It happened, unfortunately, that when the lace sleeve had been so ruthlessly torn from Mabel's arm by the audacious monkey, it did not occurto that young lady to make sure of the other sleeve by taking it off and putting it into her pocket. Instead of acting thus prudently, she contented herself with tucking the lace up under its elastic band—a very treacherous safeguard, as it proved.
Our friend Harry, as the young squire of the party, was very attentive to the ladies, as indeed he always was; but it happened unfortunately that in handing a plate of buns to his opposite neighbour, Mabel, he became the innocent cause of another disaster to that most luckless damsel, for the lace that had been so unceremoniously tucked out of sight, having escaped from the elastic band, attached itself to the handle of Mabel's cup, as she reached out her hand to take the offered bun, and upset the whole of its contents, which, though the greater part of the fluid went into the saucer, quite sufficient found its way into Mabel's dress to put the finishing stroke to her misfortunes.
Hastily jumping up, and without waiting for any condolence or assistance, the excited girl rushed out of the room, followed by Julia, whose kind heart really ached to see her sister so distressed.
'Don't follow them out, my dears,' said Mrs. Norton to Dora and Annie Maitland, who had risen from their chairs to do so. 'I am sure,' shecontinued, 'that Mabel would much rather be without your sympathy, and you cannot possibly render her any assistance. Poor foolish girl,' added the lady, 'I cannot say I am sorry forher; but I well know what trouble she must give her mamma, whom I really am sorry for.'
'But, Laura dear,' inquired Mr. Norton, 'don't you suspect that some blame must attach itself to the young lady's mother? Faults, you know, like ill weeds, grow apace if they are not corrected; and the weeds, if suffered to grow rank, will destroy the beautiful flowers which we expected to see in our gardens. Is it not so, do you think?'
'Yes, you are quite right, no doubt,' replied the lady; 'and I fear that my poor friend, Mrs. Ellis, will find it very difficult, if not impossible, to correct faults, which, through weak indulgence, seem to have taken deep root. But,' added Mrs. Norton, rising to go, 'this is no place for sermonising. We have had a pleasant day, notwithstanding the troubles of our young friends; we had better look after them now, and wend our way homewards.'
'No, my dear, I am determined that Mabel shall not go with her sister to Mrs. Maitland's juvenile party. You over-ruled my wish yesterday, and suffered her to go to the Gardens, and I think you have been properly punished for that' (alluding to the sleeves). 'To-day I insist on having my way. It is most painful to me to see, as I cannot help doing, that through your weakness of character, or want of discipline, Mabel has grown up to be a plague to us, instead of a comfort.'
This unwelcome truth was uttered by Mr. Ellis before he left home on the morning after the visit to the Gardens; and he added, before he left the room:
'I am very glad that your sister, Aunt Mary, is coming home this week, for I intend to ask her as a particular favour to take Mabel under her care. I wish we had sent her to Oak Villa twelve months ago; we might have been spared much trouble.'
This parting rebuke and warning had the usual effect of making Mrs. Ellis very nervous; shecould not bear the thought of communicating the ill news it contained to Mabel. She had come to have almost a childish dread of the girl's temper, yet she knew well that her husband's mandate must be obeyed. There could no greater trial come to Mabel, at least so she thought, than to deprive her of the pleasure of this visit; and the indulgent mamma shrunk with great pain from the task, which had been imposed upon her: yet there was no escape.
As the girls had finished breakfast and left the room before their papa went out, they of course had not heard his disagreeable intimation, and they were now in their own rooms, looking over their dresses.
'What will you do, Mabel?' inquired Julia, 'about your silk frock? You cannot possibly wear it to-day; it is quite spoiled in front with the tea. I know mamma did not notice it last night, though she and papa were so angry about your wearing it, and about the sleeves too.'
'Now just mind your own business, if you please,' said the uncourteous Mabel. 'I hear,' she added, 'that papa has gone out, so I shall go down and coax mamma to get a dress for me. I have seen plenty of pretty dresses in the shop windows, some of them very cheap; I dare say she won't object to buy me one.'
After the delivery of this speech Mabel hastilyleft the room, and, as she had expected, found her mamma still seated in the breakfast-room, but looking very sad.
She had not, however, at allexpectedto hear the unwelcome truth which had now to be told, and which greeted her on the first mention of a new dress.
'You need not trouble yourself about a new dress, my dear Mabel,' said her mother, sorrowfully. 'Your papa says, that he will not allow you to go with your sister to Mrs. Maitland's party.'
'Not to go!' exclaimed the astonished girl; 'and doyou, mamma, say that I am not to go?' she inquired, actually stamping her foot in rage.
'Ihave no say in the matter, Mabel,' replied her mother; 'your papa's will must be obeyed. He thinks that it is my fault that you are so proud and wilful, and he has made up his mind to send you next week to your aunt Mary, where you will be taught and disciplined, and he hopes in time become a sensible girl, like your cousin Clara.'
'Mamma, mamma!' exclaimed the passionate girl, with vehemence, 'I hate Clara, and Aunt Mary too. I would rather die than go and live at Oak Villa, with that cross-grained old aunt and stupid cousin.'
'Mabel,' said Mrs. Ellis, greatly shocked at hearing such expressions, 'it is very wicked of you to give way to your passion, and to makesuch unjust remarks as you have made, both of your aunt and cousins. Neither is your aunt cross, nor your cousin Clara stupid; though cross if they were, you would still be obliged to submit to your papa's decision. Remember,' continued Mrs. Ellis, 'you have brought the trouble upon yourself, and you have been repeatedly warned of the consequences if you did not amend. Now it is too late, for I am persuaded that nothing either you or I could say would alter your papa's determination.'
A passionate burst of tears was all the reply that the humbled, but not penitent, Mabel, could make. She sat herself down on a low stool, and covering her face with her hands, continued to cry and sob, in spite of the kind remonstrances of her mamma, and even of her promises to intercede for her. Mabel knew that what her mother had before stated was quite true, and that all intercession with papa now would be in vain; and she was too much absorbed in selfish sorrow to care anything, even if she thought anything, of the pain she was giving to her poor mother, though she well knew that any trouble of mind increased the malady with which that lady was affected. Her own mortification, her own bitter disappointment, it was the thought of these that kept the sluices of sorrow open such an unreasonable time; and when Julia, on coming into theroom, went to speak some words of comfort to her sister, she received a blow on the face which made her nose bleed, though certainly it was not intended, for the passionate girl was not aware of Julia's close proximity, as she threw out her hand only to indicate that she wanted no condolence.
