennie was too cast-down to take a cheerful view of anything. + +"I don't suppose I shall hear anything about her," she said. "How +should I?" + +"Perhaps you'll see her at the College again," said Nancy, "or perhaps +Miss Unity will know about her, or perhaps the dean goes to see her +father and mother." + +"That I'm sure he doesn't," said Pennie with conviction. "Why, I don't +suppose he even knows where Anchoranopally is." + +"Father goes to see all the people in Easney," said Nancy, "so why +shouldn't Dr Merridew go to see Kettles?" + +"I don't know why he shouldn't," said Pennie, "but I'm quite sure he +doesn't. At any rate I'm not going to ask him anything. I hope I +sha'n't see him at all. Oh, why should people learn dancing? What good +can it be?" + +Nancy's muttered reply showed that she was very nearly asleep, so for +that night there was no further conversation about Pennie's dancing, but +it was by no means altogether given up. On the contrary it was a very +favourite topic with all the children, for it seemed to have added to +their eldest sister's dignity to be singled out as the only one to join +the class at Nearminster. + +"Why isn't Nancy to go too?" asked Ambrose one afternoon as he carefully +put the last touches to a picture he was drawing for Dickie; it was a +fancy portrait of Pennie learning to dance, with her dress held out very +wide, and an immense toe pointed in the air. The children were all in +the school-room engaged in various ways, for it was a wet afternoon; +even Dickie, having grown tired of the nursery, had insisted on coming +down until tea-time,--and now stood on tiptoe by Ambrose, watching the +progress of the picture with breathless interest. + +Pennie looked up from her writing at her brother's question. + +"Because Miss Unity only asked me," she answered with a sort of groan. + +"Is she fondest of you?" asked David from the background. He had not +spoken for a long time, for he was deeply engaged in what he called +"putting his cupboard to rights." + +The four oldest children each possessed a cupboard below the +book-shelves, where they were supposed to keep their toys and private +property. David was very particular about his cupboard, and could not +bear to find any stray articles belonging to the others put away in it. +He kept it very neat, and all the curious odds and ends in it were +carefully arranged, each in its proper place. Just now he had turned +them all out on the floor, and was kneeling in front of them with his +hands in his pockets. + +"It's nothing to do with that," said Nancy in answer to his question. +"It's because she's her godmother.--Why, David," she exclaimed suddenly +looking over his shoulder, "there's my emery cushion which I lost ever +so long ago!" + +She pointed to a small cushion in the shape of a strawberry which lay +among David's treasures. He picked it up and put it into his pocket +before she could get hold of it. + +"It was in my cupboard," he said slowly. "It had no business there. I +shall 'fisticate it." + +"'Fisticate!" repeated Nancy with a laugh of contempt; "there's no such +word; is there, Pennie?" + +"There is," said David quite unmoved. "I had it in English history +to-day. `All his lands were 'fisticated.' I asked Miss Grey what it +meant, and she said it meant `taken away,' so I know it's right." + +"You mean `confiscate,'" put in Pennie; "but I do wish, David, you +wouldn't try to use such long words when you write for the magazine. +There's a lot in the `Habits of the Pig' I can't make out, and it's such +a trouble to copy them." + +"I'm not going to lose my cushion at any rate," said Nancy, springing +suddenly on David, so that he rolled over on the floor. Dickie +immediately cast herself on the top of them with shrieks of delight, +while Pennie and Ambrose went quietly on with their occupation in the +midst of the uproar as though nothing were happening. + +"I wonder if the Merridews are nice?" remarked Ambrose; "fancy five +girls!" + +"Only four are going to learn," said Pennie; "Miss Unity told me their +names. There's Joyce, and Ethel, and Katharine, and Sabine." + +"What rum names!" said Ambrose; "all except Katharine; almost as queer +as Ethelwyn." + +"They're not a bit like Ethelwyn to look at, though," said Pennie; +"they're very neat and quiet, and I think not pretty." + +"I suppose Ethelwyn was pretty, but she wasn't nice," said Ambrose +thoughtfully; "and what a sneak she was about the mandarin!" + +Pennie sighed; Ethelwyn and the mandarin were both painful subjects to +her, and she felt just now as though the world were full of trials. +There was this dreadful dancing-class looming in the distance--something +awful and unknown, to which she was daily getting nearer and nearer. +Ambrose understood much better than Nancy what she felt about it, and +was a much more sympathetic listener, for he knew very well what it was +to be afraid, and to dread what was strange and new. Nancy was quite +sure that she should hate to learn dancing; but as to being afraid of +the dean or any other dignitary, or minding the presence of any number +of Merridews, that was impossible to imagine. So as the days went on +Pennie confided her troubles chiefly to Ambrose; but she was soon seized +with another anxiety in which he could be of no help. + +"Those shoes are awfully shabby, mother," she said one morning; "don't +you think I might have new ones?" + +Mrs Hawthorne examined the shoes which Pennie had brought to her. + +"Are those your best?" she asked, "it seems quite a short time since you +and Nancy had new ones." + +"Nancy's are quite nice still," said Pennie sorrowfully; "but just look +how brown these toes are, and how they bulge out at the side." + +"They were just the same as Nancy's when they were bought," said Mrs +Hawthorne; "but if you will stand on one side of your foot, Pennie, of +course you wear them out more quickly." + +"I never mean to," said poor Pennie, gazing mournfully at the shabby +shoe, "but it seems natural somehow." + +"Well, you must try harder to remember in future," said her mother. "I +should like to give you new shoes very much, but you know I have often +told you I can't spend much on your clothes, and I'm afraid we must make +the old ones do a little longer." + +So this was another drop of bitterness added to Pennie's little cup of +troubles. It was not only that the shoes were shabby, but they fastened +with a button and a strap. She felt quite sure that the Merridews and +all the other children at the class would wear shoes with sandals, and +this was a most tormenting thought. She saw a vision of rows of +elegantly shod feet, and one shabby misshapen pair amongst them. + +"I think I want new shoes quite as much as Kettles does," she said one +day to Nancy. + +"You might have mine if you like," said Nancy, who was always ready to +lend or give her things, "but I suppose they'd be too small." + +"I can just squeeze into them," said Pennie, "and while I stand-still I +can bear it--but I couldn't walk without screaming." + +The dreaded day came, as all days must whether we want them or not, and +Pennie found herself walking across the Close to the deanery with Betty, +who carried a little parcel with the old shoes and a pair of black +mittens in it. The grey Cathedral looked gravely down upon them as they +passed, and Pennie looked up to where her own special monster perched +grinning on his water-spout. The children had each chosen one of these +grotesque figures to be their very own, and had given them names; Pennie +called hers the Griffin. He had wings and claws, a long neck, and a +half-human face, and seemed to be just poised for flight--as though at +any moment he might spring away from his resting-place, and alight on +the smooth green turf just outside the dean's door. Pennie often +wondered what Dr Merridew would say if he found him there, but just now +she had no room for such fancies; she only felt sure of the Griffin's +sympathy, and said to herself as she nodded to him: + +"When I see you again I shall be glad, because it will be over, and I +shall be going home to tea." Another moment and they had arrived at the +deanery. + +"Miss Unity wishes to know, please, what time Miss Hawthorne is to be +fetched," asked Betty. + +It seemed odd to Pennie that she could not run across the Close to Miss +Unity's house alone, but this by no means suited her godmother's ideas +of propriety. + +Having taken off her hat, changed her shoes, and put on the black +mittens, Pennie was conducted to the dining-room, which was already +prepared for the dancing-class, with the large table pushed into the +window and the chairs placed solemnly round close to the wall. Some +girls, who were chatting and laughing near the fire, all stopped short +as she entered, and for one awful moment stared at the new-comer in +silence. + +Pennie felt that no one knew who she was; she stood pulling nervously at +her mittens, a forlorn little being in a strange land. At last one of +the girls came forward and shook hands with her. + +"Won't you sit down?" she said; and Pennie having edged herself on to +one of the high leather-covered chairs against the wall, she left her +and returned to the group by the fire. + +Pennie examined them. + +"That must be Ethel," she thought, "and the tallest is Joyce, and the +two with frocks alike must be Katharine and Sabine. It isn't nice of +them not to take any notice of a visitor. We shouldn't do it at home." + +Presently other children arrived, and then Miss Lacy, the governess, +joined them. She went up to Pennie and asked her name. + +"Why, of course," she said, "I ought to have remembered you. Ethel, +come here and talk to Penelope. You two are just the same age, I +think," she added as Ethel turned reluctantly from the group near the +fire. + +Pennie was very tired of hearing that she and Ethel were just the same +age, and it did not seem to her any reason at all that they should want +to know each other. Ethel, too, looked unwilling to be forced into a +friendship, as she came listlessly forward and sat down by Pennie's +side. + +"Are you fond of dancing?" she inquired in a cold voice. + +"I don't know," said Pennie, "I never tried. I don't think I shall be," +she added. + +Ethel was silent, employing the interval in a searching examination of +her companion, from the tucker in her frock, to the strapped shoes on +her feet. She had a way of half-closing her eyes while she did this, +that Pennie felt to be extremely offensive. "I don't like her at all," +she said to herself, "and if she doesn't want to talk to me, I'm sure I +don't want to talk to her." + +"We've always been taught by Miss Lacy," said Ethel at last, "but of +course it's much better to have a master." + +"I should like Miss Lacy best," said Pennie; and while Ethel was +receiving this answer with another long stare, Monsieur Deville was +announced. + +The dancing-master was tall and slim, with a springing step and a very +graceful bow; his sleek hair was brushed across a rather bald head, and +he had a long reddish nose. He carried a small fiddle, on which he was +able to play while he was executing the most agile and difficult steps +for the benefit of his pupils. On that day, and always, it was +marvellous to Pennie to see how he could go sliding and capering about +the room, never making one false note, nor losing his balance, and +generally talking and explaining as he went. He spoke English as though +it had been his native tongue, and indeed there did not seem to be +anything French about him except his name. + +The class opened with various exercises, which Pennie was able to do +pretty well by dint of paying earnest attention to the child immediately +in front of her, but soon some steps followed which she knew nothing +about. She stood in perplexity, trying to gather some idea from the +hopping springing figures around her. They had all learnt dancing +before, and found no difficulty in what looked to her a hopeless puzzle. +"Bend the knees, young ladies!" shouted Monsieur Deville above the +squeaking of his fiddle. "Slide gently. Keep the head erect. _Very_ +good, Miss Smithers. The wrong foot, Miss Hawthorne. Draw in the chin; +dear, dear, that won't do at all,"--stopping suddenly. + +Miss Lacy now advanced to inform Monsieur that Miss Hawthorne was quite +a beginner, at which every member of the class turned her head and +looked at Pennie. What a hateful thing a dancing lesson was! + +"Ah! we shall soon improve, no doubt," said Monsieur cheerfully; "the +great thing is to practise the exercises thoroughly--to make the form +supple and elastic. Without that as a foundation we can do nothing. +With it we can do wonders. Miss Hawthorne had better try that step +alone. The rest stand-still." + +Pennie would have given the world to run out of the room, but she +grasped her dress courageously, and fixing a desperate eye on Monsieur's +movements, copied them as well as she could. + +"That will do for the present. All return to your seats. The Miss +Smiths will now dance `_Les Deux Armes_.'" + +Two sisters, old pupils of Monsieur Deville, advanced with complacency +into the middle of the room. + +"A little fancy dance composed by myself," said the dancing-master, +turning to Miss Lacy as he played a preliminary air, "supposed to +represent the quarrel and reconciliation of two friends, introducing +steps from the minuet and gavotte. It has been considered a graceful +trifle." + +Pennie gazed in awe-struck wonder at the Miss Smiths as they moved with +conscious grace and certainty through the various figures of the dance, +now curtsying haughtily to each other, now with sudden abruptness +turning their backs and pirouetting down the room on the very tips of +their toes; now advancing, now retreating, now on the very point of +reconciliation, and now bounding apart as though nothing were further +from their thoughts. Finally, after the spectators for some time in +doubt as to their intentions, they came down the length of the room with +what Monsieur called a _chasse_ step, and curtsied gracefully hand in +hand. + +"Well, at any rate," thought Pennie with a sigh of relief, "_I_ shall +never be able to dance well enough to do that; that's one comfort." + +The class lasted two long hours and finished by a march round the room, +the tallest pupil at the head and the shortest bringing up the rear. + +"Why," asked Monsieur, "do we begin with the left foot?" + +And the old pupil immediately answered: + +"Because it is the military rule." + +This impressed Pennie a good deal; but afterwards when she found that +Monsieur never failed to ask this before the march began, the effect +wore off, and she even felt equal to answering him herself. But that +was after many lessons had passed; at present everything seemed strange +and difficult, and she was so nervous that she hardly knew her right +foot from her left. + +After the marching was over it was time for Monsieur to put his fiddle +into its case, and to say with a graceful sweeping bow, "Good evening, +young ladies!" A joyful sound to Pennie. In a minute she had torn off +her mittens, changed her shoes, and was on her way back to Miss Unity's +house. + +"It was much worse than I thought it would be," she said as she sat at +tea with her godmother; "but I sha'n't see any of them again for another +week, that's one good thing." + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN. + +PENNIE AT NEARMINSTER. + +Miss Unity was surprised to find, as time went on, that Pennie's weekly +visits were neither irksome nor disturbing; there was something about +them, on the contrary, that she really liked. She could not account for +it, but it was certainly true that instead of dreading Thursday she was +glad when it came, and quite sorry when it was over. And then it was +such a comfort to find that Betty, far from making any objection or +difficulty, was pleased to approve of the arrangement, and even when +Pennie, who was very untidy, rumpled the anti-macassars and upset the +precise position of the drawing-room chairs, she neither murmured nor +frowned. + +Miss Unity was happier just now than she had been for a long while, for +although her life flowed on from year to year in placid content it had +not much active interest in it. If it had few anxieties it also had few +pleasures, and each day as it came was exactly like the one which had +gone before. But now there was one day, Pennie's day, as Miss Unity +called it in her thoughts, which was quite different from any other in +the week. The moment she arrived, full of her eager little schemes and +fancies, with all sorts of important news from Easney, Dickie's last +funny saying, how far baby could crawl, and what the boys had been +doing, the quiet old house seemed to brighten up and grow young again. +Echoes of all the little voices which had sounded there long ago woke +from their sleep, and filled the staircase and the sombre rooms with +chatter and laughter. + +It made Miss Unity herself feel younger to hear the news, and she soon +found it easy to be really interested in all that Pennie had to tell +her. She proved such an attentive listener, and Pennie, after the +restraint of the dancing-class, was so inclined to be confidential and +talkative, that tea became a most agreeable and sociable meal. Betty, +on her part, honoured the occasion by sending up hot-buttered cakes of +peculiar excellence, which ever afterwards were closely connected with +dancing in Pennie's mind. + +As for the class itself, the misery of it was certainly softened as time +went on, but it always remained somewhat of a trial to Pennie, and she +never distinguished herself as a pupil. It was disappointing to find, +too, that the acquaintance with the Merridews from which Miss Unity had +hoped so much, did not advance quickly; she inquired anxiously, after a +few lessons, how Pennie got on with her companions. + +"Pretty well," answered Pennie; "I like the look of Sabine best, I +think." + +"But she's quite a little thing," said Miss Unity. "Ethel is your age, +is she not?" + +Pennie assented with some reserve. + +"If you like," said Miss Unity with a great effort, "we might ask Ethel +to come to tea with you and spend the evening on Thursday." + +Pennie raised a face of unfeigned alarm from her plate. + +"Oh, please not!" she exclaimed pleadingly, "what should we talk about +all the evening? I'm sure we don't like the same things at all--and I'm +sure she wouldn't care about coming either." + +So, greatly to Miss Unity's own relief, it was decided once for all that +Ethel should not be asked to tea, and she continued to find increasing +satisfaction in her god-daughter's society. + +There was another matter which Pennie had not advanced since her visits +to Nearminster, and that was her acquaintance with Kettles. She neither +saw nor heard anything of her, which was not surprising, since neither +Miss Unity nor the Merridews were likely to know of her existence. To +Nancy, however, it seemed absurd that Pennie should go every week to +Nearminster and bring back no news at all. She began to feel sure that +Pennie had not made good use of her opportunities. + +"Do you mean to say you know nothing more about her at all?" she asked +with contempt. "Well, if I were you, I should have found out something +by this time, I know." + +Pennie bore these reproofs meekly, for she felt their justice. Nancy +always did manage to find out things better than she did, but at