AN UNWELCOME GUEST
FOR some days Beryl "went softly" in her humiliation and repentance. But sins as well as sorrows are easily forgotten by children, and when Miss Burton had so heartily forgiven her recent outbreak of naughtiness, and was as kind and as loving to her as ever, how could Beryl retain a depressing sense of shame? Yet the thought of that unhappy day was not banished to a land of utter oblivion. Its memory revived again and again to give a timely warning, when Beryl was tempted to fight hard for her own way, or assert her independence by disobeying commands.
The year glided on to that delightful season when summer and autumn join hands and mingle their gifts of warmth and colour. The corn grown on the upland fields were all cut and stored. The woods were mellowing with tokens of summer's waning, and promised a rich harvest to the nutters. But the sun still shed warmth and beauty along the shore, and it was only at evening that the cold breath of autumn was felt. The sound of sportmen's guns re-echoed from the stubble lands, and Egloshayle was at its gayest time, as far as visitors were concerned.
Mr. Hollys did not come home till the day before that fixed for the arrival of the guests he had invited for the shooting. Miss Hollys had returned from her visit a week earlier, and was anticipating with pleasurable excitement the task of entertaining her brother's guests. She was prepared to forget for a time that she had nerves, and make exertions from which she would generally have shrunk.
To Beryl the coming of these visitors was an annoyance. She wanted her father to herself, and it vexed her to think that his time and attention would be monopolised by a number of strangers. She was inclined, moreover, to regard the sport of shooting from the birds' point of view, and denounce it as a very cruel kind of amusement.
To secure at least one quiet talk with her father, Beryl asked permission to drive with Andrew to the station to meet him. Her request was granted without demur.
She could squeeze herself between Mr. Hollys and Andrew, even if her father's luggage should demand the whole of the back seat of the phaeton, and he would certainly be pleased to have her company. Miss Hollys, being in an amiable mood, allowed Beryl to do as she liked.
So Beryl drove off, looking bright and happy. Andrew, being one of the most cautious of servants, had allowed so much time for the drive, that they arrived at the station long before the train was due. Beryl did not mind that. She had a pleasant sense of being a person of importance as she walked up and down the platform, feeling sure that the stationmaster knew who she was, and had communicated this knowledge to the countrywomen who stood by regarding her with glances in which she fancied she read admiration.
At last, when Beryl's patience was beginning to fail, the train came up. But a disappointment awaited Beryl. When she saw her father step on to the platform, and rushed forward to meet him, she discovered, to her dismay, that he was not alone. A tall, lanky-limbed youth, probably about sixteen, sprang out of the train after him. He was of dark complexion, with dark eyes and black hair, and held himself awkwardly, as boys do who suffer the disadvantage of too rapid growth. At the first glance, Beryl decided that he was very ugly, and she did not like him at all.
"Why, Beryl, my child!" exclaimed her father. "It is good of you to come and meet me. I need not ask if you are well; you look so bonny. This young gentleman is the son of my friend Mrs. Everard, of whom you have often heard me speak. This is my little daughter, Percy."
"Not so very little," he replied, nodding carelessly to the child, and surveying her with a cool gaze, which Beryl inwardly resented.
"No; she certainly is not, she grows like a beanstalk," said her father, surveying her with pride. "How is Coral? Is Andrew here?"
Beryl answered "Yes" to the second question, and led the way to the gate at which the phaeton was drawn up.
"Now, how are we all to find room?" said Mr. Hollys. "You get up behind, Percy, and then we will see where the portmanteaux can go. Where will you sit, Beryl?"
"There's room for her here," remarked Percy, drawing his long legs aside, and showing a small space into which Beryl might squeeze herself.
But Beryl turned away from the long-limbed youth with a decided air of disapproval.
"I would rather sit by you, please, papa," she said.
"Very well," said Mr. Hollys indulgently; "we'll manage somehow."
Though she turned her back on him, Beryl felt sure that the long-legged youth was laughing at her. But she was not going to sit squeezed up there with him, if she knew it, she declared to herself.
Room was found for Beryl on the front seat; but she had not a very pleasant place, for the piled-up portmanteaux blocked her view. She felt cross and disappointed. She would have no nice talk with her father after all; for it was impossible to say what she wanted to say to him with that horrid boy listening.
"And how do you get on with your governess, Beryl?" asked her father, as they drove along.
"Oh, so well, papa! You can't think how nice she is! We both like her so much," began Beryl eagerly, checking herself, however, as she remembered the unwelcome listener.
"That's right; I'm glad to hear that," said Mr. Hollys, who had expected rather a different answer.
"You haven't been trying to get drowned again lately, have you?" asked Percy, leaning forward to address the child.
"Trying to get drowned?" repeated Beryl, in bewilderment.
"Yes; are not you the girl who got swamped in a cave, and managed to escape in the most mysterious way?" he asked.
Beryl's cheeks grew crimson. She knew he was laughing at her. How horrid that he should have heard of that adventure!
"Yes, this is the heroine," said Mr. Hollys merrily, as Beryl remained silent.
"Do you still play at Sunday schools on the beach?" asked the persistent questioner, his voice betraying amusement.
"Play at Sunday schools?" Beryl's face grew hotter and tears came into her eyes. She could not bear to think that this horrid boy knew all about her doings, and was making fun of them. It was unkind of her father to have told him. She lifted an appealing, almost reproachful glance to him at the thought.
"Come, come, Percy; you are touching a painful subject," said Mr. Hollys, as he saw Beryl's look of annoyance. "We none of us like to be reminded of past follies, you know."
The youth laughed a loud, discordant laugh, which Beryl felt to be full of derision. Her father's mention of past follies was not agreeable to her pride. The drive which she had expected to be so pleasant was proving quite the reverse.
They drove on in silence, broken only by an occasional remark from Mr. Hollys to his young guest. At length they reached Egloshayle, and began to descend the steep hill to the house. It was evening, but still light enough for the garden to be clearly visible, and they caught sight of Coral and Miss Burton enjoying a lively game of battledore and shuttlecock on the lawn.
"There is Coral!" exclaimed Mr. Hollys. "Who is that playing with her?"
"Why, papa, that is Miss Burton," said Beryl.
"That Miss Burton," he exclaimed in surprise. "Why, she seems a mere child. She is not at all my idea of a governess. I am afraid I made a mistake in engaging her."
"Now, papa, you don't mean that," said Beryl. "I am sure you would not say it, if you knew her."
"She does not look like a blue-stocking," observed Mr. Hollys, with a merry look in his eyes as he watched the light, little figure that was tossing the shuttlecock with grace and ease.
"What do you mean, papa? Miss Burton does not wear blue stockings," said Beryl.
A loud laugh from the back seat made her aware that she had said what was foolish.
"Then she ought to," remarked Mr. Hollys.
