CHAPTER XIII.VERY ROUGH WEATHER.
With all her easy and languishing ways, Flower Dalrymple had often gone through rough times. Her life in Australia had given to her experiences both of the extreme of luxury and the extreme of roughing, but never in the course of her young life did she go through a more uncomfortable journey than that from Mrs. Cameron’s house in Bath to Sleepy Hollow. It was true that Scorpion, Mrs. Cameron, and Flower, traveled first-class; it was true also that where it was necessary for them to drive the best carriages to be procured were at their service; but, as on all and every occasion Scorpion was king of the ceremonies these arrangements did notadd to Flower’s comfort. Mrs. Cameron, who felt seriously angry with the young girl, addressed all her conversation to the dog, and as the dog elected to sit on Flower’s lap, and snapped and snarled whenever she moved, and as Mrs. Cameron’s words were mostly directed through the medium of Scorpion at her, her position was not an agreeable one.
“Ah-ha, my dear doggie!” said the good lady. “Somebody has come to the wrong box, has she not? Somebody thought I would take her in, and be kind to her, and pet her, and give her your cream, did she not? But no one shall have my doggie’s cream; no, that they shan’t!”
“Mrs. Cameron,” said Flower, when these particularly clever and lucid remarks had continued for nearly an hour, “may I open the window of the carriage at this side? I’m quite stifling.”
Mrs. Cameron laid a firm, fat hand upon the window cord, and bent again over the pampered Scorpion.
“And is my doggie’s asthma not to be considered for the sake of somebody who ought not to be here, who was never invited nor wished for, and is now to be returned like a bad penny to where she came from? Is my own dearest little dog to suffer for such a person’s whims? Oh, fie! oh, fie! Well, come here my Scorpion; your mistress won’t reject you.”
For Flower, in a fit of ungovernable temper, had suddenly dashed the petted form of Scorpion to the ground.
The poor angry girl now buried herself in the farthest corner of the railway carriage. From there she could hear Mrs. Cameron muttering about “somebody’s” temper, and hoping that “somebody” would get her deserts.
These remarks, uttered several times, frightened Flower so much that at last she looked up, and said, in a queer, startled voice:
“You don’t think Dr. Maybright is going to die? You can’t be so awfully wicked as to think that.”
“Oh, we are wicked, are we, Scorpion?” said Mrs. Cameron, her fat hand gently stroking down Scorpion’s smooth fur from tip to tail. “Never mind, Scorpion, my own; never mind. When the little demon of temper gets into somebody she isn’t quite accountable, is she?”
Flower wondered if any restraining power would keep her from leaping out of the window.
But even the weariest journey comes to an end at last, and twenty-four hours after she had left Sleepy Hollow, Flower, feeling the most subdued, the most abject, the most brow-beaten young person in Christendom, returned to it. Toward the end of the journey she felt impervious to Mrs. Cameron’s sly allusions, and Scorpion growled and snapped at her in vain. Her whole heart was filled with one over-powering dread. How should she find the Doctor? Was he better? Was he worse? Or had all things earthly come to an end for him; and had he reached a place where even thenaughtiest girl in all the world could vex and trouble him no longer?
When the hired fly drew up outside the porch, Flower suddenly remembered her first arrival—the gay “Welcome” which had waved above her head; the kind, bright young faces that had come out of the darkness to greet her; the voice of the head of the house, that voice which she was so soon to learn to love, uttering the cheeriest and heartiest words of greeting. Now, although Mrs. Cameron pulled the hall-door bell with no uncertain sound, no one, for a time at least, answered the summons, and Flower, seizing her opportunity, sprang out of the fly and rushed into the house.
The first person she met, the very first, was Polly. Polly was sitting at the foot of the stairs, all alone. She had seated herself on the bottom step. Her knees were huddled up almost to her chin. Her face was white, and bore marks of tears. She scarcely looked up when Flower ran to her.
“Polly! Polly! How glad I am you at least are not very ill.”
“Is that you, Flower?” asked Polly.
She did not seem surprised, or in any way affected.
“Yes, my leg does still ache very much. But what of that? What of anything now? He is worse! They have sent for another doctor. The doctor from London is upstairs; he’s with him. I’m waiting here to catch him when he comes down, for I must know the very worst.”
“The very worst!” echoed Flower in a feeble tone.
She tumbled down somehow on to the stair beside Polly, and the next instant her death-like face lay in Polly’s lap.