This accident, however, had the beneficial effect, for a time, of turning the current of Mabel's ideas from self. She was indeed shocked to see what she had done, though kind-hearted Julia made light of the blow, and declared it did not pain her at all.
'I am sure you must all hate me—I think everybody hates me,' cried impetuous Mabel; 'but I didn't mean to hurt you, Julia, and I am very, very sorry for what I have done.'
'Oh, I know you are,' replied her sister; 'don't think anything more about it. And don't cry any more, dear; I can't bear to see you cry;' and she added in a whisper, 'It makes mamma ill.'
This little episode had done more to convince Mrs. Ellis of the wisdom of her husband's plan, with regard to his daughter Mabel, than all that he had said previously on the subject; and she made up her mind to offer no opposition to anything he might propose. Coming to this conclusion, she dismissed Mabel and Julia, under the plea that it was absolutely necessary that she should remain quiet for a time.
The morning after the visit to the Gardens was temptingly fine; and at breakfast-time, Harry Maitland proposed a trip to the Kew Gardens, where, he said, there would be no fear of monkey tricks, and they would have the satisfaction of seeing specimens of the famous blue gum tree.
'But you have forgotten, I think,' said his cousin Dora, 'that we are expecting two of your school-fellows and their two sisters; Mabel and Julia Ellis, and the vicar's son and daughter, Robert and Edith Newland.'
'Oh yes, I had quite forgotten the party,' replied Harry; 'I beg everybody's pardon for being so careless. I will do as you suggest, aunt, and help Dora and Annie to prepare for the guests.'
'Thank you, my dear,' said Mrs. Maitland; 'I shall be glad to avail myself of your services, especially as I hear your cousins wish to have tea on the lawn, where there will be plenty of room for you to display your taste. I am only sorry that our good neighbour Miss Livesay, and her niece Clara, have not yet come home; sothat we shall not have the pleasure of their company.'
'O, we are all very sorry on that account,' said Dora, 'for there is no one like Aunt Mary, as we call her, for making everybody feel happy and joyful. We call her thesunbeam,' added Dora; 'and Clara Beaumont we call theevening star, she is so gentle and quiet, though she is quicker at her lessons than we are, a great deal.'
'I remember Clara,' said Harry Maitland; 'poor girl, I think she was in mourning for her father when I was here in the winter. I thought she was a very nice girl, and I too am sorry that she won't be here this afternoon.'
'I believe Miss Livesay is expected home to-morrow,' said Mrs. Maitland, 'so you will have an opportunity of meeting with both her and her niece, Harry; but now, young people, you must set yourself to work, for I have many things to arrange in household matters, and can have nothing to do with decoration. Fruits and flowers, festoons and garlands, I leave entirely in your hands; I have the fullest confidence in your taste,' added the lady, laughing, and bidding them good-morning, and wishing them all success in their delightful occupation.
The Laurels, or Laurel Villa, as it was sometimes called, was a most desirable residence. Exactly like Oak Villa, its next-door neighbour,in size and appearance, so far as the house was concerned; but the gardens differed very materially, Mr. Maitland's being so well stocked, or so over-stocked with laurels, that they had actually given a name to the pleasant abode.
We won't complain of them, for they formed a delightful shade to many a rustic seat in the large back garden, and kept quite secluded the front of the house. The breakfast-room, which was at the back part of the house, opened on to the lawn with large folding glass doors; over which the balcony of the drawing-room formed a pleasant and very convenient shade in the summer season, at which time it rejoiced in a profusion of sweet-scented clematis, whose delicate tendrils hung luxuriantly over the balustrade, and in some places even swept the gravel walk.
The balcony itself was filled with choice flowers, and was attended to with great care, by the lady of the villa herself. The wall surrounding the garden was almost hidden by the profusion of laurels, and half a dozen rather tall trees at the bottom of the garden formed a picturesque background to the whole. The smooth-shaven lawn must not be unmentioned; it made a delightful promenade; it had been the scene of many a joyous party, and it was to be the arena on which the young invited guests of to-day were to bear witness to the artistic taste, as wellas to do justice to the profusion of good things provided by their kind entertainers.
'I hope Maurice Firman won't play any of his foolish pranks to-day,' said Harry. 'He is always getting into trouble at school, yet the boys like him because he is so good-natured, and so ready to help them with their lessons; he seems as if he could not keep out of mischief. Edward is quite a different fellow, and his sisters, Ella and Lucy, are very nice girls; but they always seem afraid of Maurice, he is so fond of practical jokes.'
'I hope he won't play any while he is here,' said Dora. 'I was going to ask mamma to let us have her gold and purple cups and saucers, but if Maurice Firman is so mischievous, they might be broken.'
'Oh, as to that,' said Harry, 'I don't suppose he would attack the tea equipage, though he is a very good hand at clearing bread-and-butter plates,' he added, laughing; 'and I expect if that Miss Mabel Ellis comes, that we shall have a scene, for he is sure to turn her into ridicule.'
'Oh, I hope he wouldn't be so rude,' said Annie Maitland; 'surely he knows better how to behave himself when he is in company, and where there are young ladies?'
'I am not at all sure of him, Cousin Annie,' said Harry; 'but I do hope that silly conceited girl will not be here, to put Maurice to the test.'
'I really don't think that she will come,' said Dora; 'her papa appeared to be so angry about her going with us yesterday, that she told me that he perhaps would not give his consent to her being of our party to-day.'
'Well done, Mr. Ellis!' said Harry. 'Keep the young lady at home; we can do much better without than with her.'
'But Julia, I am sure, will not like to come without her sister,' said Annie. 'I don't think she would enjoy herself, if Mabel were not here.'
'Ah, you judge other people's feelings by your own, my kind cousin,' said the patronising Harry; 'you mustn't always do that, though I believe there is some truth in what you say about Julia Ellis.'
A silvery laugh ringing from the balcony just then made the young party look up, when they saw Mrs. Maitland, who was busy watering and rearranging her flowers, and who had been amused at her nephew's sententious speech.