the +same time she could not think of any way of getting information. At +last accident came to her aid. + +One evening as they sat together after tea, Miss Unity winding wool and +Pennie holding the skein, the former rose to get something out of the +cupboard near the fireplace. As she reached to the back of it something +round and smooth rolled forward and fell on the floor. + +It was the head of the poor mandarin. + +"Ah!" said Miss Unity with a long-drawn sigh, as though she were in +sudden pain. + +Pennie picked it up, and her godmother, replacing it gently, shut the +cupboard door and took up her wool again. Her face was very grave, and +the frown on her forehead had deepened, but Pennie knew by this time +that Miss Unity was not cross when she looked like that, but sad. So, +although there was something she wanted to say very much, she kept +silence for a little while. Her thoughts went back to the day when +Ethelwyn had broken the mandarin, and then to her plan for getting +another, and how it had failed. When she reached this point she +ventured to inquire gently: + +"Where did the mandarin come from?" + +"A long, long way off, my dear," replied Miss Unity, with a far-away +look in her eyes as though she saw the distant country herself. + +"Could another be got?" continued Pennie. + +Her godmother looked inquiringly at her eager face. + +"Another!" she repeated. "I suppose so. But I could never care about +another." + +"Not if it were just exactly the same?" persisted Pennie. + +"It could not be the same to me," said Miss Unity; "but why do you ask, +my dear?" + +"Because," said Pennie, "we wanted to get you another one for a +surprise--only--things happened--and we couldn't save enough money." + +Miss Unity leant forward suddenly and kissed her little guest. + +"I thank you quite as much for the thought, dear Pennie, as if you had +done it," she said. "But I am glad you did not. There were reasons +which made me fond of the old mandarin years and years ago. I do not +think I should like to see a new one in his place." + +Pennie and she were both silent. Miss Unity's thoughts had perhaps +travelled to that far-off country where the mandarin had lived, but +Pennie's were nearer home. + +"Then," she said half aloud, "I suppose it really would be better to +collect for Kettles." + +The voice at her side woke Miss Unity from her day-dream. The last word +fell on her ear. + +"Kettles, my dear!" she said. "What do you want with kettles?" + +"It's a person," explained Pennie, "a little girl. We saw her at old +Nurse's. And Nancy wants to give her a new pair of boots and +stockings." + +"Does she live with old Nurse?" asked Miss Unity. + +"Oh, no!" answered Pennie. "She only came in for the tea-leaves. She +lives in Anchoranopally." + +"_Where_?" said Miss Unity in a surprised voice. + +"Oh!" cried Pennie with a giggle of amusement, "I forgot you wouldn't +understand. Nancy and I always call it that when we talk together. It +really is the `Anchor and Hope Alley,' you know, turning out of the High +Street close to the College." + +Poor Miss Unity became more and more confused every moment. It all +sounded puzzling and improper to her. "Kettles" coming in for +tea-leaves, and living in "Anchoranopally." How could Pennie have +become familiar with such a child? + +"But--my dear--" she said faintly. "That's the very worst part of +Nearminster. Full of dirty, wicked people. You ought to know nothing +of such places. And I don't like to hear you mispronounce words, it +might grow into a habit. It's not at all nice." + +"We only call it so because Kettles did, you see," said Pennie. "She +didn't look at all wicked, and old Nurse says her mother is a decent +woman. Her face was rather dirty, perhaps. She's got a bad father. He +drinks--like lots of the people at Easney--" + +"I am sorry to hear," interrupted Miss Unity, drawing himself up, "that +Mrs Margetts allowed you to see such a person at all, or to hear +anything of her relations. I am afraid she forgot herself." + +"She couldn't help it," said Pennie eagerly. "Nancy and I were at tea +with her, and Kettles came in for the tea-leaves, and had some bread and +honey. And we asked Nurse to let her come and see us again, and she +said `No, she knew her duty better.' So we've never seen her since, but +we've always wanted to. Her real name is Keturah. Nurse says it's a +Scripture name, but we think Kettles suits her best." Pennie stopped to +take breath. + +"The dean was saying only the other day," remarked Miss Unity stiffly, +"that Anchor and Hope Alley is a scandal to Nearminster. A disgraceful +place to be so near the precincts." + +"Does he go to see the people in it?" asked Pennie. + +"The _dean_, my dear! He has other and far more important matters to +attend to. It would be most unsuitable to the dignity of his position." + +"I knew Nancy was wrong," said Pennie with some triumph. "She thought +he might know Kettles' father and mother, but I was quite sure he +didn't. Does anyone go to see them?" she added. + +"I have no doubt they are visited by people properly appointed for the +purpose," said Miss Unity coldly; "and you see, Pennie, if they are good +people they can come to church and enjoy all the church privileges as +well as any one else." + +Pennie was silent. She could not fancy Kettles coming to church in that +battered bonnet and those big boots. What a noise she would make, and +how everyone would look at her! + +"Father goes to see the bad people in Easney as well as the good ones," +she said, more to herself than her godmother. "Lots of them never come +to church." + +"Easney is quite different from a cathedral town," said Miss Unity with +dignity. + +And here the conversation ended, partly because Pennie had no answer to +make to this statement, and partly because it was time to go to the +evening service. It was a special service to-night, for a sermon was to +be preached in aid of foreign missions by the Bishop of Karawayo. This +was particularly interesting to Miss Unity, and though Pennie did not +care about the bishop it was always a great pleasure to her to go to the +Cathedral. + +"May we go in through the cloisters?" she asked as they crossed the +Close. + +Miss Unity much preferred entering at the west door and thought the +cloisters damp, but she willingly assented, for it was difficult for her +to refuse Pennie anything. + +There was something about the murky dimness of the cloisters which +filled Pennie with a sort of pleasant awe. She shivered a little as she +walked through them, not with cold, but because she fancied them +thronged with unseen presences. How many, many feet must have trod +those ancient flag-stones to have worn them into such waves and hollows. +Perhaps they still went hurrying through the cloisters, and that was +what made the air feel so thick with mystery, and why she was never +inclined to talk while she was there. + +Miss Unity always went as swiftly through the cloisters as possible; and +Pennie, keeping close to her side, tried as she went along to make out +the half-effaced inscriptions at her feet. There was one she liked +specially, and always took care not to tread upon: + + Jane Lister Deare Childe. + Aged 6 Years. 1629. + +By degrees she had built up a history about this little girl, and felt +that she knew her quite well, so that she was always glad to pass her +resting-place and say something to her in her thoughts. + +Through a very low-arched doorway--so low that Miss Unity had to bend +her head to go under it--they entered the dimly-lighted Cathedral. Only +the choir was used for the service, and the great nave, with its solemn +marble tombs here and there, was half-dark and deserted. Pillars, +shafts, and arches loomed indistinct yet gigantic, and seemed to rise +up, up, up, till they were lost in a misty invisible region together +with the sounds of the organ and the echoes of the choristers' voices. + +The greatness and majesty of it all gave Pennie feelings which she did +not understand and could not put into words; they were half pleasure and +half pain, and quite prevented the service from being wearisome to her, +as it sometimes was at Easney. She had so much to think of here. The +Cathedral was so full of great people, from the crusader in his mailed +armour and shield, to the mitred bishop with his crozier, lying so +quietly on their tombs with such stern peaceful faces. + +Pennie knew them all well, and in her own mind she decided that Bishop +Jocelyne, who had built the great central tower hundreds of years ago, +was a far nicer bishop to look at than the one who was preaching this +evening. She tried to pay attention to the sermon, but finding that it +was full of curious hard names and a great number of figures, she gave +it up and settled comfortably into her corner to think her own thoughts. +These proved so interesting that she was startled when she found the +service over and Miss Unity groping for her umbrella. + +Just outside the Cathedral they were overtaken by Mrs Merridew and her +eldest daughter. + +"Most interesting, was it not?" she observed to Miss Unity, "and casts +quite a new light on the condition of those poor benighted creatures. +The bishop is a charming man, full of information. The dean is +delighted. He has always been so interested in foreign missions. The +children think of having a collecting-box." + +"Did you like the sermon, Pennie?" asked Miss Unity as they passed on; +"I hope you tried to listen." + +"I did--at first," said Pennie, "till all those names came. I liked the +hymn," she added. + +"Wouldn't it be nice for you to have a collecting-box at home," +continued Miss Unity, "like the Merridews, so that you might help these +poor people?" + +Pennie hung her head. She felt sure she ought to wish to help them, but +at the same time she did not want to at all. They lived so far-away, in +places with names she could not even pronounce, and they were such utter +strangers to her. + +"Wouldn't you like it?" repeated her godmother anxiously. + +Pennie took courage. + +"You see," she said, "I haven't got much money--none of us have. And I +know Kettles--at least I've seen her. And I know where Anchor and Hope +Alley is, and that makes it so much nicer. And so I'd rather give it to +her than to those other people, if you don't mind." + +"Of course not, my dear," said Miss Unity. "It is your own money, and +you must spend it as you like." + +Pennie fancied there was a sound of disapproval in her voice, and in +fact Miss Unity was a little disappointed. She had always felt it to be +a duty to support missions and to subscribe to missionary societies, to +attend meetings, and to make clothes for the native children in India. +At that very time she was reading a large thick book about missions, +which she had bought at the auction of the Nearminster book club. She +read a portion every evening and kept a marker carefully in the place. +She was sure that she, as well as the dean, was deeply interested in +foreign missions. If she could have made them attractive to Pennie +also, it might take the place of Kettles and Anchor and Hope Alley. + +For Miss Unity thought this a much more suitable object, and one +moreover which could be carried out without any contact with dirt and +wickedness! Squalor and the miseries of poverty had always been as +closely shut out of her life as they were from the trim prosperity of +the precincts, and Miss Unity considered it fitting that they should be +so. She knew that these squalid folk were there, close outside; she was +quite ready to give other people money to help them, or to subscribe to +any fund for their improvement or relief, but it had always seemed to +her unbecoming and needless for a lady to know anything about the +details of their lives. + +The children's idea, therefore, of providing Kettles with new boots and +stockings did not commend itself to her in the least. There were proper +ways of giving clothes to the poor. If the child's mother was a decent +woman, as old Nurse had said, she belonged to a clothing club and could +get them for herself. If she was not a respectable person, the less +Pennie knew of her the better. At any rate Miss Unity resolved to do +her best to discourage the project, and certainly Pennie was not likely +to hear much, either at her house or the deanery, to remind her of +Anchor and Hope Alley and its unfortunate inmates. + +Pennie on her side, though a trifle discouraged by the coldness with +which any mention of Kettles was received, felt that at least she had +taken a step towards her further acquaintance. Very likely her +godmother might come in time to approve of the idea and to wish to hear +more about it. "I shall have something to tell Nancy at last," she said +to herself when she woke up the next morning and remembered the +conversation. + +But she was not to see Nancy as soon as she thought. After breakfast +Andrew arrived, not with the waggonette as usual to fetch Pennie home, +but mounted on Ruby with a letter from Mrs Hawthorne to Miss Unity. +Dickie was ill. It might be only a severe cold, her mother said, but +there were cases of measles in the village, and she felt anxious. Would +Miss Unity keep Pennie with her for the next few days? Further news +should be sent to-morrow. + +As she read this all sorts of plans and arrangements passed through Miss +Unity's mind and stirred it pleasantly. She was sorry for Dickie and +the others, but it was quite an excitement to her to think of keeping +Pennie with her longer. + +"Miss Penelope will remain here to-night," she said to Betty, "and +probably for two or three days. Miss Delicia is ill, and they think it +may be measles." + +"Oh, indeed, Miss!" said Betty with a sagacious nod. "Then it'll go +through all the children." + +"Do you think so?" said Miss Unity, who had great faith in Betty's +judgment. "Then it may be a matter of weeks?" + +"Or months, Miss," replied Betty. "It depends on how they sicken." + +"In that case I've been thinking," said Miss Unity timidly, "whether it +would be better to put Miss Penelope into the little pink-chintz room." + +"Well, it is more cheerful than the best room, Miss," said Betty +condescendingly, "though it's small." + +The pink-chintz room was a tiny apartment opening out of Miss Unity's. +She had slept in it herself as a child, and though there was not much +pink left in the chintz now, there were still some pictures and small +ornaments remaining from that time. It had a pleasant look-out, too, on +to the quiet green Close, and was altogether a contrast to the dark +sombrely furnished room Pennie had been occupying. So after Betty had +scoured and cleaned and aired as much as she thought fit, Pennie and all +her small belongings were settled into the pink-chintz roomy and it +turned out that her stay there was to be a long one. The news from +Easney did not improve. Dickie certainly had the measles, the baby soon +followed her example, and shortly afterwards Ambrose took it, so that +Nancy and David were the only two down-stairs. + +"What a good thing, my dear, that you were here!" said Miss Unity kindly +to her guest. Pennie was obliged to answer "Yes" for the sake of +politeness, but in truth she thought she would rather risk the measles +and be at home. + +Nearminster was nice in many ways and Miss Unity was kind, but it was so +dreadfully dull as time went on to have no one of her own age to talk to +about things. There were the Merridews, but in spite of Miss Unity's +praises Pennie did not like them any better, and had not become more +familiar with them. She had certainly plenty of conversation with her +godmother, who did her best to sympathise except on the subject of +Kettles; but nothing made up for the loss of Nancy and her brothers--not +even the long letters which the former sent now and then from Easney, +written in a bold sprawling hand, covering three sheets of paper, and a +good deal blotted. Here is one of these epistles:-- + +"_My dear Pennie,--Dickie got up and had chicken for dinner to-day, and +was very frackshus. Ambrose is in bed still. He has Guy Manring read +aloud to him, and he will toss his arms out of bed at the egsiting +parts; so mother says she must leave off. David and I have lessons. +David said yesterday he would rather have meesles than do his sums, so +Miss Grey said he was ungrateful. I never play with the dolls now_. +_If you were here we could play their having meesles, but it is no good +alone. Baby had the meesles worst of all. Doctor Banks comes every +day. He has a new grey horse. Have you been to see old Nurse lately? +and have you seen Kettles? Dickie sends you these sugar kisses she made +herself. She burnt her fingers and screamed for nearly an hour.