"I am afraid your mother deceived me, Percy. She gave me to understand that Miss Burton was a female pedant, acquainted with all the ologies, who had passed ever so many examinations, and held innumerable certificates. I did not expect to see such an ordinary-looking mortal."
"It is certainly marvellous that she can condescend to battledore and shuttlecock," observed the youth, with a laugh.
By this time the players had become aware of the approach of the vehicle, and throwing down their battledores, they came forward to meet it. Mr. Hollys alighted and lifted down Beryl, then turned to shake hands with the governess.
"I am glad to see that your studies have not made you too wise to enjoy a game, Miss Burton," he said playfully.
"I am afraid I shall never attain to such wisdom," she answered brightly. "I shall always be fond of play, or at any rate, till I am a very old woman."
Miss Burton was glad to have this informal introduction to Mr. Hollys.
She had rather dreaded his coming, fancying that she would not like him. As is so often the case, however, she found the real man utterly different from her preconceived notion of him. He did not seem cold and proud, as she had imagined him, nor at all like his sister, whom she could not admire. She could find no fault with his easy yet courteous bearing, and she thought him not merely a handsome, but also a pleasing-looking man.
"Who is that, Beryl?" asked her little sister, indicating the young stranger, who had greeted her by stroking her chin, and pulling her hair. "Did you know he was coming?"
"No, or I would not have gone to the station," returned Beryl indignantly.
"Why not? Don't you like him?" asked Coral.
"No, he is as horrid as can be!" was Beryl's whispered confidence. "I wish he had not come. I can't think why papa brought him."
"How is he horrid?" questioned Coral, wishing to arrive at a clear understanding of Beryl's reasons for objecting to the presence of the young guest.
"Oh, I don't know," returned Beryl impatiently. "I hate boys!"
BERYL'S TORMENTOR
BERYL was very vexed to have missed the quiet talk with her father which she had hoped to secure by going to meet him at the railway station. She was anxious to consult him on a subject which to her seemed of the utmost importance. It was too provoking that the presence of "that tiresome boy" should have deprived her of the opportunity.
The children had not forgotten Mr. Holly's promise that Beryl should have a birthday treat, when he came home in the autumn. They had often talked of it, and there had been much discussion as to what would be the nicest kind of treat they could enjoy. One pleasure after another had been planned and then thrown aside at the suggestion of something better.
But at last a hint given by Miss Burton had been hailed as the most charming idea possible. The suggestion was that Beryl should give a birthday party.
Now an ordinary children's party would have been a difficult matter to arrange in that quiet Cornish village.
The houses of the gentry lay at wide distances, many miles apart, and Beryl knew nothing of the children of those homes except an occasional sight of them at church. It was not these children that she intended to invite to her party.
Her plan was to have all the children who had come to her Sunday class, little ones and older ones, to spend a long afternoon and take tea in the garden at Egloshayle House. Miss Burton had seen many such entertainments, and knew just how everything should be managed.
There would be no difficulty in amusing the little guests. Coral and Beryl, delighted with the notion, made numberless plans for their diversion.
Beryl's only fear was that her father might object to this mode of keeping her birthday. He might laugh at it, as he had laughed at her idea of having a Sunday school. She knew that she could not give her party whilst Egloshayle House was full of guests; but she wished to gain her father's consent to her doing so at some future day, when the shooting-party had separated and the house was quiet once more.
But Beryl's patience was severely tried ere she could name the subject to her father. His guests and the shooting made great demands on his time.
For some days Coral and Beryl saw scarcely anything of Mr. Hollys, except when they went down to the dining-room in the evening for a few minutes.
It was impossible, of course, to mention her cherished scheme then, in the presence of the company gathered around the table. And if ever Mr. Hollys found leisure for a few minutes' chat with the children, that "horrid boy" was sure to be within hearing, and Beryl would not for the world have had him know what she wished to say to her father.
Beryl did not regard Percy Everard with more favour as she became used to his presence in the house. Yet he paid her more attention than boys of his age usually accord to little girls. His attentions, however, were not always of an agreeable kind. If Beryl had had a brother, she would probably have known how to take Percy's teasing with a better grace. But it was a new experience for her to have her hair pulled without the least warning, her ears tickled with a straw, or to find herself tripped up by a sly foot just as she started for a run, whilst her tormentor seemed to derive the utmost amusement from seeing the annoyance he created.
This form of provocation was more annoying to Beryl than it would have been to many girls, because, as we have seen, she was inclined to esteem herself a person of considerable importance. Even as a little child she had displayed much personal dignity. Percy saw that she was what he called "a conceited little mortal," and he found more delight in tormenting her than in teasing Coral, who had less pride to be kindled into wrath.
Though she was often betrayed into bursts of passionate indignation, Beryl really tried to keep her temper under Percy's constant exasperation. She avoided his company as much as possible; but Percy, suspecting this, often thrust himself upon her in the most unexpected and unwelcome manner. Beryl's greatest comfort was the thought that this state of things could not last for ever. Percy's visit must come to an end some day.
At last her longing for his departure seemed about to be gratified. One day, towards the close of the third week of his stay, she heard him name the following Monday as the day of his return to town. Beryl was so pleased to hear this that she looked across the table at Coral with a beaming smile of congratulation.
Percy caught the look. "So you are pleased that I am going away," he said, looking at Beryl.
Beryl coloured and made no answer.
"Now, Beryl," said her aunt sharply, "don't behave in that absurd way. Say at once that you are sorry Percy is going to leave us."
But Beryl was too truthful to say that she was sorry, when she was feeling very glad. She remained silent.
"Oh, very well," said Percy carelessly; "I'm sorry my company is so unpleasant to you, for I was going to ask Mr. Hollys to bring you with him the next time he comes to town. But I dare say you would rather not stay at my mother's house, as you dislike me so much. You could not avoid seeing me sometimes whilst you were there."
This remark made Beryl uncomfortable. She had a great longing to go to London, and had often asked her father to take her with him when he went. There was nothing she would like better than a visit to town. But the prospect of staying at Mrs. Everard's was not altogether alluring. If Percy would be likely to tease her there, as he had teased her during the last few weeks, she would certainly prefer to remain at Egloshayle. She judged it better to preserve a strict neutrality on the subject, and said not a word, though Percy's suggestion had stirred new longings.
"It is very kind of your mother to be willing to have her," observed Miss Hollys; "but I am afraid she would repent of her kindness when she found what a troublesome charge Beryl is."
"Beryl must get a little more knowledge before she goes to London; do you not think so, Miss Burton?" observed Mr. Hollys. "It will not do to display her ignorance there."
Much disconcerted at finding herself thus made the subject of conversation, Beryl hastily finished her breakfast and escaped from the room as soon as possible.
Beryl's spirits rose as Monday drew near. There was no reason why her birthday party should not be given at the close of that week, if her father would give his consent, for already many of the guests had gone, and the last would have left by then.
She watched for an opportunity of speaking to her father, and managed to secure his company as they walked to church on Sunday morning; Miss Burton aiding her by monopolising Percy's attention, and keeping him by her side all the way.
