Mrs. Overtheway's Remembrances Part 15

"I had always an inventive turn, and was, as a rule, the director-in-chief of our amus.e.m.e.nts. I know I was often very tiresome and tyrannical in the ensuing arrangements, and can only hope the trouble I took on these occasions on behalf of my brothers and sisters, served in their eyes to balance my defects. I remember one device of mine that proved particularly troublesome.

"When sham battles had ended in real quarrels, and following in the footsteps of the little Russians was becoming irksome--(especially to Fatima, whose predecessor--Peter--had been of a military turn, and had begun fortifications near the kitchen garden which she was incompetent to carry out) a new idea struck me. I announced that letters properly written and addressed to the little Russians, 'Reka Dom, Russia,' and posted in the old rhubarb-pot by the tool-house, would be duly answered. The replies to be found in a week's time at the same office.

"The announcement was received with delight, and no doubt was ever expressed as to the genuineness of the answers which I regularly supplied, written, by the by, in excellent English, but with Reka Dom neatly effected in Russian characters on the note-paper. In the first place, I allowed no awkward inquiries into the machinery of my little plots for the benefit of the rest; and in the second, we had all, I think, a sort of half-and-half belief, a wilful credulity in reference to our many fancies (such as fairies and the like), of which it is impossible to give the exact measure. But when, the six weekly letters having become rather burdensome, I left off writing answers from Ivan to myself, the others began to inquire why Ivan never wrote now. As usual, I refused to give any explanations, and after inventing several for themselves which answered for awhile, they adopted by general consent an idea put forth by little Phillis. The child was sitting one day with her fat cheek on her hand, and her eyes on the rhubarb-pot, waiting for her share of the correspondence to be read aloud to her, when the fancy seemed to strike her, and she said quietly, but with an air of full conviction--

"'_I___ know what it is--_Ivan is dead_.'

"The idea took strange hold of us all. We said, 'Perhaps he is dead,'

and spoke and thought of him as dead, till I think we were fully persuaded of it. No chair was set for him at the dolls' feasts, and I gained a sort of melancholy distinction as being without a partner now. 'You know Mary has no little Russian, since Ivan is dead.'

"When our visible pets died, we buried them with much pomp, to the sound of a drum and a tin trumpet, in a piece of ground by the cabbage-bed; but in the present instance that ceremony was impossible.

We resolved, however, to erect a gravestone to the memory of our fancy friend in his own garden. I had seen letters cut on stone, and was confident that with a chisel and hammer nothing could be easier. These the nursery tool-box furnished. I wrote out an elaborate inscription headed by Reka Dom in Russian characters, and we got a stone and set to work. The task, however, was harder than we had supposed. My long composition was discarded, and we resolved to be content with this simple sentence, _To the memory of Ivan_. But 'brevity is the soul of wit,' and the TO took so long to cut, that we threw out three more words, and the epitaph finally stood thus:

TO IVAN.

"In a rude fas.h.i.+on this was accomplished; and with c.r.a.pe on our arms and the accustomed music we set up the stone among the lilies.

"In time, Ida, we grew up, as it is called. Almost before we knew it, and whilst we still seemed to be looking forward to our emanc.i.p.ation from nursery authority and childish frocks, Fatima and I found ourselves grown-up young ladies, free to fas.h.i.+on our costume to our own tastes, and far from Reka Dom. Yes, we had changed our home again.

The River House was ours no longer. Childhood also had slipped from our grasp, but slowly as the years had seemed to pa.s.s, they had not sufficed to accomplish every project we had made in them. Not one of those long summers by the river had seen that gorgeous display of flowers in our garden which in all good faith and energy we planned with every spring. I had not learnt Russian. Years had gone by since I first took up the fat grammar, but I had acquired little since that time beyond the familiar characters of the well-beloved name, Reka Dom.

"The country town that circ.u.mstances had now made our home possessed at least one attraction for us. It was here that our old friends the Misses Brooke had settled when their brother's death broke up the quiet little household. I was very fond of the good ladies; not less so now than I had been as a child, when their home-made buns and faded alb.u.ms made an evening festive, and were looked forward to as a treat.