--Your +loving sister, Nancy Hawthorne_." + +Pennie answered these letters fully, and moreover, in case she might +forget anything, she kept a diary, and wrote something in it at the end +of each day. Sometimes there was so little to put down that she had to +make some reflections, or copy a piece of poetry to fill it up; but it +was a comfort to her to think that some day she should read it over with +Nancy and Ambrose. + +Meanwhile, this visit of Pennie's, which was to her a kind of exile, was +a very different matter to Miss Unity. Day by day Pennie's comfort, +Pennie's improvement, Pennie's pleasure filled her thoughts more and +more, and it became strange to think of the time when the little +pink-chintz room had been empty. + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT. + +KETTLES AGAIN. + +Pennie sat one afternoon sewing wearily a way at a long seam. Sometimes +she looked at the clock, sometimes out of the window, and sometimes +dropped her work into her lap, until Miss Unity gave a grave look, and +then she took it up and plodded on again. + +For Miss Unity had discovered another point in which Pennie needed +improvement. Her sewing was disgraceful! Now was the moment to take it +in hand, for she had no lessons to learn and a great deal of spare time +which could not be better employed; so it was arranged that one hour +should be spent in "plain needlework" every afternoon. + +"Every gentlewoman, my dear, should be apt at her needle," said Miss +Unity with quiet firmness. "It is a branch of education as important in +its way as any other, and I should grieve if you were to fail in it." + +"But it does make me ache all over so," said poor Pennie. + +"My dear Pennie, that must be fancy. Surely it is much more fatiguing +to sit stooping over your writing so long, yet I never hear you +complain." + +"Well, but I like it, you see," answered Pennie, "so I suppose that's +why I don't ache." + +"It is neither good for you nor profitable to others," said Miss Unity +seriously. "You may dislike your needle, but you cannot deny that it is +more useful than your pen." + +So Pennie submitted, and argued no more. With a view to making the work +more attractive, her godmother gave her a new work-box with a shiny +picture of the Cathedral on the lid. Every afternoon, with this beside +her, Pennie, seated stiffly in a straight chair with her shoulders well +pressed up against the back, passed an hour of great torture, which Miss +Unity felt sure was of immense benefit to her. + +The room in which they sat looked out into the Close. It increased +Pennie's misery this afternoon to see how bright and pleasant everything +was outside, how the sunlight played about the carved figures on the +west front of the Cathedral, how the birds darted hither and thither, +and how the fallen leaves danced and whirled in the breeze. Everything +was gay and active, while she must sit fastened to that dreadful chair, +and push her needle in and out of the unyielding stuff. + +First the back of her neck ached, so that she felt she must poke her +head out, and Miss Unity looking up, said, "Draw in your chin, my dear." +Then she felt that she must at any cost kick out her legs one after the +other, and Miss Unity said, "Don't fidget, my dear. A lady always +controls her limbs." It was wonderful to see how long her godmother +could sit quite still, and to hear her thimble go "click, click," so +steadily with never a break. It was as constant as the tick of the +clock on the mantel-piece. Would that small hand _never_ reach the hour +of three? + +Nurse's proverb of a "watched kettle never boils" came into Pennie's +mind, and she resolved not to look at the clock again until the hour +struck. The word "kettle" made her think of Kettles and of Nancy's last +letter, and she wondered whether Miss Unity would go to the College that +afternoon, as she had half promised. Those thoughts carried her a good +way down the seam, and meanwhile the hands of the clock crept steadily +on until the first stroke of three sounded deeply from the Cathedral. +Pennie jumped up, threw her work on the table, and stretched out her +arms. + +"Oh how glad I am!" she cried, spreading out her cramped fingers one by +one. "And now, may we go and see old Nurse?" + +Miss Unity looked up from her work, hesitating a little. Pennie was +always making her do things at odd hours, upsetting the usual course of +events, and introducing all sorts of disturbing ideas. + +"Well, dear," she said, "the morning is our time for walking, isn't it?" + +"But this morning it rained," said Pennie; "and now look, only look, +dear Miss Unity, how beautiful it is--do let us go." + +She went close to her godmother and put her arm coaxingly round her +neck. Miss Unity gave in at once. + +"Well, then, we will go," she said, rising to look out of the window. +"But it's very damp, Pennie. Put on goloshes, and a waterproof, for I +think we shall have more rain." + +Nothing could have shown Pennie's influence more strongly than Miss +Unity's consenting to leave the house just after it had rained, or just +before it was going to rain. Damp was dreadful, and mud was a sort of +torture, but it had become worse than either to deny Pennie a pleasure, +and they presently set out for the College shrouded in waterproofs, +though the sun was now shining brightly. + +Old Nurse was at home, and received them with great delight. Miss Unity +and she had so much to say to each other about the measles at Easney, +and other matters, that Pennie began to fear it might be difficult to +get in a word upon any subject more interesting to herself. She was +quite determined, however, to do it if possible, and the thought of how +bold Nancy would be in like circumstances gave her courage. She would +be bold too when the moment came, and she sat watching for it, her eyes +fixed on Nurse's face, and a sentence all ready to thrust in at the +first crevice in the conversation. + +At last it came. + +"Does Kettles' mother still come and scrub for you?" she asked, shooting +out the sentence so suddenly that Miss Unity started. + +"Lor', now, Miss Pennie, what a memory you have got to be sure!" +exclaimed old Nurse with sincere admiration. "To think of your +remembering that! No, she doesn't, poor soul, and I begin to doubt if +she ever will again." + +"Why?" asked Pennie breathlessly. + +"She's been down with rheumatic fever these three weeks," said Nurse, +shaking her head regretfully. "It's a poor woman who lives close by, +Miss,"--turning to Miss Unity--"a very sad case." + +"She knows," interrupted Pennie, for she thought it a great waste of +time to explain matters all over again. + +"My dear," corrected Miss Unity, "let Mrs Margetts speak." + +"I run over to see her sometimes," continued old Nurse, "and take her a +morsel of something, but it beats me to understand how those people +live. There's five children, and the only person earning anything, laid +on her back." + +"Don't they get parish relief?" inquired Miss Unity with a look of +distress. "They ought to have an allowance from the sick fund. Who +visits them?" + +"It's my belief," said old Nurse lowering her voice, "that no one ever +goes nigh them at all. You see, Miss, the husband takes more than is +good for him, and then he gets vi'lent and uses bad language. Of course +the ladies who visit don't like that." + +"I can quite understand it," said Miss Unity, drawing herself up. + +"Of course you can, Miss," said old Nurse soothingly. "Now I don't mind +him at all myself. I don't take any count of what he says, and I always +think `hard words break no bones;' but it's different for such as you." + +"Who looks after the poor thing while she's so ill and helpless?" asked +Miss Unity, taking out her purse. + +"That's the wonder of it," said Nurse. "The eldest's a girl of Miss +Pennie's age, but not near so big. That child would shame many grown-up +people, Miss, by the way she carries on. Nurses her mother and looks +after the children, (there's a baby in arms), and she's on her feet from +morning till night. If it wasn't for Kettles they'd all have been in +the workhouse long ago." + +Miss Unity here offered some money, but Nurse shook her head sagely. + +"No use to give 'em money, Miss. He'd get hold of it and drink it in no +time." + +"Well, you must spend it for the poor woman in the way you think best," +said Miss Unity, "and let me know when you want more." + +Pennie had listened eagerly to every word. Here indeed was news of +Kettles and her family at last. How interested Nancy would be! + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, taking her godmother's hand, "do let me go to see +them with Nurse and take them the things she buys." + +But to this Miss Unity would not listen for a moment. She would not +even consider such a thing possible. All she would promise was that +they would soon come again to the College and hear from Mrs Margetts +how the poor woman was getting on, and with this Pennie was obliged to +be contented. + +Miss Unity herself was strangely stirred and interested by what she had +been told. The story of Kettles and her mother seemed to cast a +different light on Anchor and Hope Alley, that "scandal to Nearminster," +as the dean had called it. She had always considered it the abode of +outcasts and wickedness, but surely it could not be right that these +people should remain uncared for and uncomforted in sickness and want. +They were surrounded by clergymen, district visitors, schools, churches, +societies of all sorts established on purpose for their help, and yet +here was Kettles' mother three weeks down with the rheumatism, and only +a little child to look after her. What did it mean? + +And then, Miss Unity went on to think, her mind getting tangled with +perplexity, what of their spiritual privileges? The great Cathedral +lifted its spire and pointed heavenwards in vain for them, so near, yet +so very far-off. The peace and rest of its solemn silence, the echo of +its hymn and praise were useless; it was an unknown land to Anchor and +Hope Alley. They were as much shut out from all it had to give as those +dusky inhabitants of another country with whose condition Nearminster +had lately been concerned. Pennie's words occurred to Miss Unity. "I +know Anchor and Hope Alley, and that makes it so much nicer." She +looked down at her side--where _was_ Pennie? + +Now while Miss Unity had been walking along in silence, her mind full of +these thoughts and her eyes turned absently away from outward things, +Pennie had been sharply observant of all that was going on in the High +Street through which they were passing. Nothing escaped her, and the +minute before Miss Unity noted her absence she had caught sight of a +familiar figure in the distance, and had dashed across the road without +a thought of consequences. When her godmother's startled glance +discovered her she was standing at the entrance of Anchor and Hope +Alley, and by her side was a figure of about her own height. + +And what a figure! Three weeks of nursing, scrubbing, minding children +and running errands had not improved poor Kettles' appearance. The same +old bonnet, which Pennie remembered, hung back from her head, but it was +more crushed and shapeless; the big boots had large holes in them, and +the bony little hand, which clasped a bottle to her chest, was more like +a black claw than ever. When Miss Unity reached them the children were +staring at each other in silence, Pennie rather shy, and Kettles with a +watchful glimmer in her eyes as though prepared to defend herself if +necessary. Miss Unity took Pennie's hand. + +"My dear," she said breathlessly, "how could you? I was so alarmed." + +"This is Kettles," was Pennie's answer, "and she says her mother isn't +any better." + +"Don't you belong to the Provident Club?" asked Miss Unity, with a faint +hope that Nurse might have been wrong. + +"No, 'um," said Kettles, looking up at the strange lady. + +"Nor the Clothing Club, nor the Coal Club? Does nobody visit your +mother?" asked Miss Unity again. + +"Nobody don't come 'cept Mrs Margetts from the College," said Kettles. +"Father says--" + +"Oh, never mind that!" said Miss Unity hastily, "we don't want to know." + +"Please let her talk," put in Pennie beseechingly. "Father says," +continued Kettles, her sharp eyes glancing rapidly from one face to the +other, "as how he won't have no 'strict ladies in _his_ house; nor no +pa'sons nuther," she added. + +As these last dreadful words passed Kettles' lips the dean, rosy and +smiling, went by on the other side arm in arm with another clergyman. +Could he have heard them? He gave a look of surprise at the group as he +took off his hat. Poor Miss Unity felt quite unnerved by this unlucky +accident, and hardly knew what to say next. + +"But--" she stammered, "that isn't kind or--or nice, of your father, +when they want to come and see you and do you good." + +"Father says he doesn't want doing good to," said Kettles, shutting her +lips with a snap. + +Miss Unity felt incapable of dealing further with Kettles' father. She +changed the subject hurriedly. + +"What have you in that bottle?" she asked. "It would be better to spend +your money on bread." + +"Oils to rub mother with," answered Kettles with a pinched smile; then +with a business-like air she added, "I can't stop talking no longer, +she's alone 'cept the children. If the baby was to crawl into the fire +she couldn't move to stop him, not if he was burnt ever so." + +Without further leave-taking she dived down the dark alley at a run, her +big boots clattering on the flag-stones. + +Pennie felt very glad to have met and talked to Kettles at last, and as +she and her godmother went on, she made up her mind to write to Nancy +that very night and tell her all about it; also to write a long +description of the meeting in her diary. She was just putting this into +suitable words when Miss Unity spoke. + +"I have thought of something, Pennie, that would be nice for you to do +for that little girl--Keturah her name is, I think." + +"She's never called by it," said Pennie. "Don't you think Kettles suits +her best, and it's far easier to say." + +"Not to me!" answered Miss Unity. "I do not like the name at all. But +what I want to suggest is this; you are anxious to do something for her, +are you not?" + +"I told you about it, you know," said Pennie seriously. "Nancy and I +mean to collect for some boots and stockings. Did you see her boots? I +should think they must have been her father's, shouldn't you?" + +"I don't wish to think about her father in any way," said Miss Unity +with a slight shudder, "but I should like to do something for the poor +mother and the little girl. Now it seems to me that we could not do +better than make her a set of underlinen. I would buy the material, +Betty would cut out the clothes from patterns of yours, and you and I +would make them. This would give you an object for your needlework, and +you would not find it so wearisome perhaps." + +She spoke quite eagerly, for she felt that she had hit upon an excellent +scheme which would benefit both Pennie and Keturah. It was new and +interesting, besides, to take an independent step of this kind instead +of subscribing to a charity, as she had hitherto done when she wished to +help people. + +It may be questioned whether Pennie looked upon the plan with equal +favour, but she welcomed it as a sign that Miss Unity was really +beginning to take an interest in Kettles. She would have preferred the +interest to show itself in any other way than needlework, but it was +much better than none at all, and, "I should have to work anyway," she +reflected. + +"I don't see why, Pennie," said her godmother hesitatingly, "we should +not buy the material this afternoon." + +Pennie could see no reason against it, in fact it seemed natural to her +that after you had thought of a thing you should go and do it at once. +To Miss Unity, however, used to weigh and consider her smallest actions, +there was something rash and headlong in it. + +"Perhaps we had better think it over and do it to-morrow," she said, +pausing at the door of a linen-draper's shop. + +"Kettles wants clothes very badly," said Pennie, "and I shall be a long +while making them. I should think we'd better get it now. But shall +you go to Bolton's?" she added; "mother always goes to Smith's." + +"Bolton's" was a magnificent place in Pennie's eyes. It was the largest +shop in the High Street, and she had heard her mother call it +extravagantly dear. Miss Unity, however, would not hear of going +anywhere else. She had always dealt at Bolton's; they supplied the +materials for the Working Societies and the choristers' surplices, and +had always given satisfaction. So Pennie, with rather an awed feeling, +followed her godmother into the shop, and was soon much interested in +her purchases; also in the half-confidential and wholly respectful +remarks made from time to time across the counter by Mrs Bolton, who +had bustled forward to serve them. Her husband was a verger at the +Cathedral, and this justified her in expressing an interest from a +discreet distance in all that went on there. + +"Quite a stir in the town since the bishop's sermon, Miss," she remarked +as she placed a pile of calico on the counter. "I think this will suit +your purpose--if not too fine." + +"I was thinking of unbleached," said Miss Unity, "such as we use for the +Working Societies. Yes, it was a very fine sermon." + +Mrs Bolton retired into the back of the shop, and reappeared with a boy +carrying another large bale. + +"This will be the article then," she said, unrolling it, "and certainly +more suitable too. Yes, there's nothing talked of now but the missions. +Is he a coloured gentleman, do you know, Miss, or does the climate +produce that yellow look he has? Six yards, _and_ some Welsh flannel. +Thank you." + +It was rather alarming to Pennie to see such quantities of calico +measured off without shape or make, and to think how far her needle +would have to travel before it took the form of clothes for Kettles. +She sat soberly eyeing it, and following the rapid course of Mrs +Bolton's scissors. + +"I wish I could work as fast as she cuts," she thought to herself, +"they'd be ready in no time." + +"You'll no doubt be present at the Institute on Friday, Miss," resumed +Mrs Bolton after the flannel was disposed of. "I'm told the dissolving +views will be something quite out of the common. This is a useful width +in tape." + +"I will take two pieces of the narrow, thank you," said Miss Unity, "and +that will be all. Yes, I think perhaps I may go." + +"What did she mean by dissolving views?" asked Pennie on the way home. + +"They are coloured pictures, my dear;" said her godmother after some +consideration, "which fade imperceptibly one into the other." + +"Are they like a magic lantern?" continued Pennie. "What are the +pictures about?" + +"Various subjects," answered Miss Unity; "but these will represent +scenes from the Karawayo Islands. There is to be a missionary address." + +"Haven't we done a lot this afternoon?" said Pennie, as they turned into +the Close. "Lots we never meant to do." + +It was true indeed as far as Miss Unity was concerned; she had seldom +spent such an afternoon in her life. She had been taken out for a walk +in the mud, with rain threatening; she had talked in the open High +Street, under the very eye of the dean, with a little vagrant out of +Anchor and Hope Alley; she had of her own accord, unadvised and +unassisted, formed an original plan, and not only formed it, but taken +the first step towards carrying it out. Miss Unity hardly knew herself +and felt quite uncertain what she might do next, and down what unknown +paths she might find herself hurrying. In spite, however, of some +fatigue and a sense of confusion in the head, she sat down to tea in a +cheerful and even triumphant spirit. + +Pennie, too, had a great deal to think over after she had written to +Nancy, and made a careful entry in her diary. It had been such a nice +afternoon, and it came just when she had been feeling a little +discontented and tired of Nearminster. There were the dissolving views, +too. + +Did Miss Unity mean to take her to the Institute on Friday? Pennie had +been to very few entertainments. The circus at Easney, and the fair at +Cheddington made up her experience, and she thought she should like to +go very much. The address would not be very interesting if it were like +the bishop's sermon, but the pictures fading one into the other had a +beautiful sound; and then it was to be in the evening, which would +involve stopping up late, and this was in itself agreeable and unusual. +She went to sleep with this on her mind, and it was the first thing she +thought of in the morning. + +When she entered the breakfast-room her godmother was reading a note. + +"Pennie, my dear," she said, "here is a very kind invitation from the +deanery. We are asked to go there to tea, and afterwards to see the +dissolving views at the Institute." + +Pennie sat down very soberly at the table. All the pleasure to be got +out of the dissolving views would be spoilt if they were to be preceded +by such a trial. + +"You will like that, won't you?" said Miss Unity anxiously. + +"I'd much rather be going alone with you," said Pennie. + +"That's very nice of you," answered Miss Unity with a gratified smile; +"but I expect some of the Merridew girls are going too, and I know it is +natural for you to enjoy being with your young friends." + +"They're not exactly friends, you see," said Pennie thoughtfully; +"although, of course, I do know them, because I see them every week at +the dancing. But there's nothing we care to talk about." + +"That will come in time," said Miss Unity encouragingly. + +Pennie did not contradict her, but she felt sure in her own mind that it +would never come, and she now looked forward to Friday with very mixed +feelings. "I only hope I shall have tea in the school-room," she said +to herself, "because then I sha'n't see the dean." + +But things turned out unfortunately, for when Miss Unity and Pennie, in +their best dresses, arrived on Friday evening at the deanery they