'Doesn't Harry lay down the law well, mamma?' inquired Dora. 'I think,' she added, 'he will make a good barrister; he is beginning to practise so early.'
'I hope he willpractise, as well as preach,' replied his aunt, laughing; 'example, you know, my dear boy, is better than precept,' she added, addressing herself to Harry.
'But we boys and girls require both, aunt; and I and my cousins ought to be very good, for I am sure we have both,' said the polite young gentleman, with a bow.
'At present you are all that I could wish you, my dears,' replied Mrs. Maitland; 'and I can only say now, "Go on and prosper."'
'Mamma, mamma dear, don't go just this minute,' cried Dora, as Mrs. Maitland was retreating through the drawing-room window; 'Harry has a favour to ask of you.'
'Well, what is it, Mr. Special Pleader?' inquired the lady, resuming her place on the balcony.
'Now, aunt,' said Harry, laughing, 'I don't think it is quite fair of my cousins toengageme in such a trifling matter, especially as I am not likely to get anything for mybrief, except perhaps a rebuke from you.'
'Well, go on, my good sir,' said his aunt; 'I have some curiosity to learn what you have to do in the Court of Request to-day.'
'It is simply this,' replied Harry; 'my instructions are to plead for the loan of the purple and gold tea equipage, in order to make a magnificent display before the astonished eyes of a parcel of school girls and boys. That's my case, madam,' added the juvenile pleader, with a bow. 'I beg to say,' he added, after amoment's pause, 'thatIam no advocate in this cause; I leave it entirely in the judge's hands.'
'Yes, we leave it in your hands, mamma,' said both the girls; 'we think we have confided our case to a very one-sided lawyer, and that one side is certainly against his clients.'
'I am sorry to say "no" to any petition you make, my dears,' said the kind lady; 'but prudence forbids my granting your request to-day, as misfortunes will happen, and are very likely to happen, where such a young gentleman as you describe Master Maurice Firman to be is of the party. Besides, I really think myself,' added prudent mamma, 'that the white and green tea service, though not so gorgeous as purple and gold, will be much more suitable for your present entertainment.'
'All right, aunt,' 'All right, dear mamma,' was the response to this decision.
Fortunately, in Mrs. Maitland's family, what mamma said was always right with her daughters, and this saved a world of trouble.
The happy trio went on with their preparations, and when the table was brought out on to the lawn, and had received not only the pure white and green tea-service, but the very elegant floral decorations invented by the cousins, it really had a most imposing appearance, and was pronounced by the highest authority to be perfect.
'Well, now we have prepared the feast, or at least adorned it,' said Harry, 'I think we had better look after our own adornment, for we don't appear to be in a very fit state to receive visitors—at least I can answer for myself that I am not;' and he held up his hands in proof of this affirmation, though it was evident that Dora and Annie needed no such proof, as they were pretty much in the same condition.
The young people had performed their ablutions, and were together again on the grass plot admiring their own handiwork, or rearranging here and there leaf or fern-wreath, when a ringing at the bell sounded an arrival, and Harry and his cousins met and saluted their young friends, the Firmans, in the hall: two very nice-looking girls and their two brothers, Maurice and Edward, of whom my readers have heard before.
'You will take the young gentlemen into the garden with you, dear Harry,' said Mrs. Maitland, who had come out of the dining-room to salute the guests, 'and Dora and Annie will go with the young ladies to the bedroom.'
'Mamma thinks, Mrs. Maitland,' said the eldest Miss Firman, whose name was Lucy, 'that we are too large a party to come of one family; she is afraid of giving you trouble.'
'Not in the least, my dear Lucy,' replied the kind lady. 'I wonder,' she added, 'what yourmamma would say if she knew that we turned you out of doors as soon as you came.'
Lucy looked up inquiringly, and Dora explained laughingly:
'Mamma means, Lucy, that we are all going to drink tea out of doors.'
'Oh, thatwillbe delightful!' exclaimed both Lucy and Ella, as they followed their young friends upstairs to remove their hats and jackets; Harry having done as his aunt had suggested, taken Maurice and Edward down the steps into the garden in the meantime. The young gentleman was well aware that he had rather a rough customer to deal with in Master Maurice, as he had more than once been the object of his school-fellow's practical jokes; so he thought proper to give him a caution.
'Now, I say, Maurice,' began Harry Maitland, 'don't let's have any of your school-boy tricks here, that's a good fellow; you know we have young ladies to deal with this afternoon, and we must try to please them.'
'Oh, I'm not going to do anything foolish; don't be afraid, old fellow,' said his companion. 'Why, Harry, you look as solemn as though you expected me to fly away with the tea-table and all the good things upon it,' he remarked, as he glanced with a well-satisfied and complacent look at the said tea-table; and added, 'I assure youthat I don't mean to do anything so shocking, but shall content myself with a moderate share of the excellent provisions with which it is stocked.'
This speech was delivered with mock gravity, and our friend Harry was fain to be satisfied with the promise, as the young ladies just then made their appearance, and there was a very general exclamation of pleasure and admiration at the really pretty and tasteful surroundings.
Another ring at the bell announced more visitors, and the good vicar's children, Robert and Edith Newlove, made their appearance on the top of the steps, and soon joined the rest in their admiration of what had been effected by the artistic efforts of their young friends. Harry cordially greeted his school companion and especial favourite, Robert Newlove, while Dora and Annie welcomed with a kiss his gentle sister Edith; and soon the happy party were seated round the table, where Dora was to preside, though she had much wished that her mamma should take that important office upon herself.
'I thought you told me that Mabel and Julia Ellis were to be here, Dora,' said Edith Newlove, who was seated near her friend. 'Are they not coming?' she inquired.
'I really don't know how it will be,' replied Dora, quietly, for she did not wish to attract notice. 'Julia I hope will be here soon, but Ifear Mabel will not be permitted to come; her papa is very much displeased with her.'
Another ring at the bell made the young party suspend operations for a few minutes, and Julia Ellis received a cordial welcome, and soon found a seat near Harry Maitland, who had risen to receive her.
Maurice Firman, not wishing to be less courteous than his friend Harry, had also risen from his seat, but very unfortunately—or shall I say clumsily?—in doing so, the contents of his cup went over on to his trousers, and he was too much engaged in keeping off the hot beverage from touching his skin, to deal in matters of courtesy.