“Now, my dear, you need not be in the least frightened,” said a shrill voice in Polly’s ears. “A most troublesome young person! a most troublesome! She has just fainted; that’s all. Let me fetch a jug of cold water to pour over her.”
“Is thatyou, Aunt Maria?” said Polly. “Oh, yes, there was a telegram, but we forgot all about it. And is that Scorpion, and is he going to bark? But he mustn’t! Please kneel down here, Aunt Maria, and hold Flower’s head. Whatever happens, Scorpion mustn’t bark. Give him to me!”
Before Mrs. Cameron had time to utter a word or in any way to expostulate, she found herself dragged down beside Flower, Flower’s head transferred to her capacious lap, and the precious Scorpion snatched out of her arms. Polly’s firm, muscular young fingers tightly held the dog’s mouth, and in an instant Scorpion and she were out of sight. Notwithstanding all his fighting and struggling and desperate efforts to free himself, she succeeded in carrying him to a little deserted summer pagoda at a distant end of the garden. Here she locked him in, and allowed him to suffer both cold and hunger for the remainder of the night.
There are times when even the most unkind are softened. Mrs. Cameron was not a sympathetic person. She was a great philanthropist, it is true, and was much esteemed, especially by those people who did not know her well. Butlove, the real name for what the Bible calls charity, seldom found an entrance into her heart. The creature she devoted most affection to was Scorpion. But now, as she sat in the still house, which all the time seemed to throb with a hidden intense life; when she heard in the far distance doors opening gently and stifled sobs and moans coming from more than one young throat; when she looked down at the deathlike face of Flower—she really did forget herself, and rose for once to the occasion.
Very gently—for she was a strong woman—she lifted Flower, and carried her into the Doctor’s study. There she laid her on a sofa, and gave her restoratives, and when Flower opened her dazed eyes she spoke to her more kindly than she had done yet.
“I have ordered something for you, which you are to take at once,” she said. “Ah! here it is! Thank you, Alice. Now, Daisy, drink this off at once.”
It was a beaten-up egg in milk and brandy, and when Flower drank it she felt no longer giddy, and was able to sit up and look around her.
In the meantime Polly and all the other children remained still as mice outside the Doctor’s door. They had stolen on tiptoe from different quarters of the old house to this position, and now they stood perfectly still, not looking at one another or uttering a sound, but with their eyes fixed with pathetic earnestness and appeal at the closed door. When would the doctors come out? When would the verdict be given? Minutes passed. The children found this time of tension an agony.
“I can’t bear it!” sobbed Firefly at last.
But the others said, “Hush!” so peremptorily, and with such a total disregard for any one person’s special emotions, that the little girl’s hysterical fit was nipped in the bud.
At last there was a sound of footsteps within the room, and the local practitioner, accompanied by the great physician from London, opened the door carefully and came out.
“Go in and sit with your father,” said one of the doctors to Helen.
Without a word she disappeared into the darkened room, and all the others, including little Pearl in Nurse’s arms, followed the medical men downstairs. They went into the Doctor’s study, where Flower was still lying very white and faint on the sofa. Fortunately for the peace of the next quarter of an hour Mrs. Cameron had taken herself off in a vain search for Scorpion.
“Now,” said Polly, when they were all safely in the room—she took no notice of Flower; she did not even see her—“now please speak; please tell us the whole truth at once.”
She went up and laid her hand on the London physician’s arm.
“The whole truth? But I cannot do that, my dear young lady,” he said, in hearty, genial tones. “Bless me!” turningto the other doctor, “do all these girls and boys belong to Maybright? And so you want the whole truth, Miss—Miss——”
“I’m called Polly, sir.”
“The whole truth, Polly? Only God knows that. Your father was in a weak state of health; he had a shock and a chill. We feared mischief to the brain. Oh, no, he is by no means out of the wood yet. Still I have hope of him; I have great hope. What do you say, Strong? Symptoms have undoubtedly taken a more favorable turn during the last hour or two.”
“I quite agree with you, Sir Andrew,” said the local practitioner, with a profound bow.
“Then, my dear young lady, my answer to you, to all of you, is that, although only God knows the whole truth, there is, in my opinion, considerable hope—yes, considerable. I’ll have a word with you in the other room, Strong. Good-by, children; keep up your spirits. I have every reason to think well of the change which has set in within the last hour.”
The moment the doctors left the room Polly looked eagerly round at the others.
“Only God knows the truth,” she said. “Let us pray to Him this very minute. Let’s get on our knees at once.”
They all did so, and all were silent.
“What are we to say, Polly?” asked Firefly at last. “I never did ’aloud prayers’ since mother died.”
