CHAPTER XIV.AUNT MARIA.
“Ef you please, Miss Helen,” said Alice, the neat housemaid, putting in her head at the nursery door, “there’s a lady downstairs, and a heap of luggage, and the nastiest little dog I ever saw. He has almost killed the Persian kitten, Miss, and he is snarling and snapping at every one. See, he took this bit out of my apron, miss. The old lady says as her name is Mrs. Cameron, and she has come to stay; and she’d be glad if you’d go down to her immediately, Miss Helen.”
“Aunt Maria!” said Helen, in an aghast voice. “Aunt Maria absolutely come—and father away! Nursie, I must fly down—you will understand about those flannels. Oh! I am sorry Aunt Maria has come. What will Polly say?”
Helen felt a curious sinking at her heart as she descended the stairs; but she was a very polite and well-mannered girl, and when she went up to Mrs. Cameron she said some pretty words of welcome, which were really not overdone. Mrs. Cameron was a short, stout person; she always wore black, and her black was always rusty. She stood now in the middle of the drawing-room, holding Scorpion in her arms, with her bonnet-strings untied, and her full, round face somewhat flushed.
“No, my dear, you are not particularly glad to see me,” she said, in answer to Helen’s gentle dignified greeting. “I don’t expect it, child, nor look for it; and you need not waste untruths upon me, for I always see through them. You are not glad to see me, and I am not surprised, for I assure you I intend to make myself disagreeable. Helen, your father is a perfect fool. Now, my dear, you need not fire up; you would say so if you were as old as me, and had received as idiotic an epistle from him.”
“But I am not as old as you, and he is my father,” said Helen, steadily. “I don’t tell untruths, Aunt Maria, and I am glad to see you because—because you were fond of mother. Will you come into the dining-room now, and let me get you some tea?”
Helen’s lips were quivering, and her dark blue eyes were slightly lowered, so that Aunt Maria should not notice the tears that filled them. The old lady, however, had noticed these signs of emotion, and brave words always pleased her.
“You aren’t a patch on your mother, child,” she said. “But you remind me of her. Yes, take me to my room first, and then get me a good substantial meal, for I can tell you I am starving.”
Helen rang the bell.
“Alice,” she said to the parlor maid, who speedily answered the summons, “will you get the rose room ready as quickly as possible? My aunt, Mrs. Cameron, will stay here for the night. And please lay supper in the dining-room. Tell Mrs. Power—oh, I forgot—see and get as nice a supper as you can, Alice. You had better speak to Miss Polly.”
“Yes, Miss,” said Alice. Then she paused, hesitated, colored slightly, and said, in a dubious manner, “Is it the rose room you mean, Miss Helen? That’s the room Miss Polly is getting ready for Miss Virginy, and there ain’t no curtains to the window nor to the bed at present.”
“Then I won’t sleep in that bed,” said Mrs. Cameron. “I must have a four-poster with curtains all round, and plenty of dark drapery to the windows. My eyes are weak, and I don’t intend to have them injured with the cold morning light off the moor.”
“Oh, Aunt Maria, the mornings aren’t very light now,” answered Helen. “They are——”
But Mrs. Cameron interrupted her.
“Don’t talk nonsense, child. In a decent place like Bath I own the day may break gradually, but I expect everything contrary to civilized existence here. The very thought of those awful commons makes me shiver. Now, have you, or have you not, a four-poster, in which I can sleep?”
Helen smothered a slight sigh. She turned once again to Alice.
“Will you get my father’s room ready for Mrs. Cameron,” she said, “and then see about supper as quickly as possible? Father is away for a few days,” she added, turning to the good lady. “Please will you come up to Polly’s and my room now to take off your things?”
“And where is Polly?” said Mrs. Cameron. “And why doesn’t she come to speak to her aunt? There’s Kate, too, she must be a well-grown girl by now, and scarcely gone to bed yet. The rest of the family are, I presume, asleep; that is, if there’s a grain of sense left in the household.”
“Yes, most of the children are in bed,” replied Helen. “You will see Polly and Katie, and perhaps the twins, later on, but first of all I want to make you comfortable. You must be very tired; you have had a long journey.”
“I’m beat out, child, and that’s the truth. Here, I’ll lay Scorpion down in the middle of your bed; he has been a great worry to me all day, and he wants his sleep. He likes to get between the sheets, so if you don’t mind I’ll open the bed and let him slip down.”
“If you want me to be truthful, I do mind very much,” said Helen. “Oh, you are putting him into Polly’s bed. Well, I suppose he must stay there for the present.”
Mrs. Cameron was never considered an unamiable person; she was well spoken of by her friends and relations, for she was rich, and gave away a great deal of money to various charities and benevolent institutions. But if ever any one expected her to depart in the smallest particular from her own way they were vastly mistaken. Whatever her goal, whatever her faintest desire, she rode roughshod over all prejudices until she obtained it. Therefore it was that, notwithstanding poor Helen’s protest, Scorpion curled down comfortably between Polly’s sheets, and Mrs. Cameron, well pleased at having won her point, went down to supper.
Alas, and alas! the supper provided for the good lady was severe in its simplicity. Alice, blushing and uncomfortable, called Helen out of the room, and then informed her that neither Polly nor Maggie could be found, and that there was literally nothing, or next to nothing, in the larder.