'What a clumsy fellow you are, Maurice,' said his brother Edward; 'always getting into hot water.'
'Oh, don't bother!' exclaimed Maurice, petulantly, and still shaking his trousers. 'I'd rather get into hot water than have the hot water poured upon me;' and having said, as he thought, a witty thing, and made the whole party laugh (which I must confess they had all been very much inclined to do before at his expense), he seated himself again at the table, cooling down as the hot beverage had done, and trying to make himself agreeable to his young friends by his very lively remarks, of which he had a good store.
'Why is your sister Mabel not with you,Julia?' inquired Lucy Firman. 'I hope she is not unwell?' she added, seeing the colour rise on the cheeks of the poor girl.
'Mrs. Ellis is not very well,' replied Dora Maitland, answering for her friend; while Harry, in order to check further inquiries, asked Maurice Firman if he had ever been to the Zoological Gardens.
'I should just think I had,' replied Maurice, with a very significant shake of the head; 'but you won't catch me there again in a hurry. Why, I tumbled over into the bear's den, or cage, or whatever you call it; and if Master Bruin had been at the bottom of the pole, instead of the top, I can't tell you where my poll would have been now. Fortunately, the keeper was there, and I was got out somehow or other, I can't tell you how, for I was insensible when they picked me up; and that was no wonder, for I think I could not have been verysensiblewhen I tumbled over. When I came round I found myself lying on my own bed, and mamma, and the doctor, and the girls all crying: no, the doctor wasn't crying—doctors never do cry, I suppose, it is beneath their dignity; but the others made fuss enough, and it was nearly a month before I was able to go out again. And depend upon it, when I did go out, I didn't walk to the Zoological Gardens, for I can't bearthe name of the place.' Maurice doubtless thought that he had made a good hit, but alas! it only fell on one pair of ears.
Fortunately the tea passed over without any other mishap than the upsetting of the cup. Maurice Firman was certainly the chief spokesman of the party; and though I am compelled to admit that he displayed great attachment for plates of cake and bread and butter, I am also bound in justice to say that he was not at all wanting in courtesy to the young ladies, by whom he was surrounded. Everything, indeed, was pleasant, and as it should be, and the now antiquated game of croquet was proposed, as soon as the table with its adjuncts could be removed.
'Now I'll toss this ball, and catch it ten times running, with one hand, while you are waiting for your game,' cried the impatient Maurice; and though there was a general exclamation of 'No, no, not until the table is cleared!' away went the ball into the air, and returned safely into the hand that sent it.
The next descent, however, was a disastrous one, for the ball fell exactly in the middle of the table, smashing more than one of the bread-and-butter plates, to the great distress and consternation of the whole party.
'Oh, how fortunate it is that we had not the best china tea-things,' said Dora; 'they are veryexpensive ones. It does not matter much about these; we can easily get them matched.'
'Well, I amvery verysorry,' said the author of the mischief; 'but I'll save up all my pocket-money, and buy some more plates,' he added.
'No, no, you won't,' said a kind voice from the balcony; and on Maurice looking up, he saw Mrs. Maitland, who had come out of the drawing-room to ascertain the cause of the commotion. 'Don't let this trifling accident spoil your sport, dear Maurice,' said the lady, smiling on the impetuous yet generous-hearted boy; 'only take care that you do not hurt your young friends, the ladies, by too rough play.' Having given this necessary caution, Mrs. Maitland left them to their sports, and as the unfortunate breakage had been the means of checking somewhat of the exuberant spirits of the youthful offender, everything went on very satisfactorily, and game succeeded game, with great amiability, until an unfortunate cat, belonging to Aunt Mary, which had accustomed itself to take an evening's promenade along the garden wall, made her usual appearance, and attracted the attention of the mischief-loving Maurice.
'Oh, I must have a fling at that cat,' cried that young gentleman, taking up a rather thick piece of stick from the bushes. 'Now see if I don't hit her right down from the wall,' he added;and he was just going to suit the action to the word, when he felt his arms pinioned from behind, and tried in vain to make his escape.
The cat, however, was more fortunate, for seeing that she had attracted attention, and very likely having had some acquaintance with school-boy tricks, she very prudently contented herself with a short walk this evening, and quietly slipped down into her own domain before the pinioned arms were set at liberty.
'There, now you may go, old fellow,' said Harry Maitland, releasing the arms, which he had held so tightly that Maurice was fain to rub them violently to restore the circulation, while the whole party laughed heartily at his expense.
'I wish Harry was at home with you sometimes,' said Edward Firman, who did not seem at all to relish his boisterous ways.
'I wish he was,' replied Maurice, who looked rather red and angry at having been so ignominiously made captive. 'But you don't think,' he added, 'that I would let him master me so easily as he has done now, Ned; I was taken unawares, and that's not fair.'
'But that was the only way to save the poor cat,' said Dora Maitland: 'she might have been killed if you had struck her with that large piece of wood; and I think Cousin Harry did quite right in holding your arms.'
'Such a fuss about a cat!' cried Maurice, still smarting under the supposed affront. 'You should see how I served one the other day, when she came prowling about the house to steal anything she could lay hold of.'
'Don't let him tell—don't let him tell it, 'cried both Lucy and Ethel Firman; 'it is a great shame of you, Maurice, to boast of your own bad deeds,' said both his sisters; and as the servants were just then again setting out the table with refreshments, the young party were saved the infliction of hearing an exploit boasted of, which would certainly have lowered Maurice Firman considerably in the eyes of all present.
'I did not intend to hurt you, Maurice,' said Harry Maitland, as he clapped his friend on the back, and held out his hand in token of amity.
'Oh, I know that,' replied the boy; 'I shouldn't play tricks with cats where there are girls.'
'Nor at all, I think,' responded his friend; 'it is a cowardly thing to hurt a dumb creature that cannot speak or fight for itself.'
'Can't they, though!' cried Maurice; 'I know, if they don't speak, they can make a horrible outcry. And as to fighting, just look here, my boy, what do you think of that for a scratch, which a wretch of a cat gave me because I took up her kitten and made it squall? Why, sheflew at me like mad, and before I could put the kitten down, she gave me this wound;' and Maurice uncovered his wrist, and showed a very red and angry-looking scratch.