“Hush! There’s the Lord’s Prayer,” said Polly. “Won’t somebody say it? My voice is choking.”
“I will,” said Flower.
Nobody had noticed her before; now she came forward, knelt down by Polly’s side, and repeated the prayer of prayers in a steady voice. When it was over, she put up her hands to her face, and remained silent.
“What are you saying now?” asked Firefly, pulling at her skirt.
“Something about myself.”
“What is that?” they all asked.
“I’ve been the wickedest girl in the whole of England. I have been asking God to forgive me.”
“Oh, poor Flower!” echoed the children, touched by her dreary, forsaken aspect.
Polly put her arms round her and kissed her.
“We have quite forgiven you, so, of course, God will,” she said.
“How noble you are! Will you be my friend?”
“Yes, if you want to have me. Oh, children!” continued Polly, “do you think we can any of us ever do anything naughty again if father gets better?”
“He will get better now,” said Firefly.
CHAPTER XIV.A NOVEL HIDING-PLACE.
Whether it was the children’s faith or the children’s prayer, certain it is that from that moment the alarming symptoms in connection with Dr. Maybright’s illness abated. It was some days before he was pronounced out of danger, but even that happy hour arrived in due course, and one by one his children were allowed to come to see him.
Mrs. Cameron meanwhile arranged matters pretty much as she pleased downstairs. Helen, who from the first had insisted on nursing her father herself, had no time to housekeep. Polly’s sprained ankle would not get well in a minute, and, besides, other circumstances had combined to reduce that young lady’s accustomed fire and ardor. Consequently, Mrs. Cameron had matters all her own way, and there is not the least doubt that she and Scorpion between them managed to create a good deal of moral and physical disquietude.
“Well,” she said to herself, “when all is said and done, that poor man who is on the flat of his back upstairs is my sainted Helen’s husband; and if at such a time as this Maria Cameron should harbor ill-will in her heart it would but ill become the leader of some of the largest philanthropic societies in Bath. No, for the present my place is here, and no black looks, nor surly answers, nor impertinent remarks, will keep Maria Cameron from doing her duty.”
Accordingly Mrs. Power gave a month’s notice, and Alice wept so profusely that her eyes for the time being were seriously injured. Scorpion bit the new kitchen-maid Jane twice, who went into hysterics and expected hydrophobia daily. But notwithstanding these and sundry other fracases, Mrs. Cameron steadily pursued her way. She looked into account-books, she interviewed the butcher, she dismissed the baker, she overhauled the store-room, and after her own fashion—and a disagreeable fashion it was—did a good deal of indirect service to the family.
Flower in particular she followed round so constantly and persistently that the young girl began to wonder if Mrs. Cameron seriously and really intended to punish her, by now bereaving her of her senses.
“I don’t think I can stand it much longer,” said Flower to Polly. “Last night I was in bed and asleep when she came in. I was awfully tired, and had just fallen into my first sleep, when that detestable dog snapped at my nose. There was Mrs. Cameron standing in the middle of the room with a lighted candle in her hand. ‘Get up,’ she said. ‘What for?’ I asked. ‘Get up this minute!’ she said, and she stamped her foot. I thought perhaps she would disturb your father, for my room is not far away from his, so Itumbled out of bed. ‘Now, what is the matter?’ I asked. ‘The matter?’ said Mrs. Cameron. ‘That’sthe matter! andthat’sthe matter! andthat’sthe matter!’ And what do you think? She was pointing to my stockings and shoes, and my other clothes. I always do leave them in a little heap in the middle of the floor; they’re perfectly comfortable there, and it doesn’t injure them in the least. Well! that awful woman woke me out of my sleep to put them by. She stood over me, and made me fold the clothes up, and shake out the stockings, and put the shoes under a chair, and all the time that fiendish dog was snapping at my heels. Oh, it’s intolerable! I’ll be in a lunatic asylum if this goes on much longer!”
Polly laughed; she could not help it; and Firefly and David, who were both listening attentively, glanced significantly at one another.
The next morning, very, very early, Firefly was awakened by a bump. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and murmured, “All right!” under her breath.
“Put something on, Fly, and be quick,” whispered David’s voice from the door.
Firefly soon tumbled into a warm frock, a thick outdoor jacket, and a little fur cap; her shoes and stockings were tumbled on anyhow. Holding her jacket together—for she was in too great a hurry to fasten it—she joined David.
“I did it last night,” he said; “it’s a large hole; he’ll never be discovered there. And now the thing is to get him.”