“But that can’t be the case,” said Helen, “for there was a large piece of cold roast beef brought up for my tea, and a great plate of hot cakes, and an uncut plum cake. Surely, Alice, you must be mistaken.”
“No, Miss, there’s nothing downstairs. Not a joint, nor a cake, nor nothing. If it wasn’t that I found some new-laid eggs in the hen-house, and cut some slices from the uncookedham, I couldn’t have had nothing at all for supper—and—and——”
“Tut, tut!” suddenly exclaimed a voice in the dining-room. “What’s all this whispering about? It is very rude of little girls to whisper outside doors, and not to attend to their aunts when they come a long way to see them. If you don’t come in at once, Miss Helen, and give me my tea, I shall help myself.”
“Find Polly, then, as quick as you can, Alice,” exclaimed poor, perplexed Helen, “and tell her that Aunt Maria Cameron has come and is going to stay.”
Alice went away, and Helen, returning to the dining-room, poured out tea, and cut bread-and-butter, and saw her aunt demolishing with appetite three new-laid eggs, and two generous slices of fried ham.
“Your meal was plain; but I am satisfied with it,” she said in conclusion. “I am glad you live frugally, Helen; waste is always sinful, and in your case peculiarly so. You don’t mind my telling you, my dear, that I think it is a sad extravagance wearing crape every day, but of course you don’t know any better. You are nothing in the world but an overgrown child. Now that I have come, my dear, I shall put this and many other matters to rights. Tell me, Helen, how long does your father intend to be away?”
“Until Monday, I think, Aunt Maria.”
“Very well; then you and I will begin our reforms to-morrow. I’ll take you round with me, and we’ll look into everything. Your father won’t know the house when he comes back. I’ve got a treasure of a woman in my eye for him—a Miss Grinsted. She is fifty, and a strict disciplinarian. She will soon manage matters, and put this house into something like order. I had a great mind to bring her with me; but I can send for her. She can be here by Monday or Tuesday. I told her to be in readiness, and to have her boxes packed. My dear, I wish you would not poke out your chin so much. How old are you? Oh, sixteen—a very gawky age. Now then, that I am refreshed and rested, I think that we’ll just go round the house.”
“Will you not wait until to-morrow, Aunt Maria? The children are all asleep and in bed now, and Nurse never likes them to be disturbed.”
“My dear, Nurse’s likes or dislikes are not of the smallest importance to me. I wish to see the children asleep, so if you will have the goodness to light a candle, Helen, and lead the way, I will follow.”
Helen, again stifling a sigh, obeyed. She felt full of trepidation and uneasiness. Why did not Polly come in? Why had all the supper disappeared? Where were Katie and the twins? How strangely silent the house was.
“I will see the baby first,” said Mrs. Cameron. “In bed? Well, no matter, I wish to look at the little dear. Ah, this is the nursery; a nice, cheerful room, but too much light init, and no curtains to the windows. Very bad for the dear baby’s eyes. How do you do, Nurse? I have come to see baby. I am her aunt, her dear mother’s sister, Maria Cameron.”
Nurse curtseyed.
“Baby is asleep, ma‘am,” she said. “I have just settled her in her little crib for the night. She’s a good, healthy child, and no trouble to any one. Yes, ma‘am, she has a look of her dear blessed ma. I’ll just hold down the sheet, and you’ll see. Please, ma‘am, don’t hold the light full in the babe’s eyes, you’ll wake her.”
“My good woman, I handled babies before you did. I had this child’s mother in my arms when she was a baby. Yes, the infant is well enough; you’re mistaken in there being any likeness to your late mistress in her. She seems a plain child, but healthy. If you don’t watch her sight, she may get delicate eyes, however. I should recommend curtains being put up immediately to these windows, and you’re only using night-lights when she sleeps. It is notIthat am likely to injure the baby with too much light. Good evening, Nurse.”
Nurse muttered something, her brow growing black.
“Now, Helen,” continued Mrs. Cameron, “we will visit the other children. This is the boys’ room, I presume. I am fond of boys. What are your brothers’ names, my dear?”
“We call them Bob and Bunny.”
“Utterly ridiculous! I ask for their baptismal names, not for anything so silly. Ah! oh—I thought you said they were in bed: these beds are empty.”
So they were; tossed about, no doubt, but with no occupants, and the bedclothes no longer warm; so that it could not have been quite lately that the truants had departed from their nightly places of rest. On further investigation, Firefly’s bed was also found in a sad state ofdéshabillé, and it was clearly proved, on visiting their apartments, that the twins and Katie had not gone to bed at all.
“Then, my dear, where are the family?” said Mrs. Cameron. “You and that little babe are the only ones I have yet seen. Where is Mary? where is Katharine? Where are your brothers? My dear Helen, this is awful; your brothers and sisters are evidently playing midnight pranks. Oh, there is not a doubt of it, you need not tell me. What a good thing it is that I came! Oh! my poor dear sister; what a state her orphans have been reduced to! There is nothing whatever for it but to telegraph for Miss Grinsted in the morning.”
“But, my dear auntie, I am sure, oh! I am sure you are mistaken,” began poor Helen. “The children are always very well behaved—they are, indeed they are. They don’t play pranks, Aunt Maria.”
“Allow me to use my own eyesight, Helen. The beds are empty—not a child is to be found. Come, we must search the house!”