'It's your own fault; you should let the cats alone,' said his sisters. 'Mamma is always scolding you for teasing them.'
'Well, I think we have had enough of cats,' said Robert Newlove; 'I don't like them myself, but I should be very sorry to hurt them;' and in this charitable declaration he was seconded by the whole party, Maurice excepted.
We must now bid good-night to our young friends, as they will soon do to each other. Aunt Mary and Clara are expected home to-morrow, and that careful domestic of hers, Bridget Morley, who has lived so many years at Oak Villa, has got everything in apple-pie order for her much-esteemed mistress, and a lovely brood of chickens, which have been hatched since they went away, to present to the young lady who has the charge of all the poultry.
Before we congratulate ourselves on Aunt Mary's return home, let us just take a look at thedisappointed Mabel, after her sister Julia had gone to the tea-party.
It was in vain that her too indulgent mother tried to soften her affliction, very injudiciously, we think, as every remark of hers only elicited a fresh burst of feeling; and Mrs. Ellis felt it quite a relief when the self-tormenting girl rose up hastily and retreated to her bedroom, there to ponder over, not her own delinquencies, we fear, but the wrongs inflicted on her by others.
A little voice which said, 'May I come in, Mabel?' roused her for a moment, and she answered very crossly: 'What is it you want, Fred? I wish you would not come teasing me. Go away; I don't want any of you.
'I only want to show you the nice box of puzzles papa has brought home for me,' replied Freddy. 'I want you, Mabel dear, to help me to put it together. I won't tease you.'
'I don't want to see your box, and I shan't open the door,' said the ungracious girl. 'Take your box away, and get some one else to help you to put your puzzle together,' she added; and poor Fred, thus rudely repressed, turned to wend his way downstairs again. Unfortunately, his foot caught the fringe of the door-mat, which caused him to fall heavily and strike his head against the railing of the banisters, while the pretty box, escaping from his hand, went rightdown the stairs into the hall, where it burst open, and scattered the inclosed pieces right and left.
Mabel was now quite roused, and fearing that her papa, attracted by the noise, might come up to see what was the matter, rather than being moved by any sisterly feeling, she reluctantly opened the door, and lifted up the prostrate Freddy, who, although he had received a rather severe blow on the forehead from coming in contact with the railings, was too much of a man to cry, and seemed more anxious about the fate of his new plaything, than desirous of obtaining either aid or sympathy; nor was he very likely to obtain either from Mabel, though she took him into her room to scold him for what he had done.
'Now just see what you have done,' said the selfish girl, 'by bringing up that nasty box, and then letting it fall down the stairs. I hear papa's voice in the hall; he will most likely come up here, and I shall get scolded for your stupidity.'
'I will go down to him,' said Freddy, 'and then I can tell him all about the box falling; papa needn't come up here.'
'How came you to let your box fall, Fred?' inquired Mr. Ellis, helping the boy to pick up the scattered pieces.
'I caught my foot in the fringe of the bedroom mat, papa,' replied Freddy; 'I am so sorry the box is broken.'
'Yes, so am I,' said his father; 'but why did you take it upstairs? that is what I should like to know.'
As there was no answer returned to this question, Mr. Ellis stated the truth himself.
'I suppose,' he continued, 'you went to show it to your sister Mabel—was that it?'
'Yes, papa,' said the boy, still holding down his head; and kind papa, seeing there was something wrong, would not then press further questions on his little boy, though he remarked to his wife, when they were again seated, that he should indeed be very glad when Mabel was under the care of someone who knew how to manage her, for he was quite disgusted with her exhibitions of temper.
'My sister will I dare say be here to-morrow,' said Mrs. Ellis; 'and I will tell her what you wish respecting Mabel, though I know she does not like the poor girl: and Mabel will find Oak Villa very different to home, I am afraid.'
'That is not what I am afraid of,' replied Mr. Ellis; 'my fear is, that Miss Livesay will find the girl so intolerable, that we shall soon have her back on our hands again.'
'Oh, Arthur! you are so very severe in your remarks,' said the too indulgent mother. 'My sister is very patient, and very kind to children, though she is so firm.'
'Which I am sorry to say you are not, my dear; and it is this want of firmness which occasions all the mischief,' said the gentleman; adding, rather bitterly, 'You order a thing to be done, but you take no care to see your orders enforced, and thus we are plagued with unruly children and wilful servants.'
'Well, dear, you are always finding fault with me, whatever I do,' said the poor self-afflicted lady, though she must have felt that what her good husband had said was quite true; and well would it have been for him, for herself, and indeed for the whole household, if, instead of considering herself a martyr, she had set to work to amend the errors which he had pointed out; but, alas! we don't see ourselves as others see us.
On the evening of the day after the juvenile party, a cab drove up to the garden gate of Oak Villa, and Dora and Annie Maitland, who had been on the look-out for some time at the window of an upper room, had the satisfaction of seeing their kind preceptress, and her niece Clara Beaumont, alight from it, receiving and giving at the same time the welcome nod and smile of recognition. But here is the trusty Bridget, with her merry face beaming with gladness, and her voice almost tremulous with joy, for she has had rather a dull time of it while her mistress and Clara have been away; though Jane Somers, a young girl living not far off from Oak Villa, came regularly to sleep at the house.
'Well, Bridget, and how have you been all this time? not idle, I can see at the first glance,' said Aunt Mary, looking round at the brightly-polished furniture and fire-irons.
'Oh no, ma'am, I don't think anybody can be idle at your house,' replied Bridget; 'and I have had plenty to do, for I have cleaned the house from top to bottom, and have taken care of the cat and the fowls. And oh, Miss Clara, the old hen has brought out such a beautiful set of chickens as you never seed afore; but I dare say you be too tired to come and look at them now,' added Bridget.
'Yes, we are too tired now,' said Miss Livesay, answering for her niece; 'we want to take off our wraps, and have some tea. Besides, you forget, my good woman,' added her mistress, 'that the chickens are now all hidden under their mother's wing, and she wouldn't suffer us to disturb them.'
'Dear me, I quite forgot that,' said Bridget, as she busied herself in assisting in the removal ofcloaks and shawls, and carrying off trunks and band-boxes; one of the latter of which her kind mistress told her was for her, and contained a new cap and bonnet.