“Oh, Dave, how will you manage that?”
“Trust me, Fly. Even if I do run a risk, I don’t care. Anything is better than the chance of Flower getting into another of her passions.”
“Oh, anything, of course,” said Fly. “Are you going to kill him, Dave?”
“No. The hole is big; he can move about in it. What I thought of was this—we’d sell him.”
“Sell him? But he isn’t ours.”
“No matter! He’s a public nuisance, and he must be got rid of. There are often men wandering on the moor who would be glad to buy a small dog like Scorpion. They’d very likely give us a shilling for him. Then we’d drop the shilling into Mrs. Cameron’s purse. Don’t you see? She’d never know how it got there. Then, you understand, it would really have been Mrs. Cameron who sold Scorpion.”
“Oh, delicious!” exclaimed Fly. “She’d very likely spend the money on postage stamps to send round begging charity letters.”
“So Scorpion would have done good in the end,” propounded David. “But come along now, Fly. The difficult thing is to catch the little brute.”
It was still very early in the morning, and the corridors and passages were quite dark. David and Fly, however, could feel their way about like little mice, and they soonfound themselves outside the door of the green room, which was devoted to Mrs. Cameron.
“Do you feel this?” said David, putting out his hand and touching Fly. “This is a long towel; I’m winding part of it round my hand and arm. I don’t want to get hydrophobia, like poor Jane. Now, I’m going to creep into Mrs. Cameron’s room so quietly, that even Scorpion won’t wake. I learned how to do that from the black people in Australia. You may stand there, Fly, but you won’t hear even a pin fall till I come back with Scorpion.”
“If I don’t hear, I feel,” replied Fly. “My heart does thump so. I’m just awfully excited. Don’t be very long away, Dave.”
By this time David had managed to unhasp the door. He pushed it open a few inches, and then lay flat down on his face and hands. The next moment he had disappeared into the room, and all was profoundly still. Fly could hear through the partly open door the gentle and regularly kept-up sound of a duet of snoring. After three or four minutes the duet became a solo. Still there was no other sound, not a gasp, not even the pretense of a bark. More minutes passed by. Had David gone to sleep on the floor? Was Scorpion dead that he had ceased to snore?
These alarming thoughts had scarcely passed through her mind before David rejoined her.
“He’s wrapped up in this towel,” he said. “He’s kicking with his hind legs, but he can’t get a squeak out; now come along.”
Too careless and happy in the success of their enterprise even to trouble to shut Mrs. Cameron’s door, the two children rushed downstairs and out of the house. They effected their exit easily by opening the study window. In a moment or two they were in the shrubbery.
“The hole isn’t here,” said David. “Somebody might find him here and bring him back, and that would never do. Do you remember Farmer Long’s six-acre field?”
“Where he keeps the bull?” exclaimed Fly. “You haven’t made the hole there, Dave?”
“Yes, I have, in one corner! It’s the best place in all the world, for not a soul will dare to come near the field while the bull is there. You needn’t be frightened, Fly! He’s always taken home at night! He’s not there now. But don’t you see how he’ll guard Scorpion all day? Even Mrs. Cameron won’t dare to go near the field while the bull is there.”
“I see!” responded Fly, in an appreciative voice. “You’re a very clever boy, Dave. Now let’s come quick and pop him into the hole.”
Farmer Long’s six-acre field was nearly a quarter of a mile away, but the children reached it in good time, and Fly looked down with interest on the scene of David’s excavations. The hole, which must have given the little boyconsiderable labor, was nearly three feet deep, and about a foot wide. In the bottom lay a large beef bone.
“He won’t like it much!” said David. “His teeth aren’t good; he can only eat chicken bones, but hunger will make him nibble it by-and-by. Now, Fly, will you go behind that furze bush and bring me a square, flat board, which you will find there?”
“What a funny board!” said Fly, returning in a moment. “It’s all over little square holes.”
“Those are for him to breathe through,” said David. “Now, then, master, here you go! You won’t annoy any one in particular here, unless, perhaps, you interfere with Mr. Bull’s arrangements. Hold the board over the top of the hole, so, Fly. Now then, I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, my dear amiable little friend.”
The bandage which firmly bound Scorpion’s mouth was removed. He was popped into the hole, and the wooden cover made fast over the top. The children went home, vowing eternal secrecy, which not even tortures should wring from them.
At breakfast that morning Mrs. Cameron appeared late on the scene. Her eyes were red with weeping. She also looked extremely cross.