were +both shown into the drawing-room. There were a good many guests +assembled, and two of the girls were there, but the first person who +caught Pennie's eye was the dean himself, standing on the rug, +coffee-cup in hand, smiling and talking. She shrank into the background +as much as she could, and sat down by Sabine Merridew in the shelter of +a curtain, hoping that no one would notice her in this retired position. + +And at first this seemed likely, for everyone had a great deal to say to +each other, and there was a general buzz of conversation all over the +room. Pennie soon grew secure enough to listen to what the dean was +saying to Miss Unity, who had taken a seat near him. He stood before +her with upraised finger, while she, fearful of losing a word, neglected +her tea and refused any kind of food, gazing at him with rapt attention. + +This missionary address at the Institute, he was telling her, was an +idea of his own. He wanted to keep up the impression made by the +bishop's sermon. "That, my dear Miss Unity," he said, "is our great +difficulty--not so much to make the impression as to keep it up. To my +mind, you know, that's a harder matter than just to preach one eloquent +sermon and go away. The bishop's lighted the torch and we must keep it +burning--keep it burning--" + +"Sabine," said Mrs Merridew, raising her voice, "has Penelope any +cake?" + +The dean caught the name at once. + +"What!" he said, looking round, "is my old friend Miss Penelope there?" + +The dreaded moment had come. How Pennie wished herself anywhere else! + +"And how," said the dean, gently stirring his coffee and preparing to be +facetious--"how does that long job of needlework get on, Mrs Penelope?" + +Did he mean Kettles' clothes? Pennie wondered. How could he know? + +"I've only just begun," she answered nervously, twisting her hands +together. + +There was such a general sound of subdued laughter at this from the +guests, who had all kept silence to listen to the dean's jokes, that +Pennie saw she had said something silly, though she had no idea what it +could be. All the faces were turned upon her with smiles, and the dean, +quite ignorant of the misery he was causing her, drank up his coffee +well pleased. + +"And so," he continued, as he put down his cup, "you're going to see the +dissolving views. And are you as much interested in the Karawayo +missions as my young folks?" + +Poor Pennie! She was a rigidly truthful child, and she knew there could +be only one answer to this question. Miss Unity had told her that the +Merridew girls were very much interested, whereas she knew she was not +interested at all. Deeply humiliated, and flushing scarlet, she replied +in a very small voice, "No." + +The dean raised his eyebrows. + +"Dear me, dear me!" he said, pretending to be shocked. "How's this, +Miss Unity? We must teach your god-daughter better." + +Pennie felt she could not bear to be held up to public notice much +longer. The hot tears rose in her eyes; if the dean asked her any more +questions she was afraid she should cry, and that, at her age, with +everyone looking at her, would be a lasting disgrace. + +At this moment sympathy came from an unexpected quarter. A hand stole +into hers, and Sabine's voice whispered: + +"Don't mind. I don't care for them either." + +It was wonderfully comforting. Pennie gulped down her tears and tried +to smile her thanks, and just then general attention was turned another +way. Some one asked Dr Merridew if he were going to the Institute that +evening. + +"I'm extremely sorry to say no," he replied, his smiles disappearing, +and his lips pursed seriously together. "Important matters keep me at +home. But I much regret it." + +All the guests much regretted it also, except Pennie, who began to feel +a faint hope that she might after all enjoy herself if the dean were not +going too. + +The party set out a little later to walk to the Institute, which was +quite a short distance off. + +"May I sit by you?" asked Pennie, edging up to her newly-found friend, +Sabine. + +She was a funny little girl, rather younger than Nancy, with short black +curls all over her head, and small twinkling eyes. Pennie had always +thought she liked her better than the others, and now she felt sure of +it. + +"Do you like dissolving views or magic lanterns best?" she went on. + +"Magic lanterns much," said Sabine promptly. "You see dissolving views +are never funny at all. They're quite serious and _teachy_." + +"What are they about?" asked Pennie. + +"Oh! sunsets, and palm-trees, and natives, and temples, and things like +that," said Sabine. "I don't care about them at all, but Joyce likes +them, so perhaps you will." + +"Why do you come, if you don't like them?" asked Pennie. + +"Because it's my turn and Joyce's," said Sabine. "We always go to +things in twos; there are six of us, you see." + +"So there are of us," said Pennie, "only Baby doesn't count because +she's too young to go to things. There isn't often anything to go to in +Easney, but when there is we all five go at once. Dickie wouldn't be +left out for anything." + +By the time the Institute was reached they had become quite +confidential, and Pennie had almost forgotten her past sufferings in the +pleasure of finding a companion nearer her own age than Miss Unity. She +told Sabine all about her life at home, the ages of her brothers and +sisters, and their favourite games and pets. + +She was indeed quite sorry when the missionary began his address, and +they were obliged to be silent and listen to him, for she would have +been more interested in continuing the conversation. It was, however, +so pleasant to have found a friend that other things did not seem to +matter so much; even when the dissolving views turned out to be dull in +subject though very dazzling in colour she bore the disappointment +calmly, and that evening she added in her diary, "By this we see that +things never turn out as we expect them to." + +Miss Unity might have said the same. It was strange to remember how she +had dreaded Pennie's visits, for now it was almost equally dreadful to +think of her going home. Little by little something had sprung up in +Miss Unity's life which had been lying covered up and hidden from the +light for years. Pennie's unconscious touch had set it free to put +forth its green leaves and blossoms in the sunshine. How would it +flourish without her? + + + +CHAPTER NINE. + +DR. BUDGE. + +We must now leave Pennie at Nearminster for a while and return to +Easney, where things had been quite put out of their usual order by the +arrival of the measles. The whole house was upset and nothing either in +nursery or school-room went on as usual, for everything had to give way +to the invalids. + +There was always someone ill. First Dickie, who took it "very hard," +Nurse said. Then just as she was getting better the baby sickened, and +before anxiety was over about her, Ambrose began to complain and shortly +took to his bed. Only Nancy and David showed no signs of it, and to +their great annoyance had to continue their lessons as usual, and share +in none of the privileges of being ill. + +They were particularly jealous of Ambrose, who seemed to have all manner +of treats just now--mother reading aloud to him the sort of books he +liked best, cook making jellies for him, and Nurse constantly to be met +on the stairs carrying something very nice on a tray. Nancy and David +not only felt themselves to be of no importance at all, but if they made +the least noise in the house they were at once sharply rebuked. They +began to think it was their turn to be petted and coaxed, and have +everyone waiting on them; but to their own disappointment and the relief +of the household their turn never came, and they remained in the most +perfect health. + +Perhaps Ambrose, in spite of all his privileges, did not feel himself +much to be envied. It was nice, of course, to have mother reading +_Ivanhoe_ aloud, and to be surrounded by attention, and for everyone to +be so particularly kind, but there were other things that were not nice. +It was not nice to have such bad headaches, or to lie broad awake at +night and feel so hot, and try in vain to find a cool place in bed. And +it was not nice to have such funny dreams, half awake and half asleep, +in which he was always fighting or struggling with something much +stronger than himself. + +Through all these conflicts he had a confused sense that if he overcame +his enemy his father would trust him again, for since the adventure of +the crock the vicar's words had always been on Ambrose's mind. He had +been continually on the look-out for some great occasion in which he +might prove that he was trustworthy, and now that he was feverish and +ill this idea haunted him in all sorts of strange shapes. Sometimes it +was a tall black knight in mailed armour, with whom he must fight +single-handed; sometimes a great winged creature covered with scales; +sometimes a swift thing like a lizard which he tried to catch and could +not, and which wearied him by darting under rocks and through crevices +where he could not follow. + +But whatever shape they took, in one respect Ambrose's dreams were +always alike--he was never successful. Always striving, and pursuing, +and fighting, and never victorious, it was no wonder that he was worn +out and quite exhausted when morning came. As he got better, and the +fever left him, the dreams left him too, but the idea that had run +through them was still there, and he thought about it a great deal. + +What could he do to make his father trust him? He pondered over this +question in his own mind without talking of it to anyone. If Pennie had +been there he could have told her about it, but he knew Nancy would only +laugh, so he kept it to himself and it got stronger every day. This was +partly because he had so much more time than usual on his hands, before +he was considered quite well enough to go into the school-room and +employ himself with the others. He was allowed, however, to sit up and +to read as many story-books as he liked. They were full of stirring +adventure and hairbreadth escape. It was quite a common everyday thing +in them for a boy to save a person's life and risk his own. Why could +not something of the same nature happen at Easney? + +Certainly it was a very quiet place, with no wild animals or dangerous +mountains, but still there might be a chance even at Easney of doing +something remarkable. Dickie might tumble into a pond and he might save +her life--only there was no water deep enough to drown her, and if there +were he could not swim. Or the house might catch fire. That would do +better. It would be in the night, and Ambrose would be the only one +awake, and would have to rouse his father, who slept at the other end of +the house. He would wrap himself in a blanket, force his way through +smothering smoke and scorching flames, cross over burning planks with +bare feet, climb up a blazing flight of stairs just tottering before +they fell with a crash, and finally stand undismayed at his father's +side. Then he could say quietly, "Father, the house is on fire, but do +not be alarmed;" and his father would soon put everything right. After +which he would turn to Ambrose and say, "My son, you have saved our +lives by your courage and presence of mind. Henceforth I know that I +can trust you." + +How easy and natural all this seemed in fancy! + +It was late in October when the doctor paid his last visit to the +Vicarage and declared everyone to be quite well again, but he advised +change of air for Dickie, who did not get very strong. Shortly +afterwards, therefore, it was settled that she and the baby should go +away for a month with Mr and Mrs Hawthorne. This would leave only +Ambrose, Nancy, and David at home with Miss Grey, and the nursery would +be empty, which seemed a very strange state of things. But there was +something else settled which was stranger still to Ambrose, and he +hardly knew if he liked or dreaded it. He was to go every morning to +learn Latin with Dr Budge. + +Although it was strange, it was not a new idea, only it had been talked +of so long that he had come to feel it would never really happen. He +knew how vexed his father was that he could not give more regular time +and attention to teaching him Latin. When he knocked at the study door +with his books under his arm, it often happened that the vicar would be +full of other business, and say, "I can't have you this morning, +Ambrose, we must do double another day." But when the next time came it +was often the same thing over again, so that Ambrose's Latin did not get +on much. + +Lately his father had said more often than ever, "I really will try to +arrange with Dr Budge," and now it had actually been done. + +Now Dr Budge was an old book-worm, supposed to be engaged in writing +some mighty and learned work, who lived in a cottage on the Nearminster +road. The children knew it and its owner very well, for it was not more +than half a mile from the rectory, and they passed it whenever they +drove into Nearminster. Its casement window was generally open, so that +they could see him bending over his papers with his greenish wig pushed +back from his forehead, and his large nose almost touching the top of +his pen. The doctor was a tall, portly person with a red face, and had +the air of being deeply occupied with some inward subject, so that he +could spare no attention to outward things. + +When he came to see their father, to whom he paid long visits, the +children never expected him to notice them, or even to know them apart +from each other, though he must have seen them so often. If the doctor +ventured on a name it was always the wrong one, and lately he seemed to +think it best to call them all "David," which saved trouble and which no +one thought of correcting. + +And now he was to be Ambrose's master. There was something rather awful +in it, though at the same time there was a good deal to be proud of in +having a master all to one's self. Ambrose wondered what Pennie would +think of it, and wished she were at home that he might hear her opinion. + +"Of course he'll call you `David,'" said Nancy, "and I should think he'd +often forget you're in the room at all. Wouldn't that be fun?" + +"Father's going to take me to see him to-morrow," said Ambrose. +"Perhaps if he says very plainly `This is my son _Ambrose_,' Dr Budge +will remember." + +"Not a bit likely," said Nancy. "He met me in the garden the last time +he was here, and said, `How are you, David?' Now you know I'm not a bit +like David. I don't believe he sees us at all when he looks at us." + +"I think," said Ambrose, "that when people are very wise and know a +great deal, that perhaps they always get like that." + +"Then I like silly people best," said Nancy; but I don't believe that's +true. Father's as wise as he can be, and he always knows people apart, +and calls them by their right names. + +On their way to the doctor's house the next day the vicar told Ambrose +that it was a great honour and advantage to have such a master as Dr +Budge. + +"I hope you will always remember," he said, "that he is a great scholar +and a very wise man, and that it is extremely kind of him to be willing +to teach a little boy like you. It is out of friendship for me that he +does it, and I think I can trust you to do your best, and at any rate +not to give him more trouble than you need." + +The word "trust" caught Ambrose's attention, and while his father went +on talking he began to make all sorts of resolutions in his own mind. +In this way he might show him what he could do, and regain his good +opinion. He saw himself working so hard, and learning so fast, that Dr +Budge would be struck with amazement. Nothing would be too difficult, +no lesson too long. By the time they reached the doctor's gate Ambrose +was master of the Latin tongue, and receiving praise and admiration from +all his relations. + +But now he had to come back to reality and to face his new master, who +was a very solid fact, and he walked in by his father's side rather +soberly. Everything was quite new and strange, for he had never been +inside the cottage before. + +They were shown straight into the study where the doctor sat at work. +It was a long low room with a window at each end, one of which looked +into the road and one into the little garden. The walls were lined with +shelves, but there was not nearly enough room in them for the books, +which had overflowed everywhere, on the table, on the chairs, on the +window-seat, and on the floor, where they stood in great piles on each +side of the doctor. He seemed to be quite built in with books as he sat +at his writing, and rose from among them with difficulty to greet his +visitors, stumbling as he advanced to shake hands. + +Ambrose noticed with awe that he looked bigger indoors, and that his +head almost touched the low ceiling when he stood upright. + +"This is Ambrose," said the vicar, "your future pupil." + +Ambrose held out his hand, but the doctor took no notice of it. He put +one large finger under the boy's chin and turned his face upwards. + +"Shall we make a scholar of you?" he asked in a deep voice. + +Ambrose blinked helplessly up into the broad face so high above him, as +much dazzled and confused as though he had been trying to stare at the +sun. + +His father laughed. "You will find him very ignorant, I fear," he said; +"but I think he will be industrious." + +"We shall see, we shall see," said the doctor, and his small eyes +twinkled kindly. "By the way," he said, suddenly turning from Ambrose +and lifting a great volume from the pile on the floor, "here is the +passage I spoke of the other day." + +They both bent over the book with such earnest attention that Ambrose +knew they would say nothing more about him for some time. Much +relieved, he edged himself on to the corner of a chair that was not +quite covered with books and papers, and looked round him. + +Many curious things caught his eye, huddled together without any order +on the mantel-piece, and among the books on the window-seat--fossils and +odd-looking shells, cobwebby bottles, in which floated strange objects +without shape or make. Splendid things for a museum, thought Ambrose, +as his eyes roved among them, but how dusty and untidy, and no labels. +How careful he and David had been to keep their museum neat and well +arranged! The poor museum! Since the unlucky venture with the crock +there had not been one single curiosity added to it. Disgrace seemed to +hang over it, and it was seldom spoken of among the children at all. + +Dr Budge's curiosities brought all this back to Ambrose's mind, and he +quite longed to dust and label them for him. He might be a very learned +man, but he certainly was not an orderly one. + +Coming to this conclusion, he turned his eyes to the window and +discovered something there which interested him still more, for in a +wicker cage above the doctor's head there was a lively little jackdaw. +He was a smart active bird with glossy plumage, and looked strangely out +of place amongst the quiet old brown books and dusty objects in the +room. Ambrose gazed at him with satisfaction. He had a jackdaw at +home, and when he saw this one he felt at once that he and his future +master would have one thing in common if they both liked jackdaws. The +bird's presence made him feel less shy and strange, so that Dr Budge +was