Helen never to her dying day forgot that eerie journey through the deserted house, accompanied by Aunt Maria. She never forgot the sickening fear which oppressed her, and the certainty which came over her that Polly, poor, excitable Polly, was up to some mischief.
Sleepy Hollow was a large and rambling old place, and it was some time before the searchers reached the neighborhood of the festive garret. When they did, however, there was no longer any room for doubt. Wild laughter, and high-pitched voices singing many favorite nursery airs and school-room songs made noise enough to reach the ears even of the deafest. “John Peel” was having a frantic chorus as Helen and her aunt ascended the step-ladder.
“For the sound of his horn brought me from my bed,And the cry of his hounds which he ofttimes led,Peel’s ‘View Hulloo!’ would awaken the dead,Or the fox from his lair in the morning.”
“Verynice, indeed,” said Aunt Maria, as she burst open the garret door. “Very nice and respectful to the memory of your dear mother! I am glad, children, that I have come to create decent order in this establishment. I am your aunt, Maria Cameron.”
CHAPTER XV.PUNISHMENT.
There are occasions when people who are accused wrongfully of a fault will take it patiently: there was scarcely ever known to be a time when wrongdoers did so.
The children in the garret were having a wild time of mirth and excitement. There was no time for any one to think, no time for any one to do aught but enjoy. The lateness of the hour, the stealthy gathering, the excellent supper, and, finally, the gay songs, had roused the young spirits to the highest pitch. Polly was the life of everything; Maggie, her devoted satellite, had a face which almost blazed with excitement.
Her small eyes twinkled like stars, her broad mouth never ceased to show a double row of snowy teeth. She revolved round her brothers and sisters, whispering in their ears, violently nudging them, and piling on the agony in the shape of cups of richly creamed and sugared tea, of thick slices of bread-and-butter and jam, and plum cake, topped with bumpers of foaming ginger-beer.
Repletion had reached such a pass in the case of the Ricketts brother and sister that they could scarcely move; the Jones brothers were also becoming slightly heavy-eyed; but the Maybright children fluttered about here and there like gay butterflies, and were on the point of getting up a dance when Aunt Maria and the frightened Helen burst upon the scene.
It required a much less acute glance than Aunt Maria’s topoint out Polly as the ringleader. She headed the group of mirth-seekers, every lip resounded with her name, all the other pairs of young eyes turned to her. When the garret door was flung open, and Aunt Maria in no measured tones announced herself, the children flew like frightened chickens to hide under Polly’s wing. The Rickettses and Joneses scrambled to their feet, and ran to find shelter as close as possible to headquarters. Thus, when Polly at last found her voice, and turned round to speak to Aunt Maria, she looked like the flushed and triumphant leader of a little victorious garrison. She was quite carried away by the excitement of the whole thing, and defiance spoke both in her eyes and manner.
“How do you do, Aunt Maria?” she said. “We did not expect you. We were having supper, and have just finished. I would ask you to have some with us, only I am afraid there is not a clean plate left. Is there, Maggie?”
Maggie answered with a high and nervous giggle, “Oh, lor’, Miss Polly! that there ain’t; and there’s nothing but broken victuals either on the table by now. We was all hungry, you know, Miss Polly.”
“So perhaps,” continued Polly, “you would go downstairs again, Aunt Maria. Helen, will you take Aunt Maria to the drawing-room? I will come as soon as I see the supper things put away. Helen, why do you look at me like that? What’s the matter?”
“Oh, Polly!” said Helen, in her most reproachful tones.
She was turning away, but Aunt Maria caught her rather roughly by the shoulder.
“Doallthis numerous party belong to the family?” she said. “I see here present thirteen children. I never knew before that my sister had such an enormous family.”
Helen felt in far too great a state of collapse to make any reply; but Polly’s saucy, glib tones were again heard.
“These are our visitors, Aunt Maria. Allow me to introduce them. Master and Miss Ricketts, Masters Tom, Jim, and Peter Jones. This is Maggie, my satellite, and devoted friend, and—and——”
But Aunt Maria’s patience had reached its tether. She was a stout, heavily made woman, and when she walked into the center of Polly’s garrison she quickly dispersed it.
“March!” she said, laying her hand heavily on the girl’s shoulder. “To your room this instant. Come, I shall see you there, and lock you in. You are a very bad, wicked, heartless girl, and I am bitterly ashamed of you. To your room this minute. While your father is away you are under my control, and Iinsiston being obeyed.”
“Oh, lor’!” gasped Maggie. “Run,” she whispered to her brother and sister. “Make for the door, quick. Oh, ain’t it awful! Oh, poor dear Miss Polly! Why, that dreadful old lady will almost kill her.”
But no, Polly was still equal to the emergency.
“You need not hold me, Aunt Maria,” she said, in a quiet voice, “I can go without that. Good night, children. I am sorry our jolly time has had such an unpleasant ending. Now then, I’ll go with you, Aunt Maria.”
“In front, then,” said Aunt Maria. “No loitering behind. Straight to your room.”
Polly walked down the dusty ladder obediently enough; Aunt Maria, scarlet in the face, stumped and waddled after her; Helen, very pale, and feeling half terrified, brought up the rear. All went well, and the truant exhibited no signs of rebellion until they reached the wide landing which led in one direction to the girl’s bedroom, in the other to the staircase.
