Girls of the Forest Part 7

"It seems unkind," she said--"and I don't wish to be unkind--but I _would_ rather you went."

"And so would I, please, Aunt Sophia," said Pauline.

Miss Tredgold looked straight before her. Her face became a little pinched, a little white round her lips.

"Once," she said slowly, "I had a sister--a sister whom I loved. She was my half-sister, but I never thought of that. She was to me sister and mother in one. She brought me up from the time I was a little child. She was good to me, and she instilled into me certain principles. One of these principles can be expressed in the following words: G.o.d put us into the world to rise, not to sink. Another of her principles was that G.o.d put us into the world to be good, to be unselfish. Another one, again, was as follows: We must give account for our talents. Now, to allow the talent of beauty, for instance, to degenerate into what it is likely to do in your case, Verena, is distinctly wicked. To allow you to sink when you might rise is sinful. To allow you to be selfish when you might be unselfish is also wrong. Your talents, and the talents of Pauline, and the talents of your other sisters must be cultivated and brought to the fore. I want to tell you now, my dear girls, that for years I have longed to help you; that since your mother's death you have scarcely ever been out of my mind. But circ.u.mstances over which I had no control kept me away from you. At last I am free, and the children of my sister Alice are the ones I think most about. I have come here prepared for your rebellion, prepared for your dislike, and determined not to be discouraged by either the one or the other. I have come to The Dales, Verena and Pauline, and I mean to remain here for at least three months.

If at the end of the three months you ask me to go, I will; although even then I will not give you up. But until three months have expired you can only turn me out by force. I don't think you will do that. It is best that we should understand each other clearly; is it not, Verena?"

Verena's face was very white; her big brown eyes were full of tears.

"I ought to be glad and to say 'Welcome.' But I am not glad, and I don't welcome you, Aunt Sophia. We like our own way; we don't mind being savages, and it is untrue that we are selfish. We are not. Each would give up anything, I think, for the other. But we like our poverty and our rough ways and our freedom, and we--we don't want you, Aunt Sophia."

"Nevertheless you will have to put up with me," said Miss Tredgold. "And now, to start matters, please tell me exactly how you spend your day."

"Our life is not yours, Aunt Sophia. It would not interest you to know how we spend our day."

"To-morrow, Verena, when the life of rule succeeds the life of misrule, I should take umbrage at your remark, but to-night I take no umbrage. I but repeat my question."

"And I will tell you," said Pauline in her brisk voice. "We get up just when we like. We have breakfast when we choose--sometimes in the garden on the gra.s.s, sometimes not at all. We walk where we please, and lose ourselves in the Forest, and gather wild strawberries and wild flowers, and watch the squirrels, and climb the beech-trees. When it is fine we spend the whole day out, just coming back for meals, and sometimes not even then, if Betty gives us a little milk and some bread. Sometimes we are lazy and lie on the gra.s.s all day. We do what we like always, and always just when we like. Don't we, Renny?"

"Yes," said Verena. "We do what we like, and in our own way."

"In future," said Miss Tredgold, "you will do things in my way. I hope you will not dislike my way; but whether you like or dislike it, you will have to submit."

"But, Aunt Sophia," said Verena, "what authority have you over us? I am exceedingly sorry to seem rude, but I really want to know. Father, of course, has authority over us, but have you? Has anybody but father? That is what I want to know."

"I thought you might ask something of that sort," said Miss Tredgold--"or, even if you did not ask it, you might think it--and I am prepared with my answer. I quite recognize that in the case of girls like you I have no authority, and I cannot act fairly by you until I have. Now, my dear girls, please understand that before I go to bed to-night I get that authority. I shall get it m writing, too, so that you can none of you gainsay it, or slip past it, or avoid it. When the authority comes, then will also come the happy life of rule, for the life of misrule can never be really happy--never for long. Believe me, I am right."

Pauline pulled her hand away from Aunt Sophia's. She ran to the other side of Verena.

"I don't like you, Aunt Sophia," she said, "and I don't want you to stay.

Renny, you don't like her either, and you don't want her to stay. We don't believe all the things you are saying, Aunt Sophia. You can't look into our hearts, and although you are clever, you can't know all about us. Why shouldn't we be wild in our own fas.h.i.+on? We are very happy. To be happy is everything. We have only been unhappy since we knew you were coming. Please go away; please do."

"You cannot influence me, Pauline. I love you too well to desert you. Now I am going into the house. You can discuss me then with your sister to your heart's content."

Miss Tredgold went very slowly towards the old and dilapidated house.

When she reached the hall door she turned and looked around her.

"I certainly have tough work before me. How am I to manage? If I were not thinking so much of Alice, I should leave these impertinent, neglected, silly girls to their fate. But no--I seem to see my sister's eyes, to hear her voice. I can so well understand what she would really want me to do. I owe a great debt of grat.i.tude to my beloved sister. I am free, hampered by no ties. I will reform these wild young nieces. I will not be easily deterred."

Miss Tredgold clasped her hands before her. The moon was rising in a silvery bow in the sky; the air was deliciously fresh and balmy.

"The place is healthy, and the children are strong," she thought, "notwithstanding their bad food and their disreputable, worn-out clothes.