no longer quite such an awful person, and when he said good-bye he +was able to look up at him of his own accord. + +After this the day soon came when father, mother, Dickie, baby, and +nurse were all driven off to the station with their boxes, and parcels, +and bundles of shawls. Added to these, all sorts of toys were handed in +at the last moment, which could not be packed, and which Dickie refused +to leave behind. She had been allowed to have her own way more than +ever since her illness, and now when she wanted to take all sorts of +unreasonable things no one liked to oppose her. The black kitten was to +go also, she had settled, but it was nowhere to be found when the party +was starting, David having wisely shut it up in the museum. Andrew +drove off quickly to catch the train, and the last to be seen of Dickie +was a kicking struggling form in Nurse's arms, and a face heated with +anger. + +The house seemed strangely dull and empty when they were really gone, +but perhaps Ambrose felt it least, for he had his new lessons to fill +his thoughts, and his mind was firmly fixed on making wonderful progress +before his father came back. + +After one or two lessons, however, this did not seem such a very easy +thing to do, for he soon began to find out how very little he knew, and +to have a dim idea that there was an enormous quantity to learn. + +What a wonderful lot Dr Budge must know, and he seemed to be always +learning more! When he was not actually occupied with Ambrose's lessons +he was so entirely taken up with his own writing that Nancy's remark was +perhaps true--he had forgotten his pupil altogether! + +And yet, when Ambrose said the lesson he had prepared, or ventured to +ask some question about the exercise he was doing, Dr Budge's mind came +back at once from its own pursuits. He gave the most earnest attention +to Ambrose's little difficulties, and did not rest till he was sure that +they were cleared away; then he took up his squeaking quill-pen again, +gave a push to his wig, and scribbled away harder than ever. + +During these hours of study the jackdaw's presence was a relief both to +Ambrose and his master, though in a different way. As he sat opposite +the cage, with one elbow on the table and his head resting on his hand, +Ambrose would raise his eyes from his grammar to the wicker cage with a +feeling of sympathy. He and Jack were both shut up in cages, only that +Jack had no Latin to learn. + +But the doctor went further than this. Sometimes he came to a +stand-still in his writing, murmured to himself, frowned, walked heavily +up and down the room, but found no way out of the difficulty. Then, as +a last resource, he would open the door of Jack's cage and invite him to +perch on his finger. Jack would step jauntily down, raising all the +grey feathers on his head till it was twice its usual size. Absently, +but with great tenderness, the doctor would scratch it with one large +forefinger; then, suddenly, the word or sentence he sought returning to +his mind, he would bundle Jack into his cage, snatch up his pen, and +begin to write furiously. Jack never failed to repay him by a vicious +dig at his hand, which was sometimes successful, but this the doctor +never seemed to notice. + +"Though," thought Ambrose as he watched all this in silence, "it must +hurt him, because I know how hard jackdaws peck." + +He would have liked a little conversation on the subject with his +master, for he felt that though he did not know much Latin, he could +hold his own about jackdaws. There had been many at the Vicarage, which +had all come to unexpected or dreadful ends, and Ambrose was thoroughly +acquainted with their ways and habits. + +But he was still far too much in awe of Dr Budge to venture on any +subject apart from his lessons, and he contented himself with watching +him and his bird with the closest interest. + +They were an odd pair of friends. One so trim and neat, with such +slender legs and such a glossy black toilette; the other so crumpled and +shabby, with no regard for appearances at all, and his clothes never +properly brushed. As he held himself upright on the doctor's finger, +the jackdaw had the air of considering himself far the superior being. + +Things went on in this way for about a fortnight, and Ambrose felt quite +as strange and far-away from Dr Budge as the day he had begun his +lessons, when something happened which changed his ideas very much. + +One morning, arriving at his usual hour with his books under his arm, +and his exercise carefully written out, he was surprised to find the +study empty. The doctor's chair was pushed back from the table as +though he had risen hastily, and his pen was lying across his paper, +where it had made a great blot of ink. + +Lifting his eyes to the cage in the window, Ambrose saw that that was +empty also; the little door was open, and there was no smart, active +figure within. What did it all mean? While he was wondering, the +doctor came slowly into the room with a troubled frown on his brow. + +He greeted Ambrose, and sat down in his usual seat, but there was +evidently something amiss with him, although he was as attentive as ever +to his pupil's needs. Ambrose noticed, however, that when he had done +saying his lessons, and had an exercise to write by himself, Dr Budge +could not settle down as usual to his own work. After a short time he +began to sigh and fidget, and then took his usual heavy walk up and down +the room, stopping from force of habit at the jackdaw's cage, and half +raising his hand as though to invite him to come out. When he had seen +this several times, Ambrose longed to ask, "Is the jackdaw lost?" for he +now began to feel sure this was the case. It was quite natural, he +thought; jackdaws always did get lost, and he knew what a trouble it was +sometimes to get them back. If the doctor would only talk about it he +might be able to help him, but he had not the courage to open the +subject himself. + +So he went on with his lessons in silence, but by the time the hour came +for him to go away, he had said the words over so often to himself that +they seemed to come out without any effort of his own. + +"Please, sir, have you lost the jackdaw?" + +The doctor looked across the table. There was Ambrose's eager little +face all aglow with sympathy and interest. + +"I'm afraid so," he answered. "And what I fear is, that he has flown +out of the window into the road. There is no trace of him in the +garden." + +"Was his wing cut?" inquired Ambrose, drawing nearer and looking up at +the empty cage. + +The doctor shook his head. + +"Then, you see," said Ambrose gravely and instructively, "it'll be much +more difficult to find him. He can fly ever so far, and even if he +wanted to get back he might lose his way. Jackdaws always ought to have +their wings cut." + +"Ought they?" said the doctor humbly. He and his pupil seemed to have +changed places. It was now Ambrose who took the lead, for he felt +himself on firm ground. + +"We lost two that hadn't got their wings cut," he continued, "so now we +always cut their wings." + +The doctor listened with the greatest respect, and seemed to weigh the +matter in his mind. Then he said rather uncertainly: + +"But how about the cats?" + +Ambrose admitted that danger, but was still sure of his first point. It +was best to cut a jackdaw's wing. + +"I wonder," he said, looking at the other window, "if you're quite sure +he's not in the garden. P'r'aps he's up in some tree." + +The doctor shook his head. + +"The garden has been thoroughly searched," he said. "There are very few +trees there." + +"Might I look?" asked Ambrose eagerly. Dr Budge meekly led the way +into his little garden. Certainly there was not much room in it for the +jackdaw to hide, and it only needed a glance to see that he was not +there. The only possible place was in a large old medlar-tree which +stood in the middle of the grass plot, with a wooden bench and table +under it. It was nearly bare of leaves now, and a few sparrows were +hopping about in its branches. Ambrose turned his eyes to the roof of a +barn which ran along one side of the garden. + +"P'r'aps he's flown over into the farm-yard," he said. + +"I sent there early this morning," replied the doctor dejectedly, "and +no one had seen the bird." + +Big and learned as he was, he looked so cast, down that Ambrose forgot +that he had ever been afraid of him, and only desired to give him +comfort and help. + +"Does he know the garden well?" he asked. + +Dr Budge nodded. "His cage has often hung in the medlar-tree in the +summer," he said, "when I've been sitting out here." + +"Let's hang it there now," said Ambrose, "and p'r'aps if he gets hungry +he'll come back to where he's been fed." + +The doctor seemed a little cheered by this suggestion, and with +Ambrose's help the cage was soon fixed in a good position in the +medlar-tree, where the jackdaw could not fail to see it if he came back. +All his favourite delicacies in the shape of food were then placed in +it, and by this time it was long past Ambrose's usual hour for going +home. + +As they said good-bye, Dr Budge's eyes rested on him with a new +expression. Ambrose felt sure he would never mistake him for David +again, and would have confidence in his opinion for the future, at any +rate about jackdaws. All the way home his mind was busy with plans for +getting back the lost bird. + + + +CHAPTER TEN. + +A FRIEND IN NEED. + +Ambrose told the story of the doctor's jackdaw at dinner-time to Miss +Grey, Nancy, and David, who were all very much interested. The two +latter began at once to recall memories of all the jackdaws who had +lived at the Vicarage. + +"Do you remember the one which flew away in the gale?" said Nancy. +"David doesn't, of course. The wind blew the roof right off his house +in the night, and we never saw him again." + +"The next one was the one which swallowed a thimble," said David--"and +died. And then mother said we mustn't have any more jackdaws. I +remember that one." + +"No," corrected Nancy, "that wasn't the next. The next was the one +which got away for three days, and then the postman brought it back. +Then came the one that swallowed the thimble, and then, the day after +mother had said we were not to have another there came a strange one to +Andrew's cottage, and he brought it here for us." + +There was a little dispute about the order in which the jackdaws came, +which led the conversation quite away from the doctor's loss. But after +dinner, when the children were in the garden, Ambrose began to talk of +it again. + +"I wish," he said to David, "we could think of a way to help him to get +it back." + +David did not answer at first. He was looking at Andrew, who was +sweeping the path at a little distance. Swish, swish, went his broom to +right and left amongst the yellow leaves, leaving a bare space in the +middle. + +"Let's ask Andrew," said David suddenly. + +Fortunately Andrew was in a good temper, and though he did not leave off +sweeping he listened to the story with attention. + +"We want your advice," said Ambrose when he had done. + +Andrew stopped his broom for an instant, took off his tall black hat, +and gazed into its depths silently. + +"I should try a call-bird, master," he said as he put it on again. + +"A call-bird?" repeated both the boys together. + +Andrew nodded. + +"Put a similar bird in a cage near to where t'other one used to be," he +said, "and like enough it'll call the old un back." + +The boys looked at him with admiration. They had a hundred questions to +ask about call-birds, and Andrew's experience of them, but they soon +found that it was of no use to try to make him talk any more. Andrew +had said his say, and now he wanted to get on with his work. + +"Isn't that a splendid thought?" said Ambrose as he and David turned +away. "I shall take Jack over with me to-morrow morning in a basket, +and put him into Dr Budge's cage." + +"How do you suppose he'll call him back?" said David, who had become +deeply interested. "P'r'aps he'll be miles and miles away." + +"Well, if he can't hear he won't come," answered Ambrose; "but he may be +quite near home, and only have lost his way." + +"May I go with you?" was David's next question. + +Ambrose hesitated. He felt that he would much rather have the whole +thing in his own hands. + +"You might let me help to carry him as far as the gate," pursued David. +"After all, it was me that thought of asking Andrew." + +"Well, then," said Ambrose, "you can ask Miss Grey if you may. But you +won't want to come further than the gate?" he added in a warning tone. + +David could readily promise that, for he was a good deal afraid of Dr +Budge; and he ran off at once to get Miss Grey's consent. + +This having been given, the two boys set off together the next morning, +with Jack in a basket between them making hard angry pecks at the side +of it the whole way. + +They could see the doctor's cottage for some distance before they +reached it, and presently the doctor himself came out and stood at the +gate. + +"When he sees the basket," remarked David, "he'll think we've found his +jackdaw, or p'r'aps he'll think we're bringing him a new one. Won't he +be disappointed?" + +"I sha'n't give him time to think," said Ambrose. "I shall say, `I've +brought a call-bird,' directly I get to him." + +David thought it would have been more to the purpose to say, "_We've_ +brought a call-bird," but he did not wish to begin a dispute just then, +so he let the remark pass. + +"Do you suppose," he said, "that he knows what a call-bird is?" + +Ambrose gave a snort of contempt. + +"Why, there's not a single thing he doesn't know," he answered. "He +knows everything in the world." + +David's awe increased as they got nearer to the cottage and Dr Budge, +who stood with his hands in the pockets of his flannel dressing-gown +watching their approach. + +"You'd better go back now," said Ambrose when they were quite close. +"I'll take the basket." + +But David was not going to give up his rights, and he held firmly on to +his side of the handle. + +"You said I might carry it to the gate," he replied firmly; and thus, +both the boys advancing, the basket was set down at the doctor's feet. + +"It's a call-bird," said Ambrose very quickly, without waiting to say +good-morning, while David fixed his broadest stare on the doctor's face +to see the effect of the words. + +Doctor Budge looked down at the basket, in which Jack now began to +flutter restlessly, and then at the two boys. + +"A call-bird, eh?" he said. "And what may a call-bird be?" + +Ambrose felt that David was casting a glance of triumph at him. Dr +Budge evidently did _not_ know everything in the world. He wished David +would go away, but in spite of the sharp nudge he had given him when +they put the basket down, he showed no sign of moving. The meaning of +the call-bird was soon made clear to the doctor, who listened +attentively and said it seemed a very good idea, and that he was much +obliged to them for telling him of it. + +"It was Andrew who told us," broke in David, speaking for the first +time. "We didn't either of us know it before." + +"You'd better go home now," said Ambrose, who saw that David did not +mean to notice any hints; "you'll be late for Miss Grey." + +He took up the basket and gave his brother a meaning look. David's face +fell. He would have liked to see Jack put into the cage, but he had +promised not to want to go in. As he turned away rather unwillingly the +doctor's voice fell on his ear. + +"No," it said. "David shall stay too and help. I will ask Miss Grey to +excuse him if he is late." + +Very soon the two boys, with Dr Budge looking seriously on, had taken +Jack out of his basket and put him, in spite of pecks and struggles, +into the wicker cage. When this was hung in the medlar-tree just above +the bench, he became more composed, and seemed even proud of his new +position, but stood in perfect silence, turning his cold grey eye +downwards on the doctor and the boys. + +"He doesn't look as if he meant to call," remarked David, "but I daresay +he'll wait till we're gone." + +Although they were all unwilling to leave the jackdaw alone, it did not +seem to be of any use to stay there looking at him any longer. The +doctor and Ambrose therefore went indoors to their books, and David ran +quickly home to his lessons. But it was harder work than usual to +attend to Latin verbs and declensions, and Ambrose wondered if Dr +Budge's thoughts were as much with the jackdaw as his own. + +The window looking into the garden had been left a little open so that +any unusual noise could be plainly heard in the room, but for some time +only the squeak of the doctor's pen broke the silence. Ambrose began to +despair. It would be very disappointing to find that the call-bird was +a failure, and very sad for the doctor to be without a jackdaw. Should +he give him his? He was fond of his jackdaw, but then he had other +pets, and the doctor was so lonely. He had only old brown books and +curiosities to bear him company. + +Just as he was turning this over in his mind, there came a sudden and +angry cawing noise from the garden. Ambrose looked up and met the +doctor's eye; without a word they both started up and made for the +garden. + +There was such a noise that the medlar-tree seemed to be full of +jackdaws engaged in angry dispute, but when they got close under it, +they found that there were only two. Ambrose's bird stood in the wicker +cage, making himself as tall and upright as he could, with all the +feathers on his head proudly fluffed up. He was uttering short +self-satisfied croaks, which seemed to add to the rage of the other bird +perched on a bough immediately above him. With his wings outspread, his +head flattened, and his beak wide open, he seemed beside himself with +fury at finding the stranger in his house. Screaming and scolding at +the top of his voice, he took no notice of Ambrose, who ran out before +the doctor and jumped up on the bench under the tree. + +"Isn't it splendid?" he cried, looking back at his master. "He's come +back you see, and isn't he cross? Shall I try to get him down?" + +In his excitement he spoke just as he would have done to David or Nancy. + +"No, no," said the doctor hastily, his face redder than usual, and +putting his hand on Ambrose's shoulder, "he doesn't know you, you'd +scare him away. Let me come." + +He mounted on the bench beside Ambrose and stretched his arm up through +the boughs of the tree. + +"He knows my voice," he said. "Come, then, Jack." + +Jack's only reply was an angry hiss, and a peck delivered at the +doctor's hand with the whole force of his body. + +"You see he knows me," said the doctor smiling, "he always does that. +He's a little out of temper just now." + +"Hadn't you better throw a duster over his head?" said Ambrose eagerly; +"that's a very good way to catch them." + +"If he'd only let me scratch his poll," said the doctor, "he'd be all +right directly, but I can't get at him." + +They were now joined by the doctor's housekeeper, who came out with her +arms folded in her apron to see what was going on. She stood looking at +the doctor's vain exertions a moment, and then said: + +"Best take away t'other, master, he'll never come to ye else." + +"Why, I wonder we never thought of that!" said the doctor at once, +lifting the cage off the bough. "I'm much obliged to you, Mrs Gill. +Perhaps you'd kindly take it