'Oh, ma'am, you are so kind,' said the pleased domestic; 'you never forget anyone.' And she hurried away with her load, with a glad tear glistening in her eye.
It was quite true what Bridget had said about Aunt Mary—she was indeed kind-hearted and open-handed: but with all this she was not foolishly indulgent. Her judgment was correct, and having made up her mind as to what was the right course to pursue, she took pains to see her plans carried out. Often and often had she remonstrated with her sister, Mrs. Ellis, on her laxity of discipline, both with her children and servants; and sometimes she had ventured, though that perhaps was not very wise, to set their mutual friend Mrs. Maitland before her as a pattern for mothers and mistresses. This, however, invariably produced some angry retort, or at least a flood of tears, and ended with a secret determination on the part of the elder sister to say no more on the subject, but permit things to take their course; though she had made up her mind on coming home to do as Mr. Ellis had once suggested to her, that was, to receive Mabel as one of her pupils.
This was entirely with the idea of relieving her sister, and effecting a reformation, if possible, in the character of her niece; though she almost dreaded the introduction of such an element of discord into their peaceful and happy household. Mabel, we have seen, had a great dislike to her gentle cousin Clara, perhaps because she had heard her praises often sounded; and she disliked her Aunt Mary quite as much, though it would have been difficult for her to have given a 'reason why,' if it had been asked for.
'I shall hate them both, I know I shall,' said Mabel to her sister Julia, on the morning of the day on which Miss Livesay was expected to come to Camden Terrace. 'There will be lessons and work, lessons and work, all the day long. I shall be miserable, I know I shall; and I'll tell mamma so, and beg of her not to let me go.'
'No, don't do that, Mabel; you will only make poor mamma unhappy, and papa angry,' said the wise younger sister; and she added, 'I wish I could go to Oak Villa. I like Cousin Clara very much, and Dora and Annie Maitland too; I am sure you will find them very nice companions, all of them.'
'Oh yes, it's all very fine what you are saying,' said Mabel; 'but I know very well that you only want to get rid of me, and so does papa, forI heard him say so; and I think it's unkind and cruel of you both,' exclaimed the angry girl.
'Well, at any rate, you are not going very far away from us,' said Julia; 'it is only a nice walk from Oak Villa to our house, so I and Freddy can come and see you often, and you can come to see us.'
Just then a cab was heard to stop at the door, and the dreaded lady and her niece Clara alighted, each with parcels in their hands; presents, no doubt, to the small fry who had climbed up to the window to see who was coming.
'Now don't look so cross, Mabel; don't let Aunt Mary see that you don't like to go to Oak Villa,' entreated Julia.
'But I shall let her see!' replied the perverse girl; 'and Ishalltell her so, too—see if I don't,' she added, nodding her head; though, when she came into the presence of that good lady, she had not a word to say for herself, such a charm is there in the manner of some people to overawe presumption.
Mabel and Julia made their appearance in the dining-room, just after the first kindly greetings and affectionate salutations of the sisters had been exchanged, and the same process had to be gone over with cousins and aunt, the latter showing no difference whatever in the warm embrace of Mabel and Julia, though we wellknow the great difference there was in her estimate of the character of the two girls.
'Well, my dear Mabel,' said Miss Livesay, after a little conference had been held, 'so it appears your papa and mamma wish that we should become better acquainted with each other. Shall you like to pay me a visit at Oak Villa?'
Here was a grand opportunity for Mabel to display her boasted courage, and to speak her mind; instead of which, she only looked very sad, hung down her head, and, rudely enough, made no reply; while her aunt said, with a smile:
'That is well; silence gives consent. So you had better go, my dear, and get ready, for I do not wish to keep the cabman waiting; and I have just a few words to say to your mamma. Clara and Julia will therefore go upstairs with you.'
All this was said kindly, but very decidedly: it was evident that there was no appeal to be made, no authority to be questioned; and with hardly suppressed passion and tears, the vanquished girl quitted the room with her sister and cousin.
'And now, my dear Ada,' said Miss Livesay to her sister, 'see what are the fruits of your over-indulgence, or want of firmness! They are not very lovely, are they? Will you not take your good husband's advice, and strive against this constitutional weakness, which is so detrimental to your happiness, to your husband's comfort, and to your children's welfare?'
'I can't be always scolding the children, Mary,' replied Mrs. Ellis, peevishly. 'It isn't my fault, surely, that Mabel is so ill-tempered and disobedient, and yet you and Arthur just talk to me as if it were.'
'And in a great measure, I think, it is your fault, my sister,' said the kind monitor. 'Children should be watched from infancy; tenderly cared for in mind as well as body. Good seed must be sown then, and the little weeds which we are apt to disregard, or what is worse, cherish, in our folly, must be rooted out while the soil is moist, and the root is not deep in the ground. Never laugh at childish exhibitions of temper, nor for the sake ofpeacegive way to the doctrine ofexpediency, injurious alike to nations and to families.'
Here poor Mrs. Ellis interposed; she could never sit out a long sermon, especially one that she really could not understand. So she interrupted Aunt Mary's profitable discourse by promising to try, when Mabel had gone away, to be more careful for the future, though she candidly admitted that she did not know how to begin to make any change, as Mabel was the only one of the children who gave her any trouble. And yet the weeds were growing up thick and strong inMaster Freddy, who just then put his head in at the door, the little ones being behind him, and all running to salute their aunt, and receiving from her a loving embrace, as well as the very pretty playthings which were spread out on the table for their acceptance and admiration. Nor had Mabel and Julia been forgotten by their aunt; both a workbox and a writing-case were laid aside for the latter: those intended for her sister Miss Livesay had not brought, thinking it unnecessary, as Mabel was to return with her to Oak Villa.
'Well, my dear Mabel,' said Aunt Mary, as the two girls entered the room; 'so you are equipped and ready for a start, I see. I do hope you will like your new mode of life, and your young companion's society. Clara, I know, will be delighted to have a companion in her visits to our poor people: and you, I trust, will soon learn to take an interest in them.'
There was no response to this kind speech from the unamiable girl; and with the somewhat painful feeling on the part of Miss Livesay that she was going to introduce into her hitherto peaceful household the apple of discord, she rose to take leave, with the promise, however, of renewing her visit in the next week if all things went on well.