“Helen, I must request you to have some fresh coffee made for me. I cannot bear half cold coffee. Daisy, have the goodness to ring the bell. Yes, my dear children, I am late. I have a sad reason for being late; the dog is nowhere to be found.”
A gleam of satisfaction filled each young face. Fly crimsoning greatly, lowered her eyes; but David looked tranquilly full at Mrs. Cameron.
“Is it that nice little Scorpion?” he asked. “I’m awfully sorry, but I suppose he went for a walk.”
Mrs. Cameron glanced with interest at David’s sympathetic face.
“No, my dear boy, that isn’t his habit. The dear little dog sleeps, as a rule, until just the last moment. Then I lift him gently, and carry him downstairs for his cream.”
“I wonder how he likes that bare beef bone?” murmured Fly, almost aloud.
“He’s sure to come home for his cream in a moment or two!” said David.
He gave Fly a violent kick under the table.
“Helen,” said Mrs. Cameron, “be sure you keep Scorpion’s cream.”
“There isn’t any,” replied Helen. “I was obliged to send it up to father. There was not nearly so much cream as usual this morning. I had scarcely enough for father.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you have used up the dog’s cream?” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron. “Well, really, thatistoo much. The little animal will starve, he can’t touch anything else. Oh, where is he? My little, faithful pet! Mylap feels quite empty without him. My dear children, I trust you may never love—lovea little creature as I love Scorpion, and then lose him. Yes, I am seriously uneasy, the dog would not have left me of his own accord.”
Here, to the astonishment of everybody, and the intense indignation of Mrs. Cameron, Fly burst into a scream of hysterical laughter, and hid her face in Polly’s neck.
“What a naughty child!” exclaimed the good lady. “You have no sympathy with my pet, my darling! Speak this minute. Where is the dog, miss?”
“I expect in his grave,” said Fly.
Whereupon Dave suddenly disappeared under the table, and all the others stared in wonder at Fly.
“Firefly, do you know anything?”
“I expect Scorpion is in his grave. Where is the use of making such a fuss?” responded Fly.
And she made a precipitate retreat out of the window.
All the remainder of that day was occupied in a vain search for the missing animal. Mrs. Cameron strongly suspected Firefly, but the only remark the little girl could be got to make was:
“I am sure Scorpion is in his grave.”
Mrs. Cameron said that was no answer, and further insisted that the child should be severely punished. But as in reply to that, Helen said firmly that as long as father was in the house no one should punish the children but him, she felt, for the present, at least, obliged to hold her sense of revenge in check.
After Fly had gone to bed that night, David crept into her room.
“I’ve done it all now,” he said. “I sold Scorpion to-night for a shilling to a man who was walking across the moor, and I have just popped the shilling into Mrs. Cameron’s purse. The horrid little brute worked quite a big hole in the bottom of the grave, Fly, and he nearly snapped my fingers off when I lifted him out to give him to Jones. But he’s away now, that’s a comfort. What a silly thing you were, Fly, to burst out laughing at breakfast, and then say that Scorpion was in his grave.”
“But it was so true, David. That hole looked exactly like a grave.”
“But you have drawn suspicion upon you. Now, Mrs. Cameron certainly doesn’t suspect me. See what she has given me: this beautiful new two-shilling piece. She said I was a very kind boy, and had done my best to find her treasure for her.”
“Oh, Dave, how could you take it!”
“Couldn’t I, just! I’m not a little muff, like you. I intend to buy a set of wickets with this. Well, good-night, Fly; nobody need fear hydrophobia after this good day’s work.”
CHAPTER XV.A DILEMMA.
A night’s sleep had by no means improved Mrs. Cameron’s temper. She came downstairs the next morning so snappish and disagreeable, so much inclined to find fault with everybody, and so little disposed to see the faintest gleam of light in any direction, that the children almost regretted Scorpion’s absence, and began to wonder if, after all, he was not a sort of safety-valve for Mrs. Cameron, and more or less essential to her existence.
Hitherto this good woman had not seen her brother-in-law; and it was both Helen’s and Polly’s constant aim to keep her from the sick room.
It was several days now since the Doctor was pronounced quite out of danger; but the affection of his eyes which had caused his children so many anxious fears, had become much worse. As the London oculist had told him, any shock or chill would do this; and there was now no doubt whatever that for a time, at least, he would have to live in a state of total darkness.
“It is a dreadful fate,” said Helen to Polly. “Oh, yes, it is a dreadful fate, but we must not complain, for anything is better than losing him.”