indoors out of sight, and then we'll try +again." + +Mrs Gill departed with the care, and the doctor once more reached up +his hand to the jackdaw. + +"Come, then, Jack," he said in a soothing tone. + +The bird hesitated a moment, and then, to Ambrose's great excitement, +stepped on to the offered finger, and allowed himself to be drawn down +from the tree. After this, his cage being brought out with no signs of +the stranger, and some choice morsels of food placed in it, he showed no +more bad temper, but marched in at the door, and began to eat greedily. + +The doctor breathed a sigh of relief at this happy ending, and Ambrose, +with his own jackdaw in the basket again, stood by with a proud smile on +his face. + +"Wasn't it a good plan?" he said. "And now you'll cut his wing, won't +you? else p'r'aps he'll get away again." + +"We shall see, we shall see," said Dr Budge, reaching up to hang the +cage on its old nail in the window. "At any rate I am very much obliged +to you, and to David, and to Andrew--a friend in need is a friend +indeed." + +It was wonderful, Ambrose thought on his way home, that Dr Budge had +remembered three names and got them all right. Nancy came running to +meet him at the white gate. + +"Well," she cried, "has he come back?" + +"It's all right," said Ambrose, "and Dr Budge is very much obliged to +us." + +He spoke importantly, which was always trying to Nancy. + +"Do you suppose," she continued, "that the doctor's jackdaw really heard +yours call, or would he have come back anyway?" + +It struck Ambrose for the first time that his own jackdaw had not made a +single sound before the other one had returned. If he had called, it +would certainly have been heard through the open window of the study. + +"Did you _hear_ him call?" persisted Nancy. "Because if you didn't, I +don't believe he had anything to do with it, and you might just as well +have left him at home." + +Ambrose walked on very fast into the house, but there was no escape from +Nancy, who kept pace with him, insisting on a reply. The only one he +had to give was a very frequent one on such occasions: + +"How silly you are, Nancy!" And he began to feel the gravest doubts as +to whether his jackdaw had really been of use. + +Be this as it might, there was no doubt at all that Dr Budge was really +grateful, and as the days went on Ambrose began to like his master more +and more, and to feel quite at home with him. He seemed, since the +recovery of the jackdaw, to be much less absent-minded, and looked at +Ambrose now as though he were a boy and not a volume. Ambrose felt the +difference in the gaze which he often found kindly fixed on him, and it +made him think that he would like to ask Dr Budge's help in other +matters than lessons. + +This was on his mind more strongly than usual one particular morning +when he had been to Dr Budge for about three weeks. Instead of opening +his books at once and setting to work as usual, he rested his elbow on +the top of the pile, gazed earnestly at his master, and presently gave a +deep sigh. Dr Budge was writing busily, and at first was quite +ignorant of the gaze, but at the sigh he looked up. + +"Anything the matter, Ambrose?" he asked. "N-no," answered Ambrose. +"There's nothing the matter exactly, only to-day's mother's birthday." + +"Well, there's nothing to look mournful about in that, is there?" asked +the doctor kindly. "Your mother will be home again soon, won't she?" + +Ambrose looked down at his Latin grammar and got rather red. + +"I was thinking," he said, "that we meant to open the museum to-day, and +now it can't ever be opened." + +"How's that?" asked the doctor. + +This question was hard to answer all at once, but it led to others until +the whole unlucky history of the crock and Miss Barnicroft's money, and +the failure of the museum, was unfolded. It took a very long time, but +as he went on Ambrose found it easier to talk about than he could have +supposed. The doctor was an admirable listener. He said almost +nothing, but you could see by his face, and the way in which he nodded +at the right places, that he was taking it all in. He did not seem +surprised either at anything in the affair, and treated it all with +great gravity, though from time to time his eyes twinkled very kindly. + +"And so," he said when Ambrose had finished, "the museum's never been +opened?" + +"Never really opened," said Ambrose, "and we wanted mother to do it on +her birthday. The worst of it is," he added more shyly, "that father +said he couldn't trust me any more. I mind that more than anything. It +doesn't so much matter for David, because he's such a little boy, but +I'm the eldest next to Pennie." + +"But all this was some time ago," said the doctor. "Have you been +careful to be quite obedient ever since it happened?" + +Ambrose thought a moment. + +"I think so," he said. "You see there hasn't been much to be obedient +about, only just little everyday things which don't make any +difference." + +"You want something hard to do, eh?" asked the doctor. + +Ambrose nodded. + +"There's nothing much harder to learn than obedience, my boy," said the +doctor, looking kindly at him. "It takes most of us all our lives to +learn it. Latin's much easier." + +"But," said Ambrose with an uneasy wriggle, "being obedient doesn't +show. I want something to show father." + +Dr Budge looked absently out of the window a moment, and Ambrose began +to be afraid that he had forgotten all about the subject. But he +suddenly looked round and said: + +"_Better is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city_." + +Seeing Ambrose's puzzled stare he continued: + +"You see we must remember that the best and most useful things do not +always make the most noise in the world. The man who rules his spirit +to obedience does not do anything that `shows' at all. Very often no +one knows what he has done. The man who takes the city does it with +noise and tumult, and gets fame and praise. Yet of those two the first +perhaps does the harder thing, and may be more useful to his +fellow-creatures. And it is just the little common things which come +every day and don't show that we must be careful about, because they +keep us ready to obey in a great thing if we are called to do it. So if +I were you, Ambrose," said the doctor, smiling very kindly as he ended +this speech, "I would be careful about the things that don't show. Your +father will know then that he can trust you, though you may think they +are too little and common to make any difference." + +Ambrose had never heard Dr Budge say so much before on any subject, and +indeed he was generally rather sparing of his words. It was all the +more flattering, therefore, that he should take all this trouble, and he +had looked so very kind while he was talking that Ambrose said to +himself, "I'm very glad we got his jackdaw back." + +He went home full of the best resolutions possible, which he carried out +so well for the next few days that Nancy asked in surprise: "Why are you +so good?" feeling sure that something must have happened. + +Dr Budge said nothing more about the museum or anything approaching it +for some days, and Ambrose thought he had forgotten all about it. He +was quite startled, therefore, when his master, suddenly leaning forward +over his desk, said one morning: + +"I suppose you and David still want to fill the museum?" + +"Oh, yes," he replied, "of course we do!" + +"Well, then," said Dr Budge, "I want to go to the chalk-pit beyond +Rumborough to-morrow, and if you were both to go with me we might find +something that would do for it." + +Ambrose was speechless. He stared at the doctor's kind red face almost +as though he was frightened at the proposal. + +"I could give you some fossils of my own," said the doctor, glancing +round at his dusty treasures, "but it would be better to find something +for yourselves. You could learn a little by doing that." + +"Would you really take us?" said Ambrose; "how awfully kind of you!" He +spoke under his breath, for it seemed too good to be true. + +"You see," said the doctor, "one good turn deserves another. You and +David helped me to find Jack, so it is only fair that I should help you +to fill the museum. If we get on well you can open it when your mother +comes home, instead of on her birthday. Wouldn't that be a good plan?" + +Ambrose hardly knew how he got over the road between the doctor's +cottage and the Vicarage that day, he was in such haste to tell the +wonderful news to David. They went up after dinner to the deserted +museum, and looked at it with fresh interest. It was dim and dusty now, +but how different it would be when it was filled with all the really +valuable objects they would find with the doctor's help! Did it want +any more shelves? they wondered. David had put up so many that there +was hardly a bare space left on the walls, and it was decided that for +the present no more should be added. + +"But I'll tell you what," said David, "we'll get a mop, and a pail, and +a scrubbing-brush, and give it a regular good clean out. Then it'll be +quite ready." + +The afternoon was spent happily in this way, Nancy looking wistfully in +at the door and longing to assist. As usual, however, she was not +allowed any part in the affairs of the museum, and after a few jeering +remarks she went slowly down-stairs. + +"It _is_ dull," she said to herself, "now Pennie isn't at home." + +Poor Nancy felt this more and more as the days went on. No Pennie, no +one in the nursery, and the boys entirely engaged in their new pursuit. +It was very dull. She would willingly have taken an interest in the +museum too, and when she heard that the boys were to go with the doctor +to the chalk-pit, she felt her lot was hard indeed. It was so exactly +what she would have liked, and yet because she was a girl she might have +no part in it. When they came home, full of importance and triumph, +with some ugly-looking stones and some very long names to write on the +labels, she followed them into the school-room. + +"I wish I could go next time," she said, for the doctor had promised +another expedition soon. "I'm sure Dr Budge would like me to, and I +could find things every bit as well as you could." + +"Dr Budge wouldn't want to teach girls," said David. "He teaches us +_jology_. Girls needn't know anything about _jology_." + +"I don't want to," said Nancy frankly, "but I should love to go to the +chalk-pit with that funny old Dr Budge." + +"Well," said David decidedly, "you can't have anything to do with the +museum. It's always been mine and Ambrose's. If we get a nice lot of +things," he added in a satisfied voice, "we mean to open it on the day +mother comes back." + +"Oh dear me," exclaimed Nancy, "how I wish Saturday would come! Pennie +and I shall have lots to talk about then, which you don't know anything +about." + +For it had been settled that Pennie was to return from Nearminster on +Saturday, and Nancy, feeling herself left outside all that was going on, +longed eagerly for the day. She would then have someone to talk to all +to herself, and there would also be lots to hear about Kettles. Pennie +certainly wrote long letters, but Nancy thought them not to be compared +to conversations, and she had so many questions to ask that were too +small to be written. Above all, there were the boots and stockings to +be bought. She would not do this alone, though when she passed the +village shop and saw them hanging up it was very hard to help going in. +So the time went on, very slowly for Nancy just now, but at last the +week ended and Saturday came. + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN. + +KETURAH. + +The house at Easney was merrier and more noisy than it had been for some +time on the day of Pennie's return, but the house at Nearminster went +back at once to its old gravity and silence. Had it always been so +still and quiet? Miss Unity wondered. If so, she had never noticed it +until Pennie had come and gone. Now it seemed so strange and +unaccustomed that it made her quite restless and unable to settle down +to her usual morning employments. She tried them one after another in +vain. It was of no use. She could neither add up her accounts, nor +read her newspaper, nor do her wool-work with the least satisfaction. + +Almost without knowing it she went aimlessly into her bed-room, and from +there into the little pink-chintz room which had been Pennie's. Betty +had already made it so neat and trim that it looked forlornly empty with +no signs of its late owner. So Miss Unity thought at first, but +glancing round it she saw that careless Pennie had left her thimble on +the table, and one of her dancing shoes in a corner. + +Miss Unity picked up the thimble and fitted it absently on to the top of +her own finger. How Pennie had disliked sewing, and dancing too, and +how very very glad she had been to go home that morning! How she had +flung herself upon Nancy and smothered her with kisses; how happy and +smiling her face had looked as she drove away from the door, talking so +eagerly to her sister that she had almost forgotten to wave a last +good-bye to Miss Unity at the window. + +"Well, it was natural, I would not have it otherwise," said Miss Unity +to herself as she finished her reflections; "it is right that the child +should love her home best." + +But she sighed as she went back to the sitting-room and took up her work +again. Opposite to her was the high-backed chair in which Pennie had +spent so many weary hours, bending with a frown over Kettles' garments. +But the chair was empty, and there was something in the way it stood +which so annoyed Miss Unity that she pushed it up against the wall +almost impatiently. Then her eye fell on a pile of white clothes neatly +folded on a side-table. Pennie had finished them all, and Miss Unity +had promised that she and Nancy should come over and present them to +Kettles before long. From this her thoughts went on to Kettles herself, +and Anchor and Hope Alley. At this moment Betty appeared at the door +with a face full of woe. + +"I've just had an accident, Miss," she said. + +Betty's accidents usually meant broken china, but this time it was +something worse. She had sprained her wrist badly. + +"You must go at once to the doctor, Betty," said Miss Unity, looking +nervously at the swollen member; "and, oh dear me! it's your right one +isn't it?" + +"Yes, Miss, worse luck," said Betty. + +"We must have someone in," continued Miss Unity still more nervously; +"you ought not to use it, you know, for a long time." + +"I don't want no strangers, Miss," said Betty with a darkening face, +"they break more than they make. I can make shift, I daresay, with my +left hand." + +"Now you know that's quite out of the question, Betty," said her +mistress, doing her best to speak severely, "you couldn't lift a +saucepan, or even make a bed. You must certainly have someone. Some +nice respectable char-woman." + +"There's ne'er a one in the town," said Betty, "as you'd like to have in +the house. I know what they are--a lazy gossiping set." + +Miss Unity rose with decision. + +"I shall go and ask Mrs Margetts at the College to tell me of someone +trustworthy," she said, "and I do beg, Betty, that you will go at once +to the doctor." + +But though she spoke with unusual firmness Miss Unity was inwardly very +much disturbed, and she quite trembled as she put on her bonnet and +started off to see old Nurse. For Betty, like many faithful old +servants, was most difficult to manage sometimes. She had ruled Miss +Unity's house single-handed so long that she could not endure the idea +of help, or "strangers in the kitchen," as she called it. Miss Unity +had never dared to suggest such a thing until now, and she felt very +doubtful as to its success, for she foresaw little peace in the house +for some time to come. Complaints, quarrels, changes, wounded feelings +on Betty's part, and so on; a constant worry in the air which would be +most distressing to anyone of an orderly and quiet mind. Poor Miss +Unity sighed heavily as she reached the College and climbed Nurse's +steep staircase. + +Nurse was full of sympathy, but before she could bring her mind to the +question of charwomen she had to go over all her experience of sprains +and what was best for them--how some said this, and some said exactly +the opposite, and how she herself, after trying all the remedies, had +finally been cured by some stuff which folks called a quack medicine, +but she thought none the worse of it for that. Miss Unity sat patiently +and politely listening to all this, and at last gently repeated: + +"And do you know of a respectable woman, Mrs Margetts, who would come +in and help Betty for a time?" + +Nurse shook her head. "There's no one, I'm afraid, Miss, not one that +Betty would like to have. You see she's rather particular, and if a +person isn't _just so_, as one might say, it puts her out." + +Miss Unity knew that only too well. + +"I must have someone," she said; "you see Betty will be helpless for +some time; she can't do much with one hand." + +Nurse nodded, and pursed up her lips in deep thought. + +"You wouldn't like a little gal, Miss?" she asked suddenly. + +"A little girl!" repeated Miss Unity in some dismay. + +"I was thinking p'r'aps that it wouldn't put Betty about so much," +continued Nurse. "You see she could make a girl do things her way where +she couldn't order about a grown woman, and really there's some girls of +fourteen or so'll do as much work, and do it most as well with someone +to look after 'em." + +"But," said Miss Unity, "don't they break things dreadfully?" + +Nurse laughed. "Why there's all sorts, Miss," she said. "Some are +naturally neat-handed and sharp. It's the dull stupid ones that has the +heavy hands in general." + +"Well," said Miss Unity hesitatingly, "supposing Betty should like the +idea--do you know of one who could come?" + +She had a sort of feeling that Nurse was thinking of Kettles, so that +her answer was hardly a surprise. + +"There's the little girl Miss Pennie was so set on. She could come, for +her mother's about again now, and a decent woman she is, though she's so +badly off." + +A month ago the bare idea of having anyone from Anchor and Hope Alley +into her house would have been impossible to Miss Unity; but Pennie had +made her so familiar with the name and affairs of Kettles, and she had +taken so much interest in making her clothes, that it no longer seemed +so strange. Still, what would Betty say? A girl out of Anchor and Hope +Alley, who had never been in a decent house before! It was surely too +bold a step. + +"You see, Miss," went on Nurse, "it isn't as if you wanted her to wait +on you, or to open the door or such like. All she's got to do is to +help Betty below stairs, and to make beds, and so on. She'll soon +learn, and I'll be bound she'll answer better than a char-woman." + +Miss Unity took her departure with this bold idea becoming more and more +fixed in her mind. There was a great deal in what Nurse had said, if +she could only induce Betty to look at it in the same way; and above all +how delighted Pennie would be, when she next came, to find Kettles not +only wearing the clothes she had made; but actually established in the +house. It all seemed to fit in so well that Miss Unity gathered +courage. She had come out that morning feeling depressed and worried, +and as though everything would go wrong; but now, as she turned