Here Polly turned at bay.
“I’m not going to my room at present,” she said. “If I’ve been naughty, father can punish me when he comes home. You can tell anything you like to father when he comes back on Monday. But I’m not going to obey you. You have no authority over me, and I’m not responsible to you. Father can punish me as much as he likes when you have told him. I’m going downstairs, now; it’s too early for bed. I’ve not an idea of obeying you.”
“We will see to that,” said Aunt Maria. “You are quite the naughtiest child I ever came across. Now then, Miss, if you don’t go patiently, and on your own feet, you shall be conveyed to your room in my arms. I am quite strong enough, so you can choose.”
Polly’s eyes flashed.
“If you put it in that way, I don’t want to fuss,” she said. “I’ll go there for the present, but you can’t keep me there, and you needn’t try.”
Aunt Maria and Polly disappeared round the corner, and poor Helen stood leaning against the oak balustrade, silently crying. In three or four minutes Aunt Maria returned, her face still red, and the key of the bedroom in her pocket.
“Now, Helen, what is the matter? Crying? Well, no wonder. Of course, you are ashamed of your sister. I never met such a naughty, impertinent girl. Can it be possible that Helen should have such a child? She must take entirely after her father. Now, Helen, stop crying, tears are most irritating to me, and do no good to any one. I am glad I arrived at this emergency. Matters have indeed come to a pretty crisis. In your father’s absence, I distinctly declare that I take the rule of my poor sister’s orphans, and I shall myself mete out the punishment for the glaring act of rebellion that I have just witnessed. Polly remains in her room, and has a bread and water diet until Monday. The other children have bread and water for breakfast in the morning, and go to bed two hours before their usual time to-morrow. The kitchenmaid I shall dismiss in the morning, giving her a month’s wages in lieu of notice. Now, Helen, come downstairs. Oh, there is just one thing more. Youmust find some other room to sleep in to-night. I forbid you to go near your sister. In fact, I shall not give you the key. You may share my bed, if you like.”
“I cannot do that, Aunt Maria,” said Helen. “I respect you, and will obey you as far as I can until father returns, and tells us what we really ought to do. But I cannot stay away from Polly to-night for any one. I know she has been very naughty. I am as shocked as you can be with all that has happened, but I know too, Aunt Maria, that harsh treatment will ruin Polly; she won’t stand it, she never would, and mother never tried it with her. She is different from the rest of us, Aunt Maria; she is wilder, and fiercer, and freer; but mother often said, oh, often and often, that no one might be nobler than Polly, if only she was guided right. I know she is troublesome, I know she was impertinent to you, and I know well she did very wrong, but she is only fourteen, and she has high spirits. You can’t bend, nor drive Polly, Aunt Maria, but gentleness and love can always lead her. Imustsleep in my own bed to-night, Aunt Maria. Oh, don’t refuse me—please give me up the key.”
“You are a queer girl,” said Aunt Maria. “But I believe you are the best of them, and you certainly remind me of your mother when you speak in that earnest fashion. Here, take the key, then, but be sure you lock the door when you go in, and when you come out again in the morning. I trust to you that that little wild, impertinent sister of yours doesn’t escape—now, remember.”
“While I am there she will not,” answered Helen. “Thank you, auntie. You look very tired yourself, won’t you go to bed now?”
“I will, child. I’m fairly beat out. Such a scene is enough to disturb the strongest nerves. Only what about the other children? Are they still carousing in that wicked way in the garret?”
“No. I am sure they have gone to bed, thoroughly ashamed of themselves. But I will go and see to them.”
“One thing more, child. Before I go to bed I should like to fill in a telegraph form to Miss Grinsted. If she gets it the first thing in the morning she can reach here to-morrow night. Well, Helen, again objecting; you evidently mean to cross me in everything; now what is the matter? Why has your face such a piteous look upon it?”
“Only this, Aunt Maria. Until father returns I am quite willing to obey you, and I will do my best to make the others good and obedient. But I do think he would be vexed at your getting Miss Grinsted until you have spoken to him. Won’t you wait until Monday before you telegraph for her?”
“I’ll sleep on it, anyhow,” replied Mrs. Cameron. “Good night, child. You remind me very much of your mother—not in appearance, but in the curious way you come round a person, and insist upon having everything done exactly as you like. Now, my dear, good night. I consider you all themost demoralized household, but I won’t be here long before matters are on a very different footing.”
The bedroom door really closed upon Aunt Maria, and Helen drew a long breath.
Oh, for Monday to arrive! Oh, for any light to guide the perplexed child in this crisis! But she had no time to think now. She flew to the garret, to find only the wreck of the feast and one or two candles flickering in their sockets. She put the candles out, and went next to the children’s bedrooms. Bob and Bunny, with flushed faces, were lying once more in their cribs, fast asleep. They were dreaming and tossing about, and Nurse stood over them with a perplexed and grave face.
“This means nightmare, and physic in the morning,” said the worthy woman. “Now, don’t you fret and worry your dear head, Miss Helen, pet. Oh, yes, I know all about it, and itwasa naughty thing to do, only children will be children. Your aunt needn’t expect that her old crabbed head and ways will fit on young shoulders. You might go to Miss Firefly, though, for a minute, Miss Helen, for she’s crying fit to break her heart.”