“Anything truly,” replied Polly. “Why, what is the matter, Flower? How you stare.”
Flower had been lying full-length on the old sofa in the school-room; she now sprang to her feet, and came up eagerly to the two sisters.
“Could a person do this,” she said, her voice trembling with eagerness—“Could such a thing as this be done: could one give their eyes away?”
“Flower!”
“Yes, I mean it. Could I give my eyes to Dr. Maybright—I mean just do nothing at all but read to him and look for him—manage so that he should know everything just through my eyes. Can I do it? If I can, I will.”
“But, Flower, you are not father’s daughter,” said Polly in an almost offended tone. “You speak, Flower—you speak as if he were all the world to you.”
“So he is all the world to me!” said Flower. “I owe him reparation, I owe him just everything. Yes, Helen and Polly, I think I understand how to keep your father from missing his eyes much. Oh, how glad I am, how very glad I am!”
From that moment Flower became more or less a changed creature. She developed all kinds of qualities which the Maybrights had never given her credit for. She had a degree of tact which was quite astonishing in a child of her age. There was never a jarring note in her melodious voice. With her impatience gone, and her fiery, passionate temper soothed,she was just the girl to be a charming companion to an invalid.
However restless the Doctor was, he grew quieter when Flower stole her little hand into his; and when he was far too weak and ill and suffering to bear any more reading aloud, he could listen to Flower as she recited one wild ballad after another.
Flower had found her mission, and she was seldom now long away from the Doctor’s bedside.
“Don’t be jealous, Polly,” said Helen. “All this is saving Flower, and doing father good.”
“There is one comfort about it,” said Polly, “that as Aunt Maria perfectly detests poor Flower, or Daisy, as she calls her, she is not likely to go into father’s room.”
“That is true!” said Helen. “She came to the room door the other day, but Flower was repeating ‘Hiawatha,’ and acting it a little bit—you know she can’t help acting anything she tries to recite—and Aunt Maria just threw up her hands and rolled her eyes, and went away.”
“What a comfort!” said Polly. “Whatever happens, we must never allow the dreadful old thing to come near father.”
Alack! alas! something so bad had happened, so terrible a tragedy had been enacted that even Flower and Hiawatha combined could no longer keep Mrs. Cameron away from her brother-in-law’s apartment.
On the second day after Scorpion’s disappearance, the good woman called Helen aside, and spoke some words which filled her with alarm.
“My dear!” she said, “I am very unhappy. The little dog, the little sunbeam of my life, is lost. I am convinced, Helen! yes, I am convinced, that there is foul play in the matter. You, every one of you, took a most unwarrantable dislike to the poor, faithful little animal. Yes, every one of you, with the exception of David, detested my Scorpion, and I am quite certain that you all know where he now is.”
“But really, Aunt Maria,” said Helen, her fair face flushing, “really, now, you don’t seriously suppose that I had anything to say to Scorpion’s leaving you.”
“I don’t know, my dear. I exonerate David. Yes, David is a good boy; he was attached to the dog, and I quite exonerate him. But as to the rest of you, I can only say that I wish to see your father on the subject.”
“Oh! Aunt Maria! you are not going to trouble father, so ill as he is, about that poor, miserable little dog?”
“Thank you, Helen! thank you! poor miserable little dog indeed. Ah! my dear, you have let the cat out of the bag now. Yes, my dear, I insist on seeing your father with regard to thepoor, miserable little dog. Poor, indeed, am I without him, my little treasure, my little faithful Scorpion.” Here Mrs. Cameron applied her handkerchief to her eyes, and Helen walked to the window, feeling almost driven to despair.
“I think you are doing wrong!” she said, presently. “It is wrong to disturb a man like father about any dog, however noble. I am sure I am right in saying that we, none of us, know anything about Scorpion’s disappearance. However, if you like, and rather than that father should be worried, I will send for all the children, and ask them the question one by one before you. I am absolutely sure that they won’t think Scorpion worth a lie.”
CHAPTER XVI.FIREFLY.
Helen experienced some little difficulty in getting her scattered brothers and sisters together. She could not get any of them to think seriously of Scorpion’s departure. They laughed and lingered over their own pursuits, and told Helen to her face that she made a great fuss about nothing; in short, the best part of an hour had gone by before the Maybrights and the two Dalrymples assembled in Mrs. Cameron’s presence in the morning room.