"That will be rather an odd sort of birthday party, Beryl," said Mr. Hollys, when she had explained her scheme to him. "Shall you know what to do with such visitors?"
"Oh yes, papa, Miss Burton knows how to manage everything, and we have thought of all sorts of ways of amusing the children."
"Then Miss Burton is ready to second your wishes; she approves of this wild idea?"
"Of course, papa. Why, I believe she was the one who first thought of it," said Beryl. "Please don't call it a wild idea; I do so want you to say 'Yes.'"
Mr. Hollys did not hesitate long. Like many kindhearted, easy-tempered men, he enjoyed giving pleasure to others, when it could be done without inconvenience to himself. He was one, moreover, who liked to be popular with the people amongst whom he dwelt, and he knew that Beryl's entertainment would highly please the parents of the children she invited.
"Well, Beryl, I dare say it can be managed," he said. "I must talk it over with Miss Burton, and hear how she intends to arrange the affair."
"Oh, thank you, papa, I am so glad!" exclaimed Beryl, feeling sure that she had gained his consent. "Do you think we might fix it for Friday? Every one will have gone by then."
"Yes, I should think Friday will suit," said her father; "but is it not a pity you did not plan it before Percy left us? He could have helped you finely."
"I would not have had the party whilst he was here for the world," said Beryl vehemently. "He would have spoiled everything. I don't want him to know anything about it. You won't tell him, will you, papa?"
"Certainly not, if you would rather he did not know," said Mr. Hollys, laughing to see the indignant glances Beryl cast at the back of the tall, slim youth who was walking some yards in front. "But how is it you dislike Percy so much, Beryl? He is very kind to you."
"Kind!" retorted Beryl, with a toss of the head, which made her father laugh again. "I don't call him kind. I'm so glad he is going to-morrow. But about Friday, papa. If you and Miss Burton think Friday will do, Coral and I might go and ask the children this afternoon. They ought to know soon."
"Oh yes; you had better give them a long invitation, for fear they should make engagements," said her father satirically.
Beryl saw the absurdity of this remark, and laughed heartily. By this time they were almost at the door of the church, and hearing her laugh, Percy turned round to discover the source of her merriment.
"What were you laughing at, little Duchess?" he asked, noting Beryl's radiant look as she came up to him.
"Nothing," she replied coldly, her indignation excited afresh by the ridiculous title which Percy chose to give her.
"Only idiots laugh at nothing," he returned.
"Then you mean to say that I am an idiot!" she said, flashing an angry glance at him.
"Not at all; for I cannot believe that you were laughing at nothing," he replied.
"Anyhow, I am not going to tell you what I was laughing at," said Beryl.
"Then you own you were laughing at something, and what you said first was not true," returned Percy.
To Beryl's vexation it was impossible to continue longer this amiable sparring, as they were about to enter the church, so Percy had the last word, and his triumphant, mischievous look, as he seated himself opposite to Beryl in the large square pew, showed how he appreciated the advantage he had gained.
Mr. Hollys had some talk with Miss Burton as they walked home from church. She told him her plans for the children's party, and he became quite interested in them, and had not the least objection to make.
To Beryl's delight, it was decided that the fishermen's children should be invited for the following Friday. That afternoon she went with Coral down to the beach, where many of their little scholars were playing, and as the children gathered eagerly about her, she told them of the treat in store for them, and made them all promise to come to her home on Friday afternoon. The children could not readily express their pleasure; but their surprised, delighted looks showed how pleased they were.
Leaving the children to talk freely about the grand idea of taking tea with the little ladies at Egloshayle House, Coral and Beryl strolled along the beach in the shadow of the over-hanging cliffs.
"How surprised they looked," said Coral, "and I am sure they were very glad."
"Of course they were," returned Beryl; "it will be delightful. Oh, isn't it nice to think that by this time to-morrow that horrid Percy will have left us, and we shall have no fear of his interfering to spoil everything. I'm longing to see him drive away."
Beryl little thought that "that horrid Percy" was even then within sound of her voice. They were passing a mass of rocks which shelved away from the side of the cliff, and as Beryl ended, Coral exclaimed, "Hush! Didn't you hear some one call?"
As they waited in silence for a few moments, their ears caught the sound of a faint "Hallo!" which seemed to come from behind one of the rocks.
"What's the matter? Who's there?" called Beryl, as she advanced towards the spot whence the sound came.
"Come here, Beryl," said the voice in reply.
"I believe it's that horrid boy," said Beryl in a tone of annoyance. "And yet it does not sound quite like his voice. I dare say it's some stupid trick of his."
Advancing cautiously round the rock, they soon saw that Beryl was not mistaken in imagining that the voice was Percy's. But he had not the appearance of one playing a trick. He was lying on the stones beneath the cliff, his clothes strewn with dust and fragments of rock, and his face utterly colourless.
"Oh, what is the matter?" exclaimed Beryl. "Have you fallen?"
"Yes, I was trying to climb the cliff, and the path gave way beneath me," said Percy faintly. "Give me your arm, will you, Beryl, and I will try to raise myself?"
Beryl willingly gave him all the help she could, and he dragged himself up into a sitting posture, but turned so sick and faint in consequence, that he was obliged to lean against the child for support. All the tenderness of Beryl's nature came out now. She forgot that it was her tormentor who was brought thus low. Kneeling by his side, she made Percy lean his head upon her shoulder, whilst she gently wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"Are you in pain?" she asked.
"Yes, my foot hurts me awfully. The rock fell on it. I don't know how I shall get home."
"Coral, you must run home as fast as possible and tell papa," said Beryl, turning to Coral, who stood looking on in silence, her little face white with fear, and tears of distress in her eyes.
Coral ran off without a word. In a few minutes Percy's faintness began to pass away, and he could sit up without Beryl's support. But he was evidently in intense pain.
"Can I do anything to make the pain better?" asked Beryl.
"Do you think you could get my boot off?" he said. "It hurts me dreadfully."
It was no easy matter to remove the boot from the swollen foot on which it pressed so cruelly, but Beryl set to work, not unskilfully, and with the help of Percy's penknife managed to release the injured part. But, careful though she was, this could not be done without giving more pain, and though Percy bore it bravely, he several times turned so white that Beryl feared he was going to faint.
"I am so sorry for you," she said gently. "I wish they would come. It seems so long to wait, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it seems an age; but we must try to bear it," said Percy, setting his teeth together to keep back a groan. "You are a good little woman, Beryl, to wait with me so patiently. I am very much obliged to you."
"As if I should think of leaving you!" said Beryl.
She was so full of pity for him that she began to think that he was really rather nice after all, and she had made a mistake in disliking him so much. She would willingly have kept watch beside him for a longer time, but she was very glad for his sake when at length she heard the sound of steps coming quickly across the shingles.