Mabel was quick enough to notice this speech:she would have known that it had reference to herself, even if it had not been accompanied by a smile and a nod from her aunt; and the naughty pride in her heart made her resent it, though she felt obliged to submit.
There were loving adieus from all but Master Freddy, who said to his sister, as she shook hands with him:
'Good-bye, Mabel; I'm glad you're going, you are always so cross with us.'
And now an entirely new mode of life was presented to Mabel; and Miss Livesay found, as, indeed, she had expected to find, a fruitful source of trouble in her newly adopted pupil. Of course, on the first day of Mabel's arrival at Oak Villa there were no lessons talked about, and the young ladies next door were not expected to resume their school duties, until the Monday following Miss Livesay's return home; so there was a little time afforded for breakingout, and breakingin. We shall see how it was employed.
This afternoon had been a very pleasant one; the chickens had been looked at and greatly admired; flowers, the great favourites both of aunt and niece, Mabel did not care for, thoughshe liked, as we have seen, to deck herself in gay colours. In the house they had plenty of amusement, with books and pretty specimens of work of various kinds from the ready fingers and artistic taste of Aunt Mary and Clara; indeed, what had been produced by their skill, industry, and steady perseverance, was worthy of admiration. To Mabel's astonishment, nine o'clock struck, and she had not yet finished her pleasant occupation of examining, when her aunt said:
'Now, my dears, it is your bed-time.'
Clara instantly began to put away books and work, but Mabel exclaimed:
'Oh, aunt! must we go to bed so soon? I never go till ten, at home!'
'Perhaps you never rise at six in the morning?' replied Miss Livesay; 'we do. And I dare say you have heard the old proverb—
'"Early to bed, and early to rise,Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise."'
'I go to bed when I like, and I get up when I like, at home,' said Mabel, without noticing the unwelcome quotation.
'Wehave nolikesanddislikeshere, my dear Mabel,' said her aunt. 'We do what we know to be our duty, and you will have to do the same. Good-night!'
An affectionate kiss accompanied thegood-night; Mabel saw that it was adecidedone;there was no room for further parley, and the short time spent by the proud and petulant girl at Oak Villa gave signs of an authority, to which she must of necessity submit, as from it there could be no appeal.
'Mabel dear, it is time to get up; don't you hear the bell ringing?' said Clara, as she jumped out of bed and began to dress. The sleepy-headed girl turned lazily round, but did not seem to be at all disposed to attend to the summons.
'Youmustget up; indeed you must!' urged Clara, gently shaking her cousin by the shoulder. 'I shall not have done all I have to do before prayers, if we don't make haste.'
'Why, what have we to do before breakfast? And what time do you have breakfast?' drowsily inquired Mabel, rising, however, at this second appeal of her cousin's.
'We have prayers at eight, then breakfast; but I have my chickens to feed, and my lessons to prepare before that time,' said Clara.
'Lessons before breakfast! Oh, I shall hate that!' exclaimed Mabel. 'I hope they are not hard ones, for I shall never learn them if they are.'
'Well, I don't know what you call hard,' replied her cousin. 'I find mine rather difficult sometimes, but Aunt Mary is so kind in explaining everything, that it is quite a pleasure to learn with her.'
'I'm sure I shouldn't think her kind,' said the ungrateful Mabel. 'I can't bear people that are so prim and stiff as Aunt Mary is, always seeming determined to make you do just what they like, whether you wish it or not.'
'Oh, Mabel!' said her cousin, 'I wonder how you can speak so disrespectfully of dear Aunt Mary; and what you are saying is quite untrue.'
'And I suppose,' retorted the ill-conditioned girl, 'you will go and tell her what I have said, and we shall have a row.'
Clara was so astonished at hearing this speech from her cousin, that she suspended the operation of dressing for a moment.
Then she said quickly:
'Mabel, we don't tell tales here; and I never before heard anyone speak unkindly of our aunt, nor did I ever hear her speak unkindly to anyone. Don't let us talk any more,' she added; 'I am going to say my prayers. Come, kneel down with me, and let us thank our Father in heaven for taking care of us through the night, and ask Him to bless us before we begin our day's work.'
Mabel knelt down beside the bed with her cousin. She had always been accustomed to repeat a set form of words; whether they were the utterances of the 'soul's sincere desire,' we cannot say: but we do know that if weprayinsincerity against sin, we shallstriveagainst it, and Mabel was not doing this. Clara's first occupation on going down stairs was to look after her feathered family; and in this she had a ready seconder in Mabel, whose delight in seeing the pretty chickens was unbounded.
'Oh, do let me take one out, Clara! I won't hurt it; dear, sweet little thing!' she exclaimed, as she was just putting out her hand to take one of them up, but was held back by her cousin, and so prevented from receiving the meditated peck which the old hen was evidently preparing for her.
'Just in time,' said Clara; 'old Netty would have made you repent of your boldness, had you taken hold of one of her pets.'
'Why, I shouldn't have hurt it by just holding it in my hand,' replied Mabel.
'Netty doesn't know that; and I'm sure she would have hurt you, so it is very well I held you back,' said Clara. 'Now we had better go in; I hear Aunt Mary's voice. I must go and say good-morning to her, as usual.'
'Good-morning, my dears,' said Miss Livesay, in her usual genial, happy tone of voice, for she was always bright and cheerful, though her niece Mabel chose to take such a distorted view of her. 'I hope you have slept well, and are refreshed for another day's work, my children; you bothlook the picture of health, and health is one of our greatest blessings, is it not?'
'Yes, dear aunt, indeed it is,' replied Clara. 'I think we both slept well; and I was so glad to see, when I woke, that the morning was fine, for I thought perhaps you would wish us to go and see how poor Mr. Simmons is, when we have done our lessons.'
'That is just what I wish you to do,' said Aunt Mary. 'The lessons I intend to postpone, except that you may show your cousin what you and your school-fellows are learning. I shall be delighted to find that you can all study together; it will save much time and trouble, and be much more agreeable. Now ring for Bridget; after prayers and breakfast, we must cut out our work, dear Clara. You know we have a great deal to do,' said the lady.