“It is just this, children,” said Helen. “Aunt Maria feels very low about Scorpion; you see she loved him.” Groans here came audibly from the lips of Bob and Bunny. “Yes!” said Helen, looking severely at her two little brothers, “Aunt Maria did love Scorpion. She feels very lonely without him, and she has taken an idea into her head that one or other of you had something to say to his disappearance. Of course I know that none of you could be so cruel and heartless, but to satisfy Aunt Maria, I have asked you all to come here just to tell her that you did nothing to make Scorpion run away.”
“Only we are very glad he did run away!” said Bob, “but as to touching him, why, I wouldn’t with a pair of tongs.”
“I wish to say a word!” said Mrs. Cameron. She came forward, and stood looking very flushed and angry before the assembled group. “I wish to say that I am sure some of you in your malice deprived me of my dog. I believe David Dalrymple to be innocent, but as to the rest of you, I may as well say that I do not believe you, whatever you may tell me.”
“Well, after that!” exclaimed all the children.
“I suppose, Helen, after that we may go away?” said Firefly, who was looking very pale.
“No, Miss!” said Aunt Maria, “you must stay. Your sister Helen does not wish me to do anything to disturb your father, but I assure you, children, there are limits even to my patience, and I intend to visit him this morning and tell him the whole story, unless before you leave the room you tell me the truth.”
Firefly’s sallow little face grew whiter and whiter. She glanced imploringly at David, who looked boldly and unconcernedly back at her; then, throwing back his head, he marched up to Mrs. Cameron’s side.
“You believe thatIam innocent, don’t you?” he said.
“Certainly, my dear boy. I have said so.”
“In that case, perhaps you would not mind my going out a little way on the moor and having a good look round for the dog, hemayhave wandered there, you know, and broken his leg or something.” Mrs. Cameron shuddered. “In any case,” continued David, with a certain air of modest assurance, which became him very much, “it seems a pity that I should waste time here.”
“Certainly; go, my dear lad,” answered Mrs. Cameron. “Bring my little innocent suffering treasure back with you, and I will give you half a crown.”
David instantly left the room, unheeding a short, sharp cry which issued from Firefly’s lips as he passed her.
Most of the other children were laughing; it was impossible for them to think of anything in connection with Scorpion except as a joke.
“Listen, Aunt Maria,” said Helen. “I am afraid you must not treat my brothers and sisters as you propose. Neither must you trouble father without the doctor’s permission. The fact is, Aunt Maria, we are Maybrights, and every one who knows anything about us at allmustknow that we would scorn to tell a lie. Our father and our dear, dear mother—your sister whom you loved, Aunt Maria, and for whose sake you are interested in us—taught us to fear a lie more than anything,muchmore than punishment,muchmore than discovery. Oh, yes, we have heaps and heaps of faults; we can tease, we can be passionate, and idle, and selfish; but being Maybrights, being the children of our own father and mother, we can’t lie. The fact is, we’d be afraid to.”
Helen’s blue eyes were full of tears.
“Bravo! Helen!” said Polly, going up to her sister and kissing her. “She says just the simple truth, Aunt Maria,” she continued, flashing round in her bright way on the old lady. “Wearea naughty set—youknow that, don’t you?—but we can’t tell lies; we draw the line there.”
“Yes, we draw the line there,” suddenly said Firefly, in a high-pitched voice, which sounded as if it was going to crack.
“I admire bravery,” said Mrs. Cameron, after a pause. “Ask your questions, Helen. For my dead sister’s sake I will accept the word of a Maybright. ’Pon my word, you are extraordinary young people; but I admire girls who are not afraid to speak out, and who uphold their parents’ teaching. Ask the children quickly, Helen, if they know anything about the dog, for after David’s hint about his having strayed on that awful moor, and perhaps having broken one of his dear little legs, I feel more uncomfortable than ever about him. For goodness’ sake, Helen! ask your question quickly, and let me get out on the moor to look for my dog.”
“Children,” said Helen, coming forward at once, “do youknow anything about Scorpion’s loss,anything? Now, I am going to ask you each singly; as you answer you can leave the room. Polly, I begin with you.”
One by one the Maybrights and Flower answered very clear and emphatic “No’s” to Helen’s question, and one by one they retired to wait for their companions in the passage outside.
At last Helen put the question to Firefly. Two big, green-tinted hazel eyes were raised to her face.
“Yes, Helen, I do know,” replied Firefly.
Mrs. Cameron uttered a shriek, and almost fell upon the little girl, but Helen very gently held her back.
“One minute,” she said. “Firefly, what do you know?”
“I’m not going to tell you, Helen.” The child’s lips quivered, but her eyes looked up bravely.