They were good women, severe to themselves and charitable to others, who cultivated the grace of humility almost in excess. One little weakness, however, in their otherwise estimable characters had at times disturbed the even course of our friends.h.i.+p. I hardly know what to call it. It was not want of candour. More truthful women do not exist than they were, and I believe they never wilfully deceived anyone. I can only describe it as a habit of indulging in small plots and suspicions; a want of trust in other people, partly traceable, perhaps, to a lack of due confidence in themselves, but which was very provoking to one as young, eager, and sincerely affectionate as I was.

I was indignant to discover little plots laid to test my sincerity; and to find my genuine (if not minutely measured) expressions of feeling doubted. If this peculiarity had been troublesome in the early stages of our acquaintance, it was doubly so when we met again, after the lapse of some years. For one thing, the dear ladies were older, and fidgety, foolish little weaknesses of this kind sometimes increase with years. Then I was older also, and if they had doubted their own powers of entertainment when I was a child, they would still less believe that I could enjoy their society now that I was a 'young lady.' Whereas the truth was, that though my taste for buns and my reverence for smooth pencil drawings in impossible perspective had certainly diminished, my real enjoyment of a quiet evening with my old friends was greater than before. I liked to take my sewing to their undisturbed fireside, and not a few pieces of work which had flagged under constant interruptions at home were rapidly finished as I chatted with them. I liked to draw out the acquirements which they would not believe that they possessed. I enjoyed rubbing my modern and desultory reading against their old-fas.h.i.+oned but solid knowledge. I admired their high and delicate principles, and respected their almost fatiguing modesty. At an age when religious questions move and often seriously trouble girls' minds, I drew comfort from their piety, which (although as quiet and modest as all their other virtues) had been for years, under my eyes, the ruling principle of all they did, the only subject on which they had the courage to speak with decision, the crown of their affections and pleasures, and the sufficient consolation of their sorrow. In addition to all this, when I went to them, I knew that my visit gave pleasure.

"It seemed hard that they could not always repose a similar confidence in me. And yet so it was. The consistent affection of years had failed to convince them that 'a young, pretty, lively girl' (as they were pleased to call me) could find pleasure in the society of 'two dull old women.' So they were apt to suspect either a second motive for my visit, or affectation in my appearance of enjoyment. At times I was chafed almost beyond my powers of endurance by these fancies; and on one occasion my vexation broke all bounds of respect.

"'You think me uncandid, ma'am,' I cried; 'and what are you? If you were to hear that I had spoken of you, elsewhere, as two dull old women, you would be as much astonished as angered. You know you would.

You know you don't think I think so. I can't imagine why you say it!'

"And my feelings being as much in the way of my logic as those of most other women, I got no further, but broke down into tears.

"'She says we're uncandid, Mary' sobbed Miss Martha.

"'So we are, I believe,' said Miss Mary, and then we all cried together.

"I think the protracted worry of this misunderstanding (which had been a long one) had made me almost hysterical. I clearly remember the feeling of lying with my face against the horsehair sofa in the little dining-room, feebly repeating, 'You shouldn't, you know. You shouldn't!' amid my tears, my hair being softly stroked the while by the two sisters, who comforted me, and blamed themselves with a depth of self-abas.e.m.e.nt that almost made me laugh. It had hardly seemed possible that their customary humility could go lower. The affair was wound up with a good deal of kissing, and tea, and there were no more suspicions for a long time.

"There had been peace, as I said, for long. But as, at the best of times, the Misses Brooke never gave us an invitation without going through the form of apologizing for the probable dulness of the entertainment, I was not surprised one morning to find myself invited to tea at Belle Vue Cottage for the following evening, on the strict condition that I should refuse the invitation if I felt disinclined to go. I had met the good ladies as we came out of church. There was Morning Prayer on Wednesdays and Fridays at one church in the town, and if the two little straw bonnets of the Misses Brooke had not been seen bending side by side at every service, the rest of the scanty congregation would have been as much astonished as if every one in the town who had time and opportunity for public wors.h.i.+p had availed themselves of the privilege. On this day they had been there as usual, and when we turned up the street together, the invitation was given.

"'And could you induce your respected father to come with you, Mary dear?' added Miss Mary. 'You know our rooms are small, or we should be so glad to see Fatima. But we have a few friends coming, and she will understand.'

"'Only a few,' Miss Martha said, hastily. 'Don't make her think there's anything worth coming for, Mary. And mind, Mary dear, if you don't care to come, that you say so. There's no need for "excuses"

with us. And you know exactly what our tea-parties are.'