HOW BERYL'S TORMENTOR BECAME HER FRIEND
WITH the united help of Mr. Hollys and Andrew, Percy was at last able to get back to the house; but not without much suffering. Every movement gave him pain, and though he limped along bravely, and tried to bear up like a man, his strength was almost gone by the time they reached home. Beryl's heart grew tender with pity as she watched him. Her feelings towards Percy had been undergoing a rapid change within the last hour. She felt so sorry, that for the time she quite forgot how he had teased and plagued her since he came to Egloshayle.
The fortitude with which he endured his pain seemed to Beryl quite heroic. She was conscious only of compassionate admiration as she lingered by his side during the long half-hour whilst they awaited the coming of the doctor. There were actually tears in her eyes as she stood there, and it was only by exercising strong self-control that she could keep from crying aloud.
She did not think that Percy saw her tears, but he did.
At last the doctor came, and then Beryl was banished from the dining-room where Percy lay, and bidden to keep herself out of the way, like a good child. But, like many other children, she had a great objection to keeping out of the way, "like a good child," and she and Coral hung about the hall, and finally took up a position at the top of the staircase, whence they could watch the dining-room door, and observe and question all who passed in or out of it.
It was exciting to see how many things the servants handed in at that door. Hot and cold water, sponges, towels, linen-rags, Eau de Cologne, a scent bottle, cotton-wool, plaster, scissors, such were the articles called for from time to time, and supplied as quickly as possible. It was generally Miss Burton who opened the door, and took them in.
She seemed to be affording active help in this emergency.
Miss Hollys' nerves made her useless at such a time. All she could now do was to shut herself up in the drawing-room, and sob hysterically.
"I wish they had let me stay in the room to help," remarked Beryl, in rather an injured tone.
"Could you have helped?" asked Coral. "Wouldn't it have made you feel bad? His foot was bleeding dreadfully when he came in. You can see the marks now on the doorstep."
"Yes, I know," said Beryl; "there was a cut just above his boot. I tied my handkerchief round it. Aunt Cecilia said it made her feel faint to see the blood; but I should not be like that. What would be the good? If every one felt like that, there would be no doctors, I should think. Miss Burton does not mind it, you see."
"Do you think he will be able to go to London to-morrow?" asked Coral.
"I am afraid not," said Beryl, suddenly remembering how she had counted on his departure.
"You don't think he will stay till Friday?" asked Coral anxiously. "It will be tiresome if we have to give up the birthday party."
"Yes; I've just thought of that," said Beryl, looking grave; "I can't tell at all how it will be. I shall be vexed if we have to give it up. And we have told the children about it—oh dear!"
Beryl drew a deep sigh, and was silent for a few moments.
"After all, Coral," she added presently, in a softer voice, "it is worse for Percy than for us. I am sure he must be in dreadful pain. And he will be sorry not to go to-morrow, for his school begins on Tuesday, and I heard him say that he likes to be there on the first day."
It seemed to the children, as they waited anxiously on the staircase, that the doctor was a very long time attending to Percy. But at last they saw Mr. Hollys come out of the dining-room, followed by the medical man. The two gentlemen went into the library for a little private talk, and Beryl, judging that operations were suspended for a time, crept quietly downstairs to inquire into Percy's condition. She was pleased to learn that he was in less pain, and that the doctor hoped that his injuries were not serious. After hearing this news, Beryl consented to take her tea in the nursery, though before she had decidedly negatived Lucy's suggestion that she must be feeling hungry and faint.
Percy passed a night of pain, and was far from being in condition for a journey on the following day. But happily no bones were broken, and though his foot was badly bruised and cut, and his ankle slightly sprained, there seemed no cause for great anxiety concerning him. Miss Burton was his careful nurse, and shoved great skill in dressing and bandaging his wounded foot. He kept in his room all day. Beryl continued to feel the deepest interest in his sad case, and harassed her governess with innumerable questions regarding him at every opportunity.
Beryl did not suppose for a moment that she should be allowed to see Percy, and it was a great surprise to her when Miss Burton said that evening, "Beryl, Percy says that he would like to see you, if you will go into his room for a little while."
"Me, Miss Burton?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Are you quite sure he said he should like to see me?"
"Yes, indeed, I have made no mistake," said Miss Burton; "why do you ask? Do you not wish to see him?"
Beryl scarcely knew whether she wished it or not. It seemed to her at that moment as if there were two Percys—the Percy who had been her tormentor and plague, and the Percy who had borne his pain with such courage, and thanked her so gratefully for the help she had given him. She felt rather shy of going into the presence of the Percy whose pale, suffering face had haunted her, ever since she watched him lying still and exhausted on the sofa in the dining-room.
"Yes, I should like to see him," she said, in reply to her governess; but still she lingered, till Miss Burton, with a view of relieving her embarrassment, said, "Stay, I will give you some grapes to take to him. He has been complaining of thirst all the afternoon."
Bearing a beautiful cluster of purple grapes, Beryl hastened upstairs, and gently rapped at Percy's door.
"Come in," shouted Percy, in a voice high and tremulous.
Beryl went in. Percy was lying on a low couch by the window, clad in a dressing-gown of Mr. Hollys, which fell in loose folds over his long, slight figure. The injured limb, swathed in bandages, was raised on a pillow.
Percy looked far more like his own self than when Beryl last saw him; but his face was still very pale, and there were dark lines beneath his eyes, telling of the pain he had suffered, and still had to bear, though in a less degree.
"Oh, it is the Duchess!" he exclaimed, as Beryl appeared, "and bringing me grapes too! The very thing I should have named, if I had been asked to mention the fruit most to my desire at this moment. It is very good of your Grace, I am sure."
"How do you feel now? Is the pain any better?" asked Beryl, looking at him with grave anxiety, and quite forgetting to be angry with him for calling her "the Duchess."
"Yes, it is better than it was, but I feel rather seedy," said Percy, shaking back the long loose locks that were falling over his forehead. "This is a pretty go, isn't it? It's a confounded bore to think that I can't get to London to-day! I'm awfully vexed not to be at school on the first day. I shall get put down in my form. And you're sorry not to get rid of me to-day, aren't you?"
"No, I am not sorry," said Beryl, without a moment's hesitation, though her cheeks grew red as she spoke.
"Don't tell polite fibs; it's not like you to do that," said Percy. "I know you looked as pleased as Punch the other day when I said that I should go home on Monday."
"Yes; but then—" began Beryl; but suddenly stopped, not finding it easy to explain that her feelings towards him had changed since that day.
"Do you mean that you have changed your mind since then?" asked Percy, looking at her curiously. "Do you know, Beryl, I believe you like me better than you think? I know I saw your eyes near brimming over last night when I was in such pain."
"Nonsense," said Beryl; "don't be absurd!"
"There is nothing absurd in mentioning a fact that passed under my own observation," said Percy calmly. "Come, you can't deny that you were inclined to cry over this miserable foot of mine."