into the +Close, wondering how she should best open the subject to Betty, she was +quite stirred and interested. + +Betty had come back from the doctor with her arm in a sling. She was to +keep it as still as possible, and on no account to try to use it. + +"So you see, Betty," said Miss Unity earnestly, "the importance of +having someone to help you in your work." + +"Yes, Miss," said Betty, with suspicion in every feature, and quite +prepared to object to any person her mistress had secured. + +"And I have made up my mind," went on Miss Unity, "not to have a +char-woman." + +"Ho, indeed, Miss!" said Betty, still suspicious. + +"I know you object to them," said her mistress, "and Mrs Margetts +advises me to try a little girl she knows, who lives near here." + +If possible she would avoid the mention of Anchor and Hope Alley. + +"It's for you to please yourself, Miss," said Betty stiffly. + +"Of course it would be an immense advantage to the girl to be under a +competent servant like yourself, for although she's intelligent she has +never been in service before. Miss Pennie was very much interested in +her," added Miss Unity as an afterthought. + +If Betty had a soft corner in her heart for anyone but her mistress it +was for Pennie. She did not at all approve of Miss Unity's taking up +with these new fancies, but to please Pennie she would put up with a +good deal. It was with something approaching a smile that she said: + +"Oh, then, it's the little girl out of Anchor and Hope Alley, isn't it, +Miss? Her as Miss Pennie made the clothes for and used to call +Kettles?" + +"Well," said Miss Unity reluctantly, "I am sorry to say she does live +there, but Mrs Margetts knows her mother well, and she's a very +deserving woman. We sha'n't call the girl Kettles--her name is Keturah. +You'll have to teach her, you know, Betty," she added apologetically. + +As to that, Betty had no objection. She had a deal rather, she said, +have a girl who knew nothing and was willing to learn, than one who had +got into wrong ways and had to be got out of them. In short, she was +quite ready to look with favour on the idea, and to Miss Unity's great +surprise it was settled without further difficulty that Kettles was to +come on trial. + +With her usual timidity, however, she now began to see the other side of +the question, and to be haunted by all sorts of misgivings. When she +woke in the middle of the night dreadful pictures presented themselves +of Kettles' father stealing upstairs with a poker in his hand in search +of the plate-basket. She could hear the dean saying when the theft was +discovered: + +"Well, Miss Unity, what can you expect if you will have people in your +house out of Anchor and Hope Alley?" + +It would no doubt be a dreadful risk, and before she went to sleep again +she had almost decided to give up the plan altogether. But morning +brought more courage, and when she found Betty ready to propose that the +girl should come that very day she could not draw back. + +"I can soon run her up a cotton frock, and she can have one of my +aprons, and there's all her other clothes nice and ready," said Betty in +a business-like tone. + +So Kettles came, newly clothed from top to toe and provided with plenty +of good advice by old Nurse. At first Miss Unity hardly knew she was in +the house, for Betty kept her strictly in the background, and hurried +her away into corners whenever her mistress appeared in the kitchen. +Judging, however, from the absence of complaint that things were going +on well, she at last ventured to inquire how Betty liked her new help. + +"She's a sharp little thing, Miss," said Betty. "Of course she's +strange to the ways of a house, coming from where she does. But she's +willing, that's the great thing." + +"Can the child read and write?" was Miss Unity's next question. + +But Betty seemed to think she had nothing whatever to do with this part +of Kettles' education. + +"I'm sure I don't know, Miss," she said. "I've enough to do to teach +her to sweep a room properly." + +Upon inquiry it was found that Kettles did not even know her letters. + +"I never had no time to go to school," she said, "and I don't want to, +either." + +"But," said Miss Unity, greatly distressed, "you can't read your Bible, +then, Keturah." + +"Mother, she reads the Bible," said Kettles, as though that were +sufficient. + +Miss Unity went upstairs full of uneasy thought. What could be done? +She could not send Keturah to school. It would be absurd to provide +Betty with help, and then to take it away for half the day. She could +not ask Betty to teach her. Finally, she could not let the child remain +in this dreadful state of ignorance. There was one way out of the +difficulty which stared Miss Unity in the face, however much she tried +to avoid seeing it. She could teach Keturah herself in the evening +after her work was done. Miss Unity shrank from it. She had never been +brought close to poor people, and she had never taught anyone anything +in her life. She was as shy of Kettles as though she were a grown-up +woman, and it was altogether a most distasteful idea. Do what she +would, however, she could not get rid of it. Her sense of duty at +length conquered, as usual, and Keturah, with very clean hands and an +immense white apron, appeared in the sitting-room one night to take her +first lesson. + +Miss Unity felt very nervous at first, and it was strange to have +Kettles so close to her, but by degrees this wore off, and she even +began to feel a sort of pleasure in the lessons. It was no trouble to +teach her, for, as Betty said, she was "one of the sharp ones," and was, +besides, eager to do her best. Not because she wished to know how to +read, which she rather despised, but because she wanted very much to +please her mistress, for whom she had a great admiration. + +So things went on very well at Nearminster, both upstairs and +down-stairs, and the time soon came when Miss Unity found herself +looking forward to the knock at the door, which was followed by the +appearance of Kettles and her spelling-book. This interest partly made +up for the loss of Pennie, which had left a sad blank in Miss Unity's +life at first. Here was another little living creature she could teach, +rebuke, praise, and care for, and if Kettles could not fill Pennie's +place in Miss Unity's heart, she could at least give it enough to do to +keep it warm and active. + +Although she would not have confessed it, her interest in the black +children of Karawayo began to fade just now, and though she still +attended the Working Societies and kept the missionary-box on her hall +table, she was much more really concerned about Keturah's first +pot-hooks and hangers. + +Meanwhile the new maid showed such marked progress in household matters +that Betty gradually allowed her to appear upstairs, and on some +occasions to open the door to visitors. + +"What a nice, bright little maid you have!" said Mrs Merridew, who was +calling one afternoon. "One of the Easney school-children, I suppose. +Country girls are so superior." + +"I've always noticed that," said the dean, as Miss Unity paused before +replying, "the town children are sharp enough, but they're generally +wicked. And the country children are honest and steady enough, but as a +rule they're so dull." + +Miss Unity listened with the respect she always showed to any remarks of +the dean as he went on to enlarge on the subject. Once she would have +agreed with him as a matter of course, but now she had a sort of feeling +that she really knew more about it than he did. What would he say if he +knew that the bright little maid Mrs Merridew had admired came from the +very depths of Anchor and Hope Alley? + +Time went quickly by, till it was nearly a month since Pennie had gone +away, and Keturah had come to help Betty. She had come "on trial" as a +stop-gap only, but no one said a word about her leaving yet. Certainly +Betty's wrist was still weak, and this gave Miss Unity an excuse she was +glad to have. She almost dreaded the day when Betty should put off her +sling and declare herself quite well, for that would mean that there was +no longer any reason for keeping Keturah. + +"I am thinking, Betty," she said one morning, "of asking the young +ladies from Easney to come over to tea to-morrow. Miss Pennie will be +interested to see how well Keturah has got on." + +Betty brightened up at once. + +"I'll see and make some hot-cakes then, Miss," she said; "them as Miss +Pennie likes." + +"And I want you," added Miss Unity, "to let Keturah bring up the +tea-things. The young ladies don't know she is here, and it will be a +nice surprise for them." + +Betty entering heart and soul into the plot, which Miss Unity had been +considering for some days, a letter was despatched to Easney, the cakes +made, and Keturah carefully drilled as to her behaviour. + +Pennie and Nancy had been expecting the invitation, and were quite ready +for it when it came, with Kettles' new boots and stockings made into a +parcel. Andrew might drive them into Nearminster and leave them at Miss +Unity's for an hour, Miss Grey said, and she hoped they would be sure to +start back punctually. + +"How funny it seems," said Pennie as the cathedral towers came in sight, +"to be going back to Nearminster!" + +"Would you like to be going to stop there again?" asked Nancy. + +"Well of course I like being at home best," answered Pennie, "but there +were some things I liked at Nearminster. Let me see," counting on her +fingers, "there were Miss Unity, and old. Nurse, and Betty, and Sabine +Merridew, and Kettles, and the Cathedral, and the market, and the +College. That's five people and three things. And what I didn't like +were needlework and dancing, and the dean, and Monsieur Deville, and all +the other Merridews." + +"I hope Betty's made hot-cakes for tea," said Nancy as the carriage +stopped at Miss Unity's door. + +"How can she, with only one hand?" said Pennie; and then the door opened +and there was Betty herself, with her arm still in a sling, and a face +shining with welcome. + +"Lor', Miss Pennie, it do seem natural to see you again, to be sure," +she said with a giggle of delight. "And Miss Nancy's rosy cheeks too. +The mistress is expecting you; run upstairs to her, my dears." + +She went towards the kitchen with a shake of the head and a short laugh, +as if she had some inward cause for amusement. + +"Betty seems to like having a sprain," said Nancy, looking at her over +the balusters. "I never saw her look so pleased or laugh so much." + +Miss Unity's welcome was quite as hearty as Betty's, but she too seemed +a little odd, and inclined to give nervous glances at the door as though +she expected some one to come in. + +"Would you like us to go and help Betty bring up tea?" asked Nancy, +noticing this. "We should like it tremendously if you would let us." + +She started up as she spoke, and would have rushed down-stairs in +another moment, if Miss Unity had not caught hold of her hand. + +"No, my dear; no, thank you; certainly not," she said hurriedly. "Betty +has some one to help her." + +A little disappointed, Nancy sat down again. Her eyes fell on the +parcel she held, and she frowned at Pennie to draw her attention to it. +Pennie was looking dreamily round the sitting-room with all its old +familiar objects. She wondered where Kettles' clothes, which she had +left on the side-table, had been put. What a long time it seemed since +she had sat sewing in that high-backed chair! Brought back to the +present by Nancy's deeply frowning glance, she gave a little start and +said hurriedly: + +"Nancy and I have brought some new boots and stockings for Kettles. May +we give them to her with the clothes?" + +"And will she be at the College?" put in Nancy, "or can we go to Anchor +and Hope Alley?" + +Miss Unity's head gave another nervous jerk in the direction of the +door. She had heard a footstep coming upstairs, which was not Betty's. + +"We will see about it after tea," she said. "You shall certainly see +the little girl, as I promised you." + +The door opened as she spoke, and a small maid-servant in a tall cap +appeared, bearing a tray. Betty hovered in the background with a face +in which pride and laughter struggled together. + +Kettles was not used to her new style of dress yet, and held herself +stiffly as though she had been dressed up for a joke. The tangled hair +which used to fall low on her forehead was tightly brushed back and +tucked up in a net. Her face looked bare and unshaded, and several +degrees lighter by reason of yellow soap and scrubbing. It was +surmounted by a cap of Betty's, which had been cut to fit her, but was +still much too tall for such a small person. Nothing remained of the +old Kettles but her eyes, which still had the quick observant look in +them of some nimble animal, as she advanced in triumph with her tray. + +The children stared in surprise at this strange little figure without +any idea that they had seen it before, while Miss Unity and Betty +watched them with expectant smiles. + +"This is my new little maid," said Miss Unity. + +Kettles dropped a curtsy, and having put down her tray, stood with her +arms hanging straight beside her, and her bright eyes fixed on the +children. + +All at once Pennie gave her sister a nudge. + +"Why, don't you see?" she exclaimed; "I really do believe it's Kettles!" + +"We call her Keturah," said Miss Unity smiling kindly. "She is a very +good little girl. Keturah, this is the young lady who made you all +these nice clothes. You must say `thank you' to her." + +Pennie hung shyly back. She did not want to be thanked, and she was +quite afraid of Kettles now that she was so neat and clean. + +"Do you like them?" she murmured. + +Keturah chuckled faintly. "They're fine," she said. "I've got 'em all +on. I don't never feel cold now." + +"And," continued Miss Unity, "this other young lady, whom I think you +saw once at Mrs Margetts', has been kind enough to think of bringing +you some nice warm boots and stockings." + +She looked at Nancy as she spoke, but for once Nancy remained in the +background, clutching her parcel and staring at Kettles over Pennie's +shoulder. The old Kettles, who had been in her mind all this time, was +gone, and Keturah, clean, tidy, and proper, stood in her place. It was +too surprising a change to be understood in a moment, and Nancy was not +at all sure that she liked it. + +Kettles was silent when the parcel was at length opened and presented, +perhaps with excess of joy. + +"Well I never!" said Betty, advancing to examine the gift. "Keturah's +in luck I will say. Dear, dear, what nice stout boots, to be sure! +Well, now," with a nudge to the silent figure, "she'll do her best to +deserve such kindness, I know. Haven't you got a word to say to the +dear young ladies?" + +But Keturah could not be made to speak a word. She dropped her little +curtsy, and stood as if turned to stone, clasping the boots and +stockings to her chest. + +"She ain't tongue-tied; not as a rule," said Betty apologetically to the +children; "but she hasn't been much used to presents, and it's a little +too much for her." + +"I think," said Miss Unity coming to the rescue, "that we must have our +tea now, Betty, or the young ladies will have no time--and Keturah can +go and try on her new boots and stockings." + +"They're my size," said Nancy, speaking for the first time since +Keturah's appearance. "I think they'll be sure to fit." + +Betty and her little maid having hurried out of the room, Miss Unity's +tea-table became the object of interest. It was always very attractive +to the children, because it was so different to school-room tea at +Easney. + +The dark deep colours of the old Derby china seemed to match the +plum-cake in richness; there were Pennie's hot-cakes in a covered dish, +and Nancy's favourite jam in a sparkling cut-glass tub. In its way, +though very different, it was as good as having tea with old Nurse at +the College. On this occasion it was unusually pleasant, because there +was so much to ask and hear about Keturah. + +"Aren't you glad," said Nancy, when the whole story had been fully +explained, "that you've got Keturah instead of a new mandarin?" + +"Nancy!" said Pennie, shocked at this bold question. + +But Nancy was quite unabashed. + +"You know, don't you," she said to Miss Unity, "that it was Pennie's +first plan to buy you a new one. The boys promised to help, but I +didn't. And then all sorts of things happened, and there was hardly any +money in the box. And then we saw Kettles. And then I made Pennie give +up the plan, and save for the boots and stockings. But we never thought +then that she'd ever have anything to do with you." + +"It was very good of Pennie to wish to get me a new mandarin," said Miss +Unity, her eyes resting affectionately on her god-daughter. + +"She wanted to ever so much," continued Nancy. "She wouldn't buy a book +she wanted at the fair, on purpose to save her money. But after all, +Kettles is much nicer to have, because you can do all sorts of things +with her, and the mandarin could only nod his head." + +"If it had not been for Pennie," said Miss Unity, "I should never have +heard or known anything about Keturah. She has given me a new maid +instead of a new mandarin." + +"But she's partly from Nancy too," said Pennie, "because you see she +made me like Kettles and give up the other." + +"She's partly from Pennie, and partly from me, and partly from Dickie +too," said Nancy thoughtfully. "If Dickie hadn't had the measles Pennie +wouldn't have stopped here, and if she hadn't stopped here you would +never have heard of Kettles. Dickie _did_ put a penny into the box out +of her slug-money. She took it out again, but she wanted to help with +the mandarin. And after all she's helped to give you Kettles." + +"Will she always stay here," asked Pennie, "after Betty's arm gets +well?" + +"If Betty finds her useful I should like her to stay," said Miss Unity, +but as she spoke she felt that she should never have the courage to +suggest it. + +The matter was, however, taken out of her hands by Nancy, who, as soon +as Betty appeared to take away the tea-things, put the question +point-blank: + +"You'll like Kettles to stay, won't you, Betty? because what's the good +of making her look so nice if she's to go back to Anchor and Hope +Alley?" + +"I'm quite agreeable to it, Miss Nancy, if it suits the mistress," said +Betty meekly. So the thing was settled at once. Kettles, out of Anchor +and Hope Alley, had become Keturah, Miss Unity's maid in the Close. + +"She looks very nice now she's Keturah," said Nancy, as the little girls +drove away, "but she isn't funny any more. There was something I always +liked about Kettles." + +And Kettles she always remained to the children at Easney, though the +name was never heard at Nearminster. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE. + +THE HOME-COMING. + +"I don't believe I ever was so glad of anything in all my life," said +Nancy. + +She was sitting with Pennie in a favourite place of theirs, a broad +window-seat at the end of a passage which looked out on the garden. It +was a snug private sort of corner, and when they had any particular bit +of work, or any matter they wished to talk over without the boys, it was +always their habit to retire there. This morning something very special +had happened. A letter from mother to Miss Grey, inclosing one for the +children, to say that they were all coming back on Monday. To-day was +Saturday. Only one more day and two more nights before mother and +father, Dickie, baby, and nurse, would be in their right places, and the +house would feel natural again. + +The boys, after hearing the news, had at once rushed upstairs to the +museum and had not been seen since, though, as Nancy said, there was +nothing more they could possibly do to it, unless they made it untidy +for the pleasure of putting it straight. For the museum was now in very +fine order, with all its shelves full, and all its specimens neatly +labelled and arranged. The doctor himself had climbed the steep +staircase to pay a visit to it, and squeezed himself with difficulty +through the low doorway. True, there was only one corner in it where he +could stand upright, because the roof sloped so much and he was so tall; +but if it had been a palace he could not have admired it more, or looked +more really pleased with everything in it. + +The boys, therefore, were quite satisfied; there could not be a better +thing to celebrate the return than to open the museum. But Pennie and +Nancy were quite outside all this, and they had a strong feeling that +they too would like to do something remarkable on Monday. Only what +should it be? + +"It's of no use at all to keep on saying you're glad," said Pennie. "Of +course we're glad, but what can we do to show it?" + +"Couldn't we decorate the house," said Nancy, "like Christmas?" + +"It would be better than nothing," said Pennie, but she evidently did +not think it much of an idea. + +"What do you call those things that emperors drive under when they come +back from wars?" asked Nancy suddenly. + +"Laurels," suggested Pennie doubtfully. + +"No, no," said Nancy, "you know what I mean. I've heard you read about +them to Miss Grey in history." + +"Canopies," said Pennie after deep thought. But that was wrong too. +Nancy bit her lips with impatience. + +"It's something to do with an arch," she said, "only there's another +word before it." + +"_I_ know," said Pennie, "you mean a triumphant arch." + +"That's it," exclaimed Nancy with great relief. "Well, why couldn't we +make a triumphant arch over the white gate for them to drive under?" + +Pennie approved of this. + +"If the boys would help," she added; "you and I couldn't do it alone, we +shouldn't have time. And besides we should want their hammers and +things." + +"We must ask them at once," said Nancy springing up. "They must be +tired of staring at that stupid museum." + +The boys were quite ready, for there really was nothing more to do to +the museum, and they were glad of a change. The next person to be +appealed to was Andrew, but here came an unexpected difficulty. Andrew +would not allow a single twig to be cut while master was away. + +"But we must have ever-greens," insisted Ambrose, "it's to make a +triumphant arch for father and mother." + +But Andrew was firm. They might make as many triumphant arches as they +liked after master was at home, but he couldn't cut ever-greens without +orders. + +"It wouldn't be a bit of use afterwards," said David. "People never +have triumphant arches _after_ they get back. We must have some now." + +"Not from me, Master David," was Andrew's answer, and he left the +children in a downcast group and went on his way. Poor Nancy was almost +in tears. It was very hard to have her plan so suddenly destroyed, but +she knew that Andrew was not to be persuaded to change his mind. + +"It's a shame!" she exclaimed with heated cheeks. "I'm sure mother and +father would like us to have them. I shall go and ask Miss Grey." + +She ran off towards the house, and Pennie followed more slowly. The +boys, easily consoled by remembering that there was still the museum, +gave up the triumphant arch without any more effort, and went about +their own affairs. + +Nancy soon came back. + +"Well?" said Pennie inquiringly. + +"Miss Grey's just as bad as Andrew," said Nancy moodily. "She says she +couldn't give us leave to have ever-greens in father's absence." + +"Why, then, we must give it up," said Pennie soothingly, "and think of +something else." + +"There is nothing else," said Nancy. + +It made her feel cross to see Pennie take it so quietly, and, refusing +to go into the house with her, she marched off rather sulkily by +herself. First she wandered listlessly about the garden, casting looks +of disdain at Andrew, who was quite unaware of them, and then she went +down to the white gate leading into the road, and thought how beautiful +the triumphant arch would have looked. + +Presently she climbed on to the top of the gate, and sat there feeling +very cross with all the world--with Andrew, with Miss Grey, with the +boys, and even with Pennie because she was not cross too. Engaged in +these moody thoughts, she at length saw a large figure coming slowly +down the road towards her. It wore black baggy clothes and a wideawake +hat, and it often stopped and made lines in the dusty road with the +stout stick it carried. By all this Nancy knew that it was Dr Budge, +and as she sat there with her chin resting on her hand she wondered how +often he would stop before he reached her, to make pictures in the dust. + +She thought she would count. And she began to say one, two, three, +aloud, so that she might remember. The doctor got nearer and nearer, +quite unconscious of the little figure on the vicarage gate. + +"Five," said Nancy's clear little voice, breaking in on his reflections +as he came to a stand-still near her. + +She was so used to be unnoticed by him that she was surprised to see him +look quickly at her, as though he knew who she was. Not being at all +shy she at once gave him a cheerful little nod. + +"Five what?" asked the doctor. + +"I was counting how many times you stopped before you came to the gate," +said Nancy. + +Dr Budge laughed. "Well, you're not very busy then, I suppose?" he +said, "or is this the way you generally spend your mornings?" + +"I'm not at all busy," said Nancy in an injured tone as she remembered +her disappointment, "but I should like to be. I wanted to be very busy +indeed, but I can't, because of that tiresome Andrew." + +The doctor stood facing the gate, his stout stick in his hand, and his +eyes fixed on her quite as if he knew who she was. + +"He doesn't look as if he thought I was David to-day," said Nancy to +herself; and encouraged by the doctor's attention she went on +confidentially. + +"You see, father and mother and the little ones are coming back on +Monday, and the boys are going to open the museum, but Pennie and I +haven't anything to do with that, and we wanted to make a triumphant +arch and decorate the house, and Andrew won't let us have any +ever-greens." + +"A triumphant arch, eh!" said the doctor, and Nancy wondered why he +smiled as he said it, as though it were something odd; "but wouldn't it +be difficult for you to make that?" + +"The boys would help us," said Nancy; "but it's no use thinking of it, +because we can't have any ever-greens." + +"It's a splendid idea," said the doctor thoughtfully. "Whose was it?" + +"Mine," said Nancy proudly. She began to like Dr Budge very much. + +"Why shouldn't you go up into the woods," said he after a moment. +"There's plenty of ivy and holly there, and you might get as much as you +liked." + +"We mus'n't go there alone," said Nancy sadly, "and Miss Grey couldn't +walk so far, and if she could it's too late now, for it would take us +all the afternoon to get there and back, and to-morrow's Sunday." + +"But you could get up early, I suppose, on Monday morning and put up the +triumphant arch," persisted the doctor. + +Nancy looked quickly at him with a gleam of hope in her eyes. + +"If," she began, "someone could go with us--" She stopped, but the rest +of the sentence was written on her face, and Dr Budge understood as +well as though she had spoken it. + +He nodded gravely. + +"If Miss Grey gives leave," he said, "you can meet me at two o'clock at +the corner of the road. And, of course, the boys are to come too." + +"And Pennie," added Nancy. In her excitement she stood up on the bar of +the gate as though she meant to fling herself upon the doctor's neck, +but checking this impulse she climbed down and held out her hand to him. + +"Thank you tremendously," she said very earnestly. "Miss Grey will be +sure to let us go with you." + +In this way the doctor proved himself a friend in need for the second +time, and now Nancy and Pennie were loud in his praise as well as the +boys. He knew so much about everything, as well as about Latin and +Greek and museums. Where to find the best sort of ivy, how much would +be wanted for the arch, and finally, how to get the bundle of +ever-greens down the hill. He even produced out of one baggy pocket a +ball of stout twine, and showed the children how to bind it all together +and pull it along after them. He was the most delightful person to go +out with. Miss Grey sometimes said "Not so much noise Nancy," or, +"Remember you are a young lady;" but on this occasion Nancy made as much +noise as she liked, scrambled about among the bushes, tore her frock, +and enjoyed herself to the full. + +The children went to bed happy in the thought that in spite of Andrew +there was a big bundle of ever-greens in the barn, and that nothing +would be wanting to the triumphant arch on Monday. + +Very early in the morning it was all ready, and they stood round the +white gate looking up at it with some pride, but also a little doubt. + +"Doesn't it look rather wobbly?" said Nancy. "I thought pea-sticks +wouldn't be strong enough, but Andrew wouldn't let us have anything +else." + +The ever-greens had been tied on with such a generous hand that their +weight seemed a little too much for the triumphant arch, so that it +trembled gently in the wind. + +"Suppose," said Ambrose, "that it should fall just as father and mother +drive through. And I don't believe," he added, "that Andrew, on the +box, with his tall hat on, will be able to drive through without +touching the top." + +This seemed so likely, and was such an awful thought, that the children +were silent for a moment. If Andrew's tall hat did knock against the +arch it would certainly fall, and perhaps hurt the whole party. + +"We must tell him to be sure to bend his head," said Pennie at last, "or +it would be still better if he would take off his hat, but I'm afraid he +wouldn't do that." + +"Well, anyhow," said Nancy, "we can't alter it now, because we've got +all the house to do. We must just leave it to chance." + +Nancy was fond of leaving things to chance, and though this was a more +serious matter than usual, the children at last agreed that there was +nothing else to be done. The rest of the morning was spent in putting +ivy and holly wherever it could be put, especially on the staircase +leading up to the museum. David with his hammer nailed up wreaths and +sprays as fast as Pennie and Nancy could make them, till the bare white +walls were almost covered and had a very fine effect. + +Ambrose meanwhile had shut himself into the school-room to carry out +what he hoped would be the best idea of all. He wanted to draw the two +first letters of his mother's name, MH, on cardboard, which were to be +cut out, covered with ivy leaves, and put over the entrance to the +museum. He could not, however, get it to look quite right, and was so +long about it that the decorations upstairs were nearly finished. + +"How are you getting on?" said Nancy, rushing in. You've been long +enough to draw all the alphabet. "Well," she continued, looking over +her brother's shoulder, "the H isn't so bad, but I shouldn't know what +the other's meant for. It looks like a sort of curly insect." + +"They're old English letters," said Ambrose proudly. + +"Then you'd better have drawn new English ones," said Nancy, "no one +will know what they mean." + +"Mother will know," said Ambrose, "she's not a silly little girl like +you." + +"I hope she will," replied Nancy, "for it's just dinner-time, and you +can't do any more. I'll help you to stick on the ivy leaves." + +Nancy was always good-natured, although she said such tiresome things. + +The letters were not quite so plain to read as Ambrose had hoped, when +they were put up over the museum door, but still they had an ornamental +look, and gave a finishing touch to the decorations. + +Nothing remained after dinner was over but to wait until four o'clock, +by which time the carriage might be expected to arrive from Nearminster +station. Long before that the children were ready in their places, +standing two on each side of the "triumphant" arch, which nodded proudly +over the white gate. + +"They've lost the train, I expect," said Ambrose, "and Andrew's waiting +for the next." + +"I sha'n't give them up yet," said Nancy, "because the church clock +hasn't struck four." + +"There it is!" exclaimed Ambrose as the first strokes of the hour +sounded deeply from the tower near. + +"Now they may be here any minute," said David solemnly, "now, don't let +us forget about Andrew's hat." + +But it was yet another quarter of an hour before Ruby's white nose was +seen coming steadily down the road. As it got nearer the excitement at +the gate grew so high that it did not seem likely anyone would think +about Andrew's hat, or of anything beside shouts of welcome, and +exclamations. + +"There's Dickie on the box; she's holding the whip. Mother's got baby +on her knee. They've seen us. They've seen the arch, hurrah!" + +Now they were quite near, and now it suddenly appeared that one person's +feelings about passing through the "triumphant" arch had not been +considered. This was Ruby. In all his long life he had gone many and +many a time through the white gate, but never had he seen it adorned by +bunches of green bushy things which shook in the wind. He did not mind +the jumping shouting little figures on each side of it in the least, but +the "triumphant" arch was an insult to a horse who had lived many years +at the vicarage, and knew every stick and stone near it. He planted his +fore feet firmly on the ground, put his head down, and refused to stir. + +"Come, my lad," said Andrew, "it's nowt to harm ye." + +But Ruby would not be reasoned with, or coaxed, or forced with the whip. + +It a little spoiled the triumph of the arrival, and Mr and Mrs +Hawthorne sat laughing in the carriage, while Andrew went through all +the forms of persuasion he knew. But at last Mrs Hawthorne had a good +thought. + +"Never mind, Andrew," she said, "we will all get out here, and walk +through this beautiful arch. Then you can drive round the other way to +the stable with the luggage." + +So after all it had not been made in vain, though to walk through it was +perhaps not quite so triumphant as driving would have been. It had, +however, some advantages. It was easier to tell all the news and to ask +all the questions as they walked up to the house together, than to shout +them out running by the side of the carriage. + +"_I_ thought of the decorations," said Nancy as they entered the house, +"and we all helped to put them up." + +"But," added David, "we shouldn't have been able to get them at all, if +Dr Budge hadn't helped us." + +The decorations were very much admired, and Ambrose, who was nervously +impatient to show the museum, soon thought that more than enough +attention had been given to them. He grew quite vexed with Pennie and +Nancy as they pointed out fresh beauties. + +"Let mother and father come upstairs now," he said impatiently. + +And at last they were on their way. + +"What can you have to show us at the very top of the house?" asked their +father as he climbed the last flight of steep stairs. + +Ambrose and David had run on before, and now stood one on each side of +the entrance, their whole figures big with importance, and too excited +even to smile. Ambrose had prepared a speech, but he could not remember +it all. + +"We are glad to welcome you to the new museum at Easney," he said to his +mother, "and, and--" + +"And we hope," added David, "that you will declare it open, and allow it +to be called the _Mary Hawthorne Museum_." + +It was a moment which had been looked forward to with eagerness and +delight during the past weeks, but when it really came it was even more +satisfactory. When Mr and Mrs Hawthorne had left home the museum was +a dusty neglected place which no one cared to enter; its very name +seemed to mean trouble and disgrace; its empty shelves were like a +painful reproach. + +How different it looked now! Bright, clean, prosperous, with not a +speck of dust anywhere, and as full as it could be of really interesting +specimens. The proud little owners displayed its treasures eagerly, and +there was a great deal to be told of how Dr Budge did this, and found +that; his name came so often that Mrs Hawthorne said: + +"I think it ought to be called the `Budge' Museum, for the doctor seems +to have had a great deal to do with it." + +"He's had everything to do with it," said David; "but you see, we helped +him first to find his jackdaw. That's how it all began." + +"Well," said Mr Hawthorne putting his hand on Ambrose's shoulder, "I +think it all began in another way. I hear that Dr Budge has had a good +and industrious pupil while I have been away, and that has made him so +willing to help you. I know now that I can trust Ambrose to do his +best, even though he cannot quite learn Latin in a month." + +There was only just room in the museum for the two boys and their father +and mother, but the other children stood outside peeping in at the open +door, and adding remarks from time to time. + +"You didn't present mother with the key," said Nancy, "and she hasn't +declared it open." + +"Here it is!" said David hurriedly. He pulled a large rusty key out of +his pocket. + +"It's the apple-closet key _really_," he said in a low tone to his +mother, "this door hasn't got one. You must just pretend to give it a +sort of twist." + +The party squeezed itself into the passage again, and Mrs Hawthorne +with a flourish of the big key threw open the door and exclaimed: + +"I declare this museum to be open, and that it is to be henceforth known +as the _Mary Hawthorne Museum_." + +The evening that followed the opening of the museum was counted by the +children as one of the very nicest they had ever had. It was celebrated +by sitting up to supper with their father and mother, and by telling and +hearing all that had passed while they had been away. + +"Nancy," said Pennie to her sister when it was all over and the two +little girls were in bed, "all our plans are finished; we've done all we +can for Kettles, and the boys have opened the museum. What shall we +think of next?" + +"Well, you're not sorry they're finished, are you?" said Nancy, for +Pennie had spoken sadly; "that's what we've been trying to do all the +time." + +"Of course I'm glad," said Pennie, "and yet I'm sorry too. It's like +reading a book you like very much. You want to finish it, but how sorry +you are when you come to the end." + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Penelope and the Others, by Amy Walton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PENELOPE AND THE OTHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 21231.txt or 21231.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/2/3/21231/ + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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