Penelope and the Others Part 7

With an immense effort, and a parting glance full of affection at "_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_," Pennie turned away from the stall, much to Nurse's relief. Soon the old man and his books were lost to sight, but they remained very clearly and distinctly in Pennie's mind. She saw the picture of that flying man more vividly than all that was going on round her, and would have given worlds to be acquainted with his history. If only she had more money, enough to buy the book and the mandarin too!

Then she began to wonder how the boys had spent theirs. No doubt they had bought just what had taken their fancy, and she would be the only one to go back empty-handed. It was a little hard. The only drop of comfort in it was that she would be able to tell them what a real sacrifice she had made. Yesterday she had seen David writing ten times over in his copy-book, "_Virtue is its own reward_." If that meant feeling good, better than other people, Pennie had no doubt she was tasting the reward of virtue now, and it consoled her not a little for the loss of "_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_."

It was now nearly four o'clock, and Nurse was not sorry to turn towards the entrance, where Andrew was to wait with the carriage, and where she hoped to join the boys and Jane.

"They're there already," cried Nancy as they approached the turnstile, bobbing her head from side to side to see through the crowd, "and oh!

what _has_ David got?"

Nurse groaned.

"Something he oughtn't to have, I make sure," she said.

"It's something alive!" exclaimed Nancy, giving a leap of delight as they got nearer, "I can see it move. Whatever is it?"

David was standing as still as a sentinel with his back against the gate-post and a look of triumph on his face, clutching firmly to his breast a small jet-black kitten. It was mewing piteously, with some reason--for in his determination not to let it go, he gripped it hard, so that it was spread out flat and could hardly breathe. The children gathered round him in an ecstasy.

"What a little black love!" exclaimed Nancy; "where did you get it?"

"I saved its life," was all David answered as Nurse packed them all into the waggonette.

"I helped," said Ambrose.

It was not until they were fairly on their way and had shaken down into something like composure, that the history of the kitten could be told.

It then appeared that David and Ambrose had heard feeble cries proceeding from a retired corner behind a caravan. They had at once left Jane, and gone to see what it was.

Finding two gypsy boys about to hang a black kitten, they had offered them sixpence to let it go, at which they had only laughed. The price had then risen to two s.h.i.+llings besides all the marbles Ambrose had in his pocket, and this being paid David had seized the kitten, and here it was.

"And so," said Pennie, "you've both spent every bit of your money."

"We couldn't let them hang the kitten, you see," remarked Ambrose.

At another time Pennie would have been the first to agree to this, and to feel interested in the rescue of the kitten; but now she was so full of her own good deed, that she only said coldly:

"It wasn't worth nearly all that. Why, you can get a kitten for nothing--anywhere."

David, still grasping his treasure, stared at her solemnly, for this speech was strangely unlike Pennie.

"What did you buy?" he asked.

The moment had come. Pennie looked round her with conscious virtue as she replied, "I saw a book I wanted very much, quite as much as you wanted the kitten, but I saved all my money for the mandarin."

"How stupid!" said Ambrose.

"It's much better to save someone's life than to buy a mandarin," said David.

Pennie felt hurt and disappointed; the reward of virtue was not supporting under these circ.u.mstances. She wanted a word of praise or admiration. If someone had only said, "That _was_ good of you," she would have been satisfied; but no one seemed even surprised at what she had done. And yet how much she would have liked to buy Siegfried! The boys had the kitten; Nancy had her cocoa-nut, even d.i.c.kie was clasping a rabbit on a green stand, and a gingerbread man. Pennie alone had brought nothing home from the fair; she was very sorry for herself.

A sudden outburst from d.i.c.kie roused her, as she sat sad and silent in the midst of chatter and laughter. No one could make out at first what was the matter, and d.i.c.kie could not tell them: she only kicked out her fat little legs and sobbed more convulsively at every fresh attempt to comfort her. But at last she managed to make them understand that her gingerbread man was spoilt; she had eaten his head, and he would never, never be whole again. This was followed by a torrent of tears, for d.i.c.kie never did anything by halves, and when she cried she put her whole heart into it.

"Bless the child, she'll make herself ill," said Nurse, taking her upon her knee. "Now, d.i.c.kie, my dear, don't give way. You know you can stop if you like. Look at your pretty rabbit!"

d.i.c.kie dealt the offered rabbit a blow on the nose with her doubled fist.

She did not want the rabbit, she sobbed out, but she thought she could stop if she had the black kitten to hold. To this David had a decided objection. It was his kitten, and if d.i.c.kie had it she would let it go.

Fresh screams from d.i.c.kie.

"Lor, Master David," said Nurse in despair, "let her have it, do. I'll take care it don't get away."

Peace was somewhat restored after d.i.c.kie had been allowed to stroke the kitten on Nurse's lap; but it was not a cheerful carriageful that arrived shortly afterwards at the Vicarage, every one seemed to have something to grumble at and be injured about.

"I'm thankful to be home," said Nurse to Jane as they went upstairs.

"I'd rather anyday have a week's work than an afternoon's pleasure."

As for Pennie, she dropped her money into the china-house, and went to bed that night with the feelings of a martyr. She would not give up her plan, but she was now beginning to see that it was a failure. No one showed any real interest in it--no one except herself was willing to sacrifice anything in the cause. It was certainly lonely and uncomfortable to stand so high above other people.

CHAPTER FOUR.

"KETTLES."

Pennie was haunted for days after the fair by the bright pages of "_Siegfried the Dragon Slayer_," for she became more and more conscious that she had made a useless sacrifice. She might just as well have bought it, she sadly reflected; none of the others seemed the least likely to help her in her plan, and certainly she could not carry it out alone. The more she thought of it the more injured and disappointed she felt. It was certainly a good plan, and it was certainly right to sacrifice one's self; of those two things she was sure, and it both hurt and surprised her to be unable to impress this on her brothers and sisters. Pennie was used to command, and accustomed to success in most of her little schemes, and it seemed hard to be deserted in this way.

She stood on a lonely height of virtue, conscious of setting a good example of generosity; but it was not a cheerful position, and, besides, no one seemed to notice it, which was vexatious and trying. This made her by turns condescending and cross, so that she was neither so happy herself nor so pleasant a companion as she had been.

"I can't think why you're so disagreeable," said Nancy at last. "If it's because you've put all your money into the box, I wish you'd take it out again and be as you were before."

"You don't understand," said Pennie, "you never give up anything."

"Yes, I do," replied Nancy quickly, "I've given up three weeks' money for that broken window."

"That wasn't sacrifice," answered Pennie; "you _had_ to do that.

Sacrifice means giving up something you like for the sake of other people."

"Well, if it makes you cross and tiresome I wish you wouldn't sacrifice things," replied Nancy; "I don't see the good of it. Do you know," she added, seizing hold of David's black kitten, "that mother says we may go and see old Nurse?"

Pennie's brow cleared at once, the peevish look left her face.

"Oh, when?" she exclaimed joyfully.

"This afternoon," said Nancy. "Mother's going to drive into Nearminster, and leave us at the College while she goes to see Miss Unity. Isn't it jolly?"

"I suppose we shall have tea with Nurse," said Pennie; "but," she added, "I hope d.i.c.kie isn't to go this time. She does spoil everything so."

"Only you and me," said Nancy, rolling the kitten tightly up in a newspaper so that only its head appeared. "Doesn't it look like a mummy cat? There's one just like it at Nearminster. It would do for the boys' museum."

"It wouldn't stay there long," said Pennie, as the kitten writhed and wriggled itself out of the paper. "I am real glad we're going to see old Nurse."

"Do you like going in winter or summer best?" asked Nancy.