Beryl was silent for a few moments, and Percy watched her with a smile which was not satirical.
"Won't you eat your grapes?" said Beryl suddenly, feeling that the silence had lasted quite long enough.
"Thanks. They are certainly too good to be only looked at," said Percy; "but you must help me;" and he pulled off a fine bunch and handed it to her.
"Oh no," said Beryl, shrinking back. "I don't want any; they are all for you."
"But I don't want them all," said Percy decidedly; "if you won't have any, I won't either, so you may just carry them down again."
"That is silly," remonstrated Beryl; "because you are ill, and want them more than I do."
"No, I don't; you want them too," persisted Percy. "Come, sit down here, and put the plate between us, and we'll see who can eat the most."
There was no resisting Percy; he would have his own way. Happily there was an abundant supply of grapes, and the two were soon chatting in the most friendly way as they enjoyed the fruit together.
"I say," said Percy presently, in a confidential tone; "what's up for Friday?"
"Friday," faltered Beryl in surprise; "what do you mean?"
"Oh, you know," he returned, "you've planned something for Friday. What is it—a picnic?"
"What makes you think there is anything planned for Friday?" asked Beryl, anxious to discover how much he knew. "Has any one told you?"
"No one save your Grace," he replied. "You should not talk so loudly on the stairs, if you wish to keep your plans a secret."
"Oh, what have you heard?" asked Beryl, thinking that there was no keeping anything from this dreadful boy.
"Only you and Coral saying—'Do you think we can have it on Friday, after all? Would it be better to put it off? Perhaps it may rain next week.' From which I gathered that there was some grand excitement planned for Friday, and when I asked Miss Burton she did not deny that it was so; but only referred me to you for further information. So now tell me, what is it?"
"What ears you must have to hear that!" observed Beryl, pouting a little in her vexation.
"Yes, my sense of hearing is by no means defective, I am happy to say," said Percy complacently; "and now I am waiting to hear what is the ticket for Friday."
"I don't think I shall tell you," returned Beryl.
"Now that is unkind," said Percy, "after all the pain I have had, and the dreary time I have passed in this room to-day, to think that you won't tell me a little news that might cheer me."
"I don't fancy you will care for this news," said Beryl relenting; "but I'll tell you, if you will promise not to laugh at it."
"Not I; I'll keep as sober as a judge," replied Percy, pulling a ridiculously long face; "now then, what is it?"
Whereupon Beryl began to explain her plans for a birthday treat. Percy kept his word, and listened with the utmost gravity. Not a smile crossed his face, though he made some amusing comments, which set Beryl laughing. It was clear that he was not inclined to ridicule the affair, as Beryl had feared.
"I've got a splendid idea for Friday, Beryl," he said after a time.
"Oh, what is it?" she asked eagerly.
"That's my secret," he said, "and I mean to keep it."
"But I told you my secret," said Beryl, in an injured tone.
"And I will tell you mine when the right time comes," returned Percy; "if only I can get well enough to hobble about a little on Friday, you shall see what I will do."
"Oh, do tell me now," urged Beryl.
But Percy shook his head, and would not be persuaded. Beryl had to go away with her curiosity unsatisfied, but yet she felt convinced that Percy was a much nicer boy than she had before imagined.
When Beryl told Coral how Percy had discovered their secret, and repeated what he had said, her little sister seemed very dismayed.
"Oh, Beryl!" she exclaimed. "He will do something dreadful, and spoil everything; I know he will. Oh, I wish he would not interfere."
"I don't think so," said Beryl decidedly. "I believe Percy means to be kind and help us. Indeed, I am rather glad now that he knows all about it."
"Why, Beryl, how can you?" exclaimed Coral in the greatest surprise. "And you used to hate him so."
"No, I didn't," contradicted Beryl; "at least I ought not to have. It is wicked to hate people, Coral."
But it is to be feared that Miss Beryl would not have been so conscious of the sinfulness of hatred if she had not discovered that there was something amiable in Percy Everard's character.
BERYL'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
PERCY'S bruised and sprained foot healed slowly, and the doctor enjoined rest for many days to come. It was no small trial to the active, restless youth to be thus kept a prisoner in his room; but he bore the confinement with tolerable patience. His injuries brought him much attention and commiseration. Miss Burton continued his faithful nurse, and dressed his wounds, and waited upon him with gentle care and skill. Mr. Hollys showed the greatest solicitude for his comfort, and even Miss Hollys made a daily visit to his room to enquire how he felt, and whether there were anything she could do for him. To the latter query, which was merely formal, Percy always responded by a decided negative. Once, by way of experiment, he offered to unbandage his wounded limb for her inspection, whereupon the lady hastily retreated, declaring that she should faint if she saw so dreadful a sight.
Perhaps Percy found his chief consolation during the monotonous course of these days in the visits which Coral and Beryl paid him. The children's society seemed to amuse him greatly, and he coaxed Miss Burton into shortening their school hours, that he might see more of them. They managed to play dominoes beside his couch, and he began to initiate Beryl into the mysteries of backgammon; and after declaring repeatedly that it was a stupid game, and had no fun in it, she discovered its fascination, as she came gradually to understand it.
With such diversions, the hours passed swiftly, and Friday drew near—the day so eagerly anticipated—without Beryl's gaining the least clue to the "splendid idea" which Percy was determined to keep from her. It was very tantalising to be thus in the dark regarding it. She was sure that Miss Burton was in the secret, and she fancied that her father also shared it.
Mr. Hollys received several large packages from Plymouth, concerning the contents of which he refused to satisfy Beryl's curiosity. She knew that these packages were carried into Percy's room and unpacked there; and she shrewdly guessed that they had some connection with her birthday fête, as Percy chose to call it. But she could only whisper her conjectures to Coral, and wait patiently for time to reveal the mystery.
All Thursday the children were in the greatest excitement. They deserted Percy, in their eagerness to watch the various preparations for the grand event of the morrow, which were going on in the household. Cook quite entered into the spirit of the thing, and used her utmost skill in the making of cakes and tarts for the children's treat. A delicious smell of baking came from the kitchen, and the children, stealing frequently through the baize door, were delighted by seeing tins full of crisp, brown buns, or the most tempting of jam tarts lifted out of the oven. The occasion called for a large supply of such dainties, since general invitation had been given to the village children, and all who could come would be sure to avail themselves of it.
When they had seen what was doing in the kitchen, and tasted some of the good things, in order to judge if they were fit to set before their guests, Coral and Beryl would wander out of doors to watch Andrew's operations. He was making himself useful in various ways; they saw him hang a fine swing in the empty barn at the back of the house, and proceeded to test its soundness without loss of time. Then they followed him about the garden, and gave him much advice and assistance, with which he could easily have dispensed, as he arranged tables and seats for the expected guests.
"What shall we do if it rains?" exclaimed Coral, when they had seen all the tables firmly set.
"Oh, it won't rain!" exclaimed Beryl.