"'Now, Miss Martha,' I said, shaking my fist at her, 'I won't bear it!'

"'Well, my dear, you know it's true. And if you should have an invitation to the Lodge between now and to-morrow night, mind you throw us over. There's no dancing and heavy supper at the Cottage.'

"'I'll eat a pound of beefsteak and have a private hornpipe to fortify me before I come, ma'am. And if the Lightfoots should ask me between now and then, I'll think about throwing over my oldest friends to oblige you!'

"'You're very clever, my dear,' sighed Miss Martha, 'and it's easy to laugh at a stupid old woman like me.'

"Now this was rather unfair, for I had only taken to banter on these occasions because a serious treatment of the subject had failed. I made my peace, however, by grave and affectionate a.s.surances that I wished to come, and would like to come; and by adding a solemn promise that if I felt averse from it when the time came, I would stay at home.

"I was vexed to find symptoms of the old misunderstanding arising. The good ladies were evidently in a fidgety humour to-day, and going home full of it, I poured out my vexation to Fatima.

"Fatima's composure was not so easily ruffled as mine. She was apt to sit in easy, graceful att.i.tudes, looking very idle, but getting through a wonderful amount of exquisite needlework, and listening to my pa.s.sing grievances without being much disturbed herself.

"'I don't think I would worry myself,' she said, as she rapidly sorted the greens for a leaf in her embroidery. 'My idea is, that you will find the party more lively than usual. I have often noticed that when the old ladies are particularly full of apologies, something or somebody is expected.'

"'I didn't want anything or anybody,' I said, dolefully; 'but I wish they wouldn't take fancies, and I wish they wouldn't put one through such cross-examinations about nothing. As to the party, who could there be, but the old set?'

"'n.o.body, I suppose. There'll be the Wilkinsons, of course;' and Fatima marked the fact with an emphatic st.i.tch. 'And Mr. Ward, I suppose, and Dr. Brown, and the Jones's girls, and--'

"'Oh, the rooms wouldn't hold more!' I said.

"'There's always room for one more--for a gentleman at any rate; and, depend upon it, it is as I say.'

"Fatima was not so fond of the Misses Brooke as I was. She did not scruple to complain of the trouble it cost to maintain intimate relations with the excellent but touchy old ladies, and of the hot water about trifles into which one must perpetually fall.

"'I hope I am pretty trustworthy,' she would say, 'and I am sure you are, Mary. And if we are not, let them drop our acquaintance. But they treat their friends as we used to treat our flowers at Reka Dom! They are always taking them up to see how they are going on, and I like to vegetate in peace.'

"I could not have criticized my dear and respected old friends so freely; but yet I knew that Fatima only spoke the truth.

"The subject was unexpectedly renewed at dinner.

"'Mary,' said my father, 'is there any mystery connected with this tea-party at Miss Brooke's?'

"Fatima gave me a mischievous glance.

"'If there is, sir,' said I, 'I am not in the secret.'

"'I met them in the town,' he went on, 'and they were good enough to invite me; and as I must see Ward about some registers, I ventured to ask if he were to be of the party (thinking to save my old legs a walk to his place). The matter was simple enough, but Miss Martha seemed to fancy that I wanted to know who was going to be there. I fully explained my real object, but either she did not hear or she did not believe me, I suppose, for she gave me a list of the expected company.'

"'I am sure she would have believed you, sir, if she had realized what you were saying,' I said. 'I know the sort of thing, but I think that they are generally so absorbed in their own efforts to do what they think you want, they have no spare attention for what you say.'

"'A very ingenious bit of special pleading, my dear, but you have not heard all. I had made my best bow and was just turning away, when Miss Martha, begging me to excuse her, asked with a good deal of mystery and agitation if _you_ had commissioned me to find out who was to be at the party. I said I had not seen you since breakfast, but that I was quite able to a.s.sure her that if you had wished to find out anything on the subject, you would have gone direct to herself, with which I repeated my best bow in my best style, and escaped.'

"I was too much hurt to speak, and Fatima took up the conversation with my father.

"'You will go, sir?' she said.

"'Of course, my dear, if Mary wishes it. Besides, Ward _is_ to be there. I learnt so much.'