They are healthy, fresh, good-looking girls. But this is summer-time, and in summer-time one puts up with discomforts for the sake of air like this. But what about winter? I have no doubt they have scarcely any fires, and the house must be damp. As the children grow older they will develop rheumatism and all kinds of troubles. Yes, my duty is plain. I must look after my nieces, both soul and body, for the future."

As Miss Tredgold thought these last thoughts she re-entered the house.

She walked through the desolate rooms. It was now twilight, but no one thought of lighting lamps, or drawing curtains, or shutting windows. Miss Tredgold stumbled as she walked. Presently she found that she had wandered in the neighborhood of the kitchen. She had no intention of bearding Betty in her den--she had no idea that there was a Betty--but as she was near the kitchen, and as under that doorway alone there streamed a light, she opened the door.

"Is there any one inside?" she asked.

A grunt in the far distance came by way of response. The fire was out in the stove, and as Miss Tredgold grew accustomed to the gloom she saw in the farthest corner something that resembled the stout form of a woman, whose legs rested on one chair and her body on another. A guttering dip candle was close to her side, and a paper book was held almost under her nose.

"I am sorry to disturb you," said Miss Tredgold, "but I have come for a light. Will you kindly inform me where I can get a candle?"

"There ain't none in the house."

The book was put down, and the angry face of Betty appeared to view.

"Then I fear I must trouble you to resign the one you yourself are using.

I must have a light to see my way to my bedroom."

"There ain't no candles. We don't have 'em in summer. This one I bought with my own money, and I don't give it up to n.o.body, laidy or no laidy."

"Am I addressing the cook?"

"You are, ma'am. And I may as well say I am cook and housemaid and parlor-maid and kitchen-maid and scullery-maid all in one; and I does the laundry, too, whenever it's done at all. You may gather from my words, ma'am, that I have a deal to do, so I'll thank you to walk out of my kitchen; for if I am resting after my day of hard work, I have a right to rest, and my own candle shall light me, and my own book shall amuse me.

So have the goodness to go, ma'am, and at once."

"I will go," replied Miss Tredgold very quietly, "exactly when I please, and not a moment before. I wish to say now that I require breakfast to be on the table at nine o'clock, and there must be plenty of good food. Do you mean to say that you have not got food in the house? You can, I presume, send out for it. Here is a half-sovereign. Spend it in what is necessary in order to provide an abundant meal on the table to-morrow morning for the use of Mr. Dale, myself, and my nieces."

What Betty would have said had there been no half-sovereign forthcoming history will never relate. But half-sovereigns were very few and very precious at The Dales. It was almost impossible to get any money out of Mr. Dale; he did not seem to know that there was such a thing as money.

If it was put into his hand by any chance, he spent it on books. Betty's wages were terribly in arrears. She wanted her wages, but she was too generous, with all her faults, to press for them. But, all the same, the touch of the gold in her hand was distinctly soothing, and Miss Tredgold immediately rose in her estimation. A lady who produced at will golden half-sovereigns, and who was reckless enough to declare that one of these treasures might be spent on a single meal, was surely not a person to be sniffed at. Betty therefore stumbled to her feet.

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure, ma'am; and it's badly we does want some things here. I'll get what I can, although the notice is short, and the dook's nuptials, so to speak, at the door."

"What!" said Miss Tredgold.

"I beg your pardon again, ma'am, but my head aches and I'm a bit confused. I'm reading a most wonderful account of the wedding of the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton."

"I never heard of him."

"He's marrying a young girl quite in my own station of life--one that was riz from the cottage to the governess-s.h.i.+p, and from the governess-s.h.i.+p to the ducal chair. My head is full of Her Grace, ma'am, and you'll excuse me if I didn't rightly know to whom I had the honor of talking.

I'll do what I can. And perhaps you'd like to borrow one of my dip candles for the present night."

"I should very much," said Miss Tredgold. "And please understand, Betty--I think you said your name was Betty--please understand that if you are on my side I shall be on your side. I have come here meaning to stay, and in future there will be a complete change in this establishment. You will receive good wages, paid on the day they are due. There will be plenty of money and plenty of food in the house, and the cook who pleases me stays, and the cook who displeases me goes. You understand?"

"Sakes!" muttered Betty, "it's nearly as exciting as the doocal romance.--Well, ma'am, I'm of your way of thinking; and here's your candle."

CHAPTER V.

IN THE STUDY.

Miss Tredgold was the sort of woman who never let the gra.s.s grow under her feet. She felt, therefore, altogether out of place at The Dales, for at The Dales there was time for everything. "Time enough" was the motto of the establishment: time enough for breakfast, time enough for dinner, time enough for supper, time enough for bed, time enough for getting up, time enough for mending torn garments; surely, above all things, time enough for learning. To judge by the manner in which the family at The Dales went on, life was to last for ever and a day. They never hurried; they put things off when it pleased them; they stopped in the middle of one pursuit and turned to something else when the fancy took them; they were unruffled by the worries of life; they were, on the whole, gay, daring, indifferent. There was no money--or very little--for the future of these girls; they were absolutely uneducated; they were all but unclothed, and their food was poor and often insufficient. Nevertheless they were fairly happy. "Let well alone" was also their motto. "Never may care" was another. As to the rush and toil and strain of modern life, they could not even comprehend it. The idea of not being able to put off an engagement for a week, a month, or a year seemed to them too extraordinary to be believed. They were too young, too healthy, too happy to need to kill time; for time presented itself to them with an agreeable face, and the hours were never too long.