And Andrew being a weather-wise man, was able to assure them that there was little cause to fear rain for the next forty-eight hours.
"Well, Duchess," exclaimed Percy, when the children came to his room that evening to say "good-night"; "is everything arranged to your satisfaction?"
"Oh yes," replied Beryl; "everything is perfect. Andrew has made the most delightful swing in the barn, and cook has made the most delicious cakes and tarts, and everything is scrumptious. Isn't that the word you say?"
"Not at all the word for a duchess to use," said Percy gravely.
"Well, I don't care if it's not. I'm not a duchess, and I hate to be called so!" said Beryl. "Oh, I wish to-morrow would make haste and come. I am sure I shall not be able to sleep for thinking of it."
"I say, Beryl," said Percy, "what do you think your father has been suggesting? He thinks I might be got downstairs to-morrow, and lie in state on a sofa on the lawn, so as to see something of the fun. What do you say to that?"
For a few moments Beryl did not know what to say. The idea of Percy's watching and commenting upon all that went on did not readily fall in with her preconceived notions of the treat. She was silent.
"Oh, I see," said Percy; "you would much rather I kept upstairs out of the way of everything."
"No, I would not, Percy," exclaimed Beryl, with sudden decision. "I should like you to be there."
"You don't mean that?" he returned.
"Yes I do. I always mean what I say," replied Beryl with dignity.
"Then why didn't you speak sooner?" said Percy.
"Because I was thinking," said plain-spoken Beryl; "I was not sure at first whether I should like your being there. But now I think that it will be very nice."
"What a queer creature you are, Beryl!" exclaimed Percy laughing.
"Oh, well, if you are going to call me names, I'll go to bed at once," said Beryl. "Good-night."
But though she pretended to be offended, she went away feeling perfectly good-tempered. She had now not the least remnant of enmity towards Percy in her heart.
Restless and impatient though Beryl felt, her young, healthful fatigue prevailed over excitement, and she slept soundly that night.
The morning dawned as fresh and beautiful a September morn as any one could desire. The early breeze was cool and bracing; but by the middle of the day, the sun had gained great power, and all agreed that the weather was perfection, being neither too hot nor too cold.
Beryl and Coral were in the garden, ready to receive their guests, a full half-hour before the time appointed; but they had not long to wait, for scarcely one child arrived late, and many, in their eagerness to come, were unpunctual on the safe side.
The young guests made rather a formidable crowd as they gathered on the lawn. There were no less than eighty children of all ages, ranging from four to fifteen. For the first few minutes there was much shyness and constraint manifested by the young visitors; but Beryl, with Miss Burton's help, soon put an end to that. Parties were formed for croquet, hide-and-seek, and other games. The swing proved a great attraction, and was never once empty the whole afternoon. When Mr. Hollys and Andrew wheeled Percy on to the lawn, an hour later, the garden was echoing with the shouts of merry voices, and every one seemed thoroughly happy.
Delightfully engaged though she was, Beryl yet managed to slip out of the game in order to run and greet Percy, and enquire if he were comfortable on his couch under the walnut tree. The attention pleased him, though he would not let her stay more than a minute by his side, but sent her back to her guests.
The scene changed at five o'clock. By that time, the tables under the trees had been loaded with ample supplies of bread, cakes, tarts, ripe fruit, and rich Cornish cream. The servants brought large urns of hot tea and milk, and the young people, small and great, having been comfortably placed, began to enjoy the good things set before them.
Beryl presided at one table, Coral at another, and Miss Burton at the third. Mr. Hollys passed to and fro, and saw that every one was cared for. Miss Hollys also came to look on.
It was indeed a pleasant sight to watch the children's honest enjoyment of the feast. They came from their active games in the open air with hearty appetites. But though hungry, they showed no greediness.
Poor and untaught though they were, they were not ill-mannered. The honest Cornish race of which they came, though blunt in speech, and rough in deed, has a certain innate refinement of its own. Mr. Hollys was charmed with the behaviour of Beryl's guests.
"I have seen children of the upper classes whose breeding would be put to shame by the manners of these youngsters," he remarked to Miss Burton. She was too busy at the moment to do more than assent to his words; but she noted the remark, and hoped to turn it to good account at some other time.
It was not at tea-time that the children's enjoyment reached its highest point. That was gained later in the evening, when daylight faded and the stars looked out from the pale sky.
Then, at last, Percy's grand mystery was divulged, and Beryl learned what had been the contents of the curious-looking packages which had excited her curiosity. They were cases of fireworks, the best that could be obtained, and such as none of the children at Egloshayle had ever seen. The wonder and delight of the young people surpassed all bounds when, under Percy's direction, the first rocket was shot into the air, and breaking, shed a glorious shower of many-coloured stars. Some of the little ones were rather frightened by the noise and glare; but they quickly forgot their fear when they saw the pretty stars, and stood holding out their little hands to catch them when they fell to earth. They were sorry to find that this was impossible. There was a large supply of rockets of various kinds, famous Catherine wheels, and other imposing illuminations. Percy had made a capital selection of fireworks, and had not miscalculated the pleasure their display would give.
It was a delightful surprise to Coral and Beryl, and they enjoyed the sight quite as much as their guests. The garden rang with joyous acclamations as one wonder succeeded another. Nor was this all. When the fireworks were burnt out, and in the dim light the children could scarcely see each other's faces, suddenly lights began to gleam here and there amongst the foliage, and it appeared that Andrew, in obedience to Percy's orders, had been fastening bright-coloured Chinese lanterns at short distances along the garden walks.
With these brightly burning, the garden looked like a scene from fairyland. The novel illumination was hailed with the greatest satisfaction by all, and the children thoroughly enjoyed their last merry romp on the lawn. Then, when they had refreshed themselves with a repast of milk and cakes, the guests began to take their leave. The elder ones withdrew with evident reluctance; but their tiny brothers and sisters were growing tired and sleepy, and it was already past the hour at which their mothers expected them to return.
So with hearty good-will, and some rough attempts at thanks, Beryl's little scholars and their friends wished her and Coral good-night, and went gladly home to tell their parents what a wonderful time they had had.
Beryl and Coral were left tired out with the fatigue and excitement of entertaining and enjoying, but very pleased with the success of their party. Nothing could have gone off better, as they declared again and again. Every one had been pleased. There was absolutely no cause for regret.
"Well, Beryl, my darling,"' said her father, putting his arm around her as they walked together to the house, "has your birthday party come up to your expectations? Have you enjoyed it as much as you thought you would have?"
"Oh yes, papa, as much, and more," exclaimed Beryl; "nothing could be more delightful. It has been the happiest day of my life. How good of Percy to think of those fireworks? And the lanterns too!—who thought of them?"
"It was all Master Percy's planning," said Mr. Hollys; "you must thank him for the illuminations."
Beryl felt as if she could not thank him properly. How much he had contributed to the enjoyment of her guests! And she had actually wished him away, thinking that he would spoil everything! What a change had come over her feelings towards Percy within the last few days!