Helen went off at once. Firefly was a very excitable and delicate child. She found the little creature with her head buried under the clothes, her whole form shaken with sobs.
“Lucy, darling,” said Helen.
The seldom-used name aroused the weeping child; she raised her head, and flung two thin arms so tightly round Helen’s neck that she felt half strangled.
“Oh, it’s so awful, Nell; what will she do to poor Polly! Oh, poor Polly! Will she half kill her, Nell?”
“No, Fly—how silly of you to take such an idea into your head. Fly, dear, stop crying at once—you know you have all been naughty, and Polly has hurt Aunt Maria, and hurt me, too. You none of you knew Aunt Maria was coming, but I did not think you would play such a trick on me, and when father was away, too.”
“It wasn’t Polly’s fault,” said Firefly, eagerly. “She was tempted, and we were the tempters. We all came round her, and we did coax, so hard, and Polly gave way, ’cause she wanted to make us happy. She’s a darling, the dearest darling in all the world, and if Aunt Maria hurts her and she dies, I—I——”
The little face worked in a paroxysm of grief and agony.
“Don’t, Fly,” said Helen. “You are much too tired and excited for me to talk calmly to you to-night. You have been naughty, darling, and so has Polly, and real naughtiness is always punished, always, somehow or another. But you need not be afraid that any real harm will happen to Polly. I am going to her in a moment or two, so you need not be in the least anxious. Now fold your hands, Fly, and say ‘Our Father.’ Say it slowly after me.”
Firefly’s sobs had become much less. She now lay quiet, her little chest still heaving, but with her eyes open, and fixed with a pathetic longing on Helen’s face.
“You’re nearly as good as mother,” she said. “And I love you. But Polly always, always must come first. Nell, I’ll say ‘Our Father,’ only not the part about forgiving, for I can’t forgive Aunt Maria.”
“My dear child, you are talking in a very silly way. Aunt Maria has done nothing but her duty, nothing to make you really angry with her. Now, Fly, it is late, and Polly wants me. Say those dear words, for mother’s sake.”
There was no child at Sleepy Hollow who would not have done anything for mother’s sake, so the prayer was whispered with some fresh gasps of pain and contrition, and before Helen left the room, little Lucy’s pretty dark eyes were closed, and her small, sallow, excitable face was tranquil.
CHAPTER XVI.DR. MAYBRIGHTversusSCORPION.
Dr. Maybright returned to his home on Monday evening in tolerably good spirits. He had gone up to London about a money matter which caused him some anxiety; his fears were, for the present at least, quite lulled to rest, and he had taken the opportunity of consulting one of the greatest oculists of the day with regard to his eyesight. The verdict was more hopeful than the good Doctor had dared to expect. With care, total blindness might be altogether avoided; at the worst it would not come for some time. A certain regimen was recommended, overwork was forbidden, all great anxiety was to be avoided, and then, and then—Well, at least the blessed light of day might be enjoyed by the Doctor for years to come.
“But you must not overwork,” said the oculist, “and you must not worry. You must read very little, and you must avoid chills; for should a cold attack your eyes now the consequences would be serious.”
On the whole this verdict was favorable, and the Doctor returned to Sleepy Hollow with a considerable weight lifted from his mind. As the train bore him homeward through the mellow, ripened country with the autumn colors glorifying the landscape, and a rich sunlight casting a glow over everything, his heart felt peaceful. Even with the better part of him gone away for ever, he could look forward with pleasure to the greeting of his children, and find much consolation in the love of their young hearts.
“After all, there never were girls quite like Helen and Polly,” he said to himself. “They both in their own way take after their mother. Helen has got that calm which was always so refreshing and restful in her mother; and that little scapegrace of a Polly inherits a good deal of her brilliancy. I wonder how the little puss has managed the housekeeping.By the way, her week is up to-day, and we return to Nell’s and Mrs. Power’s steadier regime. Poor Poll, it was shabby of me to desert the family during the end of Indigestion week, but doubtless matters have gone fairly well. Nurse has all her medicine bottles replenished, so that in case of need she knew what to do. Poor Poll, she really made an excellent cake for my supper the last evening I was at home.”
The carriage rolled down the avenue, and the Doctor alighted on his own doorsteps; as he did so he looked round with a pleased and expectant smile on his face. It was six o’clock, and the evenings were drawing in quickly; the children might be indoors, but it seemed scarcely probable. The little Maybrights were not addicted to indoor life, and as a rule their gay, shrill voices might have been heard echoing all over the old place long after sunset. Not so this evening; the place was almost too still; there was no rush of eager steps in the hall, and no clamor of gay little voices without.
Dr. Maybright felt a slight chill; he could not account for it. The carriage turned and rolled away, and he quickly entered the house.
“Polly, where are you? Nell, Firefly, Bunny,” he shouted.
Still there was no response, unless, indeed, the rustling of a silk dress in the drawing-room, a somewhat subdued and half-nervous cough, and the unpleasant yelping of a small dog could have been construed into one.
“Have my entire family emigrated? And is Sleepy Hollow let to strangers?” murmured the Doctor.
He turned in the direction of the rustle, the cough, and the bark, and found himself suddenly in the voluminous embrace of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Cameron.