IN the pleasant breakfast-room, which was also a schoolroom, the two girls were left by Aunt Mary, while she gave some orders on household matters. Everything was arranged here with order and neatness, but there was nothing superfluous; there was a place for everything,and everything seemed to be in its place, if we except a large quantity of unbleached calico, which had been unrolled, and had spread itself upon the floor.
'What is all that coarse stuff for?' inquired Mabel of her cousin. 'You surely don't call that your work, do you, Clara? I brought some embroidery with me, for I hate plain work. I hope aunt will not set me to do any.'
'I am quite sure she will, though,' replied Clara; 'and this very day, too; for she is going to cut out two night-shirts for the poor man we are going to see, and we shall have to make them, as well as pinafores for the children, and flannel petticoats for two old women who are in Aunt Mary's district. Oh, such nice old dames they are, Mabel! I am sure you will like them, dear; and they are so thankful for any little kindness we do for them.'
'Such stupid, humdrum work!' exclaimed Mabel. 'I'm sure I shall be miserable here. Hard lessons, coarse work, and looking after old and sick people! I wonder you are not moped to death, Clara; it's even worse than I thought it would be.'
'Well, wait a little while,' said patient Clara; 'you have had no experience yet. I know very well you will alter your mind before six months are over.'
'Six months!' exclaimed Mabel; 'why, I should be dead in that time, if mamma suffers me to remain here. But I shall tell her all about it, and beg her to let me go home.'
The entrance of Aunt Mary broke off the dialogue of the cousins, and soon the obnoxious calico was spread out, and fashioned into useful articles of wearing apparel.
'Here is your new workbox, my dear Mabel,' said her aunt; 'you will find it stocked with all necessary things—thimble, and scissors, and needles, and cotton—and all that I require of you is to keep it tidy.'
It was impossible for Mabel not to dismisssome, at least, of her foolish prejudice against this kind friend, and the thanks she returned for the really handsome present were hearty and genuine; and on fitting on her thimble, and examining the bright scissors and the very pretty needle, even her feelings respecting the coarse work on which they were expected to be employed appeared to undergo a wonderful change.
'I can't do plain work very quickly, aunt,' said Mabel, when that lady had given her a pair of sleeves to make; 'I never did much at home.'
'All right, my child; if you do your best, I promise you I shall be satisfied. I know you will improve in time,' said Aunt Mary, kindly.
There was no reading this morning, becauseClara and Aunt Mary, who were both rapid seamstresses, had agreed, if possible, to finish the night-shirt that had been cut out, and take it with them in the evening, when they went to call at the cottage of poor Simmons, whom they had not seen since their return home, but of whom they had learned from Bridget a pretty satisfactory account. The good woman had taken them under her especial care while her mistress was away.
There was no lack of pleasant conversation when Aunt Mary was in the room, and the work progressed well during the morning hours; but, unfortunately, about three o'clock in the afternoon some friends came to call, and as it was evident to Miss Livesay that this would prevent their visit to the cottage that evening, she bade the young people put away their work, and try to find some amusement in the garden. Clara felt sorry and disappointed at this postponement, though she said nothing, but prepared to obey her aunt. With Mabel, however, this was quite an unexpected pleasure, and so rapidly did she gather up her work, without folding it neatly together, that the needle ran into her finger, and brought the blood so quickly that two or three large spots were deposited on the sleeves.
'Oh, aunt will be so cross when she sees what I have done!' said the too hasty Mabel. 'MustI try to wash the spots out, Clara?' she inquired.
'No, no!' replied her cousin; 'Bridget will do that for you with a little brush. But I wonder, Mabel,' she added, 'at your thinking dear aunt would becrossbecause you have had an accident. You seem to have some very strange ideas in your head; you will know better soon, I hope.'
The room was quickly cleared, and Clara, taking the soiled sleeve in her hand, went with her cousin into the kitchen, where they found the tidy servant-of-all-work already clean, and sitting comfortably with her knitting in hand, and the cat on her knee. Bridget readily undertook the task required of her; and the young people, having obtained the food for the poultry, ran off to distribute it.
A capital house Clara's feathered family had, with no rent nor taxes to pay. It was a long shed under the tall trees at the bottom of the garden, boarded over at the top, but with wire-work all across the front, where a door was made to go in at, in order to clean out the floor.
Inside, it was the picture of comfort, and of cleanliness too, for careful Bridget took care of that. Old Netty and her chicks had a place to themselves—a house within a house—so that the little ones could not make an escape.
'Oh, I see there are two new-laid eggs,' saidClara. 'I am so glad; we can take them to poor Simmons when we go to-morrow. I dare say there are two or three more in the house that I may have.'
'I thought you said the fowls were your own, to do what you liked with,' said Mabel. 'If I were you, I should sell the eggs, and not give them away,' she added.
'And what should I do with the money?' inquired Clara. 'I have everything I want; aunt takes care of that.'
'But you might buy nice gloves and neckties with the money you would get for the eggs,' urged Mabel. 'I don't see that you have much of that sort of thing.'
'I have all that I want in that way,' replied her cousin. 'I would ten times rather give away the eggs than take money for them. When I first came to live with dear aunt, she had this place fitted up on purpose for me; and she bought the fowls, and food, and everything that was wanted,' said Clara. 'In three months' time I had a beautiful brood of chickens; and when they were grown, aunt asked me what I meant to do with my surplus stock. I said that I really did not know; so she suggested that I should sell the chickens, and give the money to the poor. "Sell that ye have, and give alms," said my aunt. "This, dear Clara, is our Saviour'sadvice," she added, and I was only too glad and thankful to follow her advice. So I made a purse, in which I save up my egg-and-chicken money, and we buy calico, and print, and flannel, and provide other things,' said Clara, in great glee, for it was, indeed, one of her chief sources of pleasure to give to the poor.
'I'm sure you would not catch me doing in that way,' said Mabel. 'I see no fun in keeping fowls only for the sake of giving to other people.'
'Nofun, perhaps,' replied her cousin; 'but you would find real pleasure, Mabel, in being able to relieve the wants of the sick and the afflicted. Oh, I know,' she added, 'you will—youmustchange your mind when you go with us to some of the neighbouring cottages. I do hope we shall not be prevented from going to-morrow.'
Whatever effect time and scenes were to have on our young friend Mabel, certainly her cousin's arguments and declarations produced none at the present; so we must close the chapter of the first day, and begin another.