A TALK UNDER THE WALNUT TREE
IT was the Sunday afternoon following that eventful Friday. The day was fair and bright, one of those last sweet days of summer, in which we rejoice with trembling, knowing that soon rough winds and sweeping rains will spoil the beauty of leaves and flowers, and the year's brightest hours be spent.
Under the walnut tree, on the lawn, a happy party was grouped. The central figure of the group was Percy, who lay at his ease on a low couch. The doctor still enjoined rest for his injured limb; but Percy was sufficiently free from pain and discomfort to enjoy fully the privileges and immunities of an invalid. On the grass, before his couch, sat the two children, ready, like willing slaves, to obey his least command. Beryl was even submitting meekly to having her long brown tresses tossed to and fro by Percy's fingers, and enduring with good humour the occasional sharp pull by which he tried her patience. Miss Burton sat on a chair close by, listening, and occasionally joining in the talk that was going on between the other three.
From the library window, unseen by them, Mr. Hollys was watching the little group so happily settled on the lawn. The children's bright, animated faces, and the equally bright and scarcely less childlike face of their little governess were pleasant to look upon. The sound of their voices, with an occasional ripple of childish laughter, came to his ears through the open window; but they were too far off for him to hear what they said. Mr. Hollys was strongly inclined to join the party; but the fear that his presence would be felt by them as a restraint for some time kept him away.
At last, however, when their talk appeared to become more earnest and absorbing, and the rapt look with which Beryl was regarding Miss Burton showed that her governess's words were of intense interest to her, curiosity got the better of other feelings, and he stepped out of the window and advanced towards the group.
It was as he had feared. His appearance at once put an end to the talk. Mr. Hollys felt almost vexed that Beryl left the others, and came running to meet him.
"You should not have disturbed yourself, child," he said, taking her hand to lead her back to the tree; "you were looking so delightfully cool and comfortable, resting there in the shade, that I thought I should like to join you."
"Oh yes, do, papa," cried Beryl, "that will be so pleasant. We have been having such a nice talk."
"Why, how grave you all look!" exclaimed Mr. Hollys, as he threw himself down on the grass beside little Coral. "What serious subject have you been discussing? I believe Miss Burton has been giving you a sermon."
"No, papa, but she has been telling us about her father, who was very good," said Beryl softly.
Mr. Hollys glanced quickly at Miss Burton. Her head was bent, and she was turning over the leaves of a book which lay in her lap, but Mr. Hollys could see traces of tears on her face. He wished he could recall his careless words. He tried to think of something kind that he could say to her about her father, but nothing suitable suggested itself to him.
There was silence for a few minutes, a silence which Mr. Hollys felt to be embarrassing.
"Your father was a clergyman, I think, Miss Burton?" he said at length.
"Yes," was all the reply she made.
"Then I suppose you have had some experience of Sunday schools?" he observed, without knowing in the least what prompted him to make the remark.
"Yes, I think I may say I have considerable experience of Sunday schools," said Hettie smiling. "I had to take the management of the largest class in my father's school, and very much I enjoyed the work."
"Have you ever heard the story of the ambition of these children to keep a Sunday school, and the dire plight it brought them into?" he asked, with a laugh.
"Oh, papa, don't bring that up again," exclaimed Beryl impatiently; "Miss Burton has heard all about that."
"And Beryl has my entire sympathy," said Miss Burton, eager to embrace this unexpected opportunity of saying what she had long wished to say to Mr. Hollys, but had lacked the courage; "I am as anxious as she is to see a Sunday school established at Egloshayle."
"Do you really think that it would be such a good thing?" he asked.
"Oh, I am sure of it," she said earnestly; "I believe Sunday schools have been an incalculable blessing to the world. It is such hopeful, blessed work to teach the little ones. We do not know how far any good we may do them may not reach. Oh, Mr. Hollys, I have been wishing so to ask you, if you would mind my gathering some of the children here on a Sunday afternoon, and teaching them for an hour. You saw how well they behaved on Friday. I will promise to keep my scholars in good order, if you will grant my request."
"Oh, do, papa. It would be so nice. Please say 'Yes,'" cried Beryl eagerly, before he could make any reply.
"Of course I can have no objection," he said, looking however, slightly perplexed; "it is very good of you to wish to teach these children; but have you thought what it will be? I should have fancied that these little people gave you enough to do."
"But, papa, we could help, we could teach the little ones," urged Beryl, with a seriousness which Percy found highly amusing.
"I should not mind the trouble, I am fond of teaching," said Miss Burton; "and if you will not think me over bold, Mr. Hollys, I will confess a plan that I have been turning over in my mind."
"Pray tell me; I am sure it is a wise one," he said, smiling at her.
"Well, it has struck me," said Miss Burton, "that the empty barn behind the house would make a capital schoolroom, if it were furnished with a few rough benches."
"Upon my word, you are thoroughly in earnest," said Mr. Hollys. "I see now what you mean. You want me to turn my barn into a meeting-house, in which you may hold your Sunday school."
"Yes, you may put it in that way," said Hettie laughing; "I fancied the barn could be well spared. Indeed, I do not know why the building is called the barn, for nothing seems ever to be stored there."
"I could spare it easily enough, certainly," replied Mr. Hollys; "but I fear you would find it a rough, uncomfortable place for your class."
"I do not think it would be too rough," said Miss Burton; "fishermen's children are not likely to be over nice in their notions. We can hang up some pictures, to make the place look bright and pleasant."
"Oh yes, I have some lovely pictures!" cried Beryl joyfully. "You will let us have the barn, won't you, papa? I think it is a splendid idea of Miss Burton's."
"So it is," acquiesced her father; "a very good idea, as all Miss Burton's ideas seem to be. Let us go and have a look at the barn, and see what can be made of it. I shall have to give my consent, I suppose."
So they all moved off in the direction of the barn, with the exception of Percy, who was left helpless on his couch. He remained alone for some time, greatly to his dissatisfaction, for solitude was very irksome to him now. After awhile, however, Beryl remembered him, and came with radiant face to tell him all that had been arranged.
"Is it not good of papa?" she exclaimed, in a tone of delight. "He says that he will have a wooden floor put to the barn, and some benches made, and a proper window, and then it will make a charming room for our Sunday school. I am so glad Miss Burton asked him about it. I knew he would agree if she asked him."
"What a queer child you are, Beryl!" observed Percy. "You could not look more pleased if any one had given you a thousand pounds. Are you and Coral to be teachers in this grand Sunday school?"
"Yes; we shall teach the little ones," said Beryl, with proud dignity; "Miss Burton will need our help."
"Then you will be 'workers for the kingdom,' I suppose?" remarked Percy, looking at her with a quizzical expression, as he quoted the expression he had heard her use.
Beryl's face flushed. She only answered by a nod.
"I wish you would tell me what you mean by 'the kingdom,' Beryl," said Percy.