“My dear Andrew, I am pleased to see you. You have been in the deep waters of affliction, and if in my power I would have come to you sooner. I had rheumatism and a natural antipathy to solitude. Still I made the effort, although a damper or more lonely spot would be hard to find. I don’t wonder at my poor sister’s demise. I got your letter, Andrew, and it was really in reply to it that I am here. Down, Scorpion; the dog will be all right in a moment or two, my dear brother, he is only smelling your trousers.”
“He has a very marked way of doing so,” responded the Doctor, “as I distinctly feel his teeth. Allow me, Maria, to put this little animal outside the window—a dog’s bite given even in play is not the most desirable acquisition. Well, Maria, your visit astonishes me very much. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow. Did you arrive to-day? How did you find the children?”
“I came here on Friday evening, Andrew. The children are as well as such poor neglected lambs could be expected to be.”
Dr. Maybright raised his eyebrows very slightly.
“I was not aware they were neglected,” he said. “I amsorry they strike you so. I also have a little natural antipathy to hearing children compared to sheep. But where are they? I have been away for four days, and am in the house five minutes, and not the voice of a child do I hear? Where is Helen—where is my pretty Poll? Don’t they know that their father has arrived?”
“I cannot tell you, Andrew. I have been alone myself for the last two or three hours, but I ordered your tea to be got ready. May I give you some? Shall we come to the dining room at once? Your family were quite well three hours ago, so perhaps you and I may have a quiet meal together before we trouble about them any further. I think I may claim this little indulgence, as only properly respectful to your wife’s sister, Andrew.”
“Yes, Maria, I will have tea with you,” said the Doctor. The pleased, bright look of anticipation had altogether now left his face; it was careworn, the brow slightly puckered, and many lines of care and age showed round the lips.
“I will just go upstairs and wash my hands,” said Dr. Maybright. “Then I will join you in the dining-room.”
He ran up the low stairs to his own room; it was not only full of Aunt Maria’s possessions, but was guarded by the faithful Scorpion, who had flown there in disgust, and now again attacked the Doctor’s legs.
“There is a limit,” he murmured, “and I reach it when I am bitten by this toy terrier.”
He lifted Scorpion by his neck, and administered one or two short slaps, which sent the pampered little animal yelping under the bed; then he proceeded down the passage in search of some other room where he might take shelter.
Alice met him; her eyes glowed, and the color in her face deepened.
“We are all so glad you are back, sir,” she said, with an affectionate tone in her voice. “And Miss Helen has got the room over the porch ready, if you’d do with it for a night or two, sir. I’ve took hot water there, sir, for I saw the carriage coming up the drive.”
“Thank you, Alice; the porch room will do nicely. By the way, can you tell me where all the children are?”
But Alice had disappeared, almost flown down the passage, and the Doctor had an uncomfortable half suspicion that he heard her sob as she went.
Dr. Maybright, however, was not a fanciful person—the children, with the exception of baby, were all probably out. It was certainly rather contrary to their usual custom to be away when his return was expected, still, he argued, consistency in children was the last thing to be expected. He went downstairs, therefore, with an excellent appetite for whatever meal Mrs. Cameron might have provided for him, and once more in tolerably good spirits.
There are some people who habitually, and from a strong sense of duty, live on the shady side of life. Metaphoricallyspeaking, the sunshine may almost touch the very path on which they are treading, but they shrink from and avoid it, having a strong preference for the shade, but considering themselves martyrs while they live in it. Mrs. Cameron was one of these people. The circumstances of her life had elected plenty of sunshine for her; she had a devoted and excellent husband, an abundant income, and admirable health. It is true she had no children, and it is also true that she had brought herself by careful cultivation to a state of chronic ill-temper. Every one now accepted the fact that Mrs. Cameron neither wished to be happy, nor was happy; and when the Doctor sat down to tea, and found himself facing her, it was with very somber and disapproving eyes that she regarded him.
“Well, Andrew, I must say you look remarkably well. Dear, dear, there is no constancy in this world, that is, amongst the male sex.”
Here she handed him a cup of tea, and sighed lugubriously. The Doctor accepted the tea with a slight frown; he was a peaceable man, but as he said, when chastising Scorpion, “there are limits.”
“If you have no objection, Maria,” he said, curtly, “we will leave the subject of my personal appearance and the moral question which you have brought forward out of our conversation.”
Then his voice and manner changed; he put on a company smile, and continued, without any pause, “How is your husband? Is he as great an antiquary as ever? And do you both continue to like living in Bath?”
Mrs. Cameron was a strong and determined woman, but she was no match for the Doctor when he chose to have his own way. For the remainder of the meal conversation was languid, and decidedly commonplace; once only it brightened into animation.
“I wonder where Scorpion can be?” said the good lady; “I want to give him his cream.”
“I fear he is under punishment,” said the Doctor. “If I judge of him aright, Scorpion is something of a coward, and is not likely to come into the same room where I am for some time.”
“What do you mean? Surely you have not been cruel to him?”
“Cruel to be kind. Once again he attempted to eat my legs, and I was obliged to administer one or two sharp slaps—nothing to hurt; you will find him under your bed. And now I really must go to look for my family.”
Dr. Maybright left the room, and Mrs. Cameron sat still, scarlet with annoyance and indignation.