“Why so? Please, Aunt Maria, let me speak to her. Why won’t you tell what you know, dear Fly?”
“Because I promised. There, I won’t say a word more about it. I do know, and I won’t tell; no, I won’t ever, ever tell. You can punish me, of course, Aunt Maria.”
“So I will, Miss. Take that slap for your impertinence. Oh! if you were my child, should not I give you a whipping. You know what has happened to my poordearlittle dog, and you refuse to tell. But you shall tell—you wicked cruel little thing—you shall, you must!”
“Shall I take Firefly away and question her?” asked Helen. “Please, Aunt Maria, don’t be too stern with her. She is a timid little thing; she is not accustomed to people blaming her. She has some reason for this, but she will explain everything to her sister Nell, won’t you, darling?”
The child’s lips were trembling, and her eyes filling with tears.
“There’s no use in my going away with you, Helen,” she replied, steadily. “I am willing Aunt Maria should punish me, but I can’t tell because I’m a Maybright. It would be telling a lie to say what I know. I don’t mind your punishing me rather badly, Aunt Maria.”
“Oh, you don’t, don’t you?” said Aunt Maria. “Listen; was not that the sound of wheels?”
“The doctor to see father,” explained Helen. “I ought to go.”
“Excuse me, my dear, I particularly wish to see your father’s medical adviser this morning. I will not detain him long, but I have a question I wish to put to him. You stay with your little sister, Helen. I shall be back soon.”
Mrs. Cameron trotted out of the room. In about ten minutes, with an exultant look on her face, she returned. Firefly was now clasped tightly in Helen’s arms while she sobbed her heart out on her breast.
“Well, Helen, has thismostimpertinent, naughty child confessed?”
“She has not,” said Helen. “I don’t understand her; she seems in sore trouble. Dear little Fly!”
“‘Dear little Fly,’ indeed! Naughty, wicked little Fly, you mean. However, my dear, I have come to tell you that I have just had an interview with the excellent doctor who attends your father. He has gone up to see him now. He says he does not want to see you at all to-day, Helen. Well, I spoke to Dr. Strong, and he wasastonished—absolutely astonished, when he heard that I had not yet been permitted to see my brother-in-law. I told him quite frankly that you girls were jealous of my influence, and used his (Dr. Strong’s) name to keep me out of my poor brother’s room. ‘But my dear madam,’ he said, ‘the young ladies labor under a mistake—a vast, a monstrous mistake.Nothingcould do my poor patient more good than to see a sensible, practical lady like yourself!’ ‘Then I may see him this afternoon?’ I asked. ‘Undoubtedly, Mrs. Cameron,’ he replied; ‘it will be something for my patient to look forward to.’ I have arranged then, my dear Helen, to pay a visit to your father at three o’clock to-day.”
Helen could not repress a sigh.
Mrs. Cameron raised her eyebrows with a certain suggestive and aggravating gesture.
“Ah, my dear,” she said, “you must try to keep under that jealous temperament. Jealousy fostered in the heart overshadows and overclouds all life. Be warned in time.”
“About this child,” said Helen, drawing Firefly forward, “what is to be done about her? You will be lenient, won’t you, Aunt Maria, for she is very young?”
“By the way,” said Mrs. Cameron, with the manner of one who had not heard a word of Helen’s last speech, “is this naughty little girl attached to her father?”
Firefly raised her tear-dimmed face.
“He is my darling——” she began.
“Ah, yes, my dear; I detest exaggerated expressions. If you love him, you can now prove it. You would not, for instance, wish to give him anxiety, or to injure him?”
“Oh, no, oh, no! I would rather die.”
“Again that sentimental exaggeration; but you shall prove your words. If you have not confessed to me before three o’clock to-day all you know about the loss of my treasured dog Scorpion, I shall take you into your father’s sick room, and in his presence dare you to keep your wicked secret to yourself any longer.”
“Oh, you don’t mean that,” said Firefly. “You can’t be so awfully cruel. Nell, Nell, do say that Aunt Maria doesn’t mean that.”
The child was trembling violently; her little face was white as death, her appealing eyes would have softened most hearts.
“Oh, Nell, what shall I do if I make father worse again? For I can’t tell what I know; it would be a lie to tell it, and you said yourself, Nell, that no Maybright told lies.”
Mrs. Cameron smiled grimly.
“I have said it,” she remarked; “it all rests with yourself, Firefly. I shall be ready either to hear your confession or to take you to your father at three o’clock to-day.”
With these words the good lady walked out of the room.