"Oh, you know very well!" said Beryl.
"Indeed, I do not," returned he.
"Then you might know," she replied.
"That may be," said Percy; "but as I do not know, I think you ought to tell me."
Beryl looked down, and fidgeted with her slipper before she spoke again.
"You say the Lord's Prayer sometimes, do you not?" she observed suddenly.
"Perhaps I do, sometimes, in church," returned Percy, not quite prepared for such a question.
"Well, you know you say, 'Thy kingdom come,'—that is the kingdom I mean."
"But now you have not told me what it is," urged Percy.
"If you pray about it, you must know what it is, I should think," said Beryl.
"I am afraid that doesn't follow," replied Percy, "I really do not know what is meant by 'the kingdom.' I wish you would explain it to me, Beryl."
"I can't explain it properly," said Beryl; "but it is the kingdom of God, and when any one is good and kind, and tries to do what is right, that is the coming of the kingdom."
"What a queer explanation!" laughed Percy.
But, queer though it was, he understood it, and did not soon forget it. Often in after days, as he listened to the familiar words of the Lord's Prayer, Beryl's childish explanation gave them a fuller meaning, and he remembered how she had said—"When any one is good and kind, and tries to do what is right, that is the coming of the kingdom."
MORE WORK FOR THE KINGDOM
HAVING consented to Miss Burton's plan for establishing a Sunday school, Mr. Hollys interested himself heartily in the necessary arrangements. No time was lost in setting about the work; but the Egloshayle carpenters were not the most expeditious of workmen, and a fortnight passed before the room was ready for use. Coral and Beryl watched the progress of the work with the greatest interest, and it was a glad day for them when at last they saw the barn in perfect order for the reception of their scholars.
It was a barn no longer, but a large and comfortable room, furnished with a table and chairs, wooden benches for the scholars, and some bookshelves; bright pictures adorned the walls, and sweet, flowering plants, standing on the window-sill, gave a cheerful, homely look to the room.
The children were delighted beyond measure with the new schoolroom. It was a disappointment to Beryl that Percy did not see its completion. He went back to London a few days before it was finished. His foot was not yet well, but he could manage to limp along with the aid of a stick, and his mother was so anxious for his return home, that he would not delay his journey after he had the doctor's permission to travel.
He and Beryl parted the best of friends. The child was not glad now at the thought of losing Percy's company. She regretted his departure keenly. Her face broke into a smile, however, when Percy, as he said good-bye, whispered to her that he would get his mother to insist upon Mr. Hollys bringing her with him, when he came to London in the spring. That was a charming idea to her, for Beryl had no longer the least fear that Percy's teasing ways would spoil the enjoyment of her holiday.
"Oh, that would be delightful!" she returned. "If only papa will let me go!"
"He will, if you make a fuss," returned Percy, in an undertone. "You know you always manage to get your own way, Duchess."
Beryl could not feel that this statement was quite true; but she earnestly hoped that she might get her own way with respect to the visit to London.
She had certainly had things much her own way of late. She had never dreamed of anything so good as the manner in which her wish to have a Sunday school was now realised. On the Sunday following Percy's departure, the first classes were held. A good number of children obeyed the invitation to come, and their bright happy faces and orderly demeanour showed that they appreciated the arrangements which had been made for their reception.
Beryl felt very proud, when Miss Burton committed to her the instruction of six little children, all under seven years of age. Perhaps the lady's presence awed the restless little mortals; certainly Beryl found her present class much more manageable than the class she had tried to teach in the damp cave under the cliff. She found it a great advantage to have Miss Burton to appeal to in any disturbance or perplexity.
Coral also was entrusted with the charge of some little ones, whilst Miss Burton taught the elder scholars.
Thus was commenced the first Sunday school at Egloshayle. To many of the dwellers in that out-of-the-world place, the very idea of such a thing was astonishing, and its novelty was alone enough to set them against the arrangement. But there were people, who had come from other villages, where Sunday schools were as unquestioned a fact as the Sunday services at the church, and they were thankful that their children should be cared for and taught on Sunday afternoons.
The establishment of the school tended to increase Mr. Hollys' popularity with the simple fisher-folk of Egloshayle.
As the children talked about their school, and the thing became better known, one new scholar after another was added to the number who gathered in the barn, till at last there were as many as the room could conveniently hold.
Beryl had a pleasing proof that Percy did not forget his little friends as soon as he found himself in London again.
Perhaps he had been more interested in their plans for establishing a Sunday school than he cared to appear. It seemed so, when one day, about a fortnight after his departure, the country carrier brought to Egloshayle House a large square parcel, directed to Miss Beryl Hollys, which had come by rail from London.
In a flutter of curiosity, Beryl cut the string and unfastened the package. As she pushed back the many folds of paper, a pile of bright-covered books came to view. They were well-chosen story books such as all children love. A note from Percy lay above them, in which he explained that as he believed a lending library was considered to be an important addition to a Sunday school, he had sent a few books, which Beryl might devote to the use of her scholars if she thought fit. He could not say that the books were worth reading, as he was not responsible for their selection. His mother, who knew more about such things, had chosen them at his request.
Beryl was highly pleased with this most unexpected gift. The idea of a lending library had not before occurred to her; but she hailed it with delight, and felt very grateful to Percy for at once suggesting it and aiding its accomplishment.
She and Coral were soon at work covering the books in neat brown paper covers, and when they were duly numbered and placed on the shelves in the new schoolroom, with some of the children's own books added to them, they made a good foundation for a school library.
After this, the weeks passed very happily and swiftly for the children at Egloshayle House. With their own lessons to do, and their Sunday scholars to care for, they had no lack of occupation.
To Beryl's joy, her father remained at home from September till Christmas, with the exception of a fortnight, during which he was absent on a yachting trip with a friend. Many friends visited him during the autumn; but when they were gone, and rough gales and icy breezes changed Egloshayle into a bleak and uninviting place, he still found attractions in his home there.
The winter season was always a trying time for the poor Cornish fishermen.
It was often at the risk of their lives that they went out to catch the fish, whose sale brought them but small profit.
This year there was even more distress than usual amongst the Egloshayle villagers.
It was well for them that Mr. Hollys was at home at the time. No story of want which reached his ears failed to stir his compassion. He made Miss Burton his almoner for the needs of his poor neighbours, and she distributed his generous gifts with kindness and discretion. She had become well known to the villagers.
They had learned to look upon her as a friend, since she began to teach their children, and there were few homes in the place to which she was not welcomed.
It was therefore easy to find out the true state of the poor people's affairs, and how they might best be relieved.
One result of this time of distress was the development of a plan by which Miss Burton hoped to benefit Coral and Beryl, and also the poor children in whom they felt such interest.
Going suddenly into the nursery one day, Beryl was surprised to find her governess in grave consultation with Lucy, respecting some outgrown garments of the children's, which they were examining with much deliberation.