“How could Helen have married such a man?” she said to herself. “I never can get on with him—never. How cowardly it was of him to hurt the little dog. If it was not for the memory of poor dear Helen I should leave here by the first train in the morning; but as it is, I will not stir until I have established Miss Grinsted over this poor, misguided household. Ah, well! duty is ever hard, but those who know Maria Cameron are well acquainted with the fact that she never shirked it. Yes, I will stay; it will be very unpleasant, but I must go through it. What very abrupt manners the Doctor has! I was just preparing to tell him all about that wicked Polly when he jumped up and left the room. Now, of course, he will get a wrong impression of the whole thing, for the other children all take her part. Very bad manners to jump up from the tea table like that. And whereisHelen?—where are they all? Now that I come to think of it, I have seen nothing of any one of them since the early dinner. Well, well, if it were not for poor Helen I should wash my hands of the whole concern. But whoever suffers, dear little Scorpion must have his cream.”
Accordingly Mrs. Cameron slowly ascended the stairs, armed with a saucer and a little jug, and Scorpion forgot the indignities to which he had been subjected as he lapped up his dainty meal.
Meanwhile, the Doctor having explored the morning room and the schoolrooms, having peeped into the conservatory, and even peered with his rather failing sight into the darkness outside, took two or three strides upstairs, and found himself in the presence of Nurse and baby.
“Well, Pearl,” he said, taking the little pure white baby into his arms, looking into its wee face earnestly, and then giving it a kiss, which was sad, and yet partook of something of the nature of a blessing.
“Baby goes on well, Nurse,” he said, returning the little creature to the kind woman’s arms. Then he looked into her face, and his own expression changed.
“What is the matter?” he said, abruptly. “You have been crying. Is anything wrong? Where have all the children vanished to?”
“You have had your tea, sir?” said Nurse, her words coming out in jerks, and accompanied by fresh sobs. “You have had your tea, and is partial rested, I hope, so it’s but right you should know. The entire family, sir, every blessed one of them, with the exception of the babe, has took upon themselves to run away.”
CHAPTER XVII.WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN?
Nurse’s news astonished the Doctor very much. He was not a man, however, to show all he felt. He saw that Nurse was on the verge of hysterics, and he knew that if he did not take this startling and unpleasant piece of information in the most matter-of-fact way, he would get nothing out of her.
“I hope matters are not as bad as you fear,” he said. “Sitdown in this chair, and tell me what has occurred. Don’t hurry yourself; a few moments more or less don’t signify. Tell your tale quietly, in your own way.”
Thus administered, Nurse gasped once or twice, looked up at the Doctor with eyes which plainly declared “there never was your equal for blessedness and goodness under the sun,” and commenced her story in the long-winded manner of her class.
The Doctor heard a garbled account of the supper in the attic, of the arrival of Mrs. Cameron, of the prompt measures which that good lady took to crush Polly, of Firefly’s grief, of the state of confusion into which the old house was thrown. She then went on to tell him further that Polly, having refused to submit or repent in any way, Mrs. Cameron had insisted on her remaining in her own room, and had at last, notwithstanding all Helen’s entreaties, forbidden her to go near her sister. The housekeeping keys were taken away from Polly, and Mrs. Cameron had further taken upon herself to dismiss Maggie. She had sent a telegram to Mrs. Power, who had returned in triumph to Sleepy Hollow on Saturday night.
“Miserable is no word for what this household has been,” said Nurse. “There was Miss Polly—naughty she may have been, dear lamb, but vicious she ain’t—there was Miss Polly shut up in her room, and nobody allowed to go near her; and Mrs. Cameron poking her nose into this corner and into that, and orderingmeabout what I was to do with the babe; and poor Miss Helen following her about, for all the world like a ghost herself, so still and quiet and pitiful looking, but like a dear angel in her efforts to keep the peace; and there was Alice giving warning, and fit to fly out of the house with rage, and Mrs. Power coming back, and lording it over us all, more than is proper for a cook to do. Oh, sir, we has been unhappy! and for the first time we really knew what we had lost in our blessed mistress, and for the first time the children, poor darlings, found out what it was to be really motherless. The meals she’d give ’em, and the way she’d order them—oh, dear! oh, dear! it makes me shiver to think of it!”
“Yes, Nurse,” interrupted the Doctor. “It was unfortunate Mrs. Cameron arriving when I was absent. I have come back now, however, and all the troubles you have just mentioned are, of course, at an end. Still you have not explained the extraordinary statement you made to me when I came into the room. Why is it that the children have run away?”
“I’m a-coming to that, sir; that’s, so to speak, the crisis—and all brought about by Mrs. Cameron. I said that Miss Polly was kept in her room, and after the first day no one allowed to go near her. Mrs. Cameron herself would take her up her meals, and take the tray away again, and very little the poor dear would eat, for I often saw what come out. It would go to your heart, sir, that it would, for a healthier appetite than Miss Polly’s there ain’t in the family.Well, sir, Miss Helen had a letter from you this morning, saying as how you’d be back by six o’clock, and after dinner she went up to Miss Polly’s door, and I heard her, for I was walking with baby up and down the passage. It was beautiful to hear the loving way Miss Helen spoke, Doctor; she was kneeling down and singing her words through the keyhole. ‘Father’ll be home to-night, Polly,’ she said—‘keep up heart, Poll dear—father’ll be home to-night, and he’ll make everything happy again.’ Nothing could have been more tender than Miss Helen’s voice, it would have moved anybody. But there was never a sound nor an answer from inside the room, and just then Miss Firefly and Master Bunny came rushing up the stairs as if they were half mad. ‘O Nell, come, come quick!’ they said, ‘there’s the step-ladder outside Poll’s window, and a bit of rope and two towels fastened together hanging to the sill, and the window is wide open!’ Miss Helen ran downstairs with a face like a sheet, and by and by Alice came up and told me the rest. Master Bunny got up on the stepladder, and by means of the rope and the bedroom towels managed to climb on to the window sill, and then he saw there wasn’t ever a Miss Polly at all in the room. Oh, poor dear! he might have broke his own neck searching for her, but—well, there’s a Providence over children, and no mistake. Miss Polly had run away, that was plain. When Miss Helen heard it, and knew that it was true, she turned to Alice with her face like a bit of chalk, and tears in her eyes, and, ‘Alice,’ she said, ‘I’m going to look for Polly. You can tell Nurse I’ll be back when I have found Polly.’ With that she walked down the path as fast as she could, and every one of the others followed her. Alice watched them getting over the little turnstile, and down by the broad meadow, then she came up and let me know. I blamed her for not coming sooner, but—what’s the matter, Doctor?”
“I am going to find Polly and the others,” said Dr. Maybright. “It’s a pity no older person in the house followed them; but so many can scarcely come to harm. It is Polly I am anxious about—they cannot have discovered her, or they would be home before now.”
The Doctor left the nursery, ran down-stairs, put on his hat, and went out. As he did so, he heard the dubious, questioning kind of cough which Mrs. Cameron was so fond of making—this cough was accompanied by Scorpion’s angry snarling little bark. The Doctor prayed inwardly for patience as he hurried down the avenue in search of his family. He was absolutely at a loss where to seek them.
“The broad meadow only leads to the high-road,” he said to himself, “and the high-road has many twists and turns. Surely the children cannot have ventured on the moor; surely Polly cannot have been mad enough to try to hide herself there.”
It was a starlight night, and the Doctor walked quickly.
“I don’t know where they are. I must simply let instinct guide me,” he said to himself; and after walking for three quarters of an hour instinct did direct him to where, seated on a little patch of green turf at one side of the king’s highway, were three solitary and disreputable-looking little figures.
“Father!” came convulsively from three little parched throats; there was a volume in the cry, a tone of rapture, of longing, of pain, which was almost indescribable. “Father’s come back again, it’s all right now,” sobbed Firefly, and immediately the boys and the little girl had cuddled up to him and were kissing him, each boy taking possession of a hand, and Firefly clasping her arms round his neck.
“I know all about it, children,” explained the Doctor. “But tell me quickly, where are the others? where is Polly?”
“Oh, you darling father!” said Firefly, “you darling, you darling! let me kiss you once again. There, now I’m happy!”
“But tell me where the others are, dear child.”
“Just a little way off. We did get so tired, and Helen said that Polly must have gone on the moor, and she said she must and would follow her.”
“We were so tired,” said Bunny.
“And there was a great nail running into my heel,” explained Bob.
“So we sat down here, and tried to pretend we were gipsies,” continued Firefly. “The moon was shining, and that was a little wee bit of comfort, but we didn’t like it much. Father, it isn’t much fun being a gipsy, is it?”
“No, dear; but go on. How long is it since you parted from the others?”
“Half an hour; but it’s all right. Bunny, you can tell that part.”
Bunny puffed himself out, and tried to speak in his most important manner.
“Nell gave me the dog-whistle,” he said, “and I was to whistle it if it was real necessary, not by no means else. I didn’t fancy that I was a gipsy. I thought perhaps I was the driver of a fly, and that when I blew my whistle Nell would be like another driver coming to me. That’s what I thought,” concluded Bunny. But as his metaphors were always extremely mixed and confusing, no one listened to him.
“You have a whistle?” said the Doctor. “Give it to me. This is a very dangerous thing that you have done, children. Now, let me see how far I can make the sound go. Oh, that thing! I can make a better whistle than that with my hand.”
He did so, making the moor, on the borders of which they stood, resound with a long, shrill, powerful blast. Presently faint sounds came back in answer, and in about a quarter of an hour Helen and her three sisters, very tired and faint, and loitering in their steps, came slowly into view.
Oh, yes; they were all so glad to see father, but they had not seen Polly; no, not a trace nor sound could be discovered to lead to Polly’s whereabouts.
“But she must not spend the night alone on the moor,” said the Doctor. “No, that cannot be. Children, you must all go home directly. On your way past the lodge, Helen, desire Simpkins and George to come with lanterns to this place. They are to wait for me here, and when they whistle I will answer them. After they have waited here for half an hour, and I do not whistle back, they are to begin to search the moor on their own account. Now go home as fast as you can, my dears. I will return when I have found Polly, not before.”
The moon was very brilliant that night, and Helen’s wistful face, as she looked full at her father, caused him to bend suddenly and kiss her. “You are my brave child, Nell. Be the bravest of all by taking the others home now. Home, children; and to bed at once, remember. No visiting of the drawing-room for any of you to-night.”
The Doctor smiled, and kissed his hand, and a very disconsolate little party turned in the direction